Velvet Song

  “Raine,” she said fiercely, commandingly. “You must be still.” She grabbed both his hands in hers and found herself lifted from the floor, pulled half across him.

  “I must find Mary,” he said, much louder, slurring his words, and as he moved, so did Alyx.

  “You overgrown ox,” she hissed. “Keep still!”

  That seemed to register with him, for he opened his eyes and she could see the feverish glint even in the dark tent.

  For just a moment he looked at her, unseeing, and then his eyes seemed to focus and he put one hand on the back of her head and pulled her mouth down to his.

  Protest, even if Alyx had thought of such a thing, was not possible. The moment her lips touched Raine’s all was lost. She was a woman of great passion, great feeling and, always, she’d spent that passion on music. At the first touch of Raine, music exploded throughout every pore of her body, angels singing, devils humming, choruses reaching new notes, happy songs, sad songs.

  He turned her head as he nuzzled her lips apart, seeking the inner sweetness of her mouth, his tongue touching the tip of hers. It didn’t take Alyx but a moment to learn how to kiss him back. One foot on the floor, the other waving about, in heaven, her body half across his, she put her arms around his head and pulled him closer to her, her tongue plunging deeper and deeper into his mouth. This was what she’d wanted ever since she’d first seen him, not to be treated as a boy but as the woman she was.

  Raine reacted enthusiastically to her aggressiveness, his lips sucking at hers, biting them, pulling them between his teeth, running his tongue over the sweet swell of them.

  When his hand slipped downward and touched the top of her calf, she drew her breath in sharply and began to kiss his cheek, her lips trailing down to his neck, that powerful, strong neck she’d looked at so many times, had watched with interest as sweat trickled down it.

  His skin, so hot, broiling, left seared places on her legs as he moved to his side and began to run both hands up the sides of her legs, his fingers digging into the firm muscles at the backs of her thighs. When he reached her buttocks and cupped them, he gave a little chuckle of satisfaction. “Sweet wench,” he murmured, moving his head so he again captured her lips, and the kiss strengthened as his fiery hands stroked her legs, kneading the flesh, exploring the curves and contours of her body.

  But Alyx was not content to be a passive participant and her hands also began to explore him, pulling up his shirt, touching his feverish skin with her ardent, inquisitive hands. The hair on his chest, great curling piles of it, was as soft as she had imagined, and the muscles on his chest, undulating, curving, were exciting beyond her wildest imagination.

  “Raine,” she murmured, her lips following her hands, detesting the linen shirt. His hands stilled as he gave all his attention to what she was doing with her mouth. When the shirt would allow her to go no lower, she moved so that she could start at the bottom and work up.

  Her lips touched the line of hair as it disappeared into his loincloth and Raine’s breath quickened, his hands still as they clutched her firm, hard thighs. As her lips moved upward, so did her hands, taking the shirt with her until she reached his neck and, miraculously, the confining piece of cloth slipped off his body, exposing all of that sun-bronzed, hot skin to Alyx’s view, and touch.

  Raine, slow to move, slower to realize what was happening to him, that this nymphet from heaven was making love to him, easily, with a practiced gesture, divested the vision of her shirt, and in the same motion put an arm around the specter’s tiny waist and pulled her to lie beside him.

  It was Alyx’s turn to gasp as her nude body touched Raine’s flaming skin and his hot hands began exploring her body, stopping at her waist, loosely encircled by the gold Lyon belt. He seemed to think it was natural that she wore no clothes but this golden belt of her ancestors. As his hand moved upward toward her free breasts, she held her breath, afraid he’d reject her as too small for his taste, but as his hand encircled her and his lips nuzzled her neck, she forgot any imagined deformities. And when Raine’s mouth burned a path down to her breast and touched the rosy tip with his tongue, she gasped and arched against him, her hips ungracefully banging against his.

  A low, deep sensuous chuckle welled out of Raine’s throat as his teeth nipped too hard on her nipple, causing her to squeal and move away from him. Raine quickly slipped a hand under her waist and easily pulled her back to him and all in one gesture caught her earlobe in his teeth. “You are mine, my sweet woodland fairy,” he said between his teeth, and his breath, as hot as his skin, seemed to enter her ear and travel directly to the pit of her belly.

  “No,” she giggled in a tone that no one could mistake for a negative answer, her hands on his stomach, pushing against him. He let her move a few inches from him, but his hand pulled her back, treating her as if she were a child’s toy on a string.

  Caught up in the game, not liking his toying with her, Alyx brought her knees up to her chest and pushed out at him. She was pleased to see that at least it took two arms to hold her against the strength of her legs.

  Seeming to enjoy her curled position, he held her and ran his hands down the back side of her, caressing her back and legs, curving around her buttocks, stroking and stroking, leaving a trail of heat until Alyx knew her body was as hot as his, and suddenly he turned serious again as his lips found hers and crushed her to him, hard, hard, his passion rising, a tangible thing, something she sensed in the air about them as well as felt through the crushing of his body on hers.

  Impatiently, he pushed her legs down so they lay on their sides, facing each other and his hands were no longer gentle but demanding, pulling her slight body in to his larger one, seeming to attempt to fuse their skins.

  Blinded, music, magnificent music, roaring in her head, Alyx tried to get closer to him, throwing one leg over his, wrapping it about his thighs, hooking her foot behind his knee.

  Raine’s hand descended down her back, slowly, feeling every nook and crevice until he reached the center of her being. Gasping, eyes wide, Alyx pulled back from him, saw his eyes were closed as he concentrated on feeling. When his finger entered her, she began to tremble, scared of this new experience, frightened of what was happening to her, of what her mind and body were feeling.

  His hand moved, stroking her inner thighs, touching her ever so lightly, making her part her legs more and more widely, as she wrapped them about his hips, holding him so tightly she threatened to crush him.

  When his hand left her she whimpered, but his mouth captured hers as he attempted to swallow her and Alyx, nearly in tears, pushed her body closer and closer to his. His loincloth disappeared and as his maleness touched her womanliness, she fairly jumped atop him. He held her back, entering her slowly, slowly, slowly, inch by inch by inch.

  He held still, filling her, resting, allowing the sensations to flow from one body to the other until Alyx, eager, inexperienced, began to move, jerkily, ineptly. Raine’s hands cupped her buttocks and guided her, moving her in a fluid, slow motion, rhythmically, easily and with each stroke, pushing her higher and higher in her pain-pleasure.

  When she began to move faster, he accommodated her, thrusting harder and faster, deeper and deeper until Alyx began to claw his back, bite at his neck, her whole body beginning to twist and turn, seeming to fight him and at the same time beg something of him.

  With one twist, Raine slammed her on her back and lowered his magnificent, delicious, glorious weight on top of her, pressing her into the cot so hard she threatened to fall through and she clutched at him with her legs, locking her ankles, pushing her hips up to him as he came down for two penetrating, blindingly hard thrusts—and Alyx died.

  White hot, intoxicating music exploded throughout her, blasted apart her skin, separating all the pieces of her as her body trembled and quaked, shivered until her strength turned to jelly.

  Sticky, horribly weak, unsure of what her body had just done and she had done to it, she clung to Raine, let
ting herself feel all of his hot skin, his breath, uneven, in her ear. Moving one arm, and feeling as if she’d just rolled down a steep hill covered with stones, Alyx touched the damp hair along his neck. In a quick, fierce movement, Raine grabbed her hand as he rolled to his side, pulling her with him and clutched her hand in his, so tight he threatened to break her fingers.

  “Mine,” he whispered, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing two fingers before sleep overtook him.

  For several minutes Alyx dozed, half in sleep, half out. Her body was exhausted, yet somehow she was more alive than she’d ever been. She felt no shame for mating with a man who was not her husband, and perhaps she should, but at this moment there was nothing in life she needed other than this dear man’s leg across her, this wet stickiness holding more than their bodies together.

  “I love you,” she whispered to the man sleeping in her arms. “I know you can never be mine, but for this moment you are. I love you,” she said again as she kissed one damp curl and fell asleep again, more happy than she’d ever been in her life.

  Chapter Eight

  ALYX AWOKE TO a tent bright with early morning light, and Raine’s skin touching hers was hotter than the night before. Asleep, he moved restlessly, rolling about, ignoring Alyx’s presence as he rolled across her, threatening to break her bones. Pushing with all her might, she managed to get him off her and quickly began to don her clothes, which were wet in places, dry in others since they’d lain crumpled in a heap all night. She dearly wished she could put on a dress and give up the pretense of being a boy. Men’s clothes and men’s ways gave one a great deal of freedom, but if she were a boy she’d have missed a night such as she had had last night.

  She had barely fastened her doublet when the tent flap opened and Jocelin, Rosamund behind him, entered.

  “How is he?” Joss asked, watching Alyx intently.

  Before she could answer, Rosamund interrupted them. “He has a fever and we must bring it down. Fetch some cold water while I get my herbs.”

  Immediately, Alyx grabbed the buckets and went to the river.

  The next three days were torture for Alyx. She and Rosamund worked continuously to bring Raine’s fever down. His big body was plastered with poultices and the women had to force noxious concoctions down his throat. This forcing was always accompanied by terrible commands from Alyx in which she called Raine everything from a worthless beggar to an overgrown strutting peacock, making Rosamund giggle and, at times, blush. Alyx sang to him constantly, played the lute often, anything to soothe him, to keep him from thrashing about so.

  And while Raine was raging with fever, Jocelin tried to keep command of the outlaw camp, enforcing the daily training Raine had begun, trying to keep the cutthroats from murdering each other.

  “I don’t believe they’re worth it,” Joss said, sitting on the floor at the foot of Raine’s cot. “Why does he,” motioning to the sleeping man to his left, “feel he has to take on their problems?” He accepted a bowl of stew from Rosamund.

  “Raine adopts everyone,” Rosamund said quietly, her head lowered, as it always was. “He truly believes we are worth saving.”

  “We?” Alyx questioned as she looked up from Raine. She never left his side, slept sitting on a stool, her head propped on the edge of his cot. “I do not consider myself the same as a murderer.”

  “And you, Rose?” Jocelin asked. “What crime have you committed?”

  Rosamund did not answer, but when Joss turned his head she looked up at him in such a way that Alyx gasped aloud, quickly covering the sound with a little cough. Rosamund was in love with Jocelin. As Alyx looked from one to the other, each with their extraordinary beauty, she saw how suited they were for each other. She knew why Rosamund was in this horrid camp, because people believed she was marked with the devil, but why was Joss here?

  Early the next morning, Raine’s fever broke. Alyx was sleeping, her head next to his bare arm when she sensed he was different. Looking up at him, she saw his eyes were open, looking about the tent and finally resting on her face.

  Immediately, Alyx’s heart began to pound and her betraying skin began to blush. How would he react to their having made love?

  After a moment he turned away from her, his eyes telling her nothing. “How long have I been ill?”

  “Three days,” she answered, her voice catching in her throat.

  “And you have held order in the camp? Or have they murdered each other?”

  “They . . . they are well. Jocelin has held a sword over their heads and has kept the peace.” When he didn’t reply, she drew in her breath. Now he would speak of them, their passion.

  Instead, he struggled to sit up, and when Alyx started to help him, he pushed her away as if she were of no consequence. Tossing the wool blanket aside, he tore the bandages off his thigh and impersonally inspected the wound on his leg, pushed at it.

  “It’s healing,” she ventured. “Rosamund said the wound was not bad, only the fever. We feared for your life.”

  Turning to her, he gave her a cold, hard look, and she could almost swear there was anger in his eyes. “Fetch me some food and a lot of it. I need to regain my strength.”

  Alyx didn’t move.

  “Damn you!” Raine bellowed, his voice shaking the walls of the tent. The explosion obviously depleted what little strength he had, and for a moment his hand went to his forehead. “Obey me,” he said quietly, lying back. “And boy,” he added as she reached the tent flap, water buckets in her hands. “Bring me hot wine.”

  “Boy!” Alyx gasped once she was outside the tent. “Boy!”

  “Alyx?” Joss asked. “Was that Raine I just heard?”

  Glumly, she nodded.

  “Are you all right? What was he shouting about?”

  “How should I know what that great ox was bellowing about?” she snapped. “How can a low being like myself know what a friend of the king thinks?”

  To her consternation, Jocelin laughed aloud and left her, whistling what Alyx knew was a ribald little song.

  “Men!” she cursed, tossing the buckets into the river, hauling up sand and rocks with the water and then having to repeat the process. The second time she paused, tears in her eyes. “Boy,” she whispered to the cold, rushing water. Did she mean so little to him that he couldn’t even remember their night together?

  Perhaps he needed a few hours to remember, she thought as she went back to the tent, stopping to tell Blanche Raine wanted food.

  “I should know,” Blanche said, her voice sweet, insinuating. “He’s already called me to him, and I must say that Raine Montgomery has lost none of his strength,” she said loudly for the benefit of the people around her, ostentatiously fastening the top of the dirty shirt she wore. “I’ve taken him his food.”

  With her chin up, Alyx entered the tent, her shoulders dragged down by the heavy buckets.

  “What took you so long?” Raine asked, his mouth full.

  She whirled to face him. “I have more duties than fetching your food,” she said angrily. “And it looks like that whore of yours can well provide for you.”

  “Fair enough,” he said evenly, tearing into a leg of pork. “Perhaps we should work on your prudery. A woman is a woman, a fragile, helpless thing, someone to be protected and loved, no matter what her station in life. If you treat a whore like a lady, she’ll be one, and a lady can become a whore. It all depends on the man. Remember that. You’re a long way from reaching manhood yet, but when you do—”

  “When I do I won’t need any advice from you,” she fairly shouted before turning toward the exit, where she slammed into Jocelin. With one angry glance at him, she pushed past him and left the tent.

  Joss glanced at Raine, took a seat on a stool and idly began to strum the lute while Raine silently ate. After a moment, Joss stopped playing.

  “How long have you known about Alyx?” Joss asked.

  Only a hesitation in his eating showed that Raine had heard. “For a matter of hours, re
ally,” he said calmly. “And how long have you known?”

  “Always.” He laughed at Raine’s expression. “I was surprised no one else did. To me she was like a little girl dressed in her brother’s clothes. When you called her a boy I couldn’t believe you meant it.”

  “I wish the hell you’d told me,” Raine said with feeling, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “A few days ago she was writing a letter for me and I nearly kissed her. I was sick for hours afterward.”

  “You’ve worked her harder than anyone else, you know.”

  “Perhaps I was trying to change her shape,” Raine laughed. “I’ve been fascinated by her legs for some time.”

  “And now what do you plan to do with her?”

  Pushing the tray away, Raine leaned back on the cot, feeling very weak, very weary. “Do you know how much of her story is true? What has Pagnell done to her?”

  “Accused her of robbing him, declared her a witch, put a fat reward on her head.”

  Raine lifted one eyebrow at Joss, feeling foolish that he knew so little about what went on under his nose. “How do you think the filth of this camp would react to a young girl in their midst? One whose capture would bring them a reward?”

  A snort from Joss was the only answer.

  “I think it’s best she stay a boy,” Raine said thoughtfully, “and under my protection. The fewer people who know of her true identity the better.”

  “But you will tell Alyx you know she’s a girl, won’t you?”

  “Ha!” Raine grunted. “Let the baggage suffer as I have. She’s flipped that pretty little tail of hers at me at every opportunity, and this morning when I realized how she’d played me for a fool, I could have wrung her neck. No, let her stew awhile. She thinks I don’t remember—” He glanced quickly at Joss. “She thinks I don’t know she’s female, let her stay that way.”