Hers to Choose (4 page)

He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.
I must have lost more blood than I thought. Moving has become problematic.
Eric felt
her
eyes watching. A sense of tired futility washed through him.
All these good men dead. And for what? To bring back an unwilling bride?

“Commander?”

Sophi’s
soft voice interrupted his grim thoughts.

“
Yes,
Flight Leader
?” He couldn’t summon the energy to open his eyes.

“Commander, can you move?”

No.
“Yes.” He opened his eyes to see her kneeling next to him with an expression of grave concern.

“
There is something you must see. Can you get on your horse?”

No
.
“Yes.” He rolled to all fours and staggered to his feet with the assistance of the boulder. He propped himself on his hands until his head stopped spinning, then pushed upright. Bright red palm prints remained behind. His horse was impossibly distant, too far for him to reach—at least six feet.
Just one foot in front of the other.
Ahh. Steady my boy, move a muscle, dear friend, and I’m on my face.
Don’t remember mounting being this difficult. Why am I on my horse? Ah, yes. The oh-so-ravishing Sophi.

“Commander?
Commander DeStroia? Eric?”

“
Flight Leader
.” He blinked slowly, trying to focus.
Hmm. I see two of her.

“Are you
all right?”

No.
He forced his voice to remain firm and level. “Yes,
Flight Leader
. What ‘must’ I see?”

“Follow me.”

Happily, his horse followed Sophi’s without guidance. He concentrated on remaining upright and mounted.

He had no idea what distance they rode but it couldn’t have been far.
At the change in temperature and lack of light, he opened his eyes. Sophi had brought them to the entrance of a cave.

“Duck your head, Commander. The ceiling gets low.”

He smashed his nose on his horse’s neck and got a mouthful of mane. All went black.

* * *

Murmurs of conversation and the splash of water penetrated his consciousness.
Dreaming. Desert. No water.
He shifted. A moan escaped his lips.
Pain. Goddess, the pain.
He bit back another moan as he moved in his blankets.
Blankets?

“
Flight Leader
, Commander DeStroia wakes.”

“I’m coming, Adonia. How is he?”

“Much better,
Flight Leader
. His fever has broken.”

A cool cloth bathed his face.
Heaven.
A blacksmith had taken up residence in his skull and was beating his way out, one ringing hammer blow at a time. He forced his eyelids open for a brief second.
Sophi.
She of the cool, wet cloth. He tried again, blinking, attempting to focus.
Stunning, aqua-eyed Sophi.
Not a dream.

“
Welcome back, Commander. Drink, please.” A clay cup pressed his lips, then cold water.
Heavenly nectar must taste like this.
He sucked it down.

Pushing
at his blankets in an abortive attempt to sit, he made a discovery.
Damnation.
“Wheer r my kllozz?”
Humpf—didn’t come out right.

He
fell back.
By the seven hells, I’m weak.
His eyes closed. “Where—are—my—clothes?”
There, that was intelligible.

“Don’t stress yourself, Commander. You were bleeding from countless wounds. I had to strip you to
determine your injuries. The worst is the stab wound in your groin. You are lucky. It did not perforate your gut. Mostly, I think you suffer from blood loss and dehydration. A day or two more of careful tending and you will be able to get up.”

He lay with his eyes closed, too weak and in too much pain to object further. “How long?”
he croaked.

“Umm?”

“How long have I been out?”

“
Twenty-four hours.”

He groaned softly
. “Where are we? How are my men?” The splash of water and low masculine laughter reached his ears. Again he tried to sit up, only to fall back weakly. “Damnation, woman. Where in the seven hells are we?”

“
Where I was taking you when you passed out,
L’ago Mistero
, Mystery Lake. An oasis known to the
Oshtesh
. Your men are fine. We are safe. If you promise to lie still I will get Captain Biron for you.”

He cracked an eyelid open and tried to glare at her.

“I lost sleep over you, Eric DeStroia. I will not permit you to undo all my efforts. You must promise.” The slight tip to the corners of her mouth made a lie of her stern tone.

A long sigh escaped.
Goddess, even that hurts.
“Promise,” he muttered.

He felt her pull his blankets back up, straightening them. Her hand
pressed his forehead, then cheek. “Good. You still feel cool. Don’t excite yourself. That’s an order, Commander.”

He heard the swish of her robes and the rasp of her leather soles
against the stone floor of the cave as she left. She returned a few minutes later.

“As promised
, Commander. I have brought you Captain Biron.” Her footsteps retreated.

“Commander?”
He lacked the energy to open his eyes.

“
Jon. How are the men?”

“Very well
, under the circumstances. This place is amazing. You could pass within five feet of the access point and never know of its existence. None of our maps show it. It is a large, deep, freshwater lake, surrounded by mountain walls. Right in the middle of the godsbedamned wastelands. A fucking miracle.”

Eric forced his eyes open. “How many did we lose,
Jon?”

“
Twenty-one during the battle. Three died later of their wounds.”

“We left with thirty-two. We return with eight.
”
Goddess.
He lay quiet, thinking. “Where did they come from?”

“Sir?”

“The Haarb, Jon. More than a hundred attacked us. They should not be here in those numbers. Where did they come from? How did they get here? We must find out.” Some other detail about the Haarb lurked in his pounding head but he couldn’t pin it down.

“Yes, sir.
Scouts will be dispatched as soon as possible.”

“All right, Captain
Biron. That is enough for now.” Sophi shooed the captain away and stood looking down at him, a cup in her hand.

“I’ll check on you later, Commander.”
Biron nodded. “
Flight Leader
.”

As
Jon walked away, Sophi bent down and put a supporting hand behind Eric’s neck. Her robe gaped at the neckline. His view went straight down to her sweetly rounded breasts.

“Drink this, Commander.” She helped him
swallow the contents of the cup.

“Horse piss.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tastes like horse piss.”

She gave an amused huff. “I’ll grant it does not taste good, but it is very good for you.”

“What is it,
Flight Leader
, if not horse piss?”

“Something to help your pain. Something to make you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

Her aqua eyes
held humor. “Too late, Commander.”

His eyes crossed and he sank
back into unconsciousness.

Sophi watched as sleep claimed
the warrior for whom she had cared so tenderly—so exclusively.
I like you, Eric DeStroia—and I don’t want to. How did you work your way past my careful defenses?
Sophi chided herself. It couldn’t possibly be his lean, sculptured body that flowed in well-defined curves of velvet skin under her fingers or his elegant face, now softened in sleep? She smoothed his thick, brown hair over his forehead, then cupped a hand over his beard-roughened jaw.
You are outrageously handsome with a beautiful body. It is vastly unfair to a woman’s heart.

When he had slipped
unconscious from his horse at the cave’s entrance, she had flown to him and quickly stripped him nude. The extent and nature of his wounds appalled her and she had known real fear that she might lose this man so soon upon coming to know him. On the battlefield, Eric had seemed indomitable, an immortal warrior of unparalleled skill astride a black destrier itself disgorged from the fires of hell. His collapse had proved him as human as she.
You aren’t a demi-god, are you, Eric? You hurt and bleed and feel, just like me. You are human—just like me.

The constant inquiries
from his soldiers into his condition, the casual conversations she overheard amongst the wounded, presented an inescapable conclusion.
Your men love you, Eric DeStroia.
The men under his command were hardened veterans of battle—most certainly hand-picked by her brother. Only the best of the best would escort his beloved sister. It took an uncommon individual to win
their
loyalty. This more than any other consideration, forced Sophi to soften her resistance and take a long, hard look at the recipient of her unceasing, diligent care.
There is much to like about you.

* * *

A waft of air ran up Eric’s nude body. Gentle hands pressed at a painful area on his groin, pulling him into awareness. He muttered a vulgar oath.

“I a
m sorry. I know it hurts. The dressing must be changed and your wound cleaned.”

He blinked
repeatedly, willing his eyes to stop their unfocused wandering. “
Flight Leader
. So, you are my torturer.”

“
Your recovery shouldn’t take long. Your wounds are closing cleanly and your body is very strong, very fit.”

A small cloth draped his genitals
—otherwise, he was bare as a babe. “You are in a position to know. Obviously, I keep no secrets from you.”

Eric watched color creep up her neck but her manner remained matter-of-fact as she continued to clean and flush his wounds. Her hands remained cool and steady on his body.

By the seven hells
! Salt water. Goddess, preserve me.
Throbbing burns erupted
all over his body. They more or less kept time with the anvil blows punishing his head.

“Petrina and Rhea have gone on reconnaissance to the east. By the time they return, you should be able to move about, though slowly. Take care not to stress the stitches on your groin and thigh. Otherwise, I think you’ll do, Commander.” Sophi looked up and smiled. “Hungry enough to eat something? Some journey bread and dried meat?”

“Yes.”

“Let those wounds air dry. I’ll get your food.” She rose and walked away. But for a piece of cloth the size of a hand towel, he lay naked to the entire world. At least three of her
flight
sauntered by, catching an eyeful. He closed his eyes and pretended he was too ill to care—not much of a stretch. Under normal circumstances—naked with a beautiful woman touching him—that small cloth would be completely inadequate.

A shadow fell over him. “Here, let me
help you sit up.” Sophi pulled the blanket up, covering his lower body.

“I can sit,” he growled
, but allowed her to help him when his arms threatened to give way under the strain of his attempt at rising.

“Don’t
overexert yourself.” For a brief moment, her cool hand rested on his shoulder. “Your strength will return. Drink as much water as you can.”

He grunted in
reply. Methodically chewing the tough, stringy meat, he swallowed it, washing it down with a long drink of water. The same thought looped endlessly through his mind: “Haarb soldiers in those numbers shouldn’t be here,” he said aloud.

She knelt next to him
, rocked back onto her heels. “I agree. A roving band of five to ten, possibly—not a well-armed infantry squadron of over a hundred.”

Eric held her eyes steadily.
“Well armed, but poorly skilled in the methods of battle necessary to Verdantia. It takes many months of training to accustom an off-world, high-tech army to fight with swords and axes when they are used to plazar rifles and pulse emitters. Off-world recruits are always surprised to discover no technology beyond a smith’s forge functions here. No, these are newly arrived. Where did they come from and how did they get here?”

Sophi frowned. “We
women know these desert wastelands as a beloved knows her lover’s face. They cannot have been here long, or we would have seen them. And you say they were unskilled?”