Page 7 of Til the End of Time

  He had looked slender when he was dressed. Naked, his sinewy muscularity belied his slender-ness. His broad shoulders tapered down to slim hips and a flat belly. His chest was corded with heavy muscles and feathered with a triangle of dark hair. The thick nest of hair below his belly was also dark, and she found her gaze following in fascination the arrow of springy hair until it disappeared beneath the water.

  "Alessandra."

  Her gaze flew guiltily up to his face. There were amusement, gentleness, and exasperation in his expression. "Don't do this to me, love. Let me set the pace. All right?"

  She hurriedly thrust her feet into her shoes and gathered her discarded clothes together. "My hai 's a mess. Do you have a brush I can use?"

  "In my tent. Ask anyone to show you where it is."

  "Very well. I'll send someone back with a fresh change of clothes for you." She picked up the soap from the grass. "Catch." She tossed him the soap.

  He caught it easily, his gaze fixed on her face. "Are you angry?"

  "No." She turned away. "But I don't like to have decisions taken out of my hands. You might find our next encounter ends quite differently."

  "Lord, I certainly hope so." His voice was so rueful, she had to smile. "A defeat would have been welcome in this particular engagement."

  "I'm glad you're resigned to it." She started toward the path leading back to camp.

  "Alessandra."

  She looked back at him over her shoulder.

  "I'm not going to be someone you can walk away from." His eyes were grave. "We want each other, and I'm going to build on that. By the time we become lovers, you're going to be as wild for me as I am for you." He smiled gently. "And then we're going to take the next step."

  The next step? She was half afraid to ask what he meant. She'd been bombarded by too many new emotions and ideas already today. She started to turn away again and then stopped. She didn't look at him, and her voice was low. "You shouldn't worry, Sandor. You're not an animal. I know about animals, and you'll never come close to being one." She thrust the branches of the bushes aside and quickened her footsteps toward the path a few yards ahead.

  Paulo Debuk didn't return to camp until late that evening. He came as silently as he had gone. One moment Alessandra was sitting alone, gazing into the fire, and the next he was squatting be­side her, presenting the note in his hand with a little flourish. "Mission accomplished." He grinned. "I would have been back before sundown, but your Father Dinot had a few errands for me to run. He said he wanted to be able to tell you the lines of communication were in place." He lifted a shaggy brow. "You aren't a spy, by any chance? If you are, I must show you some tricks to move around freely without being seen. People our size must take certain precautions."

  "I'm not a spy," she assured him solemnly, her eyes twinkling. "However, if I ever change my vo­cation I'll know whom to come to for lessons." She nodded at the note in her hand. "You're obviously a very talented man."

  "Yes, I am." He reached for a stick and idly poked the fire. "I'm convinced Sandor couldn't have won this war without me."

  "Won? You speak as if victory were already a fact."

  "It is. That's why Sandor is on edge. It was easier for him when all his energy was centered on winning. He's not good at waiting." He glanced around. "Where is Sandor?"

  Her gaze shifted back to the fire. "I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to him since this afternoon. I did see him go into the command tent earlier this evening with several of his officers."

  He stood up. "Then I think I will go find him and tell him what a magnificent job I did for you. Not that he will expect anything else. I always do a magnificent job."

  "I'm sure you do." She began to unfold the note and looked up to smile at him. "Thank you for doing it magnificently again this time. It means a great deal to me."

  "It was nothing." He turned away. "Even if you weren't the Tanzar's woman, I would have done it. It posed a few interesting problems."

  "I told you, I'm not the Tanzar's worn—"

  He wasn't listening. He was strolling away in the direction of the command tent. His demeanor was casual, almost careless, but she noticed there was not even the snapping of a twig under his foot to signal his departure.

  She glanced down at the note in her hand. Father Dinot had been very thorough and gone into great detail. He had listed names, addresses, and personal backgrounds of the people he had chosen as contacts and distributors. She settled down and began to read, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  "Satisfied?"

  She looked up to see Sandor standing beside her. He had changed into a dark green field uni­form and combat boots. The military garb rein­forced the impression of toughness and strength he gave. "I think so." She began to refold the note. "I'll have to send someone back to Tamrovia to be sure there's no breakdown in the network, but Father Dinot appears to have made excellent choices."

  "Good." He sat down beside her. "I don't sup­pose you'd give me the information and let me check on it for you?"

  She hesitated. "I can't do that."

  "I see." A flicker of pain crossed his face. "Your confidence in me doesn't go very deep, does it?"

  Her eyes were troubled. "It's the children. I don't have a right to risk their welfare." She met his gaze directly. "I trust what you are today. It's what you may become tomorrow that I have qualms about. I've seen too much. ..." She lifted her shoul­ders in a half shrug. "If you can't accept it, I'll understand."

  "That's very kind of you." There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. "I don't accept it. I won't accept it. It's not good enough. One of these days you're going to tell me you'll not only trust me tomorrow, but for the next fifty years." He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, let's get some sleep. We have to leave at dawn."

  "We? You're going with me?"

  "We have fifteen miles to travel through enemy territory to reach the airfield. It's my fault you have to make that trip. Do you think I'd let you go without me?" His lips twisted. "And heaven knows, I have nothing to do but sit on my rump for the next two days. I might just as well be hiking across the country."

  "Hiking," she repeated warily. "You mean we're going to be walking?"

  "How the hell else do you think we're going to get to the airfield?"

  "I do not care how we get there." She enunci­ated each word clearly. "Train, car, helicopter, burro. You choose. But I do not walk."

  "This time you do," he said grimly. "I'm sorry not to have arranged to transport Your Highness more comfortably. I'm sure Bruner would have bought you a bulletproof Rolls-Royce, but I don't have his resources at present. The strip Naldona now holds between here and the airfield is very well defended, even with antiaircraft artillery. Our best and safest way is on foot through the hills. Therefore, you will walk."

  "The hell I wi—" She broke off. She wouldn't be alone crossing that dangerous strip of terrain. Sandor would be with her. She didn't have the right to increase the danger to him even though it might mean discomfort or pain for her. "All right, I'll walk."

  "You will?" Surprise and then amusement su­perseded grimness. "That was a Tittle too easy. Why do I feel you may give >me a karate chop and leave me abandoned in a ditch between here and the airfield?"

  "The karate chop, maybe," she said serenely. "But I wouldn't leave you abandoned."

  "That's good to know." His hand was beneath her elbow, and he nudged her gently toward his tent. "It makes me feel considerably more secure."

  She paused just inside the flap of the tent, her gaze on the single cot pushed against the canvas wall. "I'm sleeping with you?" She tried to keep the tension from her voice.

  "Yes." Her fingers gently touched the line of her cheek. "Sleeping. Nothing else. I want you close to me, but the other tents are too near to give us any privacy." His fingertips were feathering the cor­ners of her mouth, and she felt a throbbing sen­sation wherever he touched her. "I want you to feel free to scream or moan or ..." He bent for­ward to p
lace a light kiss on the end of her nose. "Hell, I'll probably be the one who does all the groaning. You're going to drive me out of my mind." He turned away, his fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. "Turn out the lantern, will you?"

  "All right." She moved forward a few steps and extinguished the Coleman lantern on the portable table beside the cot. "This cot isn't very wide."

  "It's only a little narrower than the bed we shared last night."

  "I guess so." Did she sound as breathless as she felt? She sat down on the cot and took off her shoes and socks. Her eyes were becoming accus­tomed to the darkness, and she could make out Sandor's shadowy figure a few feet away. "Shall I take off my clothes?"

  He became very still. "I really wish you hadn't asked that. I've been trying to talk myself into total abstention and control, and I think you've just blown my arguments into shrapnel." He was coming toward her. "As much as I'd like to say yes, I think you'd better keep your clothes on, love."

  "Whatever you say."

  He was standing beside her, and he reached out to touch her back. "There you go again. Do you have to be so damn cooperative?"

  "I feel cooperative." And excited, frightened, and more eager than ever before in her life. "I'll try to mend my ways."

  "Absolutely not. Now, scoot over, Alessandra."

  She moved to the far side of the cot. He settled down beside her and drew her into his arms. She inhaled sharply. He had only removed his shirt, boots, and socks, but the sudden feel of warm bare skin against her came as a shock.

  "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

  "No," she said faintly. "It was just the surprise."

  "But that isn't all, is it?" His body was tense and hard against her own. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, but I didn't want to let tonight go by without grabbing something for my­self. " His hands were framing her face. "This damn war. There's no time. Do you know I haven't even kissed you yet?" Then he was rectifying the omis­sion with sweetness and passion. The darkness was suddenly alive with warmth and magic and tenderness. He lifted his head. "Take down your hair."

  "What?" she asked, wishing she could see his face. She wanted to know if his expression was as beautifully tender as his voice.

  "I didn't realize your hair was so long, until I saw you in the pond. I want to touch it."

  She didn't answer, but her unsteady fingers went to the pins holding her bun in place. A moment later her hair was tumbling down her back. She dropped the pins carelessly. She proba­bly wouldn't be able to find them in the morning, but she couldn't bother to be neat now. Sandor's unsteady fingers were tangling in her loosened hair. He was pulling her closer, then closer still. His lips covered hers again, and a low moan caught in her throat. She was trembling, too. She couldn't seem to stop.

  His hands were fumbling at the buttons of her blouse.

  "I thought you said I wasn't supposed to get undressed," she murmured against his lips.

  "I was insane. You shouldn't pay any attention to the ravings of a madman."' The buttons were undone and his hands were at the front closing of her bra. "I want you in my hands. I want to feel you against me." The bra was unfastened and her breasts tumbled free from the restraint. He drew her against him. Shock and heat. Her sensitive nipples were pressed against the soft wedge of hair on his chest, and she arched up against him with a little cry.

  "Shhh. It's all right."

  "It's not all right." It was aching pain and need. "I can't take this."

  "Try." His lips touched her throat with infinite gentleness. "I want you to feel you belong to me. I want you to sleep in my arms. I'm hurting, too, love."

  She could tell he was speaking the truth. His muscles were tensed with a painful rigidity. "This is crazy."

  His hands were gently stroking her hair. "We have to take what we can get. Tomorrow night I have to put you on a plane and get back here to receive the arms delivery." His lips brushed her forehead. "But you're right. I'm not being fair. I didn't want you to hurt too. Go to sleep, love."

  She came close to laughing. How did he expect her to sleep when every muscle was tense and yearning for completion? "I'll try." She closed her eyes and firmly willed herself to sleep. It was a long time, however, before determination trans­lated into action.

  She awoke several times during the night. The first was to a delicate tugging at her nipple. She opened drowsy eyes to see Sandor's dark head over her, his lips sucking gently. "Sandor?"

  He lifted his head. "Go back to sleep. Every­thing's fine. I can't sleep. I'm just learning you." He dropped a kiss on the nipple that had been receiving his attention. "And letting your body get to know me." His lips feathered across her half-closed lids. "It likes me."

  She chuckled, her lids already closing again. She wouldn't be surprised if her body did more than like him. Each touch was so loving, it aroused an emotional as well as a physical response. She had never felt so treasured and wanted and . . .

  He learned her body very well in those hours when restraint was balanced on the fine edge of desire. And she learned something about Sandor Karpathan. About his tenderness and patience and his vulnerability to her.

  She awoke to find him asleep in her arms in the cool gray light preceding dawn. It seemed su­premely natural to awake and find his head on her shoulder, his tanned hand clasped in posses­sion over her naked breast. Tenderness. She felt her throat tighten helplessly as waves of emotion rocked her. She mustn't fall apart like this. How had he come to mean so much to her?

  He was stirring. She grasped frantically at con­trol. She closed her eyes. She hated pretense of any type, but she would have to pretend for the present. So far their steps toward each other had been small, almost tentative, but what she was feeling now was something different. It was such a giant leap, she refused to accept or even put a name to it. She would have to block it out. It wasn't safe to do anything else. He was coming too close.

  Five

  She mustn't limp. There was no reason for her to limp. She knew how to block the pain. Lord knows, she'd had plenty of experience. If she betrayed any sign of weakness, Sandor would pick up on it immediately and insist they stop. Fifteen miles, he had said. Surely they must have traveled almost that far by now. All she had to do was hold on. Soon it would be over.

  "All right?" Sandor was looking over his shoul­der, his gaze searching her face.

  Damn. Had he noticed anything? She moist­ened her lips with her tongue. "Fine. Do we have much farther to go?"

  "About four miles."

  "That far?" She tried to smile. "I thought we'd be at the airfield by this time."

  "Rough country. It makes a big difference. You've held up very well, hiking since dawn, with only a short break for lunch. You've kept up like a veteran campaigner." His eyes twinkled. "And you haven't complained once, which is truly amazing for a lady who hates to walk."

  "Complaining never accomplishes anything." Her gaze narrowed on the rough trail ahead. The path wound in serpentine curves around the base of the hill before disappearing into a thick stand of pines. "The sun's going down. Do you think we'll be able to make it to the airfield before it gets dark?"

  "Probably not." He turned back to the path, his stride lengthening. "But don't worry, it doesn't really matter if we don't. I know these hills."

  "Do you?" Talk. He wouldn't notice anything if she talked. "They're very beautiful. It's a shame to think of battles being fought here."

  "There haven't been any battles here. Naldona has always kept this strip too well fortified for us to launch an offensive against it. Even now, when his forces are at their weakest, he maintains a strong one here. We could take it now with no problem, but it has no strategic importance. It wouldn't be worth the resulting casualties."

  "If it has no strategic importance, why is Naldona so determined to hold it?"

  "It's my home," he said simply. He didn't look back at her, and she couldn't see his expression. Only the tension of the muscles of his shoulders revealed the emotio
n his tone denied. "Limtana is just a mile or so north of this hill."

  "And Naldona has had control of Limtana since the beginning of the war?"

  He nodded. "Bait for the trap. I was fool enough to tell him how I felt about Limtana when we were comrades-in-arms. He thinks there's a possibility I may be an even greater fool and try to go back there." He paused. When he spoke again his voice was only a level above a whisper. "He's a very perceptive man. There have been times when I've been tempted."

  "You care so much for it?"

  "I love it. It's one of the things I'm fighting for. Do you know what the word nostalgia means? It's the longing for things that have been. It's a mem­ory that causes an ache inside you. Limtana is that to me."

  For a moment Alessandra felt such a surge of sympathy, she forgot the pain she was experienc­ing. How awful it must have been for him to love his home this much and know it was held by the enemy. "You'll be able to go back to it soon. You said yourself the war was almost over."

  He was silent for a moment. Her words didn't seem to comfort him. If anything, the tension in his body intensified. "Yes, the war is almost over."

  "Limtana hasn't been damaged, has it?"

  "No. The castle has never been occupied and it's been kept in very good repair." His tone was sar­donic. "Occasionally Naldona has even sent me a picture of it to let me see how good a caretaker he's been."

  She shivered as she realized what refined tor­ture seeing that photograph must have been for Sandor. The shiver turned to anger as heat sud­denly burned through her. Damn Naldona. "It will be yours again." She wanted to give him back Limtana herself. The fierceness of the desire was astonishing. "Someday."

  "You sound very positive." The smile he tossed over his shoulder was sad. Then the smile faded entirely as he saw the fierceness of her expres­sion. "I can almost believe it will, which is some­thing I haven't felt in a long, long—" He broke off, and a frown crossed his face. "You're pale. Have I been pushing you too hard?"