The family he passed had a wagon and two horses to pull it, and suddenly Trinity wanted to ride. His feet hurt. He was tired of walking. The family paid him little mind as he stepped into the grass to allow them to pass on the narrow road, but the woman did eye him suspiciously. He likely looked a mite rough at the moment, not at all his usual charming self.
After they passed, Trinity turned, and with the grace and skill he still possessed, he jumped into the moving wagon, sprinted past the three small, frightened children in the rear of the wagon, and pulled his knife, the only weapon he had left. It was soon at the throat of the man who held the reins.
“I need one of your horses,” Trinity said, his voice rough and shaking, his eyes on the sharp blade which rested at the man’s throat.
“Please, don’t hurt us,” the man said as he pulled on the reins and brought the team to a halt.
Trinity’s hand began to shake. Behind him, children were crying. The woman who sat so close shook with fear. Her face had gone snow white. Trinity’s trembling hand began to move away from the throat he had threatened, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The pain that shot through his body was intense, it was bone deep and shattering, and unless he moved away, it would not stop.
“I don’t want to hurt any of you,” Trinity said, wondering if that statement would stop the pain. It did not. “I just need a horse!”
The woman seemed to sense his trepidation. Her fear faded; he could see the change on her face and in her calculating eyes, now that the blade was no longer near her husband’s throat. “One horse alone cannot pull this wagon and all of us,” she said. “We have a very long way to go.” Her lips thinned. “Get out,” she said. “Get out of our wagon and leave us alone.”
Trinity turned his attention to the woman. He wanted to threaten her, but could not. She was harmless. She was a mother. She had never hurt anyone; somehow he knew it. The witch had made it clear that he could never again harm one such as her.
The husband and father, a smallish man who should have been of no concern, grabbed the back of Trinity’s shirt. He stood abruptly, and with a grunt and a heave tossed the interloper over the side of the wagon. Trinity, knife still in hand, flew through the air for a moment and then landed on his back with a thud. The wagon took off, moving much faster than it had before, leaving him behind.
Before he’d been cursed—for the second time in his too-long life—he might’ve given chase, taken the wagon, and left the annoying family sitting on the side of the road, a bit worse for wear. But now he lay in the road with tears in his eyes, as past victims haunted and taunted him. It was as if they were with him, even though Trinity knew that if the people in the wagon turned, they would only see him on the road. No longer a threat. No longer a man. He was nothing more than a pathetic lump of muscles and skin, good for nothing. If he could kill himself, he would do so, but he had tried before and he knew he would be no more successful now than he’d been then.
With a flash of hope, Trinity wondered if the witch’s curse had changed him somehow, if it had affected the original curse. He retrieved the knife which lay in the road nearby and sat tall, and without hesitation he swung the knife up and plunged the blade into his chest. It hurt, and he screamed as the sharp metal cut into his body, into his heart, and the blood poured. He yanked the blade out, and the deadly steel hurt as much leaving his body as it had entering.
The blood flow stopped too soon, and his body healed itself. He saw the broken skin come together, he felt the broken heart repair. No, he still could not die. The witch would not give him even that.
Since being shown his purpose, Trinity had dedicated himself to killing those whose time had come. If he were not paid to do the job, someone else would be. He could not save those who were meant to die, he could only send them on properly and quickly. He did not needlessly hurt people, not usually, but delivered quick and painless deaths. That was his reason for living; his purpose in life. And now that was gone.
All because he’d suffered a moment of weakness. He had wanted softness in his life, even if it was not freely and lovingly given. He had craved the touch of a beautiful woman, and it had cost him all he valued in his pathetic life. Where was he to go now? What could he do?
Lying in the road stained with his own blood, watching the sun set, Trinity had a revelation. The witch had said he could never again harm an innocent, and he now knew that to be true. The most recent disastrous encounter had shown him that the curse was a strong one. He could never again take the life of, or even scratch, an innocent. Lucky for him, the world was filled with people who were not at all innocent.
And that class of people included the woman who had hired him, the woman who had sent him to kill Lady Leyla without informing him that his target was a witch.
MERIN lay as far from Bela as the rope would allow, which meant he was more off the blanket than on it. Neither of them slept; neither of them spoke. There was a new tension in the air, one he recognized too well. Did she? Did she know it was passion that danced between them and made this night unbearable?
Seeing her go over the edge of a cliff had made him look at everything in a new light. He had been willing to let her go, to hand her over to Jahn and then to watch her return to her people. He did not fear that the emperor would choose Bela for his bride. He’d spent enough time around the new emperor to know what kind of woman appealed. Simpering. Silent. Dressed in frills and feathers and too many jewels. Proper smiles. Ample curves. Soft whispers, when she did dare to speak.
Bela seemed to Merin to be the perfect woman in many ways, but she possessed none of the attributes Emperor Jahn desired.
Perfect woman. Ha! She was stubborn, she had lied to him—in the past, he conceded—she would not be an obedient wife, would not be content to stay at home and cook fine meals and tend babies and . . .
He had never wanted a wife like that. If he had, he could’ve married years ago. Bela was who she was, and could not be changed. He realized with unusual clarity that he did not want her to change.
“You are too far away,” she said. “Come closer.”
“I should not.”
“It’s cold, even with the fire.”
“It’s not so cold,” he said, ignoring the chill on his face and hands.
“I can’t sleep with you so far away,” Bela continued. “Our sagging bed always brings you close, whether you wish to be close or not.” There was a hint of humor in her voice. “And now I cannot sleep without you near. I am cold and I need your warmth. You have given it before, why not now? ”
“Things have changed.”
“Have they?” Since he had made no move to slide closer to Bela, she slipped across the blanket to be close to him.
“You know damn well they have.”
“You have always wanted me,” she said softly. “That has not changed.”
“No,” Merin confessed through gritted teeth.
“Is it your resolve that has changed? Do you still intend to present me to your emperor so that he might take what you want?”
“Bela . . .”
“That word, the whisper of my name, it sounds very much like a warning.”
“Perhaps because it is a warning. If you don’t stop this . . .”
“What?” She came a tiny bit closer. Her foot slipped slowly and decisively between his calves. “We’ll end up making love?”
“We’ll end up having sex,” he corrected. “There’s no need to make it sound pretty, Bela.” Was he feeling proprietary about Bela because he wanted her physically? Was that all this was? He had never been in such agony, but then it had been a long time since he’d been forced to deny himself what he wanted.
“You know I want more,” she said. She lifted the rope that bound them and slowly ran her hand along the length. That did not help matters at all. “I could take my knife right now and cut this rope. I could call to Kitty and have her do it for me. And once that was done, you’d be stuck with me.”
“For another three years,” Merin added.
“Do you really think we could remain wed for another three years and not produce a child?” she asked.
“If you’re here and I’m in Arthes, that will not be a problem.”
“I would follow you, this time,” Bela said sincerely. “I would follow you anywhere.”
She would, too, just to be difficult.
“I will admit to having just a bit of worry about how this will work,” she confessed.
Good. Worry was good.
“You gave me joy with your hands and it was very nice and made me want more, but I know very well how large you are, and I do wonder if you and I will fit properly without undue difficulty.” She gave a soft sigh that almost undid him. “Yes, you are very large and I am not, so . . .”
Merin groaned. Bela could not have picked a more unfortunate statement at this point in the evening.
“Would it work properly?” she asked in a lowered voice.
“You know damn well that it would,” he responded, more sharply than he had intended. “But, Bela, we are not . . .”
“If you could love me, we could have a good marriage,” she said, ignoring him and slipping a bit closer. He felt her heat now, she was so near. “If you could love me, we could take on Nobel and the emperor and anyone or anything else that gets in our way. Nothing could defeat us, Tearlach Merin. Together we could be magnificent.”
If she touched him, this would be over. He already felt as if he were about to break, about to fly into a thousand pieces. But she did not touch him, and he knew why.
The next move was his to make. It all began or ended here and now, and the choice was his.
BELA’S mouth was dry, and her heart was beating so hard she was amazed Merin didn’t seem to hear it. She was tempted to jump on his body, but she was attempting to show a bit of finesse about this. Besides, she had jumped on him once before, and he was bound to remember that night if she did so again. What happened next was entirely up to him. Love me, she thought, trying to send a message to him without spoken words. Love me the way I love you.
Merin rolled over to face her, and she’d come so close, his move put them nose to nose. She ran her foot along his leg, just a little. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, sounding only slightly reluctant. “Not to a mountain, not to an emperor . . . not to any other man. I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“Nor did I.” She smoothed back a strand of curling hair so she could see his face more clearly in the moonlight and the flicker of what was left of the fire.
“I will lose my position in Arthes, most likely. Whether you’re his choice or not, Emperor Jahn will not take kindly to me marrying one of his potential brides.”
“We are already married,” she reminded him.
“Not properly,” he said.
“We’re married enough for me,” she said with a smile. Merin was not going to disappoint her. He was not going to turn his back on her, not tonight. “Will you suffer greatly if you are no longer a great general to the emperor of Columbyana? ”
“No,” he answered quickly and surely. “It’s time for me to leave Arthes. Past time, to be honest. There’s nothing for me there.”
“There is everything for you here,” she whispered.
“I know,” he answered, his voice even softer than hers.
“I love you,” she said. “Do you love me?”
“I believe I do.” Merin sounded bemused and befuddled by the confession, as if he had never before thought himself capable of love.
“That is not a very convincing declaration of love,” she teased.
“How about this, then?” He took her hand and guided it to his trousers, where she could feel the incredible hardness of his very large penis. She had not been lying to him when she’d revealed her doubts about their physical compatibility.
And yet . . . he said it would work just fine, and she believed him. She had come to trust him as she trusted no one else. “That is a sign of your physical desire, not love,” she said as she stroked lightly.
“You know me not at all,” he said, moving his mouth to her throat.
Lovely. “I want to know you,” she said, her eyes drifting closed. “What do I need to know of you now?”
“If I did not love you, I would’ve seduced you long ago to assuage my physical desire, then I would’ve cut the rope and left. I would’ve told the emperor that you were already married, without bothering to tell him that your absent husband was his own general and next in line for Minister of Defense.”
Bela laughed. “You would not have done such a thing. You might’ve wanted to, the thought might’ve crossed your mind, but you are a good man, Merin. You do not take that which is not yours to take.”
“Are you mine to take?”
“I am,” she breathed.
Hard as he was, willing as she was, she rather expected he’d loosen a few bits of clothing and fill her aching body quickly. But as usual, he surprised her. Taking his time, he undressed them both. They lay upon one blanket and covered themselves with the other, blocking out the chill of the night as they created their own heat. Now and then he stopped to kiss or stroke a newly exposed bit of her flesh, or to introduce her hand to a bit of his flesh. Oh, what fine control he must have! If she had taken charge, they’d be finished by now!
How lovely that she had not taken charge. What pleasure she would’ve missed.
The covering blanket fell and cool air washed over her bare body, but Bela felt decidedly hot. Her body trembled gently, and she ached. Her breasts and her loins were heavy, and she literally hurt for Merin. With every caress of his hand, with every kiss, she was more frantic, and yet she also appreciated the beauty of anticipation. There was pleasure in this intense wanting, especially knowing that soon she could have all she wanted from him.
Soon she would have everything.
Merin spread her legs and stroked her, and she felt herself grow wet and even more ready than before. The ache became more intense, more centered, until she almost could not breathe. He hovered above her, blocking her view of the moon with a mass of dark curls and a face she could not see well.
And then he filled her, slowly and carefully, and Bela found a new bliss. It took a moment, it took great care, but yes, he gave and she accepted, and he fit quite well inside her. Quite well. He moved slowly and carefully, in and out. She gasped and grabbed at his shoulders, startled at the sensations he aroused. Her hips lifted off the ground to bring him deeper, more fully inside her.
His movements were careful and steady, thrusting and withdrawing, stroking her inner muscles until she thought she would scream. Soon his movements quickened and so did hers, and then she broke, and a scream was torn from her throat.
Pleasure; heat; passion; love. She had it all. Merin found his own release, and she felt it. She felt his shudder, and deep inside she felt the spurting release of his seed. Would it catch so soon? She did not know and did not care. Tonight there was only pleasure and love and a future of endless possibilities.
“So,” she said dreamily. “We are truly man and wife now.”
“We are,” Merin responded, his voice as strained as hers. Strained in a lovely way.
“I will take your name, I suppose,” she said, wrapping her arms around his sated, bare body. “Belavalari Merin. Bela Merin. Mrs. General Merin. I suppose I should call you Tearlach, in that case.”
“You may call me anything you wish.”
“You’re very agreeable at the moment,” she teased.
“I am.”
“So, which of us will cut this cord which binds us?” She reached for her knife, which lay with her clothes not so far away.
Merin lifted his head and looked down at her as he clamped his hand over her wrist. It was too dark for her to see his expression well, as the fire had died down considerably, but she could see that he did not smile, and Bela suffered a moment’s horror. Now that his body was satisfied, did Merin no longer w
ant her? Did he wish the undoing of their marriage to continue? If there was no child, then the marriage could still be dissolved.
“We both gave our word that we would not cut this rope while away from the village,” he said, sounding annoyingly sensible.
“But everything has changed since we made that promise,” she argued.
“Tired of having me so close?”
Bela sighed before answering. “No, of course not.”
“We will cut the cord together,” Merin said in a firm voice, “and we will do it in front of your family so they know there was no deception this time. There will be no whispers among the clan, no speculations on how the cutting came about or which of us did the deed.”
It was true that if they descended from the mountain unbound, some would say she’d done the cutting herself in order to get what she wanted. Again. Or they’d say that there had been an accident, and poor General Merin was only making the best of a sad situation. People would talk. They always did. “I don’t care what people say.”
“I do,” Merin whispered. “I care very much.”
He did love her. In years to come he would love her more. She’d make it be so.
He didn’t move away from her, nor did he reach for their clothes. He did pull the blanket over them to catch and hold their heat. In a little while he began to kiss her again, to run his tongue along her sensitive nipples and to kiss her throat and her mouth. His tongue was lovely. His hands were bold and certain. They made love again, more slowly this time, and again Bela’s scream of pleasure shook the mountain.
MERIN slept so deeply, he did not dream. He did not wake constantly to look at the woman beside him. The sky was gray with creeping morning light when he woke to find Bela’s hands on his body. Soon she was atop him, wrapped around him, riding him slowly and with an open and joyous passion that only made him love her more. There was no other woman on the earth like this one. She did not rush impatiently to the end, but rode him slowly and with an unexpected languidness, as if she did not want this to end. The day came alive, and she closed her eyes against the light. Her rhythm did not change, but remained slow and sensuous. Was she truly as flawless as he believed her to be, or did he see her through love-clouded eyes?
22 Nights Page 18