The Sword And The Pen (13 page)

Brandon moaned. Further introspection would have to wait.

"Go get a wet towel," I told Wanda. "You"--I pointed at the other woman--"corral your beast." The little canid still pranced around the room. "Its shrill barking makes my head ache."

While the women responded to the authority in my voice and scurried off to do my bidding, I maneuvered Brandon's limp body onto the couch. By the time I'd finished my breath came hard. He was heavier than I'd thought.

Wanda returned and handed me a dripping towel. I wrung it out over a small basket situated near the couch and placed it against his brow. He groaned again and blinked.

"Brandon, can you hear me? Wake up, please." Wanda crowded close. I didn't object as she pushed me aside. Though he claimed they were no longer married, the concept of what he called divorce troubled me.

In my world--the world he'd created--marriage was for life. Men and women deliberated long and hard before they entered into that most sacred contract. Often they lived together for years, bearing many children before they took the final vows of matrimony. No one thought less of them for it. Those who married in haste would spend a lifetime repenting. Once spoken, only death could break those vows. Occasionally a married couple might choose not to live together, but they remained married until one partner died.

"What happened?" He struggled to a sitting position. The cloth plopped into his lap.

"You fell," the second woman answered.

"Hillary? Wanda? What are you doing here?"

"You don't remember?"

"No. Yes." He touched the lump above his left ear and flinched. "God, my head hurts."

I stood off to the side out of his sight. Now that it was clear he would live, I let the other two hover over him.

"You should probably go to the hospital and get checked out," Hillary said.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You banged your head pretty hard."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Only a minute or two, but--"

"Just get me a couple aspirin. They're in the cabinet over the sink."

Wanda scurried off to the kitchen and in a few seconds came back with a glass of water and several small white objects.

"You're sure you're okay?" Hillary leaned over the back of the couch. Wanda hovered behind her.

Brandon grabbed the objects from her hand, tossed them into his mouth and took a gulp of the water. "Did I land on any of those stupid cats or Muffin?"

"The kittens are fine, they're hiding under the furniture, but Muffin is nursing a scratched nose and a bruised ego."

At the sound of her name, the guilty canid gave a happy woof and jumped out of Hillary's bag. "Oof!" The air whooshed out of him as the canid landed on his belly. The beast scrambled up his chest to lick his face. Brandon closed his eyes and groaned, but didn't object to this latest indignity.

"This is what happens when a man lets females into his life--he ends flat on his back with dog slobber all over him. What's next? No." He held up his hand as both Hillary and Wanda started to speak. "Don't tell me. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. I'm going to bed. You ladies can sort yourselves out."

I had to smile at his aggrieved tone. He moved the little canid to the floor then heaved himself off the divan. Ignoring the two other women's protests, he disappeared up the stairs.

"Now what do I do?" Wanda asked. "James is getting impatient to get married, and I can't do that until Brandon signs these papers."

"You'll just have to come back tomorrow," Hillary said.

"No." Wanda plopped down on the divan and crossed her arms over her ample chest. "I'm not leaving here until he signs."

Hillary sat next to her. "And I can't go until I get the rest of his latest manuscript. I came straight from the airport. Didn't even arrange a hotel for the night."

"Neither did I," Wanda said.

Hillary sighed. "Guess we're stuck here until tomorrow." Muffin jumped into her lap.

I felt a moment's irritation that their concern over the wizard seemed to have vanished; then I recalled my first selfish reaction to his injury. Who was I to judge them? And they had legitimate places in his life here, whatever those might be. These women knew him as I did not; they had longstanding relationships with him. All I had was the belief that he created me, and an overwhelming passion.

No place existed for me in this world. My destiny lay elsewhere. No matter the cost I had to go back, but I had one thing left to do.

*** *** ***

Early evening sunlight still filtered through the closed drapes as Brandon showered, took two more aspirin and fell into bed. His head and body ached and he craved the oblivion of sleep, but it eluded him. He knew he should have stayed downstairs and sorted out what Wanda and Hillary wanted, protected them from Seri or her from them, he wasn't sure which. Instead he remained true to form, when the going got tough he got going. . .away.

Avoidance. It had always worked before. Or so he told himself, though inside he knew the truth. Evading a problem never solved it, just postponed and usually compounded it. Alone, each woman was capable of mass destruction. He shuddered to think what trouble the three of them together could stir up. Total annihilation, probably his.

The sound of voices, a car door slamming and the roar of an engine--Wanda's Cadillac's V8 if he wasn't mistaken--distracted him. Good riddance. One down and two to go before his life returned to normal.

The emptiness inside him at the thought of Seri's departure was disturbing. Normal--if that's what the empty vacuum of his life had been--no longer held the same appeal. He forced himself not to get up and check to see if she'd stayed. If she decided to go back to wherever she'd come from, wouldn't he be better off?

Like old home movies, memories of the day flickered through his mind. Seri in his car, eyes wide with fear and wonder, watching the world whip by. Her delight at the sight of the goods displayed in the mall. How she looked, that filmy dress clinging to her body. Dressed in the vendor's faux warrior attire, her body tense as she prepared to kill her nemesis. The salty sweet taste of her fingers against his lips, and then the heady explosion of flavor and texture as her mouth met his. A different ache grew inside him, one that aspirin couldn't touch. As crazy as it might make him, each passing moment with Seri chipped away at his disbelief in her wild claims and opened him to hopes and dreams that had abandoned him long ago.

He dozed.

Footsteps moving past his door woke him. Though he couldn't make out the words, he recognized Hillary and Wanda's voices. Shit, they were still here? A door opened and shut. Typical Hillary and Wanda, they'd invited themselves to stay, and if he wasn't mistaken commandeered the guest room. Which left Seri the living room couch.

He sat up then fell back with a groan. Unlike his fictional characters who got the hell beat out of them, were shot full of arrows, were skewered by swords, fell off horses, and then with little more than a cup of herbal tea in the way of medicine did it all over again the next day without seeming to feel a thing, every muscle, bone and joint in his body ached.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with things.

The door clicked open. Brandon looked at the woman silhouetted in the doorway. Seri.

"May I enter?"

He scooted into a sitting position and managed to croak out, "Y-yes," from a throat gone suddenly dry.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The dim light heightened his other senses. He heard the swish of the cotton t-shirt she wore as she moved closer. Rich and warm, her scent teased his nose. His heart rate doubled.

Realizing that he clutched the sheet to his bare chest like some virginal historical romance heroine, he let it drop to his waist and said, "I'm sorry about Hillary and Wanda taking the guest room. Did you need something? There's extra linen in the hall closet. If you want, you can have my bed and I'll take the couch for tonight." He found himself babbling.

As his eyes adjusted, he watched her walk over and stand next to him. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"The bed will be fine." She lifted one knee onto it and leaned forward. Her warm breath on his cheek sent a tremor through him. "But there is no reason for you to leave."

She trailed her fingertips across his chest as her lips teased the corner of his mouth. Heat surged into his groin. The boxers he wore tented.

"W-what are y-you doing?" He knew exactly what she had in mind, he just didn't know why.

Part of him wanted to reach out and grab her, wanted to take what she offered, wanted to lose himself in her, but it would be wrong. He might not be as strong, heroic or honorable as his fictional hero, Donoval, but he refused to take advantage of this woman, to use her to satisfy his needs. As much as it would kill him to say no.

He took her hands in his and held her away from him. "What if there's someone else in your life? Being with me won't solve your problem. It won't help you find out who you are."

"There's no one else. I know who and what I am."

The conviction in her voice rattled him. Despite the impossibility of her being his fictional character come to life, he no longer doubted she believed it. In fact, at times he almost considered believing it himself. Would believing make his life easier or harder? He couldn't guess.

"I wonder, but either way, this isn't what you need."

She looked into his eyes. "Perhaps not, but it's what I want."

*** *** ***

I expected Brandon's protest. I no longer thought of him as a wizard; whatever powers he had, he was also a man--the man I wanted.

I considered my limited experience in these matters, my relationship with Donoval. In my mind, Brandon's resemblance to the king of Shallon had faded. True, both men held themselves to a high standard of honor, but it was only during Donoval's softer moments, when he relaxed and was more Donnie than monarch, was there any similarity in personality. In more basic attitudes the two men differed. Where Donoval demanded I submit to him, that I change myself to be what he needed, Brandon was more forgiving and nurturing, even if he claimed I wasn't who I said I was. His humor and gentle nature called to my battered soul. And though Donoval had claimed to love me, with him I could never come first. His people, his country would always hold that spot. I had not missed the fact that Brandon had repeatedly put me first, and with no proclamations of any feelings.

"You can't want me," Brandon objected.

How wrong he was. He might not be a wizard, but he possessed a powerful magic that made me want to stay with him forever. Honor and duty be damned.

"Why do men feel they know what a woman wants better than she herself does? I want this. I want you."

"But--"

I cut off his objection by brushing my lips across his. "Tonight let me be Seri, a woman of your world. That is who you want me to be, and I want to feel real. Don't deny me."

"You are real," he said, cupping my cheek with his hand. "But this is wrong."

"Why?" I pressed a kiss into his palm and ran my fingers down his chest, stopping just below his navel.

He groaned. "Because, I don't know, but. . ."

"If I'm real, allow me the freedom to make my own decisions."

"Yeah, but what about mine?" he asked.

"A wise man once said, at the end of our lives we do not regret the things we've done, we regret those that we have not. I wish to die without regrets."

He looked deep into my eyes, searching for assurance. "You're sure about this?"

Was I? Once I gave myself to him, there'd be no going back. Though I claimed I could no longer love, I knew better. Like weather, love couldn't be commanded or controlled. Soft and healing or fierce and devastating, it came as it willed, regardless of what we humans wished, and left us to pay the price. Could I take the physical without yielding to the emotional?

"Yes."

"Wait. Let me get some protection," he said.

"Your words are strange. I need no protection against this." I slid my hand beneath the waistband of the loose undergarment he wore, and curled my fingers around his heat. Hard beneath silky skin, forged in the fire of our passion, his cock jumped in my hand.

He sucked in his breath. "What about pregnancy? Are you on the Pill?"

"Pill? How can a pill stop conception?" Possibly having a child was one of the reasons I'd resisted bonding with Donoval. As his queen, I would be expected to produce an heir. After the horrific deaths of my siblings, babies I'd nurtured, and yes, loved with the fervor of one who knew none of that herself, I'd sworn never to expose myself to the pain again. Against reason, a longing so intense it stole my breath slammed into me: to have and hold a child of Brandon's in my body.

"It's a medicine like the herbal tea the healers in Barue give to women to prevent conception, only in pill form," he said. The remembered taste of the bitter brew Donoval had forbidden me to use dissolved my craving for what could never be.

When Brandon leaned over to rummage in the small chest next to the bed, his cock slipped out of my hand. I removed the tunic I wore. Cool air swirled over my damp skin, but it didn't ease the heat growing inside me.

"Got it," he cried, triumphantly holding up a tiny square package. "It's been around for awhile. Let's hope it's still. . ." His voice trailed off.

Ignoring his stare, I eyed the package. "What is that?"

"What?" He shook his head. "It's a condom."

"How is it used?"

"I wear it over my. . .over me like this." He shimmied out of his undergarments and rolled the milky colored sheath over his cock. "And it captures my sperm--er, seed--so you don't get pregnant. Or so we don't transmit any diseases between us."

I nodded. "I understand. I have seen similar objects made of sheep intestine, but none so delicate." I stroked the length of him. The sheath felt slippery beneath my fingers. How would it feel inside me? Donoval had refused to don the sheep-gut kind, forcing me to secretly drink the healers' bitter brew. "Most men would disdain to wear such. Does it not dampen sensation?"