Rhapsody stood silently, absorbing his words. Finally she spoke.
“If I cannot yet be the woman who loves you until we are reunited with our son, and I with my name, I can at least be the woman who wants you.”
Ashe exhaled, finally turning to look at her again. “That latter part sounds promising; it takes a bit of the sting away. Can you be more specific?”
“While I may not be able to feel love yet, I can still feel need. And I do—yours, as well as my own.”
“And how do you wish to meet this need?”
“Come with me behind the barracks and I’ll show you.”
With a savage movement, she grasped the dragonscale mail shirt, bloody and brushed with soot, that shielded her chest and dragged it off over her head, tossing it to the ground at her feet, then nodded to the place she had indicated. When he just stared at her, she extended an impatient hand.
Ashe swallowed dryly.
“You—you’re not proposing we—make love, are you? Now—here?”
“Love? No. To call it such would be untrue. But you have the right idea.” Her gaze hardened. “Are you coming?”
“Rhapsody, from its beginning, without exception, love of incredible depth has been present in our lovemaking—it’s never been anything less than that. It has been, at its very least, a communion of hearts as well as of bodies. Since we wed, it has been one of souls as well. Much as I would dearly love to meet your need, and my own, if that love won’t be present, I’d rather wait until my wife returns, if you don’t mind.”
Rhapsody’s eyes darkened, but her expression didn’t change.
“As you wish,” she said evenly. “I feel pained to remind you, however, that there was, in fact, an exception—one night of nothing but need, in a howling wind, in the darkness of the Teeth, up against just such a mountain wall. Tonight, at least, I remember that pounding need being satisfied, and in my memory the man who granted me that release was you, I think. It wasn’t what either of us really wanted, but it was enough at that moment.”
Ashe shuddered, remembering the incident she referenced.
“And, if you recall, that one exception led you to unspeakable pain, grief, and terror,” he said, “since afterwards you didn’t know for certain that it had been me in the darkness. The demon manipulated you mercilessly because of it.”
“Maybe—I really don’t remember that part, I’m sorry. It’s not that dark. I can see you clearly now.” She shrugged. “But suit yourself. Take care of your injuries and those of your troops. I’ll find other ways to sate my need.” She turned, snatched up her armor, and started back down the side of the swale.
Ashe’s throat tightened as the dragon rose, avaricious, stripping the moisture from the air, making it hum with dryness.
“And with whom do you plan to sate this need, my love, if not with me?”
Rhapsody stopped and turned back to him.
“The quartermaster,” she said flatly. She paused, feeling the static filling the wind around her.
Unconsciously Ashe gripped the hilt of his sword.
“The quartermaster?” he demanded, the multiple tones of the wyrm rising in his voice. “Who is this soon-to-be-dead man—”
“I’ve no idea,” she interrupted, her Namer’s tone slicing through the wind, causing his words to crumble and falter, “other than the soldier who will be responsible for helping me work to the point of exhaustion throughout this night and into morning, packing and provisioning for our journey to retrieve our child and, hopefully, my name—which is how I will sate my need. I said ‘in other ways,’ not ‘with other men.’ Spare the quartermaster; to kill him would truly be unwarranted, unless he refuses to move fast enough in bringing me the provisions. Then by all means, cut his head off.”
She climbed back to the top of the swale and gazed into his face, her eyes narrow and unblinking.
Ashe exhaled shortly.
“Sorry,” he said, the draconic tones fading from his voice. “My other nature is beside itself at the change in you; I don’t know how to behave around you when you are like this. To avoid drowning in loss, the dragon reverts to jealousy.”
Rhapsody’s eyes broke with his, and she looked at the ground.
“That part of me which thinks this aspect of you is endearing must still reside in the Nain kingdom,” she said after a moment. “What’s left of me at the moment finds it annoying and peevish. But no doubt you are feeling the same way about the diminished me. I will take my leave from you now, then, so that we will not damage what we hold sacred when we are our true selves again. But understand this, Ashe; just because I cannot feel my love for you now does not mean that I have ever forgotten the vow I apparently made to you—ever.” She raised the back of her left hand to his eyes. “I did not even need this wedding band to remind me, at least most of the time. Your suspicion and lack of trust insults me. It’s probably a good thing I can feel nothing; if I could, I would doubtless be hurt by your lack of faith in me. Go look in on your men and get your wounds dressed, even if they are minor. I will see you in the morning.” She turned and strode back down the swale.
“Wait, please.” Ashe noted the fury that swam through the muscles of her back as she came to a halt once more. He followed her down the swale and stopped behind her.
“Please,” he said softly. “May I touch you? I need to hold you.”
Rhapsody’s back straightened. “Not tonight.” At the utter absence of sound that followed, she turned and looked levelly at him, and winced at the pain in his eyes. She exhaled and dropped her gaze again.
“You did not understand what I meant by my need, and yours,” she said quietly, without emotion. “You forget, Ashe, there is a part of your soul in me, though it is tied to my old name, and even if I cannot feel the love I know I have for you, I can feel the loss I share with you through that connection. And it has nothing to do with my missing name, or even being separated from our child this night.”
Ashe exhaled. “Then what is it, Aria?”
Her brow blackened, and Rhapsody’s face twisted into an expression of devouring pain mixed with anger.
“What I am feeling, and you should be as well, is the loss of Anborn,” she all but spat. “The death of your uncle—my sworn knight. Your kinsman, and, in a completely different way, my own. The man who rescued me, naked and dying, in a black storm in the forest edge of Sorbold five years ago, who caught me from the sky as I fell from Anwyn’s grip in the Moot—who would have saved me from Michael’s kidnapping last year had I not lamed him in that fall. Forgive me if I cannot remember the feeling of love in being reunited with my husband—I am mourning the death of my friend.”
Ashe reached for her but she pulled away from him, struggling to keep from striking out in the growing wind.
“There was barely anything left of him to bury, Ashe. Though the pyre for his remains lighted the whole of the mountaintops, if we had been inclined to only use enough kindling to immolate what survived the onslaught, the blaze could have been small enough to barely warm a pot of campfire soup. He left behind little more than a river of blood staining the ground, his broken weapons, and a few scraps of metal and cloth, his bones ground utterly to dust save for a piece of his jaw and the wrist of his sword arm, which were a hundred paces apart from one another.
“After all the times he saved me, after all he sacrificed in my service, I was unable to come to his aid the one time he needed me. He summoned me to this place, called me as a Kinsman on the wind, only to have me fail him; I stood, impotent, as nothing more than a witness to his death. He died grinning, laughing at the sky, in the advent of being stamped out in one of the most gruesome, horrific endings I’ve ever heard tell of—me, the Lirin Namer, Singer of endless battlefield dirges and historic tales of brutal death. And I cannot even bring a single tear to bear for that loss, because I’m missing the piece of me that knows how to cry.
“So forgive me if I tried to give vent to the rage that is burning what is left of
my soul alive. Forgive me for reaching out to you in anger, in hate, instead of in love. Forgive me for craving the sweet oblivion of ruthlessly knobbing you in the muddy darkness in back of the broken barracks rather than tearing my own throat in screaming until I break my own eardrums, since my heart isn’t here to break instead. Because that is what I am feeling, Ashe. That is my need. Forgive me if I thought for a moment that you felt it, too. Forgive me if I thought that we could sate that need together, if only in a communion of bodies, rather than hearts and souls. My mistake.”
The whine of the whipping wind rose angrily, punctuating her final words.
Rhapsody turned once more and started off into the night.
Only to be grasped harshly by the arm and spun around again.
Ashe glared down into her eyes, his searing blue gaze meeting the green fire of hers.
“You don’t think I loved my uncle? You don’t think I am mourning him as well? You don’t think I feel the void in the very world at his loss?”
Rhapsody returned his stare without blinking.
“Actually, I know you do—that is not in question. The only question is how we cope with that loss. I thought we would do it together, in a reunion that might not be what we want, but what we need.”
Ashe’s voice fell to a barely controlled whisper, thick with elemental lore.
“And do you understand the ancient powers you are prodding within me at this moment? I have told you my fears, my concern for your safety, my terror of what I might do to you upon our reunion—”
“I don’t remember any of that, but I believe I do understand, Ashe. I also believe there is nothing you can do to me at this moment that will cause me any more pain than I am already feeling. Nothing. I just suggested how we could give vent to that pain, that mutual pain. But since you are afraid, or reluctant, I understand. I will find the quartermaster and start packing—”
Her words were choked off as his lips crushed harshly against hers.
In a silent roar of elemental power that drew strength from the now-howling wind, Ashe tore forward and pulled her roughly into his arms, ripping her from the ground on which she had been standing, and carried her gracelessly into the darkness of the mountain pass, away from any noise or presence of those guarding the encampment.
Instead of struggling or knocking his head back with her impressive right cross, as he had braced for, Rhapsody wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him as if to life itself, returning his kiss with similar desperation and lips that held heat but no real warmth.
Distantly Ashe marveled at the strength of her musculature; when they had parted she had still been weak and frail from Meridion’s difficult birth and the ordeals she had endured prior to it. His dragon senses noted the sinew that had returned to her legs, the corded muscles of her arms and shoulders tighter than had been evident in the past, even when she was still in fighter’s trim before her pregnancy. Her back, pressed now against his forearms, though still lithe, was wider and stronger than it had ever been, and the breasts crushed to his chest, which had been softer, riper, and full of milk when they had said goodbye, now were dry and firm.
His building arousal, and the loosing of the bonds of control, gave him time only to vaguely note the changes in her body as he had in her spirit, rather than to luxuriate in the minutiae of detail available to his dragon senses.
He was too far gone to feel anything resembling regret.
Clenching his upper body and torso as she was, she proved light enough to carry one-armed; Ashe loosed the grip of his left hand and ran it roughly through her shorn hair, now barely reaching her shoulders. He felt a twinge of loss for the long waves of golden silk he had cherished so dearly, but a moment later that thought fled as he clutched her shorter tresses, winding his fingers tightly through them.
The fire that shot through him at the feel of their softness almost caused him to drop her.
As he pressed her up against the rock face of the mountain wall, he wondered dully for a moment if he was hurting her. Then her mouth broke with his; the heat of her lips sank into the fold of his neck, and any trace of that thought vanished.
The chill of the night wind on his hands disappeared and was replaced with glorious heat as he tore the bottom of her shirt loose from the waistband of her trousers and ran his palms up her torso, brushing aside the muslin camisole as if it were nothing more than a coating of dew on grass. She arched her back at his touch, her breasts filling his palms, sending blissful waves of shock through him, followed by tremors as the movement of her hands mirrored his own. The rough calluses on her fingertips and palms, juxtaposed with the silky warmth that her hands exuded, caused him to gasp aloud.
The clutch, the tugging of both of their hands on the laces of the garments that separated them, straining the fabric that kept them apart, tore at the inside of his skull. And then, freed from the interference of their clothing, a heat unimaginable, another kind of grip, overtook him; the return of the physical connection he had missed so deeply consumed his conscious thought.
The human soul within him was distantly aware of and essence of the dragon slightly amused by the banging together of two elemental swords of ancient manufacture and immense might, his the blade of water, hers that of starlight and fire, their scabbards clashing against each other as he delved euphorically into this woman, a woman who didn’t have the same scent he remembered, both alien and completely familiar to him at the same time.
All finesse, all care and detail was lost to the eddies of power rushing forth from both of them; no tenderness, no gentleness of caress was evident in the pounding, blasting need that consumed them both.
The darkness of rage and lust was closing in at the edges of his consciousness.
Overwhelmed now, he was only dimly aware of the woman in his arms propped against the rock face, wrapped as he was in furious heat, the beautiful, desirable, compelling warmth of the elemental fire raging within her, pulling him ever more deeply into her.
He felt not a trace of his beloved Emily.
He was too far gone to care, even as he sensed that he was breaking faith with her.
The woman in his arms leaned forward as she tightened her legs around him.
“Drive it out of me,” she whispered. “Drive yourself into me, and drive the pain out. Make it go away—please.”
“Happy to—do so if—it helps us—honor—Anborn’s memory—”
“Shhhh,” she said into his ear as she caressed it with the warmth of her mouth. “Shhhhhh.”
His last conscious thought before succumbing to what she had called sweet oblivion was of the opposing notions of the overwhelming relief and thrill in being reunited with his treasure again, while at the same time feeling as if he was betraying her with a woman he barely recognized.
And then all thought ceased, blotted out in the flood of frenzied carnal need.
60
Then it was over. Cold reason returned in the passage of the night wind through the mountain pass.
Rhapsody leaned back against the rockwall and exhaled deeply.
“I have changed my mind. You have my permission to touch me after all.”
Ashe chuckled, trying to keep the sense of loss that was impending at bay. “Let me catch my breath, and I will endeavor to make up for my ham-handedness and—”
“That’s not necessary. I wasn’t looking for finesse or romantic niceties, just release—and you gave it to me,” Rhapsody said. She slowly let go of his shoulders, smoothing the surface scratches where her battle-ragged nails had dug into his skin, even through his shirt. “Thank you.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure,” Ashe said ruefully. He swallowed, noting a lack of the warmth in her eyes that always had been a part of their afterglow.
“Please put me down, then.” She pulled the loose, scattered locks of short hair from her face with her fingers as he stepped back and lowered her to the ground. “I’m not sure how that honored yo
ur uncle’s memory.”
Ashe struggled to slow his breathing. “Oh, believe me, Anborn would have loved knowing that his death was being mourned, or rather celebrated, in the heat of raunchy, glorious fornication and panting debauchery, in the open air, amidst the detritus and smoke of the aftermath of battle.”
Rhapsody loosed a ragged sigh. She pushed away from him and started to put her clothing back in place.
“It’s certainly pleasant to believe that, whether or not it is true.”
Ashe nodded. His heart was still racing, but it had begun to slow along with his breath, leaving him feeling bereft already.
“The only thing that would have pleased him more is if we had managed to do it on horseback,” he said, beginning to put himself back to rights as well. “Wherever he is, he is smiling right now.” He paused from tucking in the shirt beneath his studded vest and let his hand come to rest on Rhapsody’s face.
She smiled slightly. “Well, next time the grief threatens to consume us, we can try that if you like, but only on a horse that you don’t.”
Ashe chuckled in spite of himself and caressed her cheek. “Two comments of levity in the same number of minutes; can it be that your humor, and therefore your old self, is returning?”
“No,” Rhapsody said. Her expression and word were not unpleasant, but they felt like the slap of a cold ocean wave nonetheless; Ashe dropped his hand. “Namers are trained in the use of humor as a tool. I am not ill or just feeling grumpy, Ashe; the things about me that you are not happy with cannot get better on their own. I’m missing a rather significant piece of my name, tied to the part of me that you remember most fondly. Until I get that piece back, assuming I even can, I’m bound not to measure up to what you remember. I am sorry for that.”