WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (8 page)

Rupine could look into the back of the dray from where he sat his steed. He had not missed the look of agony which had flashed across his patient's face and knew the man was hurting again.

Outside of giving McGregor more of the drug, which he did not want to do and which the Outlander would no doubt refuse anyway, Rupine knew of nothing he could do to lessen the severity of the discomfort the man was experiencing. He only hoped the journey into Asaraba could be made as quickly and easily as possible.

Yuri glanced behind him at the dray as one of the nags pulling it snorted and flung its head, rattling the harness. He frowned and turned back around again. His thoughts had been on the man inside the dray and those thoughts had not been happy ones. He knew well what the Serenian prince intended to do once they reached Yuri's homeland and that knowledge ate at the Shadow-warrior's gut like a hungry rat. He had hoped Conar would relent once he had seen the Tzarevna, but the events that had taken place at Abbadon had served only to strengthen the Outlander's decision to put aside his wife, a woman Yuri knew loved Conar McGregor more than life itself.

And a woman Yuri suspected McGregor loved just as much.

Balizar's gaze scanned the horizon for trouble. Not that any of them expected it, but it was better to be on your toes than on your knees in a slave camp. He stood up in his saddle and surveyed the land about them. There was no sign of a raiding party. He was sure most of the slave traders and owners were aware of what had happened at Abbadon and he was fairly sure there would be no reprisals, but he was taking no chances with Conar McGregor's life. Outriders had been posted along both sides of their route, about a mile out from the caravan, just in case. Scouts Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 35

constantly traveled the distance between both sets of riders, on the lookout for trouble. Arbra intended they make the trip into Asaraba without incident.

"Your sister wasn't happy to be left behind," one of the Shadow-warriors remarked to Asher.

Asher glanced at the man. He knew the man's name was Andrei something or other and that the husky warrior had been trying unsuccessfully to gain Rachel's notice. He shrugged. "She thinks she's as good as any man with that bow of hers."

"I've seen her shoot," Andrei said with admiration deep in his voice. "She is very good."

"But Khamsin ordered her to stay behind and she knew he meant it," Asher replied.

Andrei grinned. "I like a woman who doesn't take orders easily." At Asher Stone's lifted brow, the Outer Kingdom man winked. "It makes them more of a challenge."

Asher smiled despite himself. "Rachel's that," he agreed.

"She doesn't have a man, does she?" Andrei asked, unaccustomed worry clouding his wide face.

Asher flinched. "You'll have to ask her that yourself."

The Outer Kingdom warrior chuckled. "I intend to."

If you aren't ordered to stay in St. Steffensburg, Asher thought grimly. He looked over at the warrior once more and sighed. The man was handsome in a rough, rugged way, and would no doubt make Rachel a good husband. If his sister was so inclined. But he knew she wasn't.

Marriage was something Rachel shunned like the plague, as she had most men who had courted her. And there had been more than a few who had. But Rachel had turned them all away, ignoring their lovesick looks and tempting smiles. She seemed not to notice the men. Not to want to be near any of them.

Until Conar McGregor had come along.

Asher knew his sister was in love with the Outlander although she had not admitted as much to him. He had seen the way her gaze had followed Khamsin wherever he went about their encampment before his abduction by Jaborn's men. And he had not overlooked all the time she had spent with the man since the fall of Abbadon. He suspected something other than friendship and respect had developed between Khamsin and Rachel, but he was loath to examine that connection too closely. After all, the man was married and his wife was only a few yards ahead of Asher.

"Have you slept with him?" Asher had asked his sister. "Is that why you bait the Outer Kingdom woman the way you do?" He had gripped Rachel's arm. "Answer me! People are talking about you, Rachel!"

"Let them!" Rachel had snapped, yanking her arm away. "What I do is none of their business!"

Asher suspected the bond between his sister and the Outlander had become physical and he suspected it had been since their occupancy of Abbadon. He hoped to the Prophetess he was wrong, but he feared he was not. But one thing he was sure of: Conar McGregor was going to break Rachel's heart.

Once aboard Sajin Ben-Alkazar's ship, Conar felt some better. The headache was still intense and he was covered with a sticky, prickling sweat. The nausea had receded somewhat but the stabbing in his right eye was even more pronounced. Light cascading in through the opened porthole made him turn his face into the pillow to blot it out.

"I'll find something to put up there to shut out the light, Khamsin," Azalon said as he and Balizar finished undressing their leader.

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"Water?" Conar asked, feeling as though the inside of his mouth had been blotted with cotton.

"Here," Balizar answered. He put a hand behind Conar's head and lifted, putting the rim of a wooden goblet to the Serenian's lips.

He swallowed the cold water, relishing the feel of it flowing down his throat until he had drained the cup. Licking his lips as Balizar lowered his head to the pillow, he became aware of Catherine standing at the foot of his bunk.

"Lady?" he questioned, holding out his hand to her. "Will you stay with me?"

She smiled and walked to his side. She took his hand and sat down beside him. "For as long as you want me to, milord," she answered.

He drew her hand to his chest and cradled it there. Her touch seemed to push the pain back a little and he closed his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against the coolness of the pillowcase.

"If he needs it," Azalon said, "there's a chamber pot here, Your Grace. All you need do is call and one of us will come in to help."

"I can manage," Catherine replied.

"Would you like me to bring your lunch down when it's ready, milady?" Balizar asked.

"Both of them," Conar told him. "I want to try eating."

"Just bring him broth and bread," Catherine ordered.

"Catherine," Conar whined.

"Broth and bread," his wife stated more firmly.

Balizar smiled at her. "Lukewarm and soft?"

"Don't push it, Arbra!" Conar warned.

Catherine opened her hand on his chest and patted him. "Behave." She glanced up at Balizar and nodded. "Maybe a bit of watered wine if Rupine allows it?"

Balizar nodded and he and Azalon left, leaving the husband and wife alone in Ben-Alkazar's cabin. There was a bit of a breeze coming in through the obstruction of material over the leeward porthole and it smelled of salt spray. The air was not all that overheated inside the cabin, but the darkness caused by the assorted garments draped over the portholes seemed to make the room more confining.

"Will you lie with me?" Conar asked.

Catherine eased her hand from under his. "If you'd like." She pushed off her slippers and swung her legs onto the oversized bunk. Nestling down beside him, she felt safe and loved as his arms enfolded her. It had been a long, long time since she had been held by him.

"Am I squishing you?" he asked, nuzzling her hair.

"No," she answered as she settled against him. She felt his fingers rubbing protective little circles on her back. "Are you comfortable like this?"

"As long as I'm holding you," he replied.

Catherine inhaled the warm male scent of him, the faint tang of the cinnamon oil that seemed as much a part of him as the color of his strange eyes and the bright gold of his hair. She felt loved and safe in his arms and wanted to stay there forever.

"I've wanted you to hold me all week," she said, twining her finger in the patch of curls between his taut breasts. "I've needed to feel your arms around me."

Conar was looking out across the cabin, his head starting to cease its insane throbbing.

Having her in his arms, cradled against him, was almost as good as one of Rupine's injections of painkiller. It soothed the ache in his body if not in his heart.

"Milord?" she asked, craning her head to look up at him.

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He looked down. "Aye?"

Catherine hesitated as she watched his gaze soften. When he prompted her again, she nibbled at her lower lip. "Will you make love to me?" she finally asked.

The Serenian tensed, his arms going rigid around her. "What about the babe?" he questioned. "Surely you're too far along to …."

Catherine shook her head. "Meghan says no and so does Rupine. If we're careful, no harm can come to the baby."

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not so sure it would be safe, Catherine."

She was watching his expression, seeing a look she could not interpret clouding his face.

Her hand stilled on his chest, her fingers splaying out along his breastbone. "Don't you want to make love to me, milord?" she asked and her voice was childlike, almost plaintive as she gazed up at him with a hurt expression that said she feared his answer.

"Of course, I do," he was quick to answer. "It's just that I don't want to hurt you, Catherine."

"You won't," she said. She shifted against him, lifting herself up until she could take one of his hands in hers. She placed in gently on her breast. "I need you, Conar." She molded his fingers to her. "I need you so much."

Every instinct within him warned him not to give in to the pleading in his wife's voice. As much as he wanted her, needed her, too, he knew if he took her, it would make what he had to do harder. Not only on her, but on himself, as well. He shook his head, but she pressed his hand tightly to her chest and that part of him that had always leapt at the sight of her, stirred to remind him how great its need was.

"Catherine...," he tried to say but she strained upward and claimed his lips in a heady kiss that made his head reel and his body throb with passion. His mouth returned the favor, taking hers in a brutal press that brought a moan of arousal from both of them. He felt the kiss from the tips of his toes to the tip of his manhood and back again.

"Conar," she mumbled against his questing lips. "Please!"

He was lost with that simple request and he knew it. He had wanted to hold her for days now. Had wanted to lie with her one last time before he gave her into the keeping of another man.

The thought of that happening, of him giving her up, had been hurting him for weeks and now that it was almost a reality, the pain was so intense it was hard for him to keep his emotions under tight control. He could no more have denied them the pleasure of their lovemaking than he could cease to breathe.

"Turn over," he said huskily against her mouth. "Turn over, Cat."

She looked at him with confusion, but his hand was already turning her so that she moved to her side, her back to him. "What are you...?" She felt him dragging her skirt up and looked back over her shoulder. "Conar?"

"Hush," he whispered against her ear as he bared her rump to his questing fingers. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She felt him fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, then drew in a startled breath as his hot flesh shifted along her backside. He scrunched down in the bunk until his hips were directly beneath her own.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she felt him positioning himself behind her.

"Catherine, hush," he ordered as he slid unerringly inside her vagina in a silky stab of erotic pleasure.

Catherine's eyes opened wide and she stopped breathing. What he was doing didn't hurt Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 38

and there was no pressure on her belly, which she realized he had intended not to let happen, but his thrusting was so intimate, so carnally possessive, she could not believe the sensations she was feeling.

"Draw your legs up," he told her as his left hand came around her to insinuate itself between her thighs. His fingers dipped beyond the tight brown curls at the juncture of her legs and his middle finger touched the very core of her sexual pleasure.

"Conar!" Catherine gasped as he began to rub the hard little nub that was sending exotic cravings throughout her being. Between his gentle thrusts and the movement of his hand on her clitoris, Catherine was panting with arousal.

"I've dreamed of being inside you," she heard him whisper against her ear. "Of making love to you." He pushed against her hard, his hips grinding against her backside. "I've wanted to…,"

his harsh panting was strained, almost savage, "bury myself so deep inside you, Catherine, that I could never break free."

She felt the unfamiliar little twist of pleasure that she had felt on those times he had made love to her before begin to build in her lower belly. There was that itch again, she thought, straining to wiggle against the power of his shaft, to impale herself as much as he would allow on that smooth sword.

"I love you," she said, putting her hands down to hold his as he manipulated her. "By all that is holy, I love you, Conar."

He could feel the need building in him and knew he had to be very careful of her. Every fiber of his being wanted to slam into her, to rip her wide open with his passion, to show her how much he loved her, but he knew he had to be very careful of her, of her condition, and he held back, sweat popping out on his straining face as he sought to bring her to climax before him. His right arm was under her, his hand clenched lightly around her right breast. His thumb moved over the erect nipple and he heard her groan with excitement.