The Rose of Shanhasson Page 5

  For such a massive, powerful man, he moved with a predatory grace that stole her breath. Heat flared between her legs, every muscle tightening. Her hands itched to explore that muscular body to see if his skin was as soft as it looked.

  Averting her gaze from temptation, she noted the two other barbarians always close to Rhaekhar. Silent and unobtrusive, they sat on the floor against the wall near the door. The darker-headed barbarian flashed a smile at her but said nothing.

  “There’s food on the table.”

  Startled, she glanced back at Rhaekhar. He continued his bath, his back to her. Her stomach growled loudly, gnawing with hunger. When was the last time she ate?

  The covered platters on the table beckoned. Steam rose invitingly from the mugs. She edged toward the side of the bed, the sword still in her hand. Would he let her remain armed in his presence? She certainly wouldn’t if she were the victor.

  Hesitating, she wished she were dressed more satisfactorily. A clean linen shirt and pantalettes were as far as she’d dressed before weariness had swept her away. He likely wouldn’t let her keep her clothing for long anyway. The heat in his gaze was as unmistakable as the bulge beneath the cloth he wore about his hips had been when he’d kissed her earlier.

  Her heart pounded heavily. Trembling, she squeezed her thighs together, trying to still the growing fire. She couldn’t pretend disinterest in him, not when everything about him attracted her. Perhaps a quick, hard session with him would ease this insane attraction.

  He picked up a towel, its size thoroughly inadequate for his large body. Still with his back to her, he bent at the waist and dried his legs. “Did you sleep well?”

  Awed, she stared at his ass, her mouth falling open. Dear sweet Lady above, why did she keep looking at him? She wasn’t made of iron. In fact, she felt like a puddle of melted butter.

  The smart-mouthed guard snickered under his breath. Embarrassed, she jerked her gaze away from the tantalizing view. Determined to continue her charade of indifference, she slipped out of bed and walked to the table with as much grace and arrogance as she could muster. Not another peep came from the shadows.

  The steaming cup’s aroma confirmed her hopes. She sat down and drew the mug to her, cuddling the warm stoneware in her hands. Thank the Lady, somebody in the kitchens remembered her love for caffe. She would reward them with a queen’s ransom if she ever returned here alive and free.

  Rhaekhar padded about the room, she supposed still nude, so she concentrated intently on the lovely hot brew in her cup and a thick slice of nutty brown bread she ate so quickly she hardly tasted it. Lady, she was hungry. Cheese and meat on another slice barely made a dent in her appetite.

  Considering the small amount of food left, she hesitated. The barbarian might not have eaten yet.

  He came up behind her and touched her shoulder. “Go ahead, Shannari. I ate while you slept.”

  Panic closed her throat. She stiffened, half drawing the sword free. Why must he continue threatening her from her blind spot?

  The barbarian did nothing further to alarm her. His touch was casual, not intimate. “I can feel your hunger, na’lanna. Eat your fill.”

  Re-sheathing the sword, she left it in her lap and helped herself to another slice of bread. “How is that possible?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Touching her braid, he said, “Your hair is still damp.”

  She shrugged, making her way through another stack of meat and cheese. Her hair was long, and thick enough that it took forever to dry.

  He untied the end of the braid and began unraveling it. She froze, her mouth full.

  “Come sit before the fire to dry your hair.”

  She swallowed the food in a gulp and reached for her drink to wash it down. “It’s much too long to leave loose. It will tangle into an utter mess.”

  Picking up her mug, he walked over to the glowing coals in the fireplace. “I shall brush it for you. Come.”

  She followed, watching him warily. At least he was dressed, if the small cloth about his hips could be called clothing. It was entirely too small in her opinion, especially now that she had a glimpse of what hid beneath.

  He sat on the thick woolen rug before the fire. When she hesitated, he reached up and took her hand, drawing her down in front of him. She couldn’t bear sitting there with her back to him, a possible threat no matter how carefully he pretended otherwise, so she turned sideways as she sat.

  “You don’t need a sword to protect yourself from me.”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d brought it with her. “My mother was killed by an assassin when I was only three. I’ve carried some kind of weapon ever since.”

  “Even to sleep?”

  “Most especially to sleep.” Rage and hurt made her voice shrill. She lightened her tone. “Assassins prefer to strike when you’re least prepared and the most vulnerable.”

  He returned to his work, gently unraveling her hair from the braid. It took him a while. Never cut her entire life, her hair reached the back of her thighs when loose. He worked silently, his fingers firm, his manner unthreatening. She relaxed enough to sip from her mug.

  Spreading her hair out like a cloak about her shoulders, he picked up the brush. He started at the ends with small strokes, moving to longer, more sure strokes when her hair was free of tangles. Smoothing his free hand through her hair with each stroke, not once did he jerk her head. She should pray her maid learned the same technique.

  “I suppose you don’t have Blood here to guard you.”

  What an interesting name for guards. “Oh, I’ve grown up with guards all around me. But none ever come into my room where I sleep. They certainly can’t keep someone from poisoning my drink.”

  She didn’t turn her head, but she sensed his sudden intensity. His fingers closed about hers on the cup and he lifted the drink to his mouth. He sniffed it suspiciously. “It certainly smells vile.”

  She drew her mug free and held it closer to her chest protectively. “Caffe is my favorite drink.”

  “If you say so.” He continued brushing her hair. “The Blood are more than my guards. They swore their lives to me. If you were to unsheathe your sword in a threatening manner, one of them would reach you and prevent you from harming me. If he could not disarm you, he would put his body in the way of your sword. He would die if need be to keep me safe.”

  Scoffing, she shook her head and set the mug aside to lay her hand on the sword hilt. The two Blood still sat on the opposite side of the room. She could plunge the sword in his stomach before they—

  A hand closed about hers on the sword. “Do you think so?”

  She flinched back from the formidable Blood. Silent as a ghost, he had come to protect his Khul impossibly fast.

  “This is Varne, my nearest Blood.”

  A cold heavy weight pressed against her shoulders, sucking the warmth out of her. Shivering, she asked, “Nearest?”

  “He is the last line of defense, the nearest to me at all times. This one is Gregar, my shadowed Blood who used to be a Death Rider.”

  So cold. She opened her mouth to ask where he was, her teeth chattering harder. A blade touched her neck and she froze. Blessed Lady, the Blood was close enough to hold a knife to her throat while she sat here, oblivious until he touched her with steel. As always when threatened from her blind spot, terror screamed through her body. Muscles bunched, her fingers locking on the hilt, her heart thundering in her ribcage. Her fear only intensified the sense of bone-chilling cold rolling off the Blood.

  Varne removed his hand from hers and stood at Rhaekhar’s side protectively. Automatically, she started to draw the sword. Helpless with a knife at her throat, she couldn’t just sit here and—

  The wickedly sharp blade lifted her chin higher and the sudden press of bare flesh against her back scalded her. The Blood whispered against her ear. “Shall I draw a bit more of your sweet blood for Khul?”

  * * * *

  Gregar hovered against her back,
barely visible in thick, black shadows. As a Death Rider, he could wrap the cold Shadow of Death about himself and disappear. He could slit Shannari’s throat before she even knew he was there, and the knowledge shook her to the core. Silently, Rhaekhar waited for her to look to him for assistance.

  The Blood whispered something to her too low for him to hear. Her jaw clenched and she stiffened, her fingers tight on the sword’s hilt. Shadows draped across her shoulders, darkening her face.

  Rhaekhar felt a sudden and irrational urge to drag her away from the Blood. In his heart he knew the Blood would never hurt her, but he couldn’t ease the trepidation. The shadows wanted to suck her down and drown her in a sea of blood and agony.

  Gregar raised his head, his dark eyes glittering like black ice in the shadows. At his familiar smirk, Rhaekhar loosened the tension straining his shoulders.

  “Or perhaps I shall draw Khul’s blood for you.”

  Her gaze leaped to Rhaekhar’s face, her eyes wide with fear and reluctant desire. The surge of hunger through their na’lanna bond at the thought of tasting his blood very nearly sent him plunging over the cliff into raging, uncontrollable lust. Why did she fear his disgust when he would like nothing better than to give his blood to her?

  “Leave us,” he ordered, his voice thick and heavy to his own ears.

  Gregar drew his rahke up her neck, trailing the blade across her cheek in an odd, dangerous caress, but he stood and backed away.

  Varne didn’t move. Using the silent hand language of the Blood, he signed, I do not trust her.

  Na’lanna must be trusted.

  Not with your life.

  Rhaekhar sighed. His word might be law on the Plains, but the Blood protected him as they chose. A direct order wouldn’t please his nearest Blood at all, and he most likely wouldn’t heed it, either.

  “Do you think I’ll try to kill him?” Shannari’s voice quivered from the interaction with Gregar, but otherwise she faced Varne confidently. “I surrendered to him. I may not like it— in fact, I hate it— but my honor dictates that I do as he commands or it is forfeit.”

  Varne shrugged, still refusing to leave. “Women have no honor.”

  “If it weren’t for my honor, I would gut you for such a ridiculous statement.” Her lips tightened, her beautiful eyes flashing, her chin inching up even higher. Such pride. “Not all men have honor, either. I may not understand your code of conduct yet, but when I give my word I don’t break it. If your Khul tries to hurt me or force me to do something that violates my beliefs, I will fight him with formal warning according to your custom. May Leesha strike me down if I lie.”

  Pride swelled in Rhaekhar’s heart until his chest ached. “Challenge me as you wish, na’lanna. I shall meet you with pride and honor.”

  She met his gaze, her eyes darkening, her lips softening. Her lush scent filled the room with smoldering flowers. Her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip, and his stomach clenched so hard a small groan escaped.

  He had best get rid of the Blood without delay. He didn’t know all he needed to understand at this time, but he knew he would have a better chance of tasting that sweet mouth again if they were alone. “Leave us, Varne, but remain close. If my woman gets too unruly, I shall beg your help.”

  Gregar bent over laughing and slapping his thighs. “Nay, call me if you need assistance, Khul. It is an honor to serve.”

  Shannari studied the sword in her lap as though she’d never seen it before, refusing to look up until they were gone.

  Fighting down his desire, Rhaekhar took a deep calming breath and began brushing her hair once more. “The Blood have saved my life many times in the past five years. Shall I tell you how they became Blood?”

  She inclined her head a bit but said nothing.

  “After a special kind of kae’don, or battle, I was named Khul of all Nine Camps. I chose one warrior from each Camp to serve in my Blood. Standing before the gathered people with Kae’Shaman to illuminate Vulkar’s will, I sacrificed my blood for them.”

  She straightened, listening hard.

  “I used my rahke to make a cut on my arm, here.” He held his left forearm before her, and she trailed a finger across the diagonal white scar. The small touch seared his skin, and his voice dropped another notch. “Then each of them tasted my blood.”

  She sucked in her breath and held herself very still.

  “It connected me to them in an unbreakable bond. My blood in their veins enables them to feel me, deep inside themselves. They feel my emotions. If I’m in danger, they sense it before the attack. The Great Wind Stallion blessed us, giving them great gifts for their sacrifice.”

  She turned the sword over in her hands, her fingers tracing the whorls in the hilt aimlessly. “What sacrifice did they make?”

  “They swore to sacrifice every last drop of their blood in my protection. The greatest honor for a Blood is to die in Khul’s defense.”

  “But they didn’t actually sacrifice blood for you. I mean, you didn’t taste theirs.”

  “Nay, the Blood bond does not work in such a way.” Burying his fingers in her thick, soft hair, he grasped the back of her neck and massaged gently. He could almost hear the frantic whirl of her thoughts. “But the na’lanna bond does.”

  She bowed her head, letting him work on her neck. “I thought it was just an endearment.”

  “You asked how I knew you were hungry.” He leaned closer, sharing the heat of his body without actually pressing himself against her. “I knew because I felt your hunger in my stomach, even though I myself had already eaten.”

  She breathed shallowly, not with fear, exactly, but wonder and anticipation. A small tremor shook her.

  “I felt the moment you awakened. I felt your gaze on my body and your reaction. Only a warrior’s na’lanna can form a bond that allows them to share their hearts and minds through blood. The more blood you share with me, the stronger the bond will become. According to legend, before long I shall be able to find you anywhere on the Plains.”

  Her scent heated, growing need pulsing through her. Every instinct urged him to kiss her. To force her to admit the desire raging in her. To claim and mark her as his own.

  He wanted more. He wanted this princess to choose him of her own accord, not because he tormented her with need when she was vulnerable. He wanted this outlander Captain to accept him with love, not because she had surrendered to him on the battlefield.

  Pulling her hair over one shoulder, he bared the side of her neck. Sliding his hands across her shoulders, he continued massaging the tension from her body without pressing a more sensual advantage.

  “Do you— do you actually want to— ”

  “Oh, aye,” he breathed roughly against her ear. “Whatever you’re willing to share with me, I shall take, gladly. I want your blood as much as your body, as much as your heart, as much as your trust.”

  “If you speak truthfully, then you already know how I feel.” She sighed shakily, hunching her shoulders against his soothing caress. “When I look at you, when you tasted my blood, I can’t deny that I… I liked it. But I can’t give you my heart or my trust. I have none to give.”

  Rhaekhar felt her certainty and regret. He lay down beside her on his back without touching her. “Why?”

  Pain speared her heart, wounding his in turn. With trembling hands, she reached over and picked up the empty cup, absently raising it toward her mouth. He gently took the cup from her and set it aside. He reached for the sword in her lap, but she clutched it tighter.

  “Someone butchered my heart.”

  Fury sharpened his voice. “Do you give me his name and I shall cut his heart out for him.”

  “He’s already dead.”

  Had this lover abused her? Had she shared blood with him? Did she still mourn for him? Why did she hide the natural inclinations and desires of her body with shame in her heart?

  Letting out a long, slow breath, she loosened her grip on the sword and allowed him to draw it o
ut of her lap. Showing his trust in her, he set it beside them within easy reach.

  “There is a way you could know my heart, na’lanna. You could know my feelings as your own. You would know if I lied, what deceptions I might use to ensnare you. Already, you feel some of my emotions through the bond.”

  She started to shake her head but hesitated, tilting her head as though she listened.

  Deliberately, he thought about pushing open the thin cloth covering her breasts. Of kissing her neck, perhaps biting her shoulder, experimenting with the right pressure to see what pleased her the most. Need roared in his blood, and he growled beneath his breath, forcing his hands to remain unthreatening at his side. “What am I feeling now, na’lanna?”

  Clutching her hands together in her lap, she laughed roughly. “That’s not all that hard to guess, not from the way you’ve been looking at me.”

  He touched the newly stitched wound on his side, drawing her gaze to his body, reminding her of his blood. “You honored me greatly by drawing my blood. Few have done as well in a kae’rahke against me. Although Varne thought this needed a few stitches to ensure it healed properly, I shall wear your scar with pride and honor.”

  Her gaze lingered on the wound then drifted lower to his groin. After bathing, he’d purposely left off the loincloth he typically wore beneath the memsha to make riding more comfortable. His erection was quite evident, and her breath rushed out in a raw needy moan. The scent of flowers thickened in the room, rich with the spicy musk of her need.

  Smiling, he unsheathed his rahke and trailed the tip just above the cloth. He slowly drew the rahke up his stomach. Watching, she held her breath.

  “I want to sacrifice blood for you. I want to strengthen the bond with you so that you may know my heart at all times. I want to feel pleasure roar through your body, the same as I felt when I tasted yours.”

  She started to turn her face away, her jaw and shoulders straining. With a flick of his wrist, he cut his chest just above his left nipple.