Warprize (15 page)

Marcus returned with a heavy tray and started the dishes to rattling as he placed them on the table. “No food.” He transferred dishes at a rate that made me fear for my life. “Didn’t rest.” He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. “Rolled in muck pits, that she did.” That one eye was focused on me again. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair.

I sat.

“Hands.”

I held them out, and Marcus poured the water over them, muttering something that did not sound like a prayer.

“Eat.” He crossed his arms.

“Shouldn’t I wait for…” My stomach chose that moment to express its interest in the food. At the sound, Marcus’ sole eye tapered its focus and drilled into me.

“Eat.”

I ate.

As soon as my mouth was full, Marcus started to explain, in detail, the meaning of the words ‘food’ and ‘rest’. I decided that the wisest choice was to keep nodding and eating.

Finally, Keir emerged from the privy room. “Marcus.”

Marcus stopped and looked over.

“Enough.”

Marcus clamped his mouth tight, poured the water over Keir’s hands, then stomped off, muttering.

The food in my mouth turned to straw. I managed to swallow, but it was a struggle. I’d no idea what to say, how to act, suddenly very aware of the bed behind me. I worried my lip, kept my face down, and focused on the table.

The Warlord was in no hurry. He helped himself to the food and started eating. After a bit, I decided that it looked odd, to sit without eating or talking, so I started back up as well, careful to take small bites.

“It was my fault.”

I stopped chewing when he spoke. With a mouthful of food, I simply raised my eyebrows.

“The tents. I knew that our warrior-priest had been killed in one of the battles. I meant to assign someone else to the wounded, but Simus went missing and in my rush, I forgot.” He looked down and toyed with his food. “I apologized to the men.”

I swallowed hard at the last and stared at him in disbelief.

Marcus chose that moment to come back into the tent, a wineskin and two goblets in hand. As he poured, he eyed us both. “Much good the food does, sitting on the table. Eat.” He set the goblets down on the table, slung the wineskin on the back of Keir’s chair, and cuffed Keir lightly on the head. “You as well, oh mighty one.” Then he stomped off, still muttering to himself. I held my breath at his nerve. Keir smiled a wry smile, and reached for the meat.

Uneasy, I kept eating. Thankfully, Keir seemed more focused on his food than on me. I took another bite, determined to stay quiet, but something was bothering me. After a sip of kavage, I risked a question. “What of the other healers?” I asked. “Why didn’t they just do what needed to be done?”

Keir shrugged. “There are no others.”

“What?” I dropped my bread. “An army of this size, and you have no other healers? No assistants or apprentices?”

Keir pulled some bread from the loaf. “Every man in this army is a warrior. There are no healers. The men pick up some basic knowledge on campaign. Men assigned to the wounded are on punishment detail.” He shrugged. “So it has always been.”

“That’s insane! With an army this size? What about wounds like Simus’s?”

“Men die from them.” His face was shadowed. “Either the wound kills them, or they are granted mercy.”

I stopped, appalled to see his face full of pain. Someone this man had cared for had died that way.

Keir turned his head. “Marcus is coming.”

I started shoveling food into my face. Marcus walked in and surveyed the table with a frown. He grunted, apparently satisfied and walked back out. As soon as I figured it was safe, I spoke. “That ends now.” I glared at him. “That is what I do, part of what I am, and I am good at it.”

He looked at me. “You would do this? Would ask to do this?”

I faltered and dropped my eyes. A little late to be remembering my place, but I’d be damned before I let those men be neglected. “I would.” I risked a glance up, trying to read that expression, with no success. But hope grew when he nodded slowly. “You’ll let me?”

He gave me a long look. “Yes. It would strengthen the peace, after the deaths.”

“Deaths?” I asked, then remembered. “The horses?”

“Slain with bolts from crossbows. A weapon only Xyians use.”

“You must get word to Xymund. He will find the—”

His look was dark. “What if he has ordered these attacks?”

“Xymund would not do that. He has given his oath, he has given—” I stopped, not wanting to think about that aspect. “He would not do that.” Yet deep within I remembered the hatred in his voice when he talked to Warren about the horses of the Firelanders.

Keir seemed skeptical, and turned his attention to his plate. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. We ate in silence, and I wondered how far I could push. Finally, I took a drink of wine. “I will need supplies for the tent.”

“Supplies?” He pushed his plate back with his thumb and just looked at me. I looked down at my plate and found it empty, as were the other dishes. Guess I was fairly hungry after all.

Marcus bustled in and cleared the dishes, leaving the skin and the goblets. He stood with a tray in hand and looked at me.

“Warprize.”

I looked up, surprised.

He stared at me, no trace of his former anger, his voice calm. “I have heard of your actions this afternoon. That was well done.” Then he scowled. “But next time I will truly give you the sharp edge of my tongue, you don’t follow my direction. Yes?” He gave Keir a nod and bid us both good night.

I looked at Keir. He was leaning back in his chair, contemplating his goblet. I took another sip of mine. It was rich and fruity on my tongue.

Keir stirred. “Supplies? What do you need?”

“Herbs and the like. I need medicines, especially willow bark.”

“Willow? What is that?” he asked, puzzled.

I opened my mouth, shifting on my seat. The rough wood of the stump caught at my trous, and I gasped, realizing what I was sitting on. I stood up, threatening to over turn the table, and knelt by my stool. Crowing in delight, I started to peel the bark off the wood. They’d cut the blocks from willow.

“Warprize?” Keir leaned forward to see what I was doing.

I laughed, and tore at the wood, stripping the drying bark off the block. I turned and held it up. “Willow bark!”

He frowned, not understanding.

“I can brew a medicine from this. It’s called fever’s foe.” I shook my head. “I’ve been sitting on it all this time and…” I piled the bark on the table.

Keir laughed. I looked over and met his steady appraisal. “You are passionate about your trade.” He cocked his head. “Your profession?”

I nodded.

He stood and stretched, taking his time. It was a treat to my eyes. Then he leaned over me, and I was caught by bright blue eyes.

“Let’s explore what other passions you may have.” With that he swept me up and over onto the bed.

I closed my eyes and clutched for a handhold as I was lowered to the furs. It had finally come, I wasn’t ready, and yet…

I’d known my duty since I was a girl. I’d thought perhaps, at some point, that I’d lie with a man, one chosen for me by my father, a man bound to me by sacred oaths in a ceremony performed in the throne room of the castle. I’d thought my husband would honor and respect me, and maybe even come to care for me in time. But those dreams had faded over the years, since Xymund had been in no hurry to give me in marriage.

Now the hands on my body were the hands of a master, and there were no promises or bonds between us. No ceremony, no oaths, no idea of what my future held. I’d been given at the command of my king and I had obeyed, but my heart cried out for all the lost possibilities. Respect. Honor.

Love.

Just like the night before, Keir’s hand pressed against my chest, over my heart. Its warmth blazed through my shirt, and drove all rational thought from my mind. The bed shifted as he lay down next to me, on his side, slightly pressing against my body. I drew in a deep breath, but when nothing else happened, I cracked open my eyes.

He’d moved forward, his face close to mine. Startled, I turned my face away ever so slightly, embarrassed by the intimacy. He leaned in and nuzzled my ear. As skin touched skin, I gasped at the contact. Undaunted, he placed a gentle kiss at the edge of my jaw. His warm breath tickled my cheek. He leaned in farther, and this time licked the same spot on my jaw, a light flicker of the tongue. I squirmed. His hand pressed me down slightly, as if to command my stillness. I managed to stop moving, but my breath was coming faster than normal. There were feelings as well, a kind of ache. A kind of longing.

I wanted to say something at that point, but he moved like a large cat, looming over me. His elbows were on either side, his legs pinning mine. I barely had time to note the look in his eyes before he captured my mouth with his.

I was swept away, by lips that tantalized and teased and took exactly what they wanted. He didn’t just press lips together, he was using it all, mouth, tongue, and teeth. After a bit, he backed off to allow me to breathe. He didn’t retreat, just pressed soft, small kisses at the corners of my lips as I desperately pulled air in.

His face held a satisfied look. One hand reached up to stroke my face gently. Keir moved his hand, running his fingers through my hair, spreading it out over the fur. His eyes flared with blue light.

“Want to know the best part of being a warlord?” came a hoarse whisper.

I bit my lip, puzzled by the question.

Keir’s mouth curled up slowly into a smile. “I always get what I want.”

His lips came down on mine, demanding, coaxing, then taking. Again and again, over and over, he brought me to the brink of something ‘til I was unsure of where he ended and I began. At some point, I would be overwhelmed by it all, and a trace of fear would touch me. Each time, he would back off, calm me down with soft sounds and touches. Letting me take in air.

Then he would proceed to do it all over again.

I wanted more. My arms had been pinned down, and now I struggled to bring them up to enclose him, touch him. He chuckled, then moved slightly to give me room. My upper arm came in contact with Keir’s hand, and I hissed slightly at the touch.

Keir froze, and moved back. “What’s wrong?” He frowned. “I hurt you?”

I shook my head, confused by the comment. It was hard to think, since my body seemed to have other concerns. Keir was not convinced. He reached for my shirt and eased it open and down my arm.

“Who has done this?” Keir’s voice was a growl.

I was startled. The man staring at me was one I had not seen before, his eyes cold, his face hard. I looked down, horrified to see bruises on my upper arm. Clearly, the fingerprints of a large hand, probably the woman warrior who had grabbed me.

“I will kill the one who has hurt you.” Keir jumped from the bed and strode to the tent entrance. “Marcus.” His voice whipped out. He started pacing in the space available.

“I—” I sat up and struggled to cover myself with the shirt. “It’s nothing…”

Keir turned, his eyes like blue ice, and I froze. Dearest Goddess, he was serious. His eyes were filled with rage.