The Battle Lord Saga 02 - Her Battle Lord's Desire (24 page)

girl had grown up, and the sprout had blossomed into an incredibly beautiful woman whom they

almost didn’t recognize.

The music faded away, ending the dance, and the women stilled in the same position in

which they’d begun. The crowd burst into hearty applause and whistles to show their approval.

Yulen watched Atty approaching with an almost apprehensive look on her face. Handing

her his cup, he noticed the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin as she took a long drink, then

followed it with a shudder.

“How many more hidden talents are you keeping from me?” he grinned.

“My dancing is not one of my talents,” she wryly commented.

“Oh, I think you did quite well, in spite of your lack of experience.”

“Do
you
dance, Yulen?”

He chuckled. “A little, but not like that. Hey, careful of the verbossa.” He grabbed the

mug away from her, even as she took another mouthful of it. At some point during the dance a

steady buzzing had begun inside his head. And although the ground remained level, there was a

slight halo effect now surrounding everything. Yulen knew he wasn’t drunk just yet, but he was

well on the way.

Atty leaned her forehead against his arm. The sapphire stone inset into the circlet dug into

his skin, but he didn’t care. Gently he brushed away a tendril of sweat-soaked hair clinging to her

cheek. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

“Ever since this morning,” she answered, lifting her face. Her confession sent a shot of

adrenalin throughout his body. Every nerve went taut with expectation. For the umpteenth time,

Yulen was glad of the patches of darkness that could help disguise his body’s intent.

Drawing his arm around her, Yulen began to lead her once more toward their tent. “No

one’s going to come and snatch you away from me for another dance, are they?” he teased, but

not without a serious undertone.

“No. Promise. No more dancing.”

“In public,” he added with a grin.

“In pu—”. She stopped to stare at him. The expression on his face spoke volumes.

“Definitely not in public,” she finished, smiling.

They passed a large group of soldiers and Mutah gathered around a smaller campfire near

the courtyard. The men were involved in some form or another on various games of chance,

where bets were being placed and wagers given. Yulen’s expert eye told him that most of his men

appeared to be the definite underdogs.

The group hailed them as the men spotted the couple walking by. Yulen acknowledged

them with a nod of his head, intending to keep going, when Del Ray, one of his lieutenants, loudly

commented, “Looks like the hunt and the party have worn out the Battle Lady.”

“Looks that way,” Yulen laughed. “Of course, a few swallows of Diad’s liquid fire may

have helped.”

A man with long, beard-like skin growths on his chin spoke out. “Oh, so you’ve tasted

the verbossa? What did you think of it, D’Jacques?”

“Potent!” he called back.

He and Atty were near the outskirts of the gathering, almost past them, when another

Mutah remarked, “Remember the first time Atty got snockered and nearly put an arrow up that

beemer’s ass?”

From the tenseness that suddenly came over her, Yulen knew Atty had heard.

“Oh, yeah!” the one with the beard of skin hooted in delight. “She was so intoxicated, she

couldn’t nock the damn arrow in time!”

The Mutah men roared with laughter as Yulen’s men looked on. A few cast furtive

glances at the couple, until Atty stopped dead in her tracks and turned around. “I have never

been so drunk that I missed any target I set my eye on,” she told them in a deathly quiet voice.

Mr. Skin Beard tossed her a back-handed gesture. “You wouldn’t admit a near-miss if

your life depended on it, Atty.”

“I’ve had plenty of near misses,” she snapped hotly, immediately reminding Yulen of the

ragged scar on her inner thigh. “But none of them were after I’d had a few too many.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” Mr. Skin Beard grinned.

“You damn right!” Stepping closer, Atty removed the circlet from her brow and placed it

in Paxton’s hands. The lieutenant literally jumped in shock when she gave it to him. “There.

That ought to pay for a few more sheaves of that wanna grass you love so much that you get over

in West Crestin and don’t think any of us know about. So what are you willing to ante up,

Phillipe?”

Yulen kept silent, one hand over his mouth to prevent himself from saying something to

anger or upset his wife. While he was apprehensive about her putting the circlet on the table as

her wager, he knew he had to trust her. Trust that she knew her limitations, and knew when to

back away once those limits were reached. When Paxton threw a worried look his way, he

merely nodded to let the man know all would be okay.

He hoped.

Phillipe got to his feet, making it clear he was fully in touch with all his faculties. “If you

can pass my test, you can name your price,” he challenged.

Atty’s eyes narrowed. “You have that nice little saber I’ve always had my eye on. That’s

what I want.”

Phillipe blanched. “That saber’s been in my family for generations.”

“Going back on your bet?” someone called from the crowd.

“Renege on the wager now, and you’ll lose all credibility in the future,” Paxton dared the

Mutah.

“Yeah!” someone else said. It was a Mutah man with a neck almost as wide as his

shoulders. “Better think about it, Phillipe! When word gets around you hedged your bet with

Atty before you even named the challenge, your reputation will be ruined.”

“All right! All
right!
” He glared at Atty. “The saber,
if
you pass the test.” He reached behind him where his weapons were laying within reach, and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

Walking over to where a pile of firewood sat nearby, he found a piece he liked and brought it

back to the center of their group. Laying it on the ground, he turned the short, thick piece on-

end and jammed the barbed tip of the arrow down into the soft center core. “There,” he gestured

toward it. “There’s your challenge. Using only a knife, I dare you to split the arrow between the

fletchings.”

Immediately everyone stared at the slender shaft perched vertically in the chunk of

firewood. Word began to spread, and before Yulen was aware of it, people began to drift over to

watch.

“Between the fletchings?” Atty repeated, staring at the shaft.

“You heard me. Between the fletchings. With only a knife.” Reaching in his belt, Phillipe

extracted his dagger and handed it to her. Atty stared at the weapon for a second before handing

it back to him.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to use my own.”

A few gasps of surprise went up among the men as she lifted her gown above her knees,

revealing a pair of shapely, long legs, then reached up further inside her thigh where she had

strapped her Ballock. The large dagger gleamed in the firelight.

“Atty.”

She looked over her shoulder to see her husband gesturing to her. She walked over to

have him bend his face closer to hers. “Atty, you don’t have to do this.”

“I have to,” she insisted. She seemed a bit unsteady on her feet, making Yulen wonder if

the alcohol had worked more quickly on her because of her weariness, despite the fact that she

hadn’t had that much to drink.

“As much as I would hate to lose the circlet, “ he began. Atty reached up to lay a finger

on his lips.

“Shhh. Let me try this. If I win, I win. If I lose, I lose. Either way, I’ve preserved my

dignity by going through with it. And I can face myself in the morning.” Her eyes were clear

enough to satisfy him. Sighing, Yulen nodded, and Atty returned to the center of the circle.

She bent over to stare at the arrow as her hand played with the Ballock’s grip. She lifted

the blade to her face, judging the width of the steel to the width of the shaft. It soon became clear

to everyone the feat was impossible. Although the tip of the dagger was small enough to

penetrate the wooden shaft, the weight of the weapon was greater than the arrow’s. In order for

the blade to split the wood, she would have to throw it with enough force to do so. But it would

also knock the arrow off the piece of wood, either deflecting the blade, or missing its target

completely. In short, there was no way Atty could throw the dagger at the arrow and have it split

the shaft between the feathered tips.

Yulen noticed the furtive hand signals and the passing of coins between his men and the

Mutah. He wondered what the odds were, and if they favored Atty.

Sighing loudly, Atty glanced upward at the broken moon now directly overhead.

“Between the fletchings,” she repeated again.

Phillipe shuffled his feet. “Quit stalling, Atty. Admit you can’t make it and we’ll call it a

night.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she straightened up. “Think I no longer have what it

takes, Mr. Barnstall?”

“All I know is that the old Atty wouldn’t have deliberated this long. She would also have

known an impossible shot when she saw it, and admitted defeat. Go ahead if you think you’re still

good enough.”

Several in the crowd reacted to his dare. “If I think I’m still good enough?” Atty

whispered darkly. Her eyes darted back at the arrow, then she lifted her face to gaze at the sky.

Yulen looked upward, his curiosity piqued. Why was she staring at the moon? As sure as

he knew his wife, he knew she was planning something. Something no one suspected. A smile

slowly lifted his lips.

Hefting the blade into the palm of her hand, she drew her arm back as if to throw the

dagger directly at the arrow. Then, without warning, she stared upward once more and threw the

Ballock underhand, straight up into the night sky.

Absolute silence reigned as every pair of eyes watched the heavy dagger fly upward until it

reached its zenith, hesitated for the span of a heartbeat, and began its descent downward. Down

toward the end of the arrow. Gathering momentum, speed, and thrust until the sharp tip bit

through the notched end of the shaft, buried itself in the wood, and slid down through the grain,

past the fletchings, until it came to rest almost midway down the arrow. Neatly splitting it nearly

in half.

Several seconds passed before anyone could fully grasp what she had done. Atty took the

opportunity to walk over and stand before her challenger. Bowing low before him, she again

repeated the challenge. “Between the fletchings.” As she straightened to turn, she added, “I’ll

want the saber and my Ballock returned by morning. Warren? May I have my circlet back now,

please?”

Paxton gladly handed it to her, watching as she handed it to her husband, who placed it

back on her brow with a loving smile.

Without a backwards glance, the Battle Lord and Lady soon disappeared into the

darkness, heading for their tent, and leaving behind a group of stunned believers.

“Atrilan?”

They had just reached their tent, a bit out of breath from their rush to get there without

another person stopping or interrupting them. Atty leaned down to duck inside the door flap

when she felt Yulen pulling back at the same time he called to her. She stopped and turned to feel

herself being drawn into his arms. In the moonlight his red-gold hair glowed like an aura about

his head.

She looked into the shadows shielding his face, trying to find the reason why he wasn’t

following her inside the tent. Instead she heard his quick, nervous breathing as he touched her

face with one warm hand.

“Atrilan, are you certain?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but for the first time words remained in a jumbled heap

in her head. She winced and tried to make her thoughts form into sentences, but the verbossa was

starting to take control of her faculties. The prickly heat of tears stung her eyes. If she waited

too long, he would take her hesitancy for a negative answer, and that was the last thing she

wanted tonight.

“Certain?” she managed to whisper. Suddenly she felt cold and hot simultaneously. It had

been so long. Too long. She’d made her decision, and there would be no going back. She could

never again refuse him, refuse his love, or refuse his body. It hurt too much to deny him, more

than it hurt to deny herself. “Come inside and see how certain I am,” she finally managed,

trembling, and ducked into the tent.

She was three steps inside when Yulen grabbed her, turning her around roughly, and

clamped his mouth over hers. Together they fell onto the pillows as his kiss branded her lips,

devouring her with a passion that left her dizzy and starving for more.

So long...too long.

His hands shoved the hem of her dress up to her ribcage as she clasped her arms around

his neck. She was drowning in his kisses, drowning in his overpowering authority over her body

and her mind and her senses. His tongue plowed into her mouth, forcing itself inside her wetness

with the same passion she knew he would use to plunge between her thighs.

Dimly she heard his weapons belt being tossed aside. A moment later she felt him moving

restlessly beside her, tugging off his pants before he rolled on top of her. The material of his tunic