“I’m called Josiah,” Red heard him say through the door.
Red grinned. Frightened animals and people, they all trusted Bethral within a moment of hearing that voice. She chuckled, missing Bethral’s next words.
When the door banged open, she looked around in surprise.
JOSIAH banged through the door without a thought, his arms full of wood. But he froze there, mouth open, eyes drinking in the sight.
Red had turned to look at the door, her expression a question, her long brown hair hanging straight behind her, past her shoulders. The light of the fire danced over her burnished skin, for she stood naked as the day of her birth, except for the red gloves on her hands and the bar of soap she held.
Muscular and strong, with a few scars here and there. A warrior’s body, but that only added to her loveliness.
Her look was not astonishment or fear or embarrassment, as he would expect. Rather, her brown eyes sparkled with life as she took in his shock. After the pause lengthened to the point of pain, she arched an eyebrow at him, and planted one gloved hand on her hip. Her breasts swayed, the birthmark beneath her right breast a sharp, dark brown contrast to her skin.
Josiah sucked in a breath and backed away, dropping the wood. He thought he stammered an apology, but he wasn’t sure he was using actual words. He pulled the door shut, then stared at the closed door, still seeing her in his mind’s eye. Her breasts. Her birthmark.
A sound drew his attention, and he turned to see the tall blonde staring at him oddly, down by the horses. He moved her way, walking quickly, clearing his throat. “I interrupted her. At her bath. I’m sor—”
Her expression stopped him cold. With a frown and a swift lunge, she was between him and the foaling room, pulling her sword. “Was she wearing her gloves?”
Josiah gaped at her in astonishment.
“Quick, man.” Bethral pushed him back toward the outside door, her focus down the corridor, as if fearing attack. “Did she have her gloves on?”
TWO
“WHAT?” Josiah repeated, his confusion growing by the moment.
“Was she wearing gloves?” The blonde was focused on the aisle and the door, her voice tense, her stance protective.
The image flashed before his eyes again: the naked warrior in the firelight. Something stirred in his groin, something he’d thought long dead. The soap glistening on her slick skin, the suds between the fingers of her….
“Yes,” Josiah said, clearing his throat to speak. “Yes, she was.”
“Oh.” Bethral’s tension melted away. She sheathed her sword and stepped back to the horses.
Josiah watched her, puzzled. “She was naked,” he explained. “I burst in on her.”
“So?” Bethral didn’t even bother to look at him. She just shrugged. “Red won’t care.”
Josiah frowned, glancing back toward the door. She certainly hadn’t appeared offended. She’d almost seemed…interested. Standing there, not moving, except that sardonic eyebrow raised in a question. And the dagger-star birthmark beneath her breast.
He swallowed hard.
The rattle of feed buckets pulled him back. The horses were eager as Bethral put the grain before them. She reached for a cloth then, and started rubbing the horses’ legs down as they chomped on the feed, murmuring to them softly.
“I’ve food to share, some stew and biscuits,” Josiah offered. “I’ll bring it out. To make amends.”
Bethral glanced over, her blue eyes warm. “There’s no amends needed.” She spoke softly, the sound easing some of the tension from Josiah’s shoulders. “But hot food would be welcome indeed.”
Josiah nodded, grabbed up his cloak, and headed back into the dark.
“RUDE pig.”
Bethral looked up from her task to see Red standing in the aisle, glaring through the open barn door at the rain outside. Or at Josiah’s figure disappearing into the mist.
“What was wrong with the man?” Red grumbled. “Certain sure, there’s nothing wrong with me. A few scars, maybe, but I’m decent looking.”
Bethral snorted softly. Red had managed a quick wash and was dressed in her spare tunic and trous, a dagger at her belt, a fresh pair of dry gloves on her hands. Good. That would put her in a better mood. “Not so rude that he fails to give shelter to two strange women bearing weapons, when he has none.” Bethral turned back to rubbing the horses’ legs dry. “Perhaps he prefers his own sex.”
Red glared out the door and growled something under her breath.
“He offered to share his supper in apology,” Bethral added.
Red gave her a quick look. “Food?” She quirked an eyebrow at Bethral. “Well, then, maybe I can forgive his actions.”
Bethral chuckled.
Red grabbed a dry cloth. “I’ll finish this. The bags are wet clear through, but I pulled out your spares and put them by the fire. Go and change. I’ll get them watered and bedded for the night.”
Bethral straightened with effort. “I’ll do that.” She paused for a moment. “Red, you need to warn him. About—”
Red gave her a stubborn look. “I left them on, didn’t I? We’ll not be here long enough to—”
Bethral held up her hand to stop the familiar argument. “I’m too tired to argue.” She turned to go, aware that Red was muttering under her breath, but too tired to care. The surge of energy she’d felt before was gone, leaving exhaustion in its wake. It was all she could do to walk to the foaling room.
The birthing stall was large, but what drew her was the small fire by the two bunks. True to her word, Red had set out her clothes to warm.
Bethral heaved a sigh of relief as the warmth of the fire wrapped around her body. She was cold, and ached in every joint. It took the last of her strength to lift her arms and remove her chain shirt. She sighed deeply as the weight came off her shoulders.
She’d heard of elven chain that was half the weight of human make. Said to be as rare as elves themselves. Bethral shook her head. Might as well wish it was magic armor while she was at it.
She sat then, to pull off her boots and peel off her heavy leather trous. Muck and grit had gotten under every layer as she undressed, so she took her bucket and moved away from the fire to splash as much as she wished. The feel of the water on her skin revived her a bit.
Once dressed, she started in on the saddlebags. Red joined her once the horses were bedded, and they sorted out the few possessions they shared. Everything was wet, from their clothes to the provisions.
“The dried meat is fine, but the beans are wet.” Bethral set those items aside.
“We’ll need to clean everything tomorrow,” Red grumbled softly, pulling out a pack of spare bowstrings.
“And oil the armor and blades before rust sets in,” Bethral added.
Red lifted her head at the sound of the barn door opening and closing, and footsteps headed their way. The soft tap at the door made her give Bethral an amused glance. Bethral returned it. Apparently their host had learned his lesson.
Bethral opened the door to find Josiah laden with a cloth parcel and a covered pot. He went to the fire and uncovered the stew. A tantalizing aroma filled the room, and Bethral took a deep breath.
“What is that scent?” Red asked, sniffing the air.
Josiah gave her an odd glance. “Marjoram.”
“Don’t know that spice,” Red said. “Smells good.”
She plopped down on one of the bunks, and Josiah gestured to Bethral to take the other. He sat before the fire, and unwrapped the bundle and started to dish out the stew.
“I don’t have three bowls.” He handed Red a full mug and a spoon.
Red dug in, not waiting a moment. Bethral accepted her mug with a smile. Josiah handed them each a biscuit, and for the moment they all three ate in silence. Josiah had emptied his bowl and was refilling Red’s mug when he spoke. “You are not from here.”
Bethral gave the man a long look over her mug. Smarter than he looked, then.
Red
shrugged. “Never said we were.”
“What gave it away?” Bethral asked, curious. They’d worked on their language skills for some time.
Josiah shrugged. “A faint accent. And that you’ve not seen marjoram used in stew before. It’s fairly common in Palins.” His eyes slid over to Red, and then he looked back at Bethral. “And other things.”
“We’re from Soccia.” Red held out her mug for more. “Not much work for two mercenaries in a land fat with peace.”
Josiah’s face darkened. “There’s no peace here.”
Red nodded, never noticing his dark look as she dug into her second helping. “Should be able to find work, then.”
Bethral stifled a sigh. There were times….
They continued eating in silence. Bethral sensed that Josiah had something on his mind, but she didn’t really feel like encouraging him to talk. The warmth and the food made her sleepy, and all she cared was that there was a bed beneath her. They’d sleep warm, dry, and safe, and she was grateful.
Finally, after they’d scraped the pot empty, Red set down her mug and sighed. “Any more and I will burst. My thanks, Josiah.”
“Mine as well,” Bethral added.
Josiah gathered the dishes into his bundle. “I’ll leave you to sleep, then. There’s blankets in the trunk, and you’ve enough wood.” He stood and cleared his throat. “I’d ask…were you wounded? I saw a mark under your breast and—”
Bethral mentally rolled her eyes. The goatherder wasn’t being very subtle. But then she caught Red’s eyes shifting slightly, and knew full well her sword-sister was up to something…
RED Gloves considered the man before her, then reached for the bottom of her tunic. “Twelve, no.” She stood and slowly pulled the material up, watching as his eyes followed the cloth edge. She lifted it to just below her breasts, making sure that a bit of curve was revealed. “A birthmark, nothing more.”
The poor man stood staring, as if poleaxed.
She studied him through half-closed eyes. Oh, he was interested, which pleased her. There was desire there, that was certain. Something else as well…how long had he been alone? Not healthy to repress a body that way.
Well, he was about to get his itch well and truly scratched. Red lowered her tunic, making sure her dagger handle was free, but she didn’t bother tucking her tunic into her trous.
Josiah seemed to come back to himself. He opened his mouth as if to talk, but Red made a point of stretching, and yawned until her jaw cracked. No sense letting the man talk, after all.
Josiah hesitated, then spoke. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Your horses look in need of some rest. I can provide breakfast, but my supplies will not stretch far.”
“We have some beans that need cooking,” Bethral lifted the sack.
“Let me have them, and I will set them to soak,” Josiah offered.
“Gladly.” Bethral smiled, handed him the beans. “Good-night, Josiah. Our thanks again for the shelter and the food.”
Red gestured toward the door. “I’ll walk with you, Josiah, and check the horses.” She tried not to sound too smug.
Josiah gave her a questioning look, but headed for the door. Red followed, and pulled the door firmly closed behind them. She caught a brief glimpse of her sword-sister as the door closed.
Bethral was rolling her eyes as they left.
Red smirked at her. Some men just needed to have the obvious made plain, that was all.
She turned and followed Josiah down the aisle of the barn as the big man blew out the lanterns in the aisle, leaving only the light from the one he carried. The light caught the glints of silver in Josiah’s dark curls. One minute she thought his hair black; the next, a dark brown. She wondered whether it curled around his—
They paused by the horses, and Josiah raised the lantern, showing that the beasts were well and fast asleep. He turned toward her, and looked down into her eyes. “I can leave this with you, if you need—”
Red reached out and caught a handful of his tunic in her gloved hand. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled him closer. There was a puzzled look in those pained eyes, as if uncertain as to her intent.
She smiled slightly as she captured his mouth.
He tasted salty. Or was it sweet? There was a subtle spice to the warmth of his lips.
She felt him move away, and so pressed him back against the stable wall, using the entire length of her body. His body was taut, tense, but she concentrated on the kiss. He opened his mouth under hers, probably in protest, but she just explored further.
A thrill swept through her when she felt him relax into the kiss. His heat was delicious, and she hungered. Even through the layers of clothing, she felt his body respond to her.
Her free hand moved up to thread her gloved fingers through his hair. She shifted her weight slightly, and raised her leg up along his, eager for more. Releasing her grip on his tunic, she stroked down to fumble at the waist of his trous. Josiah groaned into her mouth as she searched for—
Strong hands on her waist lifted her, and set her way from him with a thud.
Five goats’ heads emerged between the slats of a stall, blinking at them in the light.
Red stood, gasping, staring at the man who looked flustered and grim. “I am not fit, Lady.”
Her eyes went down to his crotch. He’d seemed—
“Not fit for a relationship,” Josiah said.
“Who said anything about a relationship?”
BETHRAL raised an eyebrow when Red stalked back into the birthing room and closed the door with a slam. Red’s trysts were usually a little longer than—
She got a good look at Red’s face and decided not to ask what had happened.
“Watches?” Bethral asked.
Red’s anger faded as quick as it had come. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Not sure it’s necessary.” She shrugged ruefully. “Not sure I could stay awake.”
Bethral gave a short nod, then dragged the heavy blanket trunk in front of the door. “That should give us some warning.”
Red had her weapons on the floor within reach. She checked the fire, then crawled between her blankets. “I doubt a small army bursting through would wake me. I am that tired.”
Bethral grunted her agreement, arranged her weapons, and crawled into her bunk. A simple straw mattress, but it felt like the finest down. The blankets warmed quickly, and she felt her muscles finally ease. They’d traveled hard and been lost in that mire for so long, she wasn’t even sure of the days. “That’s the last time I follow you into a bog, Red.”
The only answer was a soft snore.
Bethral closed her eyes, and let sleep enfold her.
JOSIAH ducked his head as he entered his hut, pushed the door closed, and drew a deep breath.
The room hadn’t changed. Just big enough for his needs, with a table, chair, and bed. The herbs he had drying in the rafters stirred in the cold air he’d let in the door.
The largest thing in the room was the old stone hearth. The fire he set there didn’t come close to filling it, but it was enough to warm the small hut.
Josiah sighed, and set his burden down on the table.
It couldn’t be true, of course. They were mercenaries, women warriors out of Soccia. But there it was, below her right breast, the dagger-star birthmark. Clear as day and sharp as a blade.
She’d kissed him.
A tingle passed over his skin at the memory. She’d pressed up against him, and he could still feel her body, her warmth, her mouth. Five years it has been, five long years, since he’d held a woman.
No, that wasn’t right. He’d never held a woman like her in his arms. No shy reluctance, no hesitation. Just a warm and very willing woman in his arms, making it very clear what she wanted. She was no lady of the court, full of deceit and treachery, hiding her plans behind words of love.
He looked at the bundle in his hands without really seeing it. It wasn’t a dream. He’d eaten with them; the dishes in
the bundle were proof they were real.
That and the fact that his pot was empty.
He set about washing the dishes, and took care of the few chores that needed doing. But his hands moved on their own, with no real help from him. His mind was too filled with the possibilities.
His groin stirred, and Josiah drew a deep breath, trying to suppress that urge. No, he needed to concentrate on the other possibility.
Red Gloves bore the birthmark of the Chosen of Palins.
His fire banked and the beans set to soak, Josiah stripped down and crawled beneath the wool blankets of his bed. He lay there, breathing, as the bed warmed around him. He stared up at the thatch of the roof, lost in thought.
After all this time, after all the pain, could this be? Could revenge be that close?
He lay there for a long time as the fire died to coals, his heart filled with a strange mix of hope and fear. In the morning, he’d make some breakfast and talk to the women. Try to learn more, try to explain—
A soft bleat broke through his thoughts.
Josiah’s gaze shifted to focus on the small white goat by the bed. She danced closer, and butted her head against his shoulder.
“Did I wake you, Snowdrop?” Josiah asked softly. He reached out and scratched her between the ears. She leaned into the scratch. The four others bleated softly, coming from the shadows. The two largest settled down by his bed, tucking themselves close. The little white one stamped her foot as the other small ones leapt up on his bed.
“All right, all right.” Josiah shifted to lie on his side as the goats tucked themselves in along his legs and back. The small white one was quick to claim the spot in front of his chest.
Surrounded by the familiar warmth of their bodies, Josiah yawned and curled his arm around the white one. He closed his eyes with a sigh.
In the morning, he’d talk to them. Learn and explain….
In the morning, he’d…