The Rose of Shanhasson Page 3

She stopped as close as she dared, close enough to smell him. A barbarian had no right to smell so divine. No unwashed stench wafted from him, but the mouthwatering smell of baking bread and flowers of all things, combined with the raw, earthy scent of horses, leather and warrior. Swallowing the sudden moisture in her mouth, she tried to think of something to say. What did he expect? An introduction, a confession? “My men… ”

  “They are free to go.”

  His low, rough voice thrummed through her body. Trembling, she nodded and the sick knot in the pit of her stomach loosened a bit. Her soldiers would be spared.

  “I’m Rhaekhar, Khul of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan.”

  The barbarian spoke slowly in her language, heavily accented but understandable. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, his fist locked about the knife on his hip. He looked like he was on the verge of tearing someone apart. Hopefully not her. Worried, Shannari waited silently for the rest of his demands.

  “Do you yield to me?”

  She nodded, barely daring to breathe. Her father and Fenton stepped up on either side to face the Khul with her. Grateful for their moral support, she prayed they didn’t interfere with the inevitable sentencing. “What are your surrender terms?”

  “One fist of my warriors will remain in this village to prevent further outlander encroachment on our Plains.”

  Keeping her features smooth, Shannari resisted the urge to turn and question her father. The Madre Desert served as a forbidding barrier to the huge fields of grass that lay beyond the burning sands. To her knowledge, Allandor never intruded on the Plains.

  “Agreed,” King Valche answered.

  The barbarian’s attention whipped to her father. “Who is this man? Why does he agree to the terms your Camp must accept?”

  “I’m King Valche of Allandor, and this is my daughter, Shannari dal’Dainari. She’s Captain of the Guard, Princess of Allandor and Our Blessed Lady’s Last Daughter. Someday she will rule all the Green Lands as High Queen.”

  Standing defeated before the mighty warriors, she felt heat blaze across her cheeks and she struggled not to drop her gaze to the ground. She was embarrassed by the litany of titles, but she understood her father’s motives. He hoped to sway the barbarian toward ransom instead of execution.

  The big Khul stepped closer to her, golden eyes blazing like the sun. He seized her chin in strong fingers, tilting her face upward. “Do they also call you the Rose of Shanhasson?”

  The simple caress of his fingers on her face exploded through her starved body. Belatedly, she regretted her refusal to take another lover after Devin died.

  Too late, she tried to jerk her head free, but he merely tightened his grip. She raised her sword, but he casually knocked her blade aside with his forearm, never looking away from her face.

  In a husky whisper, he repeated, “Are you the Rose of Shanhasson?”

  “No!”

  Leaning down until his mouth hovered above hers, he breathed deeply. Tilting her head slightly, he sniffed at her neck. His long hair trailed across her face, sweet hay and flowers.

  “I know your scent, Shannari. Vulkar help me, I recognize you. You are the Rose I seek.”

  So close, so tempting, his scent and words and threats. Breathing shallow, she brought the sword up between their bodies and pushed the flat of the blade against his chest.

  He didn’t budge.

  “You must be mistaken, Khul Rhaekhar. I’ve never been called the Rose of Shanhasson. In fact, I’ve only been to Shanhasson once in my entire life.”

  Closing his eyes, the barbarian breathed deeply, still close enough to kiss. A smile suddenly broke the guarded expression on his face. The transformation from formidable warlord to seductive danger stole her breath. Full lips curved, baring strong, white teeth which softened the hard planes of his face. “You recognize me, too, or at least your body does.”

  Her pulse raced, her heart thudded, and a hot coil of desire tightened deep in her stomach. Her body remembered the touch and weight of a man in her bed, and it yearned for this man, this barbarian. Fiercely. How did he know? Clenching her teeth with determination, she slid the sword up his body, deliberately digging the point into his neck. “I have no idea of what you speak.”

  Ignoring the deadly weapon at his throat, he smiled and pressed closer. Blood dripped down his bronzed chest. His scent intensified, flooding her senses. His thigh brushed hers, his arm slipped around her waist, and it was all she could do to keep from falling wholeheartedly into the barbarian’s embrace.

  Warningly, she said, “I will kill you.”

  “Wait!” Father Aran pushed his way through the Guardsmen. “She is the Rose of Shanhasson!”

  Bewildered, she turned her head toward the High Priest. The barbarian released her. “How could you?”

  Father Aran knelt before her and took her left hand, kissing the knuckles. “Princess Shannari belongs in Shanhasson with the Rose Crown of Leesha on her head. As the Lady’s Last Daughter, she is truly the Rose of Shanhasson.”

  “You are mine, then, na’lanna. You will come with me.”

  Terror and dismay roiled in her mixed with betrayal. She stared into the High Priest’s face as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  What would become of Allandor and her people if she left them to Theo’s merciless care? What of the darkness Father Aran prophesied for the Green Lands if she failed? Carried off by barbarians to the ends of the earth, she would never be able to wrest the High Throne from Theo. “What have you done?”

  Father Aran pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and then stood, his face lined with guilt and sympathy. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the way has been provided.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, brushing the tears away impatiently. “How— ”

  The High Priest turned to the barbarian and raised her right hand to him. Wrapping his large, calloused palm around her fist, still gripping the sword stained with his blood, Rhaekhar kissed her knuckles, too. She shuddered, swallowing the moan that threatened to escape.

  “Will you let me claim you here and now?”

  From the heated thickness in his voice, she dreaded asking for an explanation. “Claim?”

  “Gregar, what is the proper word?”

  “Marry, wed, consummate, pleasure, mate, copulate, tup,” the dark-haired warrior replied with a wicked smile of delight.

  Her eyes widened at the progressively coarser descriptions of intimate activities. She jerked her hand free and stepped backward, giving herself room to fight. “Absolutely not!”

  “This is an outrage!” Usually the calmest head during the most heated negotiation, King Valche was so angry that a vein thumped on his forehead. He glared at Father Aran. “Our own High Priest hands my daughter over like common chattel to a barbarian, who then demands she wed him on the spot! Are you forgetting the betrothal ceremony in which you promised her hand in marriage to the Crown Prince?”

  Rhaekhar shrugged. “The man is not here to protect what is his. I’m warrior enough to take what I want and keep it. If this Crown Prince wants to challenge me, let him come.”

  “Do you want the might of the Green Lands marching into your Sea of Grass?” King Valche retorted. “If you take the Lady’s Last Daughter into your Plains, the Crown Prince won’t challenge you. He’ll send his armies to murder her!”

  The barbarian’s face darkened and he gripped the knife at his waist. “Anyone who attempts to harm her will suffer my wrath.”

  “Silence!” Shannari yelled. “All of this arguing is pointless. The Lady’s will— ”

  King Valche broke in. “How can you trust the High Priest after he handed you over to the enemy? He could be lying! What if he’s secretly trying to eliminate you as a threat to Theo?”

  “Impossible,” Father Aran retorted. “May the Lady strike me down if I lie!”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Numbness filled her, for which she was truly grateful. So much arguing and political
posturing left her feeling empty and sick. “I’m tired of being moved on the board like a pawn.”

  She looked into the barbarian’s ruggedly handsome face and felt a piercing sorrow. She would never be free, never marry for love nor bear children without plotting to secure a throne and ensure the continuance of a dying royal line. He still dreamed that happiness, while she was surrounded by death. “While I appreciate your proposal, Khul Rhaekhar, I must decline. Although few nobles recall the truth of the legends, I must rule as High Queen or the Green Lands will fall into darkness. It’s my destiny and my duty. I can’t come with you.”

  Rhaekhar’s voice echoed with silky menace. “As leader of these outlanders, you yielded to me.”

  More barbarians fanned out behind and around him. Steel rang as swords were drawn. Cries echoed behind her from the Guardsmen. King Valche cursed and whipped out his own purely ceremonial sword.

  Fear tightened her stomach and she shifted the hilt against her palm, her fingers cold and tingling. Her gaze darted from the big Khul to his guards, the massive warriors behind him, and back to his implacable face.

  Nothing she did could save her father and her soldiers. Either she accepted the barbarian’s demands and left her people to die at Theo’s whim, or she died now with a sword in her hand. Either way, Shadow would swallow the Lady’s Green and Beautiful Lands. What else could she do? “Execute me, Khul, and leave my soldiers alone.”

  “I don’t want your death. I want you. If you won’t come with me willingly, then I’ll take you by force.”

  “Please, Your Majesty,” Father Aran said. “Don’t make this any more difficult than necessary!”

  “Difficult?” Shannari bit off the word. “You truly expect me to go meekly to some foreign land, leaving my country and my throne for which I’ve fought my entire life?”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way.” The High Priest’s tears startled her. “I didn’t See suffering or unhappiness, or I never would have given your hand to him. I See only love.”

  Phantom pain blazed over her scarred heart. She laughed bitterly. “And you didn’t See suffering?”

  “Love is the greatest gift of all,” Rhaekhar said, his manner carefully unthreatening.

  “I know what love is, Khul. It’s simply another way for the Gods to torment us. I will sooner kill you than love you.”

  “You are welcome to try.”

  The smug, condescending look on his face pushed her over the edge. Fury raged to life, blazing away the numbing fear holding her captive. With a roar, she swung the sword at his head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  With bared teeth and eyes glittering with tears, she swung the sword directly at Rhaekhar’s head with enough force to slice him nigh in half. Gliding in front of him, Varne unsheathed his rahke, while Gregar caught her sword on his ivory blade and swung her blow wide.

  Rhaekhar didn’t even flinch. The Blood would die before allowing another to draw his blood. Unless he wished it, of course.

  Gregar laughed. “Khul, I believe she wishes to challenge you once more.”

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, staring Rhaekhar in the eye. Beneath her courageous demeanor, though, her scent trembled. Despite her confident stance, she was as fragile as delicate hand-blown glass. One wrong move might shatter her into a million irretrievable pieces.

  She’d had her fill of entreaties and arguing. Perhaps some physical action would put her more at ease with him. “Aye, I accept her challenge. I shall demand a kiss this time.”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her lush scent ripened, heating with physical attraction. Surging desire blazed through his body and joy swept away his concern. She desired him. She couldn’t hide such a thing from him, not when she was na’lanna.

  “No kissing!”

  “Then you must win this challenge. Let us come to an agreement on terms. I shall lead my warriors back to the Plains empty handed if you draw my blood first. Otherwise, you will come with me this very day of your own accord, but I shall not make love to you until you ask.”

  She made a rude noise that did Gregar justice. The aforementioned Blood grinned with approval. “You’ll wait a very long time then.”

  Rhaekhar gave her a deliberately smoldering smile. “If I disarm you, I win a kiss. Agreed?”

  “And if I defeat you?”

  “You may kill me if you so desire.”

  “What about them?” Shannari asked, inclining her head toward the Blood. “I don’t believe they’ll simply let me walk away after I cut out your heart.”

  This time Gregar snorted. “You’re welcome to try.”

  “You’re next,” she retorted.

  The trickster Blood grinned, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

  Groaning, Rhaekhar shook his head. She had no idea what would happen if she made a direct challenge to the Blood, especially Gregar.

  “Khul, may I ask for a kiss as well?”

  Shannari spluttered, and this time even Varne laughed out loud.

  Great Vulkar, she was beautiful. Her brilliant eyes sparkled like jewels, her color high and full of fire. Rhaekhar decided he would rile her as often as possible. “I’m the only warrior who will be kissed this day.”

  “Only if you win.” She pointed her sword at Gregar. “Back off.”

  The Blood took a step closer, pressing the sword tip into his body. Her jaw tightened with determination and she pushed a little harder, puncturing his chest. Smiling with anticipation, Gregar pushed back. A little closer, a little more steel pressing into his body.

  She shifted her grip on the hilt, fully prepared to skewer him. A coldness settled on her features that told Rhaekhar she’d killed before and often. Very impressive. He liked a hint of danger in a woman.

  Evidently, so did Gregar. “Go ahead,” he taunted, his low voice echoing with amusement and his trademark wickedness. Shannari shivered and her eyes widened. “Run me through. I shall greatly enjoy it.”

  Her gaze flickered to the smaller wound she dealt to Rhaekhar’s neck earlier. “Are you all crazy?”

  “Gregar is… special. He used to be a Death Rider.” At the blank look on her face, Rhaekhar added, “An assassin. Death Riders delight in sacrificing blood to the Great Wind Stallion. Blood sacrifice is a very great honor among us.”

  She jerked her sword away. Gregar wiped his hand across his chest and licked the blood from his fingers. “Would you like a taste?”

  A turbulent rush of unease flooded the fledgling na’lanna bond. “Blessed Lady!”

  “Let the challenge begin,” Rhaekhar said hurriedly. Pale and trembling, she looked like she might bolt. He slipped his sheathed sword over his head, handed the weapon to Varne for safekeeping, and unsheathed his rahke.

  “Is that your choice of weapons?” Shannari asked doubtfully. “A knife against my sword?”

  “Aye. Are you ready?”

  She spared a wary glance at the Blood. Laughing, Gregar held up his hands and backed away to join Varne several paces behind Rhaekhar. Her people backed away as well, forming a makeshift ring for their challenge.

  She took a deep, calming breath and closed her eyes.

  Goose bumps raced down Rhaekhar’s arms as if he’d jumped headfirst into icy water. When she opened her eyes, he swore they were changed, luminescent, like the full moon on the Silver Lake at the foot of Vulkar’s Mountain.

  She advanced and he had no time to contemplate further. Curious to see exactly how much skill she possessed, he made no attempt to disarm her. She swung the sword in a measured, controlled attack, carefully offensive without leaving herself vulnerable. He met each stroke as gently as possible, sparing her the full brunt of his considerable strength.

  Her mouth tightened and she shot him a glare of indignation. She possessed a warrior’s sense of honor, which he had just gravely insulted. At his unapologetic shrug, she quickened her attack, forcing him to step lively a few times to avoid her sword.

  Well pleased with her skil
l, he grinned widely. He didn’t know a single Sha’Kae al’Dan woman who would raise a sword against a warrior, let alone hold her own.

  She fought him fearlessly, but the effort cost her, especially after the earlier kae’don. Sweat streaked her face and she breathed heavily. Her strokes slowed and her arm trembled each time he countered her less graceful swings.

  He pressed her, trying to sneak his rahke beneath her defenses. A little blood must be shed to honor her courage. She blocked his first strike, grunting with effort, and stumbled sideways. Slipping his rahke above her drooping sword, he tenderly placed a shallow cut at the base of her neck.

  She leaped backward and touched a finger to the wound. Blood smeared her skin, mesmerizing him. For a moment, he was a lad once more, standing in the heart of the Mountain over a lake of fire.

  Draped in shadows, a single Rose dripped blood onto a stone floor.

  Her scent filled his heart, a rich complex aroma of sultry summer nights and spicy sweet flowers. His mouth watered and he longed to seal their na’lanna bond, binding her to him forever.

  Burning pain dissolved the vision. He shifted sideways, and her sword slid across his abdomen, leaving a shallow, long cut instead of spilling his intestines. His heart sang with pride. What a strong, proud warrior woman he had found. She would kill him, taking advantage of his momentary weakness to eliminate her sworn enemy without hesitation or guilt.

  Turning to keep him fully in her sights, she stared at the wound she gave him. Ashen, she opened her mouth as if she might apologize and then shook her head. Perhaps she wouldn’t kill him without guilt after all. The thought gave him hope that she could come to love him despite their differences.

  Renewing her determination, she tightened her grip on the sword and shifted to a defensive stance. Without warning, he charged toward her. She whirled to avoid his attack. Instead of striking with his rahke, he grabbed her from behind. Knocking the sword out of her hand, he wrapped his arm around her neck and hauled her tight against him.

  Wild with terror, she clawed at his forearm about her throat. He lifted her off her feet in an effort to calm her struggles. Flailing, she let loose a piercing wail of mindless panic that sliced his heart in two.