Divine by Mistake (17 page)

“I’m just going to sit on one of those rocks.”

His expression looked as if he doubted my intentions.

“I promise not to hurl myself over the edge.” He still looked doubtful. “I’ll stay where you can see me.”

The rocks were a lot smoother than they looked from a distance and I had trouble finding toe and handholds. I settled for perching on top of one of the smaller boulders. Facing the water, I loosened my hair from the leather binding, shook it free and closed my eyes. The ocean breeze whipped my hair, lifting it off my shoulders. I ran my fingers through it, willing the clinging scent away from me. I took another deep drink and sent a sincere prayer of thanks to God or Epona or who-the-hell-ever had filled this world with grapes.

I opened my eyes slowly, squinting against the insistent breeze. The shore far below me was wild and dangerous. Waves broke violently against jagged rocks. There was no beach. The sun had drifted down in the sky and, as I watched it kissed the water, making it blush violet and pink. The soft beauty of the sunset was unexpected and I felt my breath catch with pleasure.

Closing my eyes again, I concentrated on things in life that were lovely, not horrifying and unfathomable in their capacity for evil. Like sunsets over the ocean…tall men…red wine. Suddenly an image played across my closed eyelids like a video across a screen. It was a vision of the last time I’d visited Dad. We’d sat on the old wrought-iron chairs that were perpetually rusted because Dad always left them out on the front patio. Our feet rested on the flat top of an old Oklahoma sandstone rock that served as a footstool but was actually just too damn big to be moved out of the way. It was Sunday evening before the last week of school, and already hot for May—I remember the Coors was icy and tasted like spring rain. The warm breeze had covered us with the sweet scent of the butterfly bushes that Dad had planted all around the perimeter of the patio two years before. I told him I couldn’t figure out why mine never did as well as his—he was succinctly explaining to me that his did better than mine because I didn’t shovel enough horse crap on mine.

Which made me laugh then, as it did now. See, some part of my heart told my mind, he’s still alive.

In another world, he’s still alive.

My cheeks felt cold and I realized they were wet with tears. I opened my eyes and looked toward the castle.

The sunset that had earlier colored the ocean so beautifully had now darkened to deeper shades that were more reflective of the end of evening. Oranges and reds painted the uppermost walls of the castle an all-too-familiar bloody tint while casting the rest of the stones into shadow. Through my tears the building took on the blurred appearance of a crouching beast, still red from the kill. I knew all the rules of metaphor and the power of figurative language, but this image wasn’t typed neatly on paper and I wasn’t curled up with a favorite book and a glass of wine, getting a little too lost in an author’s make-believe world. I shook myself and wiped my eyes. This world was my reality, but the malevolent image before me didn’t have to define my new life. Turning my back on the castle, I concentrated on the sea and the sunset, breathing in deep, cleansing breaths of the evening air.

The sun had almost disappeared when I finally climbed down to the nervously waiting centaur who looked relieved as I approached.

“Don’t ever worry about me doing something stupid like that. I’m not a quitter.”

“Of course, my Lady.” He looked slightly ashamed of himself. He really was a cute young guy/horse/ whatever.

“Thank you for caring, though.” I smiled at him and he blushed back at me. I glanced at the castle. The sinking sun had left a glow in the sky and it was getting hard to see, but I thought all the bodies had been moved inside the castle walls.

“How much longer do you think they’ll be?” ClanFintan had been right; I didn’t want to be here after dark.

“Soon, my Lady. They will be finished soon.” He, too, was looking at the castle. “Most of the bodies were near the courtyard and outside the front gate.”

As he quit speaking I thought I noticed rising from the castle a wisp of darkness against the graying. “Is that smoke?”

“Yes, my Lady. Look, they return.” I could see the centaurs, illuminated now by torches they carried, just outside the walls of the castle. As I watched, they threw the torches within the castle and the yellow and orange of catching fire reflected off their coats. I saw all seven of them back slowly away from the castle, bow their heads in unison and salute the dead. Then they turned as one and galloped to where I waited.

I felt my heart perform a funny little leap as ClanFintan drew near me. His face was set and serious, as were the rest of the centaurs’ faces, but his eyes sought mine and I swear I could feel the warmth of his gaze as he closed the distance between us.

“Rhiannon, let us leave this place.” He held out his arm for me to grasp, and the centaurs barely paused as I was swept up to his back and we headed through the forest of pines. I craned my head around and looked at the castle. Smoke billowed from it and flames were already licking its walls.

“We will rest in the storage barn near that last stream.” His voice brought my head back around and I gripped his shoulders as he picked up the pace. I vaguely remembered some kind of barnlike structure that we had passed just before we left the road and cut through the forest.

I hated to complain, but I couldn’t help asking. “Can’t we stay in, well, a house or something in the town that’s just south of the castle?” A real bed and a bath sounded like a wonderful idea.

“Rhiannon, Loth Tor was the first town evacuated to the temple.”

“I’m sure the people wouldn’t mind if we borrowed a place to stay for the night.” Was that me whining?

“Of course they would not mind.” He glanced over his shoulder at me as if I had turned into a moron. “They would be honored to succor you, but firing the castle will draw attention to the area.” He paused and seemed to consider his words before continuing. “If the creatures were to return, the village would be the first place they would raid.”

“Oh—I didn’t think of that. Never mind, I’m sure the barn will be fine.”

“I think you will be quite comfortable, my Lady.”

Well, of course he would consider a barn “quite comfortable.” He was half horse. I scratched my hair and thought longingly of the huge mineral bath at the temple. I didn’t even want to consider the possibility of any kind of parasites, but I started searching my memory to see if I could recall ever hearing about a case of horselice.

It wasn’t full dark yet when we broke from the cover of the trees and crossed a fairly deep stream that bubbled and gurgled its way into the forest not too far from where a barnlike structure stood. ClanFintan set me gently on the ground and Dougal slid open the door. Peeking inside, I could just make out mounds of stuff that smelled like freshly cut hay—which was actually a very pleasant smell. But I knew from Oklahoma experience that snakes like the smell of hay, too (as do mice and rats), so I hung around nonchalantly while the centaur named Connor built a nice-size fire. I watched the other centaurs set up camp and noticed that they were much quieter tonight. And, something else…

“ClanFintan!” He turned quickly from unloading his packs and approached me with worry outlining his handsome face. “You’re missing two of your centaurs.” I hated to be the one to tell him, but he had to know. Were the creatures following us, picking us off one at a time?

The lines of worry softened and he smiled. “They are hunting our dinner. They will return shortly.”

The other centaurs mirrored his smile, which helped to ease my feeling of embarrassed stupidity. At least they could still smile.

“Oh, uh, I knew that.” I breathed deeply of the night air and was rewarded with a decidedly stinky smell. I sniffed again. It was me—I sniffed in ClanFintan’s direction—and him. “Sheuw!” It was the horrible stink of my sweat mixed with the lingering scent of death, oil (must be the lamp oil they used to light the pyre) and, let’s face it, funky horse smell.

“I smell bad!”

ClanFintan shot me a shocked look and I heard several guffaws from the busy horsies.

“I think the water forms a pool a short distance downstream. If you can stand the cold, you can freshen up.”

“Freshen, hell, I need a serious bath.” I sniffed knowingly in his direction, “and I’m not the only one.” This time Dougal laughed out loud. “I didn’t mean just him, either,” I said pointedly to the young, now blushing, centaur. That made ClanFintan laugh. Which decided me.

“Grab a spare blanket and come on then.” I walked purposefully past him and headed toward the stream. I didn’t hear him following, so I stopped and turned to face him. “You don’t expect me to go out there alone in the dark and take a bath, do you?”

He still stood there, looking confused and helpless. Very much like a guy.

“Didn’t you swear to protect me?” That seemed to get through to him, and he yanked a blanket from the hands of one of the eavesdropping centaurs and started after me. I decided suddenly to use a little of Rhiannon’s bitchiness and turned to address the rest of the herd. “It would really be nice if I had a hot meal waiting for me when I finish my bath.” Then I winked and grinned at them. “Something tells me I’m going to need it.” I marched toward the stream, loving the sound of their laughter as it floated in the night.

“Where was that pool?” As usual, I had no idea where I was going.

“A little farther downstream. I noticed a small beaver dam right over there.” He pointed to a mound of tree parts that covered most of the stream.

And he was right. There was a round, basinlike area that made a nice catch pool of water just on the other side of the dam. We walked to the water’s edge and stopped. Darkness had begun to thicken and the light from the centaurs’ campfires threw an eerie glow around the barn. The light didn’t actually reach us, but it reflected off the water upstream and helped to cut through some of the darkness. I could see the pool clearly. It looked about waist deep, fed slowly as the dammed water escaped from an open place amidst the limbs and collected in the basin. The excess ran off in a tiny tumbling waterfall.

“Uh-um.” I succinctly cleared my throat. I felt him looking at me. “That water’s going to be cold.”

“Yes, it is.” He definitely sounded amused.

“Don’t be so smug—you smell bad, too. I have to ride you, which means you get a bath, too.”

“Oh.”

And we were silent again. Jeesh, this was ridiculous. This guy/horse/whatever was, after all, my husband. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done my share of skinny-dipping. I glanced over at him and found he was looking at me. Again. I took a deep breath—reminding myself firmly that I’ve never been shy (my mind whispered that I’ve also never had sex with a horse). Another deep breath and I reached out, resting one hand on his withers to balance, and began taking off my boots.

“Might as well get this over with. It’s sure not going to get any warmer.” I shook my hair loose, handing him the leather tie, then unlaced my pants and slid them off and lay them across a large, flat rock, trying to decide if I should leave my thong on or not. I opted for not (there are better reasons for having a wet crotch than bathing in your panties) and stepped daintily out of the small triangle of material. Without looking at ClanFintan, I reached around and started trying to worry the knot out of the lacing in the back of my shirt—and I heard him move behind me.

“Let me do that.” His voice was deep and had that velvety, sensual tone to it that I was already beginning to look forward to hearing. His fingers replaced my own and I could feel his unique warmth through the soft leather. Far too soon the tie was loosened and I could draw the shirt over my head.

As I walked into the water, I worried briefly about what my butt looked like to him (and hoped fervently that it didn’t jiggle too much), but the second my feet stepped into the water thoughts of butt flub fled my mind and were replaced by—

“Ohmygod! That’s freezing!”

I heard a snort of laughter from behind me.

Not allowing myself to hesitate (because I’d chicken out), I made my way out into the pool. The bottom was rocky, but the rocks were mostly small, smooth pebbles, which was a blessing. I would hate to add sharp, cutting rocks to my freezing feet. Before I could stop myself (and keeping in mind how rank I smelled), I took a deep breath and sank down in the water until I was covered to my shoulders.

“Oh, brrrr!” Actually, I was finding out it wasn’t so bad once I was under the water. It especially wasn’t so bad since the water was now blanketing the view of my naked body from him. I turned to face the centaur, kind of resting half on my butt and half crouching, but definitely under the water and covered to my shoulders.

His face was in shadow, but I saw the white of his teeth flash as he smiled at me.

“I wish I had some soap. My hair could use a good scrubbing.”

He walked toward the edge of the water and I could see he was searching the ground near his hooves. Did he think someone had dropped a bar of Zest on the bank? Suddenly he raised a hoof and stomped several times on a dark, flat stone.

I thought that perhaps lust for me had driven him out of his horsey mind.

“Will this do?” He gestured to the ground, which was now covered with sandlike pieces of rock and lots of soapy bubbles.

I didn’t move. As far as I was aware, Oklahoma doesn’t have any rocks that doubled as soap. I was confused. Again.

“I know it is not perfumed and processed, but sand soap works well, even in its natural form.”

Silly me.

“Um, of course. But, well, I’m going to freeze if I stand up. Do you think you could bring me a handful?” Somehow it was better to have him wade out here and join me while I was covered with water than for me to stand up, all naked and nippley, and parade to him. Maybe.

He started to bend to scoop up the soapy sand.

“Hey, you better take off that vest.” I looked at him and couldn’t help adding a teasing smile. “You’re going to get wet.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy get out of a shirt or vest so quickly.
Eager
was too slow a word. In moments he was causing the pool to slosh and spill over as he waded to me, hands filled with bubbles and sand. As he joined me he offered me the sand soap and I gratefully scooped out a handful (which was, by the way, warm from his touch) and started soaping up my arms, pits, and well, other places. I had to rise a little out of the water to get to some of the other places. I tried to stay turned away from him because he just stood there, watching me, slowly rubbing some sand around his own chest. Which was now very bare—and very muscular—and very broad. Good thing the water was cold; I was suddenly beginning to feel warm. Imagine that.

To take my mind off his chest, I dunked myself all the way under the water, shaking my head until my hair was good and soaked. Emerging back above water (and trying not to sputter unattractively), I reached for more of the sand soap from my very handsome soap holder. The sand felt wonderful as I rubbed it furiously into my hair, and I liked the unusual, sweet scent that drifted down my shoulders with the bubbles. It smelled a little like vanilla, or maybe honey, mixed with some kind of nut.

“I can do that.” His hands replaced my own and he took over for me, massaging the soap into my scalp with warm, firm fingers. “You will be warmer if you stay covered by the water.”

I crouched back down and felt him kneeling behind me. His hands worked through my hair, rubbing and pulling, being careful to keep the soapy bubbles from falling down into my eyes. His body was only a few inches away from me—I could feel the heat of him radiating through the water.

“That feels wonderful.” I meant it as a comradely compliment, but it came out of my mouth as a breathy moan. His hands drifted from my head to my neck, gliding with slick, hot fingers down to my shoulders and back to the base of my neck then up through my scalp again. I leaned until I felt my back touch the heat of his chest. His hands stilled on my shoulders. I placed my hands over his and then glided them up his soapy forearms, loving the hard feel of his tense muscles.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. Through my back I felt his heartbeat increase as his hands moved forward and down under the water, taking the heaviness of my breasts, one in each of his hands, and squeezing them gently while he drew me more firmly against his body.

This time I didn’t even attempt to make my moan sound comradely. The cold of the water combined with his heat and the slickness of the soap. I felt everything inside of me liquefy. Turning in his arms, I rose just far enough out of the water so that our faces were almost even with each other. His hands dropped to cradle my waist and I reached up, ringing the excess soap from my hair into my hands and piling my sudsy hair in a ball on top of my head. Not taking my eyes from his (which was difficult because I
really
wanted to gawk at his gorgeous chest), I began rubbing the soap over his torso.

“I can do that,” I purred.

He smiled as my words echoed his. I lathered his chest, working the sandy soap up to his shoulders and down his wonderfully muscular arms. Then I swiped the extra soap, cupping the bubbles in my hands and reaching under his arms to rub them around his back. The tips of my breasts worked seductively against his chest, moving to the rhythm of my hands.