Warlord (16 page)

“I don’t know about your palm,” she replied.

“Continue,” Arystan directed.

Sara told of her struggle with Rainura, of the fight over the sword, and how Rainura had died when she tried a second time to kill Arystan with his own sword. She ended with Sabalak entering the tent.

Tebur looked thoughtful.

Sabalak scowled, looking back over his shoulder at Arystan. “You must admit, Arystan.

It looked damning when we entered. My only thought was to protect you. She could easily have been trying to kill you.”

Arystan walked forward and placed his hand on Sabalak’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. The huge man relaxed.

He removed his hand and continued pacing. Then Arystan stopped. He had one more question for Sara. “Why didn’t you let Rainura kill me?” he asked softly.

“Because . . . because I had to stop her,” she answered.

Arystan swallowed. “You risked your own life. Why? Why did you do that to stop her?”

“Because I . . . I –” Sara’s eyes started to shift.

“She’s coming out of it, Arystan,” said Tebur quietly.

“Why?” Arystan pressed, his voice insistent.

Sara’s eyes shifted to his abruptly. “Because I . . . I –” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. What she felt. Why she had really stopped Rainura. Then it dawned on her. If she couldn’t bring herself to say something, she must be free from the concoction. And she hadn’t died. She looked down at herself, at her hands in her lap, her living body, almost in disbelief. Then she swallowed nervously and looked up, her eyes shifting between the three men. She didn’t remember what she had said while under the influence of the herbs.

Tebur rose, looking at her over his hawkish nose. “You are cleared, Sara,” he said shortly. Then he walked to Arystan and gripped his shoulder hard as he brought his mouth to Arystan’s ear. “We will have food sent in for you. After that, we will make sure you are not disturbed.”

“Come, brother,” he said to Sabalak, who rose and followed Tebur out of the tent.

Arystan and Sara ate in silence much of the meal. The food was good, Tebur had seen to that, but both were lost in their own thoughts.

Arystan, for his part, was consumed by two things. The first was guilt. Sara had almost been killed because she had tried to protect both his life and her own. Thank the spirits he had been alert enough to stay her execution. But then, he left her in confinement, letting her suffer a torture meant only for hardened soldiers when she had done nothing but try to save him. Would she forgive him?

He glanced up at her furtively. He thought her beautiful, even though she was not of his race, her flowing chestnut hair, lake-blue eyes, that body, firm in some places, but curved and soft in all the right ones. She had been confined in the leather bra and skirt she had worn running yesterday. They had given her a long dress to replace it. It had thin fur straps that ran over her shoulders and the neckline dipped low. Very low indeed. He winced as he took in the bruise on the left side of her face. She had been tackled by Sabalak. He supposed it could have been worse. Sabalak was a massively powerful warrior. He could have killed Sara with one blow alone and by his assessment of the situation at the time, he would have been well within rights to do so. Sabalak was loyal and fierce and Arystan loved him like a brother, but he often acted before he thought.

Yes, he was very lucky Sabalak had not killed Sara on the spot.

Sara’s heart was full, but for a different reason. She already understood why things happened as they did. She knew Tebur and Sabalak loved Arystan. As far as she could tell, all of the men in the camp did. He was a wise, brave and charismatic leader. She knew it had looked very bad when Sabalak entered and saw her covered in blood, holding Arystan’s sword, Rainura dead beside her and Arystan looking nearly so. What else could he have thought?

She also understood why she had been left alone in the tiny enclosure until today. It had not been pleasant, but still, what else could have been done? The herbs had taken time to prepare and Arystan could show her no mercy before his warriors. It must have taken much for him to resist Tebur and Sabalak. She knew they would have counseled him against keeping her alive, even for one day.

She felt grateful to Arystan for sparing her. When he awoke, he too must have thought she had killed Rainura and attacked him. She wondered why he had ordered her execution be stayed. That was what most consumed her. That, along with why she had saved Arystan in the first place. She remembered what he had asked her when she was coming out from under the influence of the herbs. She had tried hard not to respond. She knew why she had done it, but refused to admit it, not to Arystan, not even to herself.

Arystan was a warlord, not a man given to affairs of the heart. Those things had no place and would make no sense in his life. She would not delude herself. She was a pleasant diversion to him, nothing more. That was, of course, why he had spared her, wasn’t it?

Simply for his pleasure?

Sara glanced surreptitiously at Arystan. A jagged gash ran down the side of his throat.

She had watched it bleed, a lot, but the wound must have been superficial. It looked as if it would heal soon. His face and neck were covered with several light bruises where she and Rainura must have kicked him. She eyed his palm. There was a jagged line down the center of it also. She had no idea what that was about.

Arystan pushed his plate away and poured some wine from the flagon on the table into two cups. He set one cup in front of Sara although she had hardly touched her food and wrapped both of his hands around the other. He looked at her until she felt his gaze and turned her blue eyes to his black ones.

“You’ve hardly touched your food. You must be hungry. Why don’t you eat?” Arystan said gruffly. He knew Sara was hungry because he had withheld food from her for nearly two days.

She smiled at him and ate a bit more. “I’m getting enough,” she said.

He grunted and took a long drink of wine, peering into the cup. Then, he looked back up at Sara and drained it. He poured himself another cup and took a long drink, setting it back down and fidgeting with it a bit. Finally, he said, “Sara –”

She looked over at him. He drained his cup again, studying its empty bottom, and then said a bit hoarsely, “I – I’m sorry.” It was a very difficult thing for him to say. In fact, Arystan could not ever remember apologizing to anyone. Ever.

“Arystan,” Sara said softly, pushing her plate to the side and resting her hand on his sinewed arm. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, except for the fact that any of this happened in the first place.” Her heart clutched. “I’m just so relieved that you’re all right.” She gently caressed his arm.

He watched her fingers move against him. “Yes, but you came very close to being killed.

By my own hand.”

“Arystan, you could not have done anything differently. You saved my life. I am grateful.”

“How grateful?” he asked suddenly, looking up, heat in his black eyes.

She returned his gaze. “I assure you, I will show you how grateful,” she replied, promise in her voice. The way he was staring at her set off a flurry of butterflies in her belly.

Then Arystan sobered, his thoughts turning to the second thing on his mind.

“There is something I want you to know,” he said. “You are not indebted to me. It is I who am indebted to you. You are the one who truly saved my life. Not only were you almost killed by my chieftains, you came even closer to death when you attacked Rainura to save me.” He suddenly grabbed her wrist, flipped it over on the table and ran his fingers up and down her palm. She sighed at the sensation. “Never has a woman done something like that for me before. Never did I think one would. Why, Sara?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Rainura had the knife raised in her hand. It all happened so fast. I – I didn’t really have to time to think.”

He studied her. “No, I don’t think that is true. You faced two blades for me – not only Rainura’s knife, but also, my sword. You could have run at anytime. Rainura wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t have chased you. And if you had allowed me to die, you could have left Rainura to face Sabalak’s wrath. You would have been free of me, free of this camp.”

Arystan looked down at Sara’s palm again, caressing it gently, entwining his fingers with hers. “You came here as a prisoner, Sara. Do you think you have been free to leave? Do you think you are free to leave now?” His eyes flicked up to hers.

Sara’s eyes began to glisten. She had wondered this herself, but didn’t really want to know. In truth, she didn’t want to face the inevitable question of whether she wanted to leave. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, lowering her eyes, a single tear escaping down her cheek.

Arystan reached across the table and held her chin, forcing it up so that she looked at him. “I tell you, Sara, you are free to leave. You may walk out the front gates of my encampment. I will provide you with a horse, provisions, and anything else you ask of me, within reason. No one will stop you or harm you. You have my word. You may leave, now.” His heart was heavy as he laid this before her. He meant it and would keep his word, but . . . would she go?

Sara looked stunned. It was true – she had come here as a prisoner. And although there was much she did not know about herself, about her past, her nature at least was clear to her. She hated feeling as if she was held captive. And Arystan was all but helping her fulfill that need to be released from any sense that she was forced to stay here. But she wasn’t a prisoner, at least not now. Arystan had just said so. She hadn’t really known until now whether he would have let her go freely, but he had just made it clear that it was her choice whether or not to stay. To stay with him? Is that what he was asking her to decide?

She tilted her head into his hand which was still cupping her jaw and sighed, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to go, Arystan. I want to stay here,” she said softly. She opened her eyes and looked into his black ones. “With you.”

He made a sound in his throat, as if he was choking back a growl, and she saw his shoulders, rising and falling, his breathing deepening in a strange way. And then he was on her in what seemed like a blur and had lifted her from the bench into the air, his hands under her thighs holding her against him, her soft dress falling over his arms. He crushed his lips to hers with such ferocity and intensity that it made Sara dizzy, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders for support, feeling his hard muscles ripple beneath his beautiful, dark skin.

Arystan walked quickly to the bed, knocking aside one of the benches as he did so, and then paused, still holding Sara in his arms, their bodies pressed together. His eyes seemed even blacker, darkened with lust as they were, and he took her lips in his again, rolling his tongue sensuously in her mouth, sucking and pulling on her lips, relishing the feel of her hot mouth as he scoured it, wrapping his tongue around hers, savoring the woman who he had given freedom and who had chosen to spend her freedom with him.

He broke the kiss, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “No woman has ever risked her life for me. No woman has done for me what you did, Sara,” he said hoarsely.

She swallowed at the emotion in his voice. He let her fall to the bed, her body bouncing a bit as he followed her down, keeping his body above hers, his weight on his elbows.

He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her again, their tongues entwining as he drank of her sweetness, her strength, her courage.

Then Arystan let out a real growl and Sara’s eyes flew open. “Time to get you out of this dress, woman.”

It fastened in the back, but Arystan impatiently reached under Sara’s body, lifting her, and simply ripping it from her neck to waist, pulling it from her torso and then sliding it over her legs. His eyes scoured her body, drinking in her nakedness, her soft, rounded breasts, the darkened areolas and hardened nipples, her taut belly, flared hips, creamy thighs, and the chestnut curl leading to the greatest delicacy of all. Then he pressed his body to hers, kissing her again thoroughly, his lips passionate against hers, tracing, nibbling and thrusting with his tongue as he possessed her, claimed her, loving the feel of her full breasts pressed hard against his torso, their flesh connecting, the contact sublime, electrifying, intense.

Suddenly Sara pushed up at Arystan. He felt her struggle beneath him and he frowned, lifting up from her slightly. She rolled from underneath him and sat up. He sat up also, turning to face her, his expression dark. What was she doing? She pressed her hands to his chest and pushed and he let himself fall back against the furs. Then she straddled him, reaching under his hips and unfastening his loincloth, bringing her hands suggestively over his muscled buttocks as she removed it. His cock immediately sprang forth in all its glory, dark and pulsing, the head thick and engorged, fluid leaking from the tip.

Sara flung the cloth across the room and looked down at his cock, a slow smile spreading across her face. She locked her eyes to his. “Now, Arystan, I will show you how grateful I really am,” she said, lowering her mouth.

“Aarrghh,” Arystan burbled as Sara bent to his cock, wrapping her lips around it, sliding her hot, wet mouth up and down his shaft several times, sucking hard as she pulled back, the head emerging from her soft lips with an audible pop.

Arystan raised his head slightly, his breathing ragged, staring at her torpidly as Sara’s blue eyes glittered up at him hotly.

“I know what you did for me, Arystan,” she said, running her tongue around the fluted head, pleasure pulsing, throbbing, thrumming through him as Sara continued to bathe and caress the tip of his cock with her smooth muscle. He groaned. The foreskin was pulled back and the head of his cock was dark, full of blood coursing through it as if it had a life all of its own.