Lady of the Star Wind (26 page)

After a moment, he realized he was going to finish if he didn’t slow her down. Gently, he disengaged. The possibility of being interrupted by the guards stayed in the back of his mind, curbing his ardor somewhat as he repositioned them so she lay under him. Rather than risk having her naked in the cell, he hiked her skirt to her waist and lowered himself to fit in the vee of her legs.

His shaft nudged against her body, the caress of her soft folds increasing his desire. His whole body craved what she was offering him, but despite his brave words, the aches and pains forced him to move slowly, gently. She held him as tightly as she could, kissing his neck, his chest. Her hips rose and fell under him. He slid his ironhard erection the first few inches into her body, finding her so hot and tight he could hardly bear it. He brought one hand to where their bodies were joined, pushing through her soft blond curls to stroke sensitive places to heighten her arousal.

He moved his hips slowly, advancing inside her as she clenched her inner muscles to hold him, then withdrawing only to drive forward again as she matched his rhythm perfectly. Sandy locked her legs behind his back, keeping him imprisoned deep within her. Whispering his name, she hugged him tight. He stopped exerting iron control and pumped harder, faster, driving into her body as deeply as he could.

A storm of emotion and sensation blocked all thought, leaving nothing but the intensity of the shared pleasure that overtook him as they both climaxed. Exhausted and sweaty, Sandy went limp against him, breathing hard. Savoring the pleasure of their bodies locked together, he stayed where he was for a few moments. Then he rolled them onto their sides, his cock slipping out of her body. Sandy murmured a little sigh of regret, resting one hand palm down on his stomach. He settled her into his shoulder and reached one hand to pull her nightgown down, covering her as best he could. She snuggled closer, draping one leg over his body.
 

 
“Loving you was even better than I remembered,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Of course, the surroundings and the bed leave a lot to be desired.”

His arms tightened. “We should have done this at the oasis on our first night here. So much wasted time—I was an idiot.”

They lay entangled for a few moments, breathing deeply. Sandy curled as close to him as she could get, whispering little endearments in Outlier. After a few moments, he knew she slept. Cautiously he pulled free long enough to put his clothing on, before taking her into his arms again.
 

Mark stayed awake the rest of the night, keeping watch over his princess and attempting to formulate some desperate option that might get her out of danger tomorrow.

The door creaking open a few hours later sent him into high alert, although his body was stiff and aching from the mistreatment the day before. Mark hastily untangled his legs from hers, got to his feet, fists clenched, ready to shield Sandy as best he could. Over the partition, he saw Rothan rising on the far side of the cell to do the same for his woman.

“You will assemble here to meet us now,” said the Maiskhan officer in charge of the guard detail, pointing at the floor in front of him. “Or my men will enjoy subduing you and your women.”

As slowly as he dared, Mark walked hand in hand with Sandy to obey.

“I truly regret we’ve come to this moment.” The Nakhtiaar official accompanying the jailers bowed as Rothan and Tia approached the door.

“Not as sorry as we are, Sapair,” Rothan said, shaking his head. “How much time do we have?”

“The burial procession is to commence in an hour. You must be bathed and dressed. We’ve brought basins of warm water for you and appropriate clothing.” Sapair gestured at the small piles of garments now being carried into the cell by servants. The squad of tense Maiskhan soldiers spread out to line the walls, on the alert for any offensive move on the part of the prisoners. The official glanced at the soldiers and then away with a small shudder. Leaning closer to Rothan, he said, “It was the most I could get away with. But don’t tarry in your preparations. We’re pressed for time.”

“You expect the women to get undressed in front of these leering jackasses?” Mark said glared at the Maiskhan. “Better think again.”

“We appreciate your efforts,” Tia told Sapair softly. “Leave the basins and the clothing, and we’ll be ready at the appointed hour. I give you my word. I wouldn’t dishonor my brother by going to his burial dressed like this.” She gestured at her crumpled and bloodstained night shift.

The courtier bowed to her. “As you wish, of course, my lady.” He clapped his hands. “Leave us,” he said with a shooing motion. The servants and the soldiers, including their scowling captain, withdrew.

Mark gave Rothan a sideways glance as the group was exiting, wondering if Sapair would be a valuable enough hostage to buy their freedom if he were to grab him.

The Nakhtiaar captain shook his head decisively in answer to the unspoken question.

Apparently unaware of his jeopardy, Sapair watched his companions file into the corridor before fumbling in his robes to retrieve four hard rolls and a small brick of cheese, which he handed to Rothan. “Eat quickly. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring anything else.”

“Sapair?” came a peremptory call from outside the cell.

“Coming,” he said, voice tense as he glanced toward the door. “Giving them instructions for the procession!” Lowering his voice again, he said, “Farahna wanted you to go to your deaths starving. But I remember when my own sister was pregnant. She’d get ravenous and faint from hunger at times. I wanted to spare you public embarrassment, Lady Tia. My sincere condolences on the loss of your brother.” He bowed his head and strode rapidly out of the cell before anyone could thank him.

The door slammed emphatically shut behind him, and Mark heard the lock click. “I could have grabbed him.”

“And the Maiskhan would have cheerfully killed him to get to you. Our freedom can’t be won by holding a mere official hostage. Farahna would just appoint someone else to the duties.” Rothan walked to the pile of clothing and lifted out a finely woven blue tunic and a pair of black leather pants. Setting those aside, he took out an intricately worked leather belt studded with golden falcons at intervals. “Sapair does us great honor. I am sure it was his idea to bring us clothing befitting our ranks. The queen would have us die dressed as slaves, prisoners, in dishonor. Thanks to Sapair, we’ll go to Hutenen’s tomb properly attired.”

“A small rebellion but brave on his part,” Tia answered. “He was always a good person, one I trusted.” Brushing a tear from her cheek, she reconsidered. “As far as I could trust anyone in this palace.”

“Excuse me if I don’t find the information consoling. I’d prefer actual help. I don’t imagine he hid any weapons in the wardrobe?” Mark grabbed a belt and showed Sandy the empty slot where a knife would customarily ride. Disgusted, he dropped the accessory onto the pile of clothes. “Any chance there might be some help for us from the crowd? Or the local soldiery? Enough men who might not want to see you die? We should have some plan in case there’s a break in our favor.”

Rothan shook his head. “When we were brought in the other night, I was looking for friendly faces, hoping perhaps some of my own soldiers might have infiltrated the palace guard, but there was no one.”

“Yeah, I saw how the Maiskhan soldiers occupied all the strategically important entries and exits, as well as guarding the queen. And us.”

“What about Djed?” Sandy asked in a low voice. “He’s still on the loose, isn’t he?”

“One man with only a few hours to plan and no one to trust?” Rothan shrugged. “I think the world of my chief archer, but unless the gods themselves intervene, we’re going to the tomb this morning.”

“And we need to be dressed,” Tia said, kneeling beside the heap of clothing and sorting through the garments. “I don’t want to die today, but I prefer to walk with dignity.”

Mark took a deep breath to control the anger and frustration running roughshod over his nerves. “Just all of you promise me to stay alert, and if by some miracle we get the chance, we make a break for freedom.” He glanced at his three companions as they each nodded. “Pass me whatever I’m supposed to wear, and let’s get on with this. And hand over a roll and some cheese for Sandy, please.”

“Considerate of him to bring food.” Sandy accepted the bread from Rothan, broke it in half, and gave part to Mark.

“Yes, it was. But we’ll dine in the afterlife with my brother.” Tia took her chosen dress and accessories, and headed to the farthest corner to change. Rothan grabbed two basins of water and followed her.

Mark and Sandy exchanged glances but said nothing, retreating to their portion of the cell to wash off the worst of the dirt and grime. Nibbling at the rolls and cheese, they dressed in silence.

As if going to some grand court function, Sandy and Tia were soon resplendent in gold-tinted linen sheaths, soft leather sandals, with lightweight, fringed shawls to carry. Mark and Rothan were arrayed in the more military garb, bareheaded, with the sturdy sandals and blue cloaks of warriors.
 

Sapair and the efficient armed escort showed up promptly as the captives were finishing the last touches on their clothing.

“Good.” The official surveyed them head to toe with a critical eye while the Maiskhan exuded boredom.

Tia rested her hand on Sapair’s arm for a moment. “We appreciate the kindness, but have you considered how angry Farahna will be with you?”

Sapair shrugged, although he wore a frown. “There’s already enough about this situation I find distasteful, my lady. This issue of the clothing is the one thing where I had a chance to intervene.” He leaned closer to her ear. “Farahna needs me since Seroj died in the quake. I’m the only one who knows the details of a number of ongoing projects she cares a great deal about. Farahna isn’t the most patient woman. Punishing me would delay her efforts—I can afford to tweak her a bit.” Straightening and raising his voice, he continued. “You’re to march in the procession directly behind the bier carrying Hutenen’s coffin. Maiskhan soldiers will escort you, and their orders are to kill all of you, starting with Princess Tia, should any attempt be made to escape. I wouldn’t recommend taking any inappropriate action.”

“Like going for Farahna’s throat?” Mark made the offer in a low tone.

“You can march in chains.” Sword drawn, Farun, the Maiskhan captain, pushed past Sapair to go face to face with Mark. “Your choice. Your woman will be the first to die, while you watch. I won’t warn you again.”

Mark shook his head. “No need for threats, we’ll see this through.”

“Sensible.” Farun shoved his sword into the sheath.
 

“You better hope I don’t come back as a ghost, though,” Mark said, pointing at his tormenter. “You’ll be one of the first people I come for.”

The Maiskhan soldiers muttered, shuffling a few steps farther away. Several fingered amulets or made hand signs in Mark’s direction.

Despite the dire situation, Rothan laughed. “The enemy will quake in their boots for weeks now that you’ve cursed them. Warrior of the Star Wind, you never cease to fight, do you?”

“Never,” Mark told him as they were escorted out of the cell and led down the corridor toward daylight. “It’s the motto of my clan.”

“And I love him for it,” Sandy said, kissing him on the cheek.
 

He clasped her hand and walked steadily forward with dignified resolve to meet whatever fate Farahna had planned. Unless, of course, fate gave him an opportunity to thwart her.

CHAPTER SIX

For a few moments, the prisoners were kept waiting under heavy guard in the spacious open patio in front of the palace’s main entrance.
 

There was a stir behind them as eight hulking, muscle-bound servants carried the funeral bier of Prince Hutenen from the palace and into the square. Even under the dire circumstances, Mark couldn’t help but stare in awe. The wood top of the oversized coffin gleamed with gold leaf in the ruddy sun of morning. A mosaic of finely crushed stones had been set in a golden frame on the top of the sarcophagus, depicting the visage of a handsome young man, calm and serene, eyes closed. Enameled details glinted on all sides of the coffin. The bottom half was burnished, fine-grain wood inscribed with line after line of the local language in gold-painted calligraphy. More of the precious metal was on display in the huge hinges on one side of the coffin and the lock on the other side, topped with an elaborate insignia.

“An abomination,” Rothan said with disgust. He spat. “Her seal shouldn’t be imposed on Hutenen’s coffin. She insults him in the smallest details. Wasn’t murdering him enough for her?”

The coffin was loaded onto a waiting cart drawn by four nervous horses, elaborate red and black plumes on their harnesses. The queen got into a wooden chair painted with flowers and birds in brilliant colors and was lifted into the air by four men. Surveying the crowd from her vantage point, Farahna proclaimed in a stentorian voice, “Today we mourn the loss of one for whom I was regent, one with whom I’d have gladly shared the throne. Yet it was not to be—the gods called him to dwell with them. Our loss and our grief are their happiness, and we mustn’t ask why. As a sign of my benevolence and enduring obeisance to the ancient ways and the traditional gods of this land, I’ve agreed to the heartfelt pleas of Princess Tia and Captain Rothan to accompany their beloved Hutenen to his new life, rather than linger here broken-hearted with us.”