“Vembar asked me to give it to Ezren, with his compliments.” Bethral eased the box to the ground. “He claims it’s a portable writing desk, with supplies within, but I question the ‘portable.’”
Josiah chuckled. “Well, if there’s one that needs it, it would be Ezren. The man is a walking book.”
Bethral settled herself on the well and sighed. Probably for the best that the green-eyed man was in the barn. He’d certainly be warm and safe there, until they could build a suitable place for one such as him. A man like that, a man of learning, would want his privacy. She’d find a space in one of the tents.
She looked about, studying the work on the hut. “They’ve gotten a lot done in a short time.”
“Without so much as a by-your-leave,” Josiah grumbled. “By the ‘order of the Chosen.’”
Given his surly tone, silence seemed the best response.
Bethral watched as one of the lads working by the tents started their way. Josiah spotted him as well, and grumbled under his breath. “They’ve been asking me questions all day: where to find this, and what to do about that. They expect me to make decisions.”
Well, he was in a mood, that was certain. Best be about her tasks, then. But she’d a message to convey to him, and she was certain it would not be well received. Bethral leaned down, and picked up the desk. “There’s to be a meeting in the morning. Red, Auxter, and the other leaders. They will come here to break their fast.”
“Here? Why here?” Josiah demanded.
Bethral stood. “So you can be a part of it.”
That drew a grim look. “I’m of no use to them,” Josiah snapped. “It’s safer to stay at the farm.”
Bethral shrugged.
Josiah rolled his eyes. “Order of the Chosen, I suppose.”
“Just so.” Bethral kept her voice pleasant and her face neutral. “Evelyn has returned to the Church, and Red is eating with Vembar and Auxter.”
“Fine,” Josiah growled.
“She said to tell you that she will return here tonight,” Bethral added.
The lad came up to them at a run. “Begging you pardon, Lord Josiah,” he said. Josiah growled under his breath, but the fool blithered on. “Oris says to ask if we can dig the new necessaries off behind the tents.”
“Ask the Chosen, why don’t you?” Josiah snarled. He stood, and stomped off down one of the paths. Bethral admired the stiff and stubborn lines of his back, but they lost some impressiveness when five goats took off after him, prancing and bleating at his heels.
Open-mouthed, the lad stared at the retreating Lord Josiah. He swiveled his head back and looked at Bethral. “What do I tell Oris now, Lady?”
Bethral sighed. “Tell him that I’ll come and talk with him. I need to speak with the storyteller, then I will be there.”
“My thanks, Lady!” The lad ran off.
Bethral shifted her burden, and looked at the retreating back of Lord Josiah Athelbryght. Poor man. He was learning what she already knew so well.
Be careful what you wish for….
JOSIAH gritted his teeth, and ripped the weeds out of the soil, roots and all.
He’d fetched a hoe, but the marjoram needed tending, and he needed to rip and tear and hurt the weeds. Stones dug into his knees and sweat dripped off his face, but he didn’t care. The dirt gave way under his hands, and the sweet scent of crushed leaves filled the air.
Who did she think she was? The place was flooding with people and horses. Had she given any thought to how dangerous that was? His home torn asunder, walls moving, everything…changing.
He sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The spring sun wasn’t that hot, but he’d been working hard to clear this bed.
Damn her eyes. Damn her birthmark. He’d had five years of silence, and pain. Five years of penance—and it was all blown away in a moment.
His stomach churned. He closed his eyes for a moment, then spat to clear his mouth.
He wanted a Chosen. Wanted someone to avenge Athelbryght. But it was all moving so fast, and he’d never thought he’d be involved. Didn’t she see him for the failure he was?
Josiah opened his eyes, and tore back into the weeds. Worse, he’d found himself giving orders, making decisions. He’d have taken charge as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t made the mistakes that led to his people’s deaths.
“You’re upset.”
He looked up to see Red Gloves standing there, her hands on her hips. She tilted her head. “Let me guess. You thought I’d wait five years to get started.”
WITHIN her own head, Red laughed silently. So that’s what Josiah’s eyes looked like when he was furious. Snapping with energy, sparkling with life, heat, and anger.
Desire spiked through her. Who knew a dirty goatherder would create such heat deep within her?
“It’s not safe here, and the land can’t support these people,” Josiah snapped.
Red looked around at the herb beds, brimming with plants. “You’ve been safe enough. And Auxter can support us for the short time we’ll be here.” Red made a great show of heaving a deep sigh, giving Josiah a patient look.
He looked down at the soil beneath his hands.
“So”—Red drawled the word out—“it’s to be permanent, then, this burnt-out shrine? And all the lands about?”
“You could respect the dead,” Josiah growled.
“I do, as long as they don’t take up too much time,” Red replied calmly. She chuffed out a laugh. “Look around, Josiah. Hells, look at your feet. Even the earth knows. Those weedy things are growing like…weeds.” She had to chuckle at that, but Josiah wasn’t sharing the laugh. Poor man. She really shouldn’t tease, but it was far too much fun. Besides, he needed it.
“It’s marjoram.” His tone was flat and joyless.
“Whatever,” Red said. “Slow but sure, the land returns to life.”
“You’re a cold bitch,” Josiah growled.
“No,” Red replied calmly. “I’m the Chosen. One who will do the work, and not sit on her heels and wait for this prophecy of yours to do its will.”
Josiah’s cheeks stained red at that, and he jerked to his feet. He had an inch on her, and tried to use it by towering over her, but she didn’t flinch or step back. She looked him right in the eye. He opened his mouth in a snarl, but she cut him off. “I face life head-on, Josiah of Athelbryght.” She spat. “I don’t flinch from the pain any more than the pleasure. That’s life, and if you are lucky, there’s joy in equal measure to the pain.”
“What do you know of pain?” Josiah growled. She was close enough that he could smell her, and her scent filled his mouth, making it water.
Red’s eyes went flat. “So you’re the only one that’s suffered, is that it? Well, my goatherder, I’ve had pain and some to spare, but I didn’t hide in the ashes for five years.”
Josiah’s hands formed fists, white at the knuckles.
“Weep yourself dry if you will,” she continued, “but I’ll not waste another minute. Bring it on—victory or defeat, either or, makes no never mind to me.” She shook her hair back off her face.
ANGERED beyond any real thought, Josiah reached for her. He grabbed her arms and yanked her close, not certain if it was to kill her or kiss her. Their eyes met, her cold passion meeting his hot fury. His lips curled back, seeking some scathing rebuke. Instead, he found their lips crushed together in a kiss, an open-mouth demand on his part.
She returned the kiss in equal measure. His shock was short, swept away by tongue-to-tongue wet heat.
His arm dropped to wrap around her waist, and with the other he grabbed her wrist, feeling the leather of her glove in his grasp. He pulled her down, into the depths of the marjoram, forcing her beneath him, pressing her to the ground.
Hands flew, clothing parted as the smell of crushed herb filled the air. They writhed there in the dirt, her armor melted away, and he used his leg to part her thighs, fumbling with his trous.
Fra
ntic, furious, he entered her and thrust hard, pounding her into the earth, trying, striving for something just outside his grasp. Until he exploded in heat, rage, and pure sweet pleasure.
He collapsed on top of her, sprawled like a broken doll. His breathing was harsh in his own ears, and it took long moments before he could hear her breathe, too.
“Feel better, Josiah?” Red’s voice was warm in his ear. She turned her head slightly and licked the curve of his ear.
He shuddered, then, at what he’d done. Swallowing hard, he tried to pull back. “I…sorry. I took….”
Her laughter, clear and sweet, stopped him. “You took nothing.” Her leather-covered fingers teased the hair at the base of his neck.
“I forced—”
“You think so?” She shifted slightly, and something pricked his side. A glance showed a dagger point pressed to his belly. “I’ve been forced, my goatherder. Never again.” The dagger disappeared as quick as it came. “But you took your own pleasure here and now, and owe me in return.” She carded her fingers through his hair, and showed him a sprig of marjoram. “I prefer the softness of your bed before you pay me what is owed.”
He stared at her dumbly. “They tore down my home.”
“No, Josiah. Come and see.”
SHE led him back through the herb beds toward the hut after they’d cleaned off. The goats danced at their side, pushing their noses into Josiah’s hands, demanding attention. They tried it with Red, but she fixed them with a glare that put a stop to that.
Damn goats.
As she’d ordered, the hearth still stood, but the foundations had been laid around it for a wooden platform. Red nodded in approval at the tent over the platform. It was thick wool, nothing permanent, but it would serve as a command center. The tent was in two parts; the wider area now held the table and as many chairs and benches as would fit.
The smaller area, by the hearth, had cloth as a divider, and held the bed. Josiah’s old hut would now be his bedroom.
Their bedroom.
The warriors had cleared out of the area, and there were men moving about the tents, seeing to the fires at the end of a day. She could see Bethral talking to a group of riders, so the watch was set.
“You see?” Red asked, as she held the cloth aside. “You’ve a bed, Josiah.”
“I’ll bed down the goats,” Josiah said.
“I’ll be waiting.” Red gave him a sultry look.
The fabric moved slightly in the light breeze. With a fire in the hearth, it would be warm enough. Red set about the task, well pleased.
Once the flames bit at the wood, Red moved about, taking off her sword belt and hanging it by the bed. Her packs were by the side, her bedroll on top.
By the time Josiah returned, she was naked on the bed.
And oh, so ready….
JOSIAH was sated and drowsy when Red stirred. He thought she’d a need for the necessary, but the sounds she was making caused him to open an eye. And then both of them.
She was setting out her bedroll in front of the fire.
“What are you doing?” Josiah asked. “Come back to bed.”
Red turned her head and looked at him. She frowned, as if puzzled. “Why?”
Josiah caught his breath. “I—” He took a breath, uncertain. “I thought you’d sleep with me. Isn’t that what—” The words caught in his throat of a sudden. No. That wasn’t what she was used to.
Red glanced down at her bedroll and then back at him, puzzled. “I can guard from here, Josiah. If someone comes in…”
“The bed is more comfortable.” Josiah sat up in the bed, and the blanket slid down off his chest. “And your presence beside me is part of the pleasure.”
It came and went in an instant, the merest flicker of longing in her eyes. But he saw it, and knew it for what it was. This woman—this lovely, hard, powerful woman—had never known comfort.
He’d bedded women before, and he’d always prided himself in seeing to his partner’s pleasure as well as his own. But here was one who knew all the pleasure of sex, but none of the intimacy that can be shared between two bodies under a warm blanket.
Still, she hesitated.
“Please,” Josiah whispered.
She stood there, naked but for her gloves, then shrugged. “As you wish.”
Josiah lay back down, and watched as she rolled the pallet up. For all her careful casualness, Josiah knew he’d unsettled her. She fiddled with the placement of her sword and dagger, laying them just so by the bed.
He held the blanket up for her as she slid back in beside him.
She gave him a knowing look. “You just want me close at hand for a morning romp.”
“Do you blame me?” Josiah answered. “Why pad across a cold room, when I can reach out my hands within the warmth of the blankets?”
Red chuckled, relaxing as she settled herself. “I like a bit of play before breakfast.”
Josiah settled next to her, careful to let only their shoulders touch. “We will both profit, my mercenary.”
Red yawned, and seemed to fall asleep between breaths.
Josiah watched her face in the firelight for a long moment.
JOSIAH awoke some time later, to find Red curled around him, her head on his shoulder, her gloved hand over his heart. He smiled, half-asleep, and covered her hand with his own. The red leather was warm under his fingers.
She was like a kitten, he thought muzzily. All teeth and claws when awake, but soft, warm, and purring while sleeping. He smiled faintly as he drifted back to sleep. A brown tabby, who’d played rough all day and now cuddled close.
Of course, it would be worth his life to call her so….
SIXTEEN
EZREN closed his eyes as he felt High Priestess Evelyn reach out and gently touch his throat. She was so close he could smell the incense lingering in her formal embroidered robes. It reminded him of services, the trailing smoke rising from the braziers as the sun streamed in the windows. He felt his body relax at her touch and the soft sound of her prayers.
It was warm in the foaling room, with a fire crackling in the hearth, but he still felt a chill. He’d slept well enough, even though someone had kept coming in during the night to feed the flames. When he’d woken, there’d been someone to aid in his ablutions.
Not the Angel of the Light, though.
Clean clothing, warm bread and butter, and a mug of hot kavage had made him feel better. One of the warriors had told him that Evelyn was on her way, so he’d been made comfortable on the bunk, and wrapped in blankets to ward off a chill. Far better treatment than—
No. His mind shied away, and he concentrated on the sensations of being healed, concentrated on the sound of Evelyn’s prayers, on the slight tingle of warmth on his skin. He lifted his chin slightly, and took a long breath. How would you tell this in a story? What words would you use to get your listener to—
“There.” Evelyn’s voice was soft.
He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him closely, her eyes questioning.
He swallowed, and took a breath. “Lady…”
He winced as his voice cracked.
The priestess sighed, and stepped back to sit on the other bunk. It was just the two of them in the foaling room, for which he was grateful. He didn’t have to hide his disappointment from her.
“Ezren, I’m sorry. I’ve done what I can,” Evelyn said.
“I am grateful for my life, Lady High Priestess,” Ezren croaked, pulling his blankets tighter around his body. “But is there any possibility that…”
Evelyn reached for the kavage by the fire and poured a mug. The firelight caught her small silver ring and made it gleam. “Your voice may yet return, with time.” She handed him the mug. “More to the point, you need to rebuild your body slowly. Rest, food, time—those are your best healers now.”
He sighed, and sipped his kavage.
“Red has called for a council this morning,” Evelyn said. “We’d like you there, if you feel wel
l enough.”
“Here?” Ezren looked around the room, stuffed with supplies.
Evelyn shook her head. “Red has a command tent set up outside.”
Ezren clutched the mug tighter. “Who will be there, Lady?”
“Red, of course. Josiah. Bethral. Gloriana—”
“The young one?” Ezren considered that as Evelyn continued.
“Vembar. He insists—”
Ezren’s head jerked up. “Vembar of Edenrich? The late King’s Chancellor?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “Then there is Auxter, and his lady, Arent,”
“Of the late King’s Guard?” At her nod, Ezren continued. “I know Vembar, and I’ve heard of Auxter.” He looked at her closely. “And I know why your hair turned white, Lady High Priestess.”
“I doubt there is much you don’t know, Ezren Storyteller.” Evelyn smiled ruefully. “We need that knowledge, if you would share it with us.”
“I am not sure, Lady.” Ezren hesitated.
Evelyn gave him a considering look. “They know what you have been through, Ezren. You should not be ashamed of your appearance.”
Ezren reached up, and felt the scarred skin of his scalp. “No, Lady, of course not.”
Evelyn said nothing, merely stood and reached for his blankets. “Come. The sun is warm, but there is a bit of a breeze this morning. You can wear my cloak with its hood up.”
“Very well.” Ezren reached out to hand her his mug, then started to wrestle his way from the bedding. “Perhaps it would be best if I were there. We need to talk, Red Gloves and I.”
“GRACIOUS Gods.” Vembar breathed out in horror. “Is that Ezren?”
Josiah turned to see Evie emerge from the barn, Ezren at her side. The man was hunched, but he was walking under his own power. His face was still so very thin, almost skeletal.
“They warned you,” Arent said softly as she served Vembar some of the kavage. She blocked Vembar’s view as she reached for the pitcher.
Vembar was a consummate diplomat and composed his face quickly. But Josiah knew he was shaken and trying to get himself under control.