Courting Kel Page 13

  When the cloud dissipated, she realized they were astride Aren’s horse. His saddle-less, rein-less horse. She sat facing Aren, her legs draped over his thighs, his cock resting at her opening. Her breasts rubbed against his wide, warm chest. With every step his horse took, Aren’s cock slipped inside her then almost out.

  “I don’t think I can come again,” she murmured. “I know it isn’t fair to you, Aren. I just—”

  The horse’s gait changed to a faster walk then to a trot. Uncertain she could keep her seat, she wrapped her legs around Aren’s hips, taking his cock deep in her pussy.

  “By all the gods, Flame, we may never fuck on a bed again.”

  “Ooooh,” was all she managed before she grabbed the back of his neck, pulled his face to hers and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

  Another change in pace—a canter. While faster than the trot, it seemed a smoother gait, allowing Aren’s cock a long, slick slide. Kel’s climax began to build. She wanted this joining to go on and on and on. But it seemed that Aren—or his horse—had a different idea.

  The horse began to gallop. Kel’s and Aren’s joined bodies bounced. Her nipples, sensitive to his slightest touch, rubbed against his chest. Her pussy, soaked with her own juices, clenched his cock as if it were her only lifeline. Aren grinned. Kel scowled. But as they bounced along, the pleasure built. All she could do was hold on to Aren and pray the ride to completion would never end.

  Even as she crested, she felt Aren’s cock explode deep inside her. In that moment, she felt so completely connected to him her heart pounded with overwhelming love. She gloried in it, this unexpected emotion she’d never thought to feel. It seemed to spread throughout her body, filling her so completely she imagined she glowed from sheer joy.

  The horse slowed then halted by their blanket. They slid down from its back. Then, trembling still, they lay down. Aren cuddled her.

  I love you, she thought.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Awakening in the cave behind the waterfall, Kel sprang to her feet. “No!” she shouted. “Whatever you hope to gain from making me dream…I won’t have it!” She tore the cloth off her body then ripped it into shreds. But every strip she tore away reattached itself somehow. Worse, the guanshit thing seemed to grow larger! She had to get rid of it. She’d burn it if she could but find a flint and wood. None available, she risked touching the cloth again. It made her weak with renewed longing but she wrestled it, much as she would battle an invader. At last, her heart pounding like a war drum, her entire body covered with sweat from her exertions, she heaved it into the water. Panting, her hands on her knees, she watched it slowly sink like a sailor who’d finally released his hold on life and drowned.

  Good riddance!

  She refused to love Aren. Affection of any kind made a warrior weak, robbed her of good sense, changed her priorities until…until she would risk her own life to protect his. She had an obligation to her people. She must bear an heir, love her child—her female child—but never her infant’s sire. No queen in Amazonia’s long history had cared for, let alone married, the man who fathered her offspring.

  Unable to stop herself she looked at Aren. He sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his head averted. Had he heard her thoughts? Had her silent disavowal hurt him?

  Which only proved how stupid loving him made her.

  “That will do no good, Kel.” He stood.

  Whirling, she charged Aren as if she were a bull intent on destroying its tormentor. She rammed his belly with her head, satisfied when he grunted and took a backward step. That pleasure lasted only a moment.

  With his hands on her shoulders, his elbows locked, she could not reach him with her fists. Neither could she kick his shins or knee his balls and cock.

  Trembling with rage, she met his calm eyes and spat. “Why won’t it do any good to drown that wretched cloth?”

  “It will only come back again,” he said. “Prophecy cloths always come back.”

  Chapter Nine

  Early the next morning, Kel set out for Jocelyn and Caton’s home. She had a bone to pick with the weaver and she intended to pick it clean—right down to its marrow. The woman and her husband might be friends of Aren’s but they weren’t friends to her.

  She needed time alone with Jocelyn, so had left Aren a brief note saying she required time to think. The last thing she wanted was him storming all over the countryside to look for her. She didn’t know how long he would be with his plants but had no desire to confront him should he catch her leaving. If, after yesterday’s dream and her rejecting him again, he even cared.

  Distaste coursing through her, she wrapped the prophecy cloth around a stick long enough to hold it away from her body. The wretched material had somehow found its way to Aren’s lodge. Since it still felt damp to him, he’d spread it on a limb, wafting in the gentle breeze. Kel had refused to bring it inside. In truth, she hated the idea of touching it at all.

  Now she intended to return it to Jocelyn and have the weaver neutralize it. Surely the person who created it could undo her spell and make the cloth stay where it truly belonged.

  With the cloth-wrapped stick over her shoulder, Kel set out. It took longer to walk to Jocelyn’s than it had to ride, but she hadn’t wanted to take Aren’s horse. Not only was she afraid Aren would think she’d run away, she feared the memories riding would fire in her mind. She plodded on, her thoughts growing grimmer the nearer she got to Jocelyn’s home. In her haste to be rid of the prophecy cloth, she’d forgotten to bring water. So she arrived at Jocelyn’s parched and out of sorts with her own stupidity.

  Another week in this place and I’ll lose all my warrior skills!

  Spotting Jocelyn sitting under a large shade tree, her shuttlecock flying horizontally between vertical threads, Kel strode to the weaver’s side. Saying nothing, she waited for Jocelyn’s greeting.

  “You remind me of Erland when he decided to run away from home,” she said at last, looking up at Kel and her burden. “He was six and declared himself old enough to journey to Storr City. He packed his treasures in a handkerchief and tied it to his favorite stick.”

  “Going in search of his father, I suppose,” Kel said, her obvious disapproval making Jocelyn look at her with surprise.

  But the woman smiled. “Please bring us some winale, Laurette. And Drew, please prepare something for us to snack on,” she called.

  “I’m not staying.”

  “In truth, Erland only wanted to see the city.” Jocelyn drew a deep breath and motioned Kel to a chair. “It will do no good to bring the cloth here, Kel. Moreover, returning their gift will hurt the girls deeply.”

  Before Kel sat she put the stick and cloth on the ground closer to Jocelyn than herself. Grinding her teeth, Kel pulled her hair so hard she expected her hands would leave her bald. “Then undo the spell.”

  Her smile soft, almost pitying, Jocelyn shook her head. “There is no spell to undo, Kel. The cloth was woven with love and nothing can undo that.”

  “Then give it away. Or…take it to your shop in Storr City and sell it. Burn it?” Kel added desperately, hopefully.

  The girls placed the drinks and food on a small table Jocelyn had summoned with the flick of her hand. Drew hovered, her turquoise eyes taking in the cloth-wrapped stick Kel had dropped. Disappointment shone in the girl’s eyes before she raced away, Laurette at her heels.

  Misery at upsetting Drew made Kel’s heart ache. She squashed the tender emotion, determined to save herself, no matter what she had to do.

  “Is your life here so very horrible, Kel?”

  Caught off guard, Kel said, “No. It’s… I didn’t choose it. In fact, I had no say at all about my being here.”

  “Aren mentioned the…unusual circumstances surrounding your arrival.”

  “Unusual?” Kel squeaked. “I was drugged, kidnapped and sold. That blackguard, Tage, refused to take me home!”

  “He didn’t know where you came from. Moreover—”

  “S
o he claims! Had he asked—”

  “He had to meet the ceremony’s timetable.”

  “What ceremony? What timetable?” Her anger lessened, making her want to pull on her hair again. How stupid am I to let a feeble excuse knock me off course?

  “The brides’ ceremony. The Choosing. It only happens every five years—the length of time it took the first Storr to invite and collect the forty princesses.”

  Kel felt as if steam were exploding out her ears. “If Tage was in such a hurry, why did he keep The Herald circling Ondrican for three days?”

  “Tradition is highly important to Ondricans. The princesses—the original ones—arrived here on Moonday. They spent two days acclimatizing and preparing themselves to meet Storr I. Four days later they met the king.” Shrugging, Jocelyn filled two tankards with winale and held one out to Kel.

  Kel took it, sipped and sighed. This winale tasted different than the drink Caton had served for linner. More like berries and less like hops.

  “Delicious,” she admitted, smiling at Jocelyn. A small slice of tension slipped from her neck. Taking a larger sip relaxed her even more and she leaned back in her chair.

  “Take it easy, Kel. That brew is sneakily potent.”

  “Perhaps…”

  “Eat something,” Jocelyn ordered, holding out a tray of bread and cheeses, another of fruits.

  “If Aren sees me drunk, perhaps he’ll send me home.”

  “Guanshit,” Jocelyn muttered, drawing Kel’s gaze to her face. “I’m truly sorry, Kel, but Aren won’t send you home.”

  “Stubborn, arrogant idiot!”

  “He loves you. Moreover—”

  “Loves me? Guanshit! He knows nothing about me.”

  “The prophecy cloth never lies, Kel, but reveals only the truth. It remains with those it binds to acknowledge the truth about what is in their hearts.”

  Thrusting out her chin, Kel glared. “What truth?”

  “That you love him as much as he loves you.”

  So furious she shook, Kel willed herself to stand. With care, she returned her tankard to Jocelyn’s table. “Please tell Drew and Laurette how much I regret returning their gift.” Before anger and sorrow combined to blind her, Kel stalked away. Clearing the house, she ran.

  When she reached her room at Aren’s lodge, the prophecy cloth lay across the foot of her bed.

  * * * * *

  Aren found Kel in the cook room, staring into a tankard filled to the top with—he sniffed—winale. Condensation slid down the sides of the chilled pewter pitcher near her elbow. Seeing the prophecy cloth draped over the back of a chair, he discerned the reason for her drinking.

  Taking a tankard from a shelf, he filled it, settling in a chair across from Kel. It struck him as ironic and symbolic that the prophecy cloth sat between them.

  “I assume you tried to dispose of it,” he said, swiping his fingers through the water drops clinging to the pitcher.

  Glancing sideways at the cloth, she nodded. “Not to belabor the obvious… It came back.”

  Aren took a deep swallow then returned his tankard to the water ring it had left on his table. “It is indestructible, as you’ve seen for yourself. I suspect…”

  She looked up, her eyes sharp on his face. “What? What do you suspect, Aren?”

  “That the cloth will always find us. No matter where we go.”

  She made a humming sound, looked down at her winale but didn’t touch it. “Us,” she said long minutes later. “Us implies togetherness. What if we weren’t…together?”

  “So long as we— I see what path your mind has taken, Kel. You think if you return to Amazonia while I remain on Ondrican, the cloth will stay with me.”

  “Won’t it?”

  Sighing, he raked his hair. “In truth, I don’t know what the cloth would do in such circumstances. I do know of couples who denied their feelings and went to the farthest regions of Ondrican. The cloth found them, first one then the other. They married soon after.”

  “Guanshit!” she swore under her breath. “I have no feelings for you, Aren. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you but—” She spread her hands. “There it is. The truth exposed at last.”

  Aren laughed. “Didn’t Jocelyn tell you that the prophecy cloth never lies?”

  Kel snorted. “She told me you loved me. She is either an incurable romantic or an idiot.”

  “Jocelyn’s no idiot, Kel. Did she tell you that the cloth will flee from couples who are destined to be with others?”

  “Guanshit!” Kel told him, a smirk twisting her lips. “Tell me why I should believe such superstitious nonsense? What do your scientists say about material that can make soul mates from strangers?”

  “Our scientists cannot explain it.” Kel snorted and gave him a snotty told-you-so look. “What they believe, however, is that some Ondricans—especially girls and women—can weave magic, be it in their cloths or their cooking.”

  “If that’s true—and I’m not saying I believe you—then why does it seem to work only on adults? I mean, why doesn’t Laurette moon over Erland or Caton— No. He and Jocelyn are obviously very much in love, so they wouldn’t need any such folderol.”

  “They are now. But until Caton’s mother wove a prophecy cloth for Jocelyn, she and he bickered constantly.”

  “But when Jocelyn put the cloth under her pillow or over herself as she slept, she awoke…madly in love with Caton.” Kel snorted.

  “More like magically in love. But yes, madly as well and he equally in love with her.”

  Kel grunted with obvious disbelief. “Magic, huh? I suppose your ability to move inanimate objects is also magic.”

  “I’ve told you how that came about.”

  “How your geneticists think it came about,” she fired back. “Which—if I believed in it—could also be magic.”

  “There is something you’ve forgotten, Kel, or are deliberately ignoring.” Her chin canted upward as she glared down her nose. “You’ve witnessed me lighting candles, summoning books and tables. You have also seen that the prophecy cloth returns to you. To us. How do you explain that?”

  She lowered her chin. “I can’t.” She folded her arms under her breasts and averted her face. She seemed done with this subject. For now, anyway.

  So was he.

  “Your breasts look more generous than usual.”

  “My vest shrank.” She looked as if she wanted to draw the cloth over her breasts and hide their roundness. She planted her elbows on the table, her chin on her fists. A not so subtle attempt to hide her bosom from him. “There has to be a way out of this.”

  “The cloth knows our hearts, Flame.”

  “Superstitious nonsense! And our hearts don’t rule us, our minds do.”

  Knowing arguments led to anger, Aren stood.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, uncharacteristic fear in her voice, in her eyes.

  “To fix us something to eat. After I’ve cleaned up. Gryph and I took our first flight today and his glops are all over me.”

  For the first time since he entered the room, she looked at his body. Her frown acknowledged he was a mess. “Mmm. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Hungry, Flame?”

  Her eyes widened as if she understood the underlying question. “For food, yes. I’ll set the table.”

  “Tak.”

  * * * * *

  While he showered he considered Kel’s disbelief in their future. Since he could not confess that their shared dream had allowed him to feel her love for him, he had to find a reason to keep her on Ondrican. Even though it still hurt that she’d refused him yet again. But perhaps…yes! He would enlist Storr’s aid to give Kel the illusion of going home.

  Why not just take her home?

  Because once they got to Amazonia he might never convince her to return to Ondrican where she belonged. With him.

  The plan would need some fleshing out but he was certain Storr and Basalia would help. Now all he had to do was convince Kel to
remain in the country while he spent a few days in Storr City.

  He broached the subject as they cleaned the dishes and pots from dinner. Kel claimed she liked the chore, that washing up gave her time to think about her day.

  “Besides, it’s a small way of thanking you for cooking,” she said, elbow-deep in warm, sudsy water.

  “It is as easy to cook for two as it is for one.”

  Kel looked at him for the first time in several minutes. “I assumed you and Drew ate most meals with Laurette’s family.”

  “Some, yes, not most.” Putting the last pot on the stove, he said, “I need to spend a few days in Storr City. Would you like to accompany me or remain here?” He knew if he ordered her to stay, she’d demand to go with him.

  “Does that mean you trust me not to run away?”

  “Not exactly,” he admitted, responding to the wry smile she’d given him. “By necessity. I’m riding Peg and Gryph’s not trained enough for you to ride—not very far at least. Horse knows only the paths around his stable. He’ll take you willingly to nearby neighbors, but come feeding time he’ll gallop home.”

  “I can walk,” she pointed out. “A warrior—”

  “Is accustomed to walking,” Aren finished for her. “But you are unaccustomed to our mountains. It might take you weeks to cross them, assuming you didn’t get lost. Which I know you wouldn’t—warriors having such a keen sense of direction.”

  “On Amazonia,” she added. “Strange, isn’t it? On my homeworld, a clump of grass tells me where I am but here, one mountain looks much like another.” Drying her hands on a towel, she shrugged.

  “You could come with me.”

  “And do what? Watch Tage mating with the princesses? Watch the other women mating with their men?”

  “At times you found that…stimulating.”

  Laughing, she admitted, “At times.”

  “So what will it be, Kel? Come with me or stay here?”

  “Do Jocelyn and Caton keep horses?”