VirtualWarrior (24 page)

Lien’s rash flared like an acid burn on his wrists and neck.
Cidre stood by the hearth, her hand on one carved figure’s hip.

She stared at him. An army of ants crawled down his back. He
almost shook with the effort to control a mad need to claw at his skin.

“Lien.” Ardra drew his attention from the goddess. “Your
tunic.” She held it out. Samoht let him go.

When Lien took his shirt, Ardra’s fingers skimmed his, and
his wrists cooled.

“You did well,” she said. Then, as she moved to the side to
make way for a serving woman with a pitcher of wine, she lifted her hand and
placed it on his back. Firmly. Without a caress. The roiling heat subsided. The
ants stopped crawling over his skin.

“Thank you,” he said to Ardra.

“I but held your tunic,” she said, but he read something in
her eyes, soft amber now in the light of the torches, that told him she knew of
his discomfort.

He raised his gaze to the hearth. Cidre was gone.

Was it Ardra’s touch or Cidre’s disappearance that brought
such instant, blessed relief to his skin?

The songs grew ever more ribald, and Ardra took the
opportunity to sneak away. What she had planned for her night hours would not
meet with Lien’s approval.

How magnificent he was with his dark hair and sun-browned
skin.

Was she the only one who saw the pattern of lines that
flared up from the waist of his breeches and spread across his back like wings?
The warriors probably saw only the snake art, the women only his fine form, the
strong spread of muscles as he raised the stick and stretched.

Ardra’s chamber was not empty. Deleh lay on the bed. “I
cannot sleep with all the singing, Ardra.”

The old woman helped Ardra from her clothing and held out a
silky lavender robe. It had a simple length of amber and lavender embroidered
silk to tie it closed.

Ardra rubbed her temples. “Could you warm me a glass of
honey and milk? Leave it by the door and then seek your bed. The moons are sure
to be well up now. I know how you like the orb-glow.”

“Aye, I will fetch your drink. But would you mind…that is…I
have found another bed I would like to share.”

“Another bed?”

Deleh, her eyes down, her toe tracing circles on the bare
wooden floor, said, “There is a man here. He reminds me of Tol.”

“You are free to do as you please, Deleh,” Ardra said. “But
you do know I will look after you always.”

Deleh’s eyes remained downcast. “Forgive me, but I do not
think I will enjoy the fortress with Samoht as its master.”

“You doubt I will prevail?” Ardra lifted her chin.

“Forgive me. Is there anything else I might do?”

Ardra sighed. “Just leave the milk on the floor outside my
door.” How could Deleh doubt her? And so quickly find a replacement for Tol?
Were the concubine’s feelings for Tol only as lasting as the protection he
could offer her? Ardra chastised herself for such thoughts as Deleh fetched her
comb. What were the insecurities of a slave compared to those of a free woman?
Who was she to judge another?

Deleh combed Ardra’s hair, then polished it with a soft
cloth.

The hall had quieted. Ardra was filled with energy—a nervous
energy, the kind that did not last, but still, energy it was. It was time to
search beyond the herbarium for the potion.

“Listen well in the kitchens, please,” she said.

“Of course. I will keep my ears open for you. You have only
three days left. But why should I not bring your milk inside?”

“I may not be here, and I do not want you to lie if you are
asked whether you saw me.”

“What are you planning?”

“It is best you not know. Samoht and Einalem will do
everything in their power to see that I fail. It would not serve me to have
them find the vial or wheedle it from Cidre. It would not do to have Samoht
think he can use you, either.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“I shall say I cannot sleep, that I am looking for you!”

“Nay,” Deleh said. She tucked Ardra’s hair into her hood.
“No one will believe such nonsense. Say you are looking for Lien—”

“Deleh!”

“You must. A woman would understand why you want to make
love to the pilgrim. He will be gone at sunrise with the other pilgrims, after
all.”

Gone at sunrise.

“If you do not want to be suspected of searching the
fortress, you must say you are looking for a man. That, anyone will believe.
They may smile and talk behind their hands on the morrow, but the gossip will
distract them.”

“I will think about it.” Ardra wished she were just a simple
woman looking for a lover. Her nipples tightened against the cool silk as she
thought of Lien.
Say you want to make love to the pilgrim.
She shivered
and wrapped her arms about her waist, for her mind had conjured a vision of him
lying in the mating position and her climbing astride him.

Another vision replaced it—Lien standing with his back to
her, the ancient mark on his skin moving as his muscles moved. Molten desire
flooded her body. The sensation had occurred in the hall as well, snatching her
breath away. Unable to resist, she had gone to him, touched, felt the searing
heat of his skin against her palm.

The sensation of the smooth silk robe sliding on her skin
only inflamed the heat of her need.

Was Lien sitting outside her door right now? What would he
do if she called him in? What if Ollach answered her call instead?

Ardra urged Deleh to her task. She must not waste the night
hours.

When the fortress felt at rest, and no more men stumbled by
her door, no more laughter rang out from the hall below, she left her chamber,
wearing nothing beyond her lavender bed robe. She hoped she looked like a
simple woman seeking a man’s bed.

Where was Lien? He was not outside her door. Neither was
Ollach. And what had become of Lien’s vow to watch over her?

The hall was dark and silent. A guard’s footsteps could be
heard outside the double doors as he paced, but otherwise Cidre had posted no
men.

Snores and snuffles told her the pilgrims slept near the
hearth. She wondered if their vows of celibacy were tested by the women carved
into the hearth in voluptuous detail.

She worked her way through the kitchen storeroom, knowing
what would be out of place there.

Thoughts of Lien’s swift victory over Samoht intruded as she
tiptoed across the hall. She feared Samoht’s revenge if Lien did not leave on
the morrow. The councilor would want Lien to pay in kind for the humiliation.
She was not fooled by Samoht’s laughing face after the stick fight. Lien would
suffer for his triumph.

She heard a sliding sound. Behind her. Heart in her throat,
she slowly turned. A shadow moved along the wall by the steps to the lower
level, moving as furtively as she. A tall, thin male shadow. The pilgrim
leader? Where was he off to in the middle of the night? There were no privies in
that direction. Was he going to steal food from the kitchen? Thievery was a
grave matter, one her father and Tol had punished severely.

Then she counted the pilgrims sleeping by the fire. Five.
Who was this man who moved so quietly, and where was he going?

Curiosity overcame her. She followed. The man took the steps
to the kitchen. He opened a door and walked quickly through the cook’s gardens.

She did the same. He made straight for the little door that
led to the orchard, but instead of cutting through the trees, he skulked along
the outside fortress wall to the lake.

The lake lay like a sheet of ice beneath the moons. Only two
orbs had climbed the sky so far. They sat in the heavens like pale chunks of
turquoise and painted the lake in green and white. A cool breeze ruffled the
surface.

The man stood at the water’s edge. He lifted his arms to the
orbs in a silent exhalation. Then he bent and drew something from his robe. A
cup. He dipped it in the water and drank.

The moons cast his shadow long and needle thin. Drawn to
him, Ardra stepped closer. Her boot crunched on the pebbles.

He whipped around.

“Father!” A drumming and beat of wings filled her head. “But
you are dead.“

The man threw back his hood. Her father. Ruonail of the
Fortress of Ravens. Dead more than three conjunctions.

He walked slowly toward her. “Forgive me, daughter. But I am
not dead.”

“Why? How?” She staggered back. Here stood a man she had
mourned and hated equally from one day to the next.

Then she saw what lay on his chest.
The Black Eye.

He put out his hands, but she could not touch him. He slowly
withdrew his hands and tucked them into his sleeves.

“Come, daughter. Accept what your eyes tell you. I will not
bore you with the trials I suffered to find my way here. Suffice it to say, I
had prepared for the time when I might need to leave. There are those who will
offer a haven for a price.”

“A price? You are saying you had coin enough to find your
way from the fortress to here?”

“Aye, child. Do not judge with such harshness. Would you
have had me die? I think not. Rejoice with me that I am well. Come. Give me the
kiss of a daughter.”

“Nay.” The words caught in her throat. “I cannot. Your
people suffered under your rule before you left, and it took over three conjunctions
to set matters to right. If not for Tol—”

“You lost no time in taking a mate. And not a Selaw mate.”

“You left me no choice. Had I not done so, our fortress
would be ruled by Samoht!” She tucked her hands into her sleeves as he had.
Every inch of her body ached with the cold. Never, not even on the ice, had she
felt this chill, straight to her heart.

“What do you here?” Her father offered his hand again, but
she could not reach for it.

“I could ask you the same question.”

He drew himself up very straight and lifted his chin. “I am
Cidre’s consort.”

Ardra shook her head in denial, but knew that what he said
was true.

“I wear the Black Eye, a great honor, the mark of my status
here. It is our hope that we will soon have a child. I believe Cidre is breeding.”

“What are you doing out here? Why are you not with her?”

He turned to the lake. “I came to drink of the water. It is
said to invigorate a man.”

Ardra’s mind seethed. Her father was alive. He was Cidre’s
consort. A sickening feeling lay like a stone in her belly.

“If she is breeding, what need have you of the lake water?”
she asked before she could stop herself.

He shrugged. “It is a man’s business and none of yours.”

She saw him well, the orb-glow shining on his skin. He
looked as if ten conjunctions had been stripped from him.

“Everything you do is my business. How dare you—”

But he spoke over her. “I dare because I intend to mate
Cidre’s child with your boy. With Cidre’s abilities and my blood, our daughter
will be a formidable match for your son. And I will rule for them both until
they are of age to do so on their own.”

“Rule for them? You cannot even show your face.” The words
were arrows to her heart. He had discounted her as if she were nothing.

“I have a plan.”

Ardra wanted to scream. She knew well her father’s schemes.

“And should Cidre birth a son?” she asked as calmly as she
could.

“Goddesses have rarely birthed sons. Now, quickly, is there
anyone of your party who would recognize me?”

She studied him. When she had last seen her father, he had
looked old, his amber eyes dull, his skin dry, his white hair lank and
lifeless. Now, although his hair was still white, it looked thick and
luxurious, swept back from his brow. He radiated energy.

Ardra shook her head. “Nay. I have only Deleh with me, and
she came to the fortress with Tol. Will Nilrem know you?”

“The wiseman is here? Nay. I think not. We have never met,
though he would know me by reputation.”

“Samoht will only need to hear your name and—”

“I have a new name along with my new life. I am no longer
Ruonail of the Fortress of Ravens. I am Venrali, consort to the Goddess of the
Tangled Wood. Is she not beautiful? Is she not magnificent?” Pride shone in his
face.

“Why can you not be content in this position,
Venrali
,
and leave my son and me alone?”

“I am not such a great age as to be content in the shadow of
a woman. As for your son, he needs someone to guide him to manhood. Who better
than I?”

Ardra saw the light of ambition aglow on his face.

“Now, what do you here?” Venrali asked. “Such a feeble tale,
hunting a love potion. Nonsense. Cidre was concerned that you might have
discovered I was here and come to unmask me.”

“We seek the potion, nothing more.”

Her father walked along the shore a bit, and she followed in
his path as she had so long ago, as a child, when he had been a revered man, a
loved one. Now he was a consort to evil.

“I am sorry, Ardra,” Venrali said. “Cidre cannot help you.
She knows naught of the potion. And has no need of it.”

“Are you sure?”

His look was cold. “You doubt your father’s word?”

Their steps led them back toward the garden gates and the
fortress. Ardra searched for an answer to his question, but none came, so she
remained silent. She had doubted her father’s word long before his
disappearance.

“I must go. I have somewhere I must be,” he said. “Now that
I know who is among your party, I will join you for meals. It is an omen, our
meeting. It bodes well for the fortress and my return. It is good. When Cidre
is delivered of her babe, I shall make my way back to the fortress and rule
through your boy.”

“Father, I have learned to rule—”

He patted her shoulder. “Nonsense. A woman may not rule.”

“Cidre rules her fortress. Why should I not rule ours?”

A smirk appeared on her father’s thin lips. “There are some
aspects of responsibility a woman is suited for, but the ability to rule is a
man’s. Cidre appears to rule, but it is in appearance only. I rule. I will send
for you soon. We shall talk about my return.”

Ardra watched him slip through the garden door. Her mind
seethed with emotions she could not control.

His return?

She looked up at the glowing orbs overhead. If she did not
find the vial, she would find Samoht in control of her fortress. Her father
would never challenge Samoht’s army.

Yet even if she found the vial and was awarded rule of the
fortress, her father would descend. It seemed she was doomed to be a pawn
either way.

Ardra wandered, unsure where she was, unsure of what to do
or what to think. How could she serve both her father and her people?

She looked around. The rich scent of apples filled the air
and drew her into the orchard. There were no orchards near the ice fields, yet
the ice ensured that her people knew the fruit. She huddled on the bench where
she, Lien, and Nilrem had talked that morning.

The orchard reminded her of the bounty that life had to
offer. She saw branches weighed down nearly to the ground, smelled the sweet
scents of wood and fruit. Yet she could only shiver. If her father returned to
the fortress, there would be no bounty, no sweet gift of life. Only one man’s
ambition would find fruition.

Her father said Cidre did not have the vial. Was he in
Cidre’s confidence? If the goddess did not have the potion, then Ardra knew it
mattered not how many days she was given; she would fail, and Samoht would
control the fortress.

And what would her father do if Samoht took the fortress?

Would her father try to rally the Selaw behind him? Would it
mean war? What would become of her son?

She touched her forehead. Was she fevered? Had she imagined
her father? Would she wake on the morrow to find that the goddess had slipped
another potion into her wine?

If her father was real, he could return and remain hidden,
plotting in the labyrinth below the fortress.

Tears ran down her face. She would be his hostage, acting on
his orders, and her people, her son, would suffer for it.

A hand touched her arm.

“Lien!”

He pulled her from the bench and into his arms. His voice
was soft and low at her ear. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I—I could not sleep,” she said.

“You’re freezing.” He ran his hands down her back, then set
her away from him.

He pulled off his cloak and wrapped her up before leading
her to the small door into the fortress and across the hall. His grip was
unyielding.

They reached her chamber. The door thudded against the wall
when he flung it open.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go anywhere without a guard?”

“You said around the fortress. I went to the orchard.” Even
she heard the quaver in her voice.

“Come here,” he said, gently this time.

“I took a walk to think. I have only three days left, you
know. And why were you and Ollach not here to guard me as you claimed you would
be?” Better to attack than defend.

“We were delayed by old Sam. He ordered us to the stables to
work with the horses.”

“The stables! You are not grooms.”

“Ralen had disappeared with Einalem or I’d have refused the
order. As it was, I figured that if I refused, I’d be facing another challenge.
I assumed you would remain
safely
with one of your men, but when Ollach
and I came back, we found everyone in bed and your room empty. Why didn’t you
wait for one of us?”

“I am sorry,” she said.

His pack sat on her table. Across it was draped a robe. A
pilgrim’s robe.

“Lien.” She picked it up. The wool was coarse, scratchy. She
clutched it to her breast and whipped around. “Do not do this.”

He shook his head.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Not yet. Not now,” she whispered.

“I have to make a decision, Ardra.”

“Not this one.” She held out the robe. “Choose to remain as
you are.”

He took the robe and draped it over his pack.

They met in the center of the chamber.

“If you leave me, I will have no one.” She took off his
fur-lined cloak and dropped it on the floor.

He said nothing. She covered her mouth with her fingers.

“Ardra.” His hands fell on her shoulders. She pressed her
face to the beat of his heart.

He tipped up her face, skimmed her mouth and wet cheeks with
his thumbs. “I want to touch you so badly.”

“Lien.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

They rubbed foreheads, cheeks, then lips. She held him
close, drawing in his breath, his taste, reveling in the scratch of his dark
beard. He lifted her and kissed her between her breasts. She held him, her arms
tight around his head.

“Do not go, Lien. Please, do not go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He placed her on the bed.

Her robe fell back, baring her breast and leg, but she did
not close it. Instead, empowered by the look on his face, she reached up and
tugged his belt open. The smooth leather slithered through her hands, heavy and
warm. He shed his tunic.

She could wait no longer. She cast his belt aside, climbed
to her knees, and wrapped her arms around him. His skin was hot wherever the
tracery of knotwork appeared.

With a boldness that suddenly came easy, she ran her hands
over his shoulders, his throat, followed each caress with her mouth. From one
moment to the next, her cold dread faded along with the red lines on his body.

The heat of his hands drew her mouth to his wrists, to lick
across his veins, to press a kiss on the disappearing symbol of ancient
goodness. She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. His eyes were dark
pools of uncertainty. “I want more than kisses, Lien,” she whispered, and
tugged on the laces at his waist.

He watched her hands, breathed the flower scent of her, no
longer fought the flicker of flames stoked by her touch.

She made a small throaty sound when she stripped his pants
down over his hips. When she gathered him into her palms, her mouth was greedy.
He threw back his head, gasping, wanting to be inside her, wanting what was not
going to be—ever.

“Ardra. Ardra. Stop.”

She fell back onto her heels, her amber eyes wide.

He cupped her face and licked her lips, ran a thumb over her
nipple. A guttural, animal sound came from his throat.

She lay back as he came down over her.

She saw all of him, saw the long line of his body from
smooth dark chest to paler waist, to the line of dark hair on his belly that
led to the thatch around his manhood. She palmed his stomach, moved her hand
over him, touched forbidden places, wanting the exploration to last all night.

“Why did you stop me? I want to feast on you,” she said.

“Oh, my God.” He shook his head. “No. No. It’ll all be over
in an instant if you do.”

“Nay, Lien. I want to learn this art of lovemaking.” Her
fingers ran over him, “All of it. Now.”

He groaned and guided her head with his hands. He lost sight
of his protests. Forgot why she shouldn’t. Buried his hands in her hair. Fell
back, conquered.

She caused almost as much pain as pleasure, learning what
made him moan and what didn’t. Every touch of her fingers, lips, teeth, every
lick of her tongue, made him want to scream. It was unbearable and perfect at
the same time.

Then it was over. Exquisite ecstasy twisted through him like
a strike of the snake on his arm. It burst through his system, a sweet venom
pouring out of him. It paralyzed his breath, his mind, his every sense.

“Lien.” She moved up him and straddled his body. Her hair
fell in a tangle, pooled on his chest.

He stared up at her. A pulse beat visibly in her throat.
Flames from a candle flickered in her gold eyes and glossed her wet lips. Wet
from him.

“Did I please you?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Beyond the power of words,” he managed to say. He wrapped
her up and rolled her beneath him, her silky robe caught between them. He
shifted the gossamer fabric off her hip to touch her. Her flesh was hot and
slick, swollen. He imagined her taste, her scent.