The Lady's Choice (9 page)

Benae swallowed down the fear that threatened to choke her. ‘Leave this camp now.'

The man grinned. ‘I'll take you and that horse.'

He stepped forward and Benae brought the whip up and over her shoulder, ready to swing at him. His eyes flickered to the length of plaited leather that could trap an arm and the scrap of cracker that could blind.

‘You will get neither me nor this horse.' Her voice shook with emotion and the cold stole up her nightdress, making her knees shake. ‘Leave now.' The tremor in her voice must have given him courage, for he closed on her. She swung the whip with all the force she could muster but before she could bring her weapon against him, he had closed with her and torn it from her fingers. His powerful arm curled around her for the second time, only now they were face to face. She barely reached his chest. He was too strong for her struggles to have any impact.

He laughed. ‘I like my women with fire.' He grabbed her hair as he would a horse's mane and spun her around, the pain in her scalp bringing tears to her eyes. Flaire stood before her, his frightened brown eye rolling at the elf. Benae gazed up at her mount, sending soothing pictures to him of long days in the sun, of her calming presence on his back, and he settled. The elf untied the rope tethering Flaire with one hand and hurled Benae face down over the horse's withers than vaulted onto his back. With a subtle squeeze of his knees, the elf had Flaire spinning and heading for the trees, one hand on Benae's bottom to steady her. She sobbed as she realised that he had won. She was truly being kidnapped. It was not a nightmare but cold reality. They gained the first trees, the ground flashing by and dirt flying up from Flaire's hooves. She closed her eyes to keep the grit from them and laid her hands down the horse's shoulder, felt the warm strong muscles moving beneath her fingers.

Several paces into the trees, Flaire's gallop suddenly faltered and the elf slumped against her then toppled to the ground. The stallion stopped the instant his rider fell, snorting and pawing at the earth. Benae pulled herself around on his withers and sat astride, her heart thumping, breath coming in gasps. As she soothed Flaire's neck she looked down to find the elf on the ground with an arrow in his back. He did not move. She scanned the path they had just taken, eyes desperately seeking the source of the arrow, but no movement could be discerned. It had to be one of her men who had loosed the dart, surely?

Benae did not know what to do. Danger lay behind and before her. There could be more of the dark creatures in the forest and also back at camp. She could hear nothing but her heart pounding in her head. Gently, she urged Flaire back the way they had come, one step at a time. He did not want to confront the camp so soon. He did not like the fear and the blood that hung over the place. His whole body shivered in tune with hers, but he did what she said and she loved him for it. Benae ran soothing images through her mind to his and calmed him with her hands; it helped to calm her too. They would face whatever they must together.

As they emerged from the trees, Benae and Flaire saw Ramón coming to meet them. His face was haggard and his once-fine clothes were smeared with dirt and sweat. He held a short horse bow in his hands.

‘Thank the Goddess, Benae,' he said.

Benae sobbed, relief at the sight of the squire crashing over her. She slid from Flaire and threw herself into his arms, tears pouring down her face. His arms closed around her, the weapon flung to the dirt and she breathed deeply, inhaling his warmth and strength. His closeness soothed her as she had tried to soothe Flaire just moments before.

Ramón held her away from him, his eyes more fearful than she had ever expected. ‘Let me look at you. Where are you hurt?' His gaze fell upon her throat and he cried out. ‘He has cut you!' His fingers were gentle as they probed the wound. ‘Come and I will tend it.'

‘What of you, Ramón? Are you hurt?'

‘I have been sliced on my forearm and some scrapes and bruises but nothing more. I will see to them when I have helped you.'

They walked together, past the bodies of soldiers and elves alike, Ramón stopping to check each one of his men as he passed. None had survived. Flaire shuffled along in their wake. When they came to Merel's body, Benae dropped to her knees and clutched the maid's lifeless hands.

‘You should have seen her; she was fearless and look where it got her. Dead! Because of me. She was defending me. If only she had stayed in the carriage, she might have survived.' Benae closed the staring eyes and crossed the hands on Merel's still chest. ‘I cannot bear it, Ramón. She was goodness itself.' Tears poured down Benae's face and she could not stop them. Her heart ached, as though it would crack open in her chest.

Ramón drew her to her feet, placed his arm around her shoulders and helped her into the carriage. He disappeared for a few moments and the image of Flaire munching happily on a pail of oats slipped into Benae's mind. The squire was soon back, a lantern in his hands. He set the light on the hook over the bed and helped Benae to lie down. Her cloak fanned out around her and he pushed it off her shoulders so that she lay only in her nightgown. It was more modest attire than she'd worn during their last bedroom encounter but still Benae was aware of his eyes upon her.

His hands brushed her throat. ‘It is but a scratch and some bruising. Can you heal it?'

Benae shook her head. ‘Alas, the help I can give others I cannot provide myself. I am afraid you must assist me.' She handed him her favourite ointment.

Ramón bathed the dirt away from her throat and his gentle fingers rubbed salve into her skin at the injury. It stung but not greatly. His hands moved down her throat to her shoulders and upper chest, wiping dust and grime away with the cold wet cloth that she had used to bathe with earlier in the night. He pushed the long sleeves of her nightgown up to examine her arms, gasping at a deep bruise on her elbow. It was where she had fallen when Merel attacked the elf. More ointment went there. He did not open her nightdress but ran his fingers down over her lower chest and along all her ribs. Her blood stirred, warmed in her veins. He only examined her but . . .

‘Ouch!' She said as his questing hands ran along her ribs below her right breast.

‘It could be a broken rib and need binding. I must check.'

‘Please Ramón, it is nothing. Merely a bruise.'

His hands ran down her nightgown to the hem and he began to haul it up, revealing her calves and knees. Thank the Goddess she had sensible pantaloons on this time!

‘Stop, allow me.' Benae pulled her nightgown higher until it was bunched around her hips. She lay back and pulled it up to reveal her ribs. Ramón's gaze did not stray but immediately flew to the large bruise on her ribs. ‘Can you bear ointment there?'

Oh Goddess, ointment there
? Perhaps it would hurt enough that she would not be reminded of his kisses, that his hands on her flesh would not stir her desire. ‘Yes,' she said, her voice merely a whisper.

His fingers were warm and gentle as he applied the salve to her skin, his hands questing along the ribs to explore for breaks. It was not painful enough to keep her mind from imagining his hand in other, more intimate places. Her right breast moved in time with his massaging of the skin below it and her nipple hardened. What sort of a woman was she to feel like this when their whole camp had been killed?

‘Ramón, there is time for this later. We cannot be safe here. Surely we need to hitch the horses and move on? We do still have the carriage horses, don't we?' Fear struck her anew as she contemplated being stranded in this place.

Ramón shook his head. ‘We have only Flaire.'

Benae couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. ‘What will we do?'

‘I must leave you and search the forest for a mount. At least that way we can ride the remaining miles to Wildecoast and send men back for the coach and the bodies.'

Benae imagined sitting in the carriage alone in the dark and her courage failed. She began to tremble. ‘Perhaps we could both ride Flaire?'

Ramón's concerned gaze was almost too much to bear. ‘I have already discarded that option. It is too far for Flaire to convey us both in good time. He would have to be rested and that would lead to an untenable delay. We must gain Wildecoast in all haste and so I must try to recover at least one of the horses if I can. I promise I won't be gone long.' He completed his ministering to her ribs and pulled her gown to cover her hips then ran his hands down her legs. Benae pushed unwelcome thoughts of pleasure from her mind. Damn her infatuation with this man. She could not have him and yet she wanted every delicious piece of him.

His fingers completed their examination and left her body. Did she imagine reluctance as he drew her gown to cover her bare limbs?
Do not be foolish, woman.

‘You are chilled. Wrap yourself in your blankets and I will stoke the fire and get us both something warm to drink.'

‘Ramón, you cannot go back out amongst all that death. They are your friends.'

‘It must be done,' he said, anger in his tone. ‘Do you think it will be easier to face at first light?' He stood, looking down at her, his expression unreadable. First so tender and now this . . . cold calmness. Perhaps he was in shock, just as she was?

‘Stay here, do as I say. I will move the bodies and cover them so that you do not have to confront their deaths.' She knew he meant Merel. He cast her one long look, as if he sought to imprint everything about her into his memory, and stomped out.

Benae drew her cloak around her and crawled down the bed to peer out of the shutters. Ramón had thrown more wood upon the fire and placed the pot of water to boil. While he waited, he moved about the clearing, dragging the bodies of his men and Merel to the far side of the clearing. The elven bodies he gathered several paces further on. Once the corpses were collected, he dismantled one of the tents and used the material to cover the Brightcastle dead. The elves he left in the open.

Ramón washed his hands and returned to her with steaming cups of herbal tea. Her heart ached at the exhaustion on his dusty face.

‘I will tend your wounds,' she said, taking the tea from him. The first sip sent warmth radiating out, driving some of the chill from her body. ‘Mm, this is good. You have added some whiskey.'

‘I thought we could both benefit from it. I will wash and tend my wounds when we have drunk. Here, I found some gingerbread.' He handed her two small pieces of the treat and Benae suddenly realised how hungry she was.

‘Thank you. For everything.'

‘I am just doing my job. And not very well, if I am truthful. The prince will have my head for allowing this ambush.'

‘He will do no such thing. Jiseve will praise you for saving me. You could not have known.'

‘You raised the alarm. The sentries heard your cries and roused the camp.'

‘I had a nightmare of dark men creeping from tree to tree. It woke me and then I heard Flaire. I knew there was danger and gave the alarm. I just wish it could have been sooner.'

‘You gave us a fighting chance.'

‘But it was not enough to save the others.' She looked at Ramón, grief making her chest hurt. ‘Why are we here, and the others killed? Merel gave her life for me.'

‘It is not for us to question the will of the Goddess,' Ramón said. ‘All we can do is make their sacrifice mean something. We must make it to Wildecoast.'

Benae rubbed her breastbone, trying to stem the ache in her heart. She nodded. ‘You are right. Somehow we must accomplish that.'

Ramón stood and removed his tunic and shirt. Lantern light flickered over the smooth muscles of his chest and shoulders, the ridged planes of his stomach. He was so beautiful. A deep cut sliced the muscle of his upper left arm but it had stopped bleeding. He had various small cuts across his shoulders and chest and one small nick beneath his right eye.

Benae tossed the used water from the bowl and poured fresh water from the pitcher. She splashed a capful of her favoured wound potion into the water and placed a clean cloth in the mixture. Gently, she washed the wounds and the rest of Ramón's exposed skin. He had been fortunate; none of the gashes were serious. He gasped as she vigorously cleaned the cut on his arm to remove small particles of dirt.

‘This one needs stitching.' Benae fetched her needle and thread and began her task, ignoring the small noises Ramón made with each insertion of the needle. As she sewed, Benae dropped deep into her healing trance, imbuing the damaged tissues with vigour and willing them to knit and escape infection. This she could heal. If the power still lay within her. If her skills were intact, this wound would heal within two days and the stitches could be removed.

Ramón gritted his teeth. It was not pain but desire he battled with. The lantern light outlined Benae's form through the nightgown, her perfect proportions imprinting themselves in his memory. No matter how often he tried to keep her at arm's length, the woman before him kept intruding. She was enticing; her head bent over her work, glorious dark hair gathered at her nape, ringlets escaping to curl around her forehead and ears. Cool air filtered in past the shutters, making him shiver, but Benae's attentions heated his blood, made his groin swell. He groaned softly and tried to concentrate on the pain as the sharp metal of the needle and the rough thread pierced his skin, but the discomfort was mild and the woman who toiled at the chore compelling. Benae seemed completely engrossed and he cursed himself for turning a clinical task into a seductive dream.

For he did dream of Benae. Almost every night since their first meeting, she had haunted his dreams, eyes full of mystery, her smile fuelling his lust until all he wished was to kiss those perfect red lips. During the day he had more control and the weapons practice and running helped to focus his energies on matters that would benefit the kingdom and the prince. But at night he awoke in a sweat, heart racing and his manhood engorged beyond imagining. If he could not control his lecherous thoughts he would have to leave Brightcastle. Perhaps all would be well once they returned from this journey and he could resume his quest to recover Alecia.