The Rose of Shanhasson Page 9

  She wiped away tears at the desolate loss in his voice. “But you have na’kindren now, don’t you? Isn’t that what you call these horses?”

  “This stallion I ride is not a na’kindre of the true spirit and blood. He is descended from the lowland mares that were brought back round with na’kindren seed. The blood of Vulkar runs thinly in our na’kindren now. But they are still our brothers, and we shall die to protect them.”

  What kind of horses had the true na’kindren been if these majestic beasts carried only a fraction of the true blood? How would his people accept her— a pale-skinned outlander— when her people had brought such distrust and devastation to his land?

  The Sha’Kae al’Dan invasion made even less sense. Why on earth would he want to capture Dalden Bay when they obviously had great reason to distrust and even hate her people? “You must have strict laws against allowing my people into your Plains ever again.”

  “Aye. The punishment for unauthorized entry to our Plains is death.”

  She couldn’t suppress a shiver at the flat, cold tone in his voice. She didn’t imagine death at the barbarians’ hands would be painless and quick. “Have you killed many of my people?”

  “More in recent months than entire decades before,” Rhaekhar admitted. “We’ve always welcomed traders willing to brave the blasted lands on the edge of the Plains as long as they follow our laws. Tents always camp near the border to meet and escort traders if necessary. More and more, though, we have found travelers deeper in our territory. Since Dalden Bay is the only outlander Camp near the Plains, we decided to end all encroachment directly.”

  “Allandorians are not the trespassers. My father and I would know of it, I assure you. My family visits the village at least once a month and we have many strong contacts there. Invasion of your Plains is the last thing on our minds.”

  She felt him shrug against her back. “I hear your words, na’lanna, but I can only tell you what we’ve seen. The outlanders are coming from somewhere. If blocking Dalden Bay doesn’t prevent this encroachment, then I shall pursue other options. As Khul of the Nine Camps, it is my duty to ensure the safety of the Plains at all cost.”

  He pressed closer, rubbing his cheek affectionately against hers. Clenching her jaw, Shannari barely suppressed the low groan. His left arm tightened about her waist, his broad chest covered her back, and his thighs encased her on either side. Surrounded by his heat and strength, she couldn’t help but remember his passion. His touch. His powerful body. The heady rich taste of his blood.

  “As Khul, I felt in my heart that the Great Wind Stallion wished us to act now, without delay, to keep outlanders from the Plains. To Him I’m more grateful than I can say, for His will brought me to you. Na’lanna, my beloved, my heart beats for you.”

  Deliberately ignoring the fluttering in her stomach at his words, Shannari set the hook for her plan. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephan has been sending spies into your Plains. I know he has spies in Allandor and Dalden Bay itself. We’ve warred over Dalden Bay numerous times already, and I was prepared to hand it over to him in exchange for his help. You might find Dalden Bay difficult to hold, Khul.”

  Straightening, Rhaekhar laughed softly beneath his breath. “Have no worries, na’lanna. A warrior takes what he wants and then keeps it. Dalden Bay— and you— are safe in my hands.”

  She let a hard, grim smile curve her lips since he couldn’t see her reaction. His insufferable warrior arrogance would make it impossible for him to ignore any attack on Dalden Bay. With luck, Stephan would organize a strike against the barbarians left behind within a month, two at most. Rhaekhar would be forced to respond with due force. And when she saw the green fertile fields of home again, she…

  What? She’d never run from anything in her life. Running from the barbarian seemed especially cowardly given the foolhardy attachment he already felt for her. He might just hold to his oath, too, and hunt her down wherever she went. Nothing short of bloodshed might convince him to leave her behind. Even then, she might have to kill him.

  Best I keep my sword close at all times.

  * * * *

  Her scent was a sweet torment, begging him to bury his face into the curve of her neck. Her body brushed his in pure torture. Yet Rhaekhar resisted the urge to drag her tight against him, to force her body to submit. She expected him to push his advantage in sensual warfare. She hoped he would be all Khul, arrogant, demanding and invincible.

  But even the mightiest Khul on the Plains knew a challenge loss was sometimes worth the small cost of pride.

  So he kept his hands to himself as much as possible. He couldn’t help cradling her hips with his thighs, seated as they were, and didn’t want to stop the almost-innocent brush of his arm against hers. The smallest touch was enough to make her shiver against him delightfully.

  How he longed to feel her bare skin against his instead of the leathers and metal encasing her body. “You must be very hot in such clothing, na’lanna. You would be much more comfortable in Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing.”

  She glanced at him askance over her shoulder. “If your women wear as little as you do, then you can forget such a ridiculous notion.”

  “Aye, the women wear a memshai around their hips like the warriors’ memshas, but the women knot theirs.”

  “Knot it?” He didn’t need to see her face to know she frowned. “Why?”

  He let all the heat he felt warm his voice. “Do you remember how easily my memsha was removed last night? Our women like to make their warriors work for such treasures.”

  “Oh.” Very carefully, she kept her back to him, but he felt the surge of heat and embarrassment, both, through the bond. “They wear nothing else?”

  Rhaekhar closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. The image of this outlander woman with only a memshai about her hips sent his heart pounding like a herd of stampeding na’kindren. “The women also wear vests.” His voice sounded thick and strained to his ears. Very strained. Even thoughts of a vest cupping her luscious breasts were torment. “Loose, comfortable, very cool. I think you would like it.”

  “I can’t imagine such… freedom. I’ve worn chain mail ever since I can remember, heavier every year for the best protection I could carry.”

  “You will be safe with me, Shannari. On my honor, you will have no need for chain mail.”

  She laughed softly and shook her head. “My apologies, Khul, but somehow, I don’t believe you. You have no idea how many assassins have come after me over the years. More than I can count. Turmoil and upheaval follow me everywhere. The last time Father and I traveled to Taza there was an assassination attempt on my life every single day. It was ridiculous.”

  Rhaekhar stroked the hilt of the rahke on his hip. Not ridiculous, in his opinion, but grievous. How could Valche allow her to face such constant danger? These outlanders had no concept of honor. “Why do so many of your people want you dead?”

  Her scent sharpened, cold and deadly like steel. “Only a Daughter of Our Blessed Lady may wear the Rose Crown and protect the land, and I’m the Last. The land and the Lady are one. I fear for all of the Green Lands if Theo sits on the High Throne.”

  “This is the man you were promised to?”

  She nodded. “He’s the only other direct descendant of the Lady, although I carry more of Her blood than does he. Theo is evil, though. The rumors we hear about Shanhasson— torture, people disappearing— it’s madness.”

  A fist-full of rahkes twisted in Rhaekhar’s gut. Why would such an honorable, courageous woman bind herself to such a foul cur? It made no sense to him. He couldn’t even think of a reasonable response, for every warrior instinct he possessed told him to whirl Khan and gallop toward Shanhasson, never stopping until Theo’s blood darkened his sword.

  She must have sensed his disquiet. “Politically, my marriage to Theo made perfect sense. Once he touched me, though… ” She shivered and pressed back against him. That told him more than anything how much she abhorred
the man. “I couldn’t do it. I won’t. I’ll kill him first.”

  “Nay.” Rhaekhar wrapped his arm around her, clamping her tight against his chest. “When I lay eyes on the outlander Theo, I shall kill him. So says Khul of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan. I swear it on my honor.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dusk painted rose and lavender across the darkening sky, yet still the warhorses charged onward into the night. Shannari stretched carefully, trying to avoid rubbing up against the barbarian. She winced. She’d always considered herself an accomplished rider, but she had never spent so many hours in the saddle before.

  Rhaekhar heaved a huge sigh behind her. “I suppose I have lost your challenge.”

  “What challenge?”

  “That you would kiss me before this night.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. The arrogant, insufferable Khul actually sounded chagrined. “I told you I wouldn’t kiss you.”

  “You are indeed a formidable opponent, na’lanna. You rebuff every tenderness and affection I would give you.”

  Ouch. Why didn’t he just come right out and tell her she was a cold-hearted bitch? She supposed she was. With no heart and no lasting hope for such foolishness, what else could she be? It was too late for her to daydream about things she could never have.

  Things she didn’t even want to have.

  Then why did she ache at the desolation in his voice?

  “Let us decide my challenge loss. What would you like in payment?”

  Her response came out sharper than she intended. “I want nothing from you.”

  “I must pay for the loss of this challenge. My honor demands it.” The barbarian vibrated with tension behind her and his fingers turned white from his fierce grip on the reins. “You must allow me to make amends.”

  “I never accepted your fool challenge,” she retorted. “You owe me nothing!”

  The dark-haired Blood reined his horse closer. She’d noticed the guards riding about them all day, but this was the first any of them had approached for conversation. “I have a suggestion, Khul.”

  Rhaekhar didn’t seem too pleased if the biting growl in his voice was any indication. “This is none of your concern, Gregar.”

  The Blood smirked, totally undeterred by the menace rumbling from the big barbarian. “As you say, Khul, but if I remember correctly, the oasis where we camped on the way to the Green Lands had one very attractive quality. Perhaps Shannari would accept a bath from you in payment for your challenge loss.”

  Rhaekhar relaxed behind her enough to actually chuckle. His burly forearm came around her again to hug her close. She kept her back as stiff as possible, but the barbarian refused to release her from the intimate contact. “Aye, now I know exactly what my challenge loss shall be.”

  Alarm sent Shannari’s voice shooting up an octave. “What?”

  The Blood gave her a wide, knowing smile, his white teeth flashing against his face. Gregar was darker skinned than the Khul’s bronzed gold, bringing to mind a fresh, hot cup of caffe with just a little cream. With his mischievous grin and dark eyes gleaming with wickedness, Gregar was quite something to look at. The devil himself.

  “While a dip in the small pool won’t be as warm and relaxing as our steamtents, I believe you’ll enjoy the bath just the same,” Gregar said. “I’m sure Khul can give you a most acceptable bath.”

  His wording sent her pulse skittering faster. “I will need privacy for my bath. Complete and utter privacy.”

  “Of course,” Rhaekhar purred against her ear. “The pool is secluded from the main campsite, and the Blood will ensure we aren’t disturbed. Won’t you, Gregar?”

  “Oh, aye, Khul. Not a soul will intrude on your challenge loss. I swear it on my honor.”

  In his own way, the Blood was just as disturbing as his Khul. She couldn’t forget how Gregar had scared her the previous night, the blade held to her throat before she’d even known he was there.

  Oddly, he seemed familiar somehow. Some resonance, a secret memory she couldn’t recall. Impossible, she knew, just as she could no longer fear him, even knowing what he was.

  Death Rider. Assassin. Knife to her throat. Bone-chilling coldness. Shadows. Death waited in his dark, shining eyes.

  Yet she felt no urge to reach for her sword. In fact, she hadn’t reached for her sword all day. Was she already so comfortable with the Sha’Kae al’Dan that she no longer considered them enemies?

  Pushing that troubling thought away, she tried to think of a way to remove the barbarian from any participation in bathing. After the heat of the desert, she smelled horrid and her hair was caked with dust. A bath would be lovely. But—

  “I shall enjoy this challenge loss immensely.” Rhaekhar’s lips brushed her ear, sending goose bumps shooting down her arms. “To fully repay my debt to you, I shall dry you with my tongue.”

  The short, high-pitched sound that came out of her mouth could only be called a yelp. “Absolutely not!”

  “My honor demands it, na’lanna. I must repay this loss with the utmost of my ability.”

  Heat curled inside her at the thought. Oh, Blessed Lady, her body could imagine only too well what the “utmost of his ability” might be. From the events of last night, she guessed the barbarian would be devastatingly skilled in the bedchamber if given half a chance to demonstrate. “Keep your bloody hands to yourself!”

  Rhaekhar held his palms up before them to examine his hands. “Bloody? Ah. You wish for my blood, too. Very well, na’lanna. I am most pleased to comply. Bath and blood. I can hardly wait to repay this debt.”

  Laughing, the Blood reined his horse back toward his guarding position several paces away.

  “Gregar.”

  The Blood paused, some of the teasing grin fading from his face. Something silent and deep passed between the two barbarians, but she had no idea what or why.

  “My thanks.”

  Gregar smirked and nodded, then turned those flashing eyes of wickedness on her. “If you need assistance, Khul. It is an honor to serve you both.”

  * * * *

  Once again the terrain changed as the obsidian rocks and warped trees began to yield to normal desert vegetation. The sand gleamed golden white in the pale moonlight, clean and beautiful instead of angry and sharp. Strange plants lifted crooked arms to the sky, their leathery green skin covered with spikes and delicate pink blossoms.

  The daytime heat dissipated and the chilly evening air made her thankful for the barbarian’s body against hers. He radiated heat like an oven, all velvet skin and baked bread and hay.

  Pure temptation.

  Surprisingly, though, he remained a gentleman the rest of the evening with only the slight intimacies expected when two people shared a horse, even one so large as this. His unexpected reserve mattered not a bit to her traitorous body. Desire kindled inside her at every movement. The slightest memory of last night. The faintest whiff of his mouth-watering scent.

  If she let her imagination drift for even a moment to what the barbarian planned at the oasis…

  How could she not think about his gorgeous, muscular body when she half sat in his lap? No matter how carefully she tried to maintain a modest distance, her back and buttocks pressed up against his stomach and groin.

  Hell, pure hell.

  The warhorse suddenly charged forward, throwing her back against the barbarian’s chest. After hours of their exhausting pace, the horses quickened to a canter and then to an all out gallop. Then she, too, could smell it— sweet, pure water in the middle of this barren land. Tall, gracious trees marked the natural springs and the air grew cooler and sweeter beneath their shade.

  The barbarians didn’t make much of a camp. A fire, a flask passed around, some kind of smoked meat, hard bread. Usual travel or military rations. Shannari couldn’t count the number of times she had eaten such food in the field. What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t take her eyes off the man beside her.

  Sitting on the
ground, surrounded by his warriors, Rhaekhar laughed and talked easily. They respected him. He led them by example, not by right of blood or might of wealth as in the Green Lands. He was a warrior’s warrior— bigger, stronger, and smarter than those who followed him. Men who would gladly give their lives for him.

  She respected him, too, but that’s not why she was so fascinated. He laughed with his wicked jokester Blood, his golden eyes warm and shining. Such a smile, wide and open and honest. Such loyalty. None of these men were scheming to overthrow him. He trusted them all implicitly. She saw such trust as a weakness, a failing, but with him…

  He was so strong, so invincible, that it didn’t matter. She kept trying to analyze his politics, his strategy, but it came down to simple loyalty and trust. They trusted him to lead them; he trusted them to follow.

  Astounding.

  One of the other Blood told a story about Gregar, and the other warriors howled with laughter. Since they spoke in their own language, she had no idea what was so amusing. The only word she understood was memsha, the cloth the warriors wore about their hips.

  The other Blood, Varne, she thought, said something including her name. The warriors cheered louder, but Gregar went very, very still. The temperature dropped suddenly, and his eyes… She swore they had gone darker, nearly black.

  Shivering, she rubbed her arms. “What did he say?”

  “Varne suggested you could be the judge,” Rhaekhar answered. He slapped Gregar on the back, and the spreading darkness in the Blood’s gaze faded.

  “The judge of what?”

  Varne laughed, a short, harsh burst of forced amusement. “Gregar is famous for turning everything into an arse competition.”

  For the first time, she felt some malicious undercurrent among Rhaekhar’s warriors. She’d assumed the two Blood were friends, but perhaps she was mistaken.