"Diesa, love, I’m so sorry," Kittellan whispered, his own tears dropping into her hair. "If I could change things, I would. I swear I would. But I am what I am, Diesa. And I love Drake. I’m sorry, but I do."
She looked up at him, startled out of her self-pity. "No. Don’t be sorry, Kitt. It’s a good thing to find a true love. Don’t be sorry." She wiped his tears away and managed a small smile. "I’ve got a pattern of giving my heart to the wrong men. You aren’t the first and you probably won’t be the last. I do love you, Kittellan, and I always will. And loving someone means you wish to see them happy, and I know you’re happy with Drake." She paused. "Did you know I asked Scanlon to trade me for Drake?"
"What? No, I didn’t know that!"
"Aye. Even then, I knew you two belonged together. I just didn’t expect to be around to watch. But"—she drew herself up, moved away from Kittellan and dried her face—"if that’s the worst pain I’ll ever bear in this new life, it’s small indeed. Now, go, Kitt, go to breakfast before Scanlon punishes you."
"What about you?"
"I’m not hungry, Kitt," Diesa answered, sinking back into the chair. "Make up … No, don’t lie. Tell Scanlon I wasn’t ready to come down for breakfast. That way his anger will be at me only. And don’t tell him I’ve been sick. It’ll pass."
But it didn’t. They stayed at the inn for three more days and Diesa made it to breakfast just once. She seemed to be able to handle lunch and dinner fairly well, but spent an inordinate amount of time sleeping. Scanlon said little about it, or her pallor, but he watched her continuously, his gaze searching and careful.
On the fourth day, they packed to continue their journey. Diesa had a hard time getting to the stable at the appointed hour. She staggered in to find her horse bridled and the others mounted and waiting. Scanlon looked down at her, but his expression was more concerned and questioning than angry.
Diesa mumbled her apologies and quickly swung astride. They left town at a brisk pace, once more heading south, Scanlon in the lead, then Drake, Kittellan and Diesa. She clung to her horse’s mane, fighting back nausea and faintness. She stopped several times to heave, but always was back on the trail before the others noticed anything amiss. Still she knew something was dreadfully wrong. She was too sick, too tired. And she knew, despite her words to Kittellan, that it was nothing she had eaten on the trail. She looked ahead at Scanlon. She could ask him to help her. Again. But at what cost?
She sighed, remembering Kittellan’s words. Scanlon had healed him, and yet his soul remained his. Unexpected tears leapt to her eyes, and she blinked them away. What did it matter? The elf had healed her so many times now her soul was firmly in his grip. She shook the thought aside and continued on.
By the time they stopped for the night, she was exhausted, though thankfully the nausea had abated somewhat. Scanlon had restocked their supplies and requested a dinner of warmed over meat and roasted vegetables. The smell of the cooking meat was almost more than Diesa could bear, and at dinner, she barely managed to gag down one small potato. Scanlon watched her, and again said nothing, although she felt him probe her mind.
She slept hard and deep, and woke next morning with a raging headache and a stomach to match. Drake took over at the scrambled eggs when Diesa had to bolt suddenly for the cover of a large bush to heave.
"That’s it!" Scanlon roared, coming to his feet. "I’ve had enough!" He went to the bush, and hauled Diesa away from it. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing!" she cried. She pulled away from his grip and sprawled on her back on the ground. "Nothing is wrong. Just leave me alone."
Scanlon stiffened, his eyes narrowing in irritation.
"M’lord! Please!" Kittellan leapt to her defense.
"And what do you know of this, Kittellan?" Scanlon demanded.
"I … I know only that she’s been sick," Kittellan stammered.
"That I can tell!" Scanlon seethed. "How long?" He glared down at Diesa, his face a strange mixture of anger and concern. "How long?"
Diesa sat up slowly, her head spinning, biting back a sharp retort. She forced a calm to her voice, forced herself to grovel. "Days, M’lord. Just days. It’ll pass, M’lord. I promise."
Scanlon’s jaw tightened and abruptly he crouched beside her, placing his hand on her abdomen. She slapped it away in surprise and anger. He glared at her and tried again. Panic at what he might find swelled inside of her and she pushed him back, trying to scramble away. He responded with a mental slap that left her gasping and still, then placed his hand on her abdomen again. His eyes grew wide and he sat back with a startled gasp. "You’re with child," he breathed.
Diesa started violently, staring at him in disbelief. Her gaze swept to Drake, then to Kittellan. The former was regarding her with puzzlement, the latter in open dismay.
"That man," Kittellan rasped.
"No!" Diesa screamed, surging to her feet. "No!" She looked at them, pure revulsion and disgust filling her as she backed away. Tears spilled across her pale cheeks. "No! I’ll not carry that man’s child!" she screamed, then in one swift movement, she yanked her dagger from its sheath and plunged it to the hilt in her abdomen. She heard the three men gasp in unison, saw Scanlon move, before a vicious warmth spread from her gut outward. She pitched forward and Kittellan caught her. As he lowered her to the ground, she reached up for him.
"Diesa," he managed. "What have you done?"
She stared at him in confusion, no longer understanding his question. "My sweet angel," she whispered, then shuddered and fell into darkness.
She was aware of voices calling to her, begging her to come back. Drake’s voice, calm and strong, Kittellan’s high-pitched and panicked. She ignored them and fell onward. Then suddenly Scanlon appeared, stopping her fall, gazing at her with those cool, gray eyes.
"Come back," he said. It was not a request but rather a command.
"No," she said simply and tried to pass him. He restrained her gently.
"We have unfinished business, Diesa," he said softly. "You need to come back."
"I don’t want to," she told him calmly. "I’m not a slave. I’ll not come back. You can’t make me."
He sighed. "But I can, Diesa. And I will."
White-hot pain of elfin healing filled her, driving deep into her soul as Scanlon approached her. She wanted to run, to escape his touch, but there was no place to go and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him. She struggled wildly as the pain soared to agony, then abruptly vanished.
She sagged against Scanlon’s chest, shaking and sick. He touched her gently under the chin and tipped her head back. "Unfinished business, Diesa," he whispered and brought his lips to cheek.
At first she resisted, ready to push him aside. But the feel of his strong arms around her, his warm breath on her skin, stilled her actions. He kissed her, gently, with a depth of emotion she had never known. Slowly her arms went around his neck and the next kiss she returned, first wondering at her own passion and then merely accepting it. He held her, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes and then her lips again. Desire tore through her, left her weak. Scanlon swept her into his arms and moved toward a large, canopied bed that had not been there moments before. It seemed to float in the nothingness around them. Diesa accepted it as easily as she accepted this sudden closeness to Scanlon. He placed her upon soft blankets and lay next to her, his hands gentle and warm upon her body, a body that was suddenly, magically without clothes. For the first time, Diesa felt no embarrassment at her dryad build. She plainly saw desire in Scanlon’s gray eyes as he appraised her. A desire she shared, and she helped free him of his garments. Their bare skin touched in a plethora of sensations. Confusion vied with passion, losing. Diesa ran her fingers across Scanlon’s muscled chest, stroked his strong arms, reached for the hands that lightly caressed her. She caught up one of his hands, kissed the palm, then closed her eyes as Scanlon’s lips once more touched hers. She wanted him, needed him, yearned for him, and yes, loved him.
::Do you, Diesa?:: he whispered inside her mind. ::Have I earned your love at last?::
She looked into the gray eyes, so filled with tenderness and love, wondering why she had never noticed it there before. ::Yes, M’lord,:: she murmured. ::Yes.:: She pulled him to her, peace and warmth enveloping her.
Scanlon’s touch ignited a fire within her, fueling her desire. Still not certain where they were or if any of this was real, she made love with him. His touch was filled with tenderness and passion and not even her resolve could keep her from giving her heart.
* * *
Diesa slept off and on for the next several days, snatching at bits of reality and weaving it into her dreams. She couldn’t tell which events actually happened and which she had only imagined. The only thing she was absolutely sure of was that Scanlon had forced her to return from a place that had promised love and freedom. Forced her! With his magic and his strength. Controlling her, being her master even in death. She hated him for it, hated him with every ounce of strength she had, with every bit of soul she still possessed.
And yet her heart ached. In one small corner it harbored a memory so vague and so shocking that she could not fully recall it, a memory that stirred her emotions into turmoil and worked against her hate and rage for Scanlon, a memory she found hard to repress.
"Diesa?" Kittellan’s soft voice drifted to her and she opened her eyes to gentle twilight. He smiled. "I’ve some broth. Will you eat?"
Diesa returned his smile and nodded. He helped her sit up slowly, carefully. She sipped at the broth as Kittellan held a mug to her lips. "Is Scanlon very angry?" she asked.
"Angry?" Kittellan seemed surprised. "Anger is not an emotion I’ve seen him display lately. He’s very worried about you, Diesa." Kittellan paused as if unsure of his next words. "I think … I think he loves you."
Diesa started so violently she caused Kittellan to slosh the hot broth onto his hand. He set the mug down and reached for his waterskin though he showed no reaction to the pain. Diesa mumbled her apologies, frowning as he poured water across his hand. She took it, stroked the burn gently and by instinct, murmured words of healing. The bright red patches faded away and she gasped. Her magic! Scanlon had released her magic! She looked at Kittellan, confusion and joy coursing through her. He stared at his hand, amazed.
"So," he said, "your magic is back."
"But why?" Diesa whispered.
Kittellan shrugged. "Accept it, don’t question it."
"I can’t help but question it, Kitt. Scanlon has been so persistent at keeping it from me. Why would he now allow it?" A sudden strange panic whipped through her and she grabbed at Kittellan’s arm. "Where is Scanlon?" Her gaze swung through the camp. "And Drake?"
"They left yesterday afternoon for Kopen. Scanlon wanted to get some more herbs and vegetables for you."
"We’re alone?" Diesa gasped. "He left two slaves alone?"
"Aye, but it’s not likely we’ll be going anywhere." Kittellan picked up a rock and hurled it away from them. It traveled several dozen feet then abruptly fell as if it had hit a stone wall.
"He’s warded us," Diesa murmured and somehow felt anger at that.
"For our protection as much as anything," Kittellan replied quickly. "Last night while you slept several wolves came for us. You should have seen them. If I hadn’t been so scared I would have enjoyed the show. They worked all night trying to breach the spell but couldn’t, thank the Gods."
Diesa shivered, glancing about the darkening forest, suddenly glad for the protective shell. "Do you think they’ll be back?"
"Probably. And I’m not taking any chances. I’ve inspected the spell and it seems solid enough, but I’ve also sharpened my arrows. I’ll stay up all night if I have to."
"You may not. I may be able to …" Diesa’s words trailed off and she narrowed her eyes in concentration. Soon the ward spell became visible to her. It looked like a giant dome arching over their heads and resting securely on the ground all around. No cracks or breaks were visible. It was solid and, while air moved through it freely, she suspected not much else would. As if to prove her thought, the skies suddenly opened with a crack of thunder.
Kittellan stared upward in surprise as the rain hit and rolled to either side of the ward. "Now that’s handy," he said and added another log to the fire. "I guess Scanlon thought of everything. He left us protection, wood, food and"—he drew out a flask—"a bottle of wine." Diesa noticed it was not quite full.
Her eyebrows rose in surprise and alarm. "Does Scanlon know you have that?"
Kittellan nodded. "He left it for us. He said it would help ease your pain."
"I’ve my magic to do that," Diesa reminded him.
Kittellan grinned and uncorked the bottle. "Then perhaps I’ll dull my own pain a bit more."
Diesa laughed, wincing at the pain the action caused. "What pain? You’re healthy as an ox."
"Gods, it’s good to hear you laugh," Kittellan murmured, then took a long drink from the flask. "Ah now, this is perfect. A warm fire, a stormy night, a good bottle of wine and a love by my side. What could be better?" He leaned back against a stump he’d been using as a seat and stared upward at the dark sky.
Diesa watched him for a long moment. "You miss Drake, don’t you?" she finally asked.
"I do. I admit it. But you’re no small consolation, Diesa. Come, sit by me. It’s the two of us again finding comfort in each other’s arms, just like old times." He drew Diesa close, wrapped his arms about her and took another drink, then offered it to her. She hesitated a moment then accepted.
The wine burned a path to her stomach where it settled in a warm glow. At once her pain lessened and, with another drink, was gone. She gave a half-smile of recognition. "Scanlon spelled the wine," she said quietly, handing the flask back. "That’s why the broth burn didn’t hurt you."
Kittellan looked at his hand carefully. Since it was the one on the arm about Diesa, that drew her even closer. His gaze shifted to her face and he studied her for a long moment. Abruptly, he kissed her, not on the forehead as was his custom, but on the lips. Startled, Diesa pulled back. Kittellan laughed and took another drink.
"Gods, Diesa, I feel like a free man tonight!" he said happily. "For the first time in my life, I know what it’s like to be free. No master watching me, telling me what to do and what not to do. I can make my own decisions. I can eat when I want and what I want. I can drink without benefit of food. I can hold you and kiss you any time I want. Of course," he added, "by your leave."
Diesa laughed and accepted another drink. "You’ll make Drake awfully jealous, my sweet angel. And confuse your own mind thoroughly."
"No, Diesa, I won’t. I want you both. It’s like Drake opened up a world of passion in me I didn’t know was there."
"But both of us?" Diesa laughed again.
"At the same time would be my dream," Kittellan teased her, joining in the laughter. "And I think Drake’s as well. He’s had his eye on you since he saw you in the Gods’ attire back in Estower."
Diesa laughed so hard she choked on her next drink, which only made both of them laugh harder. Kittellan held up the flask, took a long steady pull, then offered the last drink to Diesa. "Let’s see you drink it without your eyes watering," he joked.
"I’ll take that challenge," Diesa retorted, and drained the bottle.
"Gods, for someone who doesn’t drink, you put me to shame," Kittellan said.
"It’s gone." Diesa held the empty flask upside down and shook it. She looked at Kittellan mournfully. "Now what do we do?"
Kittellan grinned and pulled her close. "I’ve all this passion, Diesa. It’d be a shame to waste it, love."
She smiled, stroked his face, then ran her fingers through his hair. "A shame indeed, my angel." She accepted his kiss, then pushed back hesitantly. "It’s the wine talking, Kitt. Maybe we …"
"The wine may be talking, love, but I started the conversation," Kittellan replied and kissed her again, this time har
der, his lust evident.
"Well then," Diesa mumbled, kissing him back, "I guess it would be rude of me not …" She kissed him again. "… to take …" And again. "… part."
Chapter 8
* * *
Scanlon and Drake returned early the next morning. Both Kittellan and Diesa were feeling the effect of the previous night’s drinking and groaned in unison at the sight of the two horsemen. Kittellan hadn’t talked much about what had happened, about the night of passionate lovemaking. Nor had Diesa. It was as if they had been under a spell, one that had shattered with the coming of morning.
"Gods, my head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton," Kittellan moaned. "And my tongue is dry enough to blow away. I hope Scanlon is in a good mood. Maybe he won’t notice."
Diesa snorted. "He’ll notice," she stated. "At least I don’t feel sick like the last time."
They rose as Scanlon lowered the ward spell. He dismounted and evaluated them both with a cool look before settling his gaze on Diesa. "You look much better," he said evenly. "I trust you are feeling the same."
"Yes, M’lord," she replied calmly. "I am much better. And I thank you."
"For?" Scanlon seemed surprised by her response.
"For saving my life, M’lord."
Scanlon’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Kittellan, who averted his gaze. "M’lord, shall I brush down the horses?" he asked.
"No," Scanlon answered after a moment’s hesitation. "Drake will see to that. You may go hunting. The food in Kopen was atrocious. I am looking forward to Diesa’s cooking." He turned to her. "You do feel up to preparing dinner, don’t you?"
It was not so much a question as a statement and Diesa nodded, then remembered to use her words, the words Scanlon seemed to like so much. "Yes, M’lord. Might I get you and Drake some lunch?"
"We’ve eaten," Scanlon replied, confusion furrowing his brow. He studied her a moment longer, then brushed past her, removing his cloak. He dropped it on the ground and sprawled back on one elbow, his gaze taking in the crumpled blankets so closely tangled with each other. His gaze swept to Diesa and Kittellan, who both blushed.
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