Blood Moon (15 page)

She pulled away from him, nipped his
shoulder and then his earlobe, running her hands over his chest,
his arms and then reaching down to cup his erection. His response
was almost instantaneous, heated, aggressive. He moved his mouth
and hands over her, possessively, as if to claim every inch of her
body as his own.

She pushed him onto his back and
crawled atop him, spreading her thighs and rubbing her woman’s
flesh against him. He lifted her hips and thrust upward, impaling
her to the hilt. She cried out, ground her hips against him and
finally leaned forward, pulling away slightly then pushing back
again.

Before she had caught her rhythm, he
surged upward, tipping her onto her back and thrusting into her
again and again until she felt herself climbing toward the peak of
pleasure once more, felt him striving to reach his own
culmination.

Abruptly, he pulled away, rolled her
onto her stomach and lifted her hips for his thrust. She groaned
when he embedded his hard flesh deeply inside her, pushing back
against him to feel him more deeply still.

Gripping her hips, he thrust again and
again, setting a rhythm that was fast, hard, demanding. She braced
herself on her arms, arching her back, squeezing her eyes tightly
shut as she felt her body tensing toward the ultimate release. She
screamed when it caught her, carrying her over the edge.

He cried out as well, holding her
tightly against him as his seed flooded her.

He groaned when he pulled away from her
at last and lowered himself shakily to the bed, breathing harshly
as he strove to catch his breath.

Aslyn found she had little desire to
move and no strength for it. She was more than half asleep when he
gathered her to him, pulling one of her legs over his hips and
sliding one of his between her thighs. She muttered a half-hearted
complaint as he slid one arm beneath her head and wrapped his arms
around her, but his arms tightened when she tried to pull away and
she subsided, too tired to argue.

He was studying her when she woke near
dawn. She blinked the blurriness from her vision, disconcerted.
“Did I oversleep?” she asked a little uncertainly.

He shook his head slightly, lifting a
hand and brushing a tendril of hair from her cheek, then lifted a
stray lock, studying it. “It glows like fire.”

It was the bane of her existence, the
main reason she rarely went outside without a hood to cover the
brilliant beacon her auburn hair became the moment light touched
it. “It’s most unkind to remark upon it.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s beautiful.
Almost as beautiful as you are.”

Aslyn covered her face with her hand.
“Hardly. I look like a monster with my face all
swollen.”

He pulled her hand away. “The swelling
and bruising are almost gone.”

Aslyn frowned, certain he was only
saying that to try to make her feel better. To her surprise,
however, she discovered her face felt almost normal … which was
strange. Surely, as badly battered as her face had been, it would
have taken far longer to heal? Or, had she simply lost all track of
time?

She knew better, however, and finally
decided it must have been the cold that had helped the swelling go
down so quickly.

Dismissing it, she glanced around the
cottage. “Where did all of this come from?”

He frowned, lay back against the
mattress, staring at the ceiling. “I brought them. I would have
caught up to you far sooner if it had not taken so long to haul it
all here. Then, too, I’d thought you had only gone out. It only
occurred to me after you’d been gone for hours that you’d … decided
to leave.”

Aslyn grimaced, covering her face with
the coverlet. A very little thought assured her that there was
nothing she could say that would make her actions any less
offensive. She could not recall ever feeling quite so horrid. It
didn’t matter that it had never occurred to her that Kale had left
on her account, to shower her with gifts such as those that now
adorned her humble cottage.

She could always say she was sorry …
but it was such an insignificant response to something so
horrendous as what she’d done and could not convey the depth of her
feelings on the matter.

Worse still, nothing had changed. She
could not stay, no matter how badly she might want to, and she
could not explain to Kale why she could not stay.

“Were you so convinced I could not
protect you from Algar that you thought you had to
flee?”

Stunned, Aslyn snatched the covers down
and stared at him. “No! That had nothing to do with it!”

“Then why?”

Unable to bear the censure in his gaze,
Aslyn rolled onto her side, staring at the wall. “I cannot
explain.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Either.”

He was silent for several moments. “You
left because of me.”

Aslyn sighed, wishing she had tried to
come up with a convincing lie. “I left because I had to … Because
it was time … And … because I was afraid of wanting something I
could not have.”

Kale came up on his side once more,
facing her, a teasing light in his eyes. “This is an intriguing
statement. Care to elaborate?”

Dismayed as she was that she’d said far
too much, Aslyn couldn’t help but respond with a smile. She reached
for him. “Why don’t I just show you?”

They had just gotten warmed up when
there came a rap on the door. The sound jolted Aslyn back to
reality as effectively as an ice bath. Kale was harder to convince.
Finally, however, Aslyn managed to slip away and crawled from the
bed.

Her gown and shift lay in tatters on
the floor beside the bed. She held them up, staring at them in
consternation, and then turned to give Kale an admonishing glare.
He grinned, lifting his brows and wiggling them at her wickedly.
Aslyn suppressed a chuckle.

Dropping the useless garments, she went
to the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Jim Baker. Be this the house of the
healer?”

Aslyn cursed under her breath. “It is.
I’m not able to see anyone today unless it cannot wait.”

“It be bad. I come yesterday, but you
was gone.”

She bit her lip, but there was nothing
for it. Her clothing was in shreds. Worse, she’d dropped her bundle
when Kale had given chase and he had not retrieved it so she didn’t
even have her spare. She couldn’t invite him in wearing nothing but
a torn shift, or wrapped in a bed sheet. “If you could come back in
an hour, I can see you.”

“An hour?”

“Yes.”

“All right then.”

He sounded more bemused than sullen,
but Aslyn still felt uncomfortable about having to send the poor
man to wait yet another hour.

Shrugging it off, she returned to the
alcove and took her shift and gown from the floor, looking around
for her bag of healing potions, which contained her needle and
threads.

Kale sat up, snatched the fabric from
her hands, wadded it in a ball and tossed it across the cottage. It
landed in the hearth and immediately caught flame. “No!” Aslyn
exclaimed, but before she could dash to the hearth to drag it out
and stamp the flames out, Kale snatched her up and flung her to the
bed.

Aslyn glared up at him angrily, trying
futilely to fight him off while there was still a chance of
retrieving the clothing. “Stop it! That’s the only thing I have to
wear!”

He returned her glare with one of his
own. “I’ll not have my woman wearing something not fit for a
beggar.”

“You’ll not have your woman wearing
anything at all!” Aslyn snapped angrily. “For I have nothing else.
The other was lost yesterday.”

Kale grasped her arms, holding them to
the bed on either side of her head. “I brought clothing for
you.”

Aslyn went still. “You
what?”

“I brought….”

Aslyn cut him off, her face suffused
with color. “You were that certain I would give myself to you like
some … some lowborn slut!”

His eyes narrowed. “You believe being
my woman makes you a slut?”

Aslyn looked away. “I never agreed to
being a kept woman.”

“You gave yourself to me
willingly.”

The comment sent a jolt of discomfort
through her. She could deny that she had, but then both of them
would know she was lying, so what was the point? Beyond that, he
was right. Why cavil now at being a kept woman, or for that matter
his certainty that she would agree to it?

Her morality had become so ingrained
that she took comfort from the appearance of it even when it was a
lie? What possible difference could appearances make to her of all
people?

The fight went out of her. She shook
her head. “Nay, enthusiastically.”

His brows rose in surprise.

She smiled faintly. “We have an
hour.”

* * * *

The gowns he’d brought were completely
inappropriate for her trade. They were beautiful and made of fine
fabrics. Aslyn gazed at them with a mixture of dismay and pleasure
when Kale spread them across the bed for her.

“Kale … they are beautiful, but I
cannot wear these to treat the sick.”

Kale shrugged. “You are mine, now.
You’ve no need to.”

She stared at him a long moment. “I
don’t help because I need to. I help because I want to. You must
understand this about me … I cannot look upon those in need and do
nothing.”

He sighed heavily, caressing her cheek
with his hand. “I sensed that about you. I don’t suppose it weighs
with you that I am loath to share your attention with anyone
else?”

Aslyn couldn’t prevent a smile. “You’d
tire of my undivided attention soon enough … the very moment you
decided to dash off upon a hunt and found that I was baggage you’d
as soon not lug along.”

“You are wrong. I would take you with
me to dress the meat,” he murmured, a teasing gleam entering his
eyes.

Aslyn gave him a look, but chuckled,
then turned to study the gowns once more, trying to decide which
looked the simplest of them. Kale moved behind her, reached around
and unfurled a roll of light wool. Aslyn stared at the gown blankly
for several moments then twisted around to hug him tightly. “You do
know me,” she said as she looked up at him.

He smiled faintly. “In all
ways.”

She looked away uncomfortably. “I
should dress.”

“A pity.”

She threw him a doubtful glance, but
took the gown and selected a shift to wear under it. As simple as
the gown was, it was still far and away better than anything she’d
worn in many years. She felt pleased with it and at the same time
uncomfortable, fearful of ruining it. Finally, she took a length of
linen and tied it about her waist as an apron.

Kale had dressed, as well. She glanced
at him, but she didn’t feel comfortable about asking him where he
might be going. Instead, she asked if she should prepare a noon
meal for the two of them.

His face was grim, all business again.
“My men should have arrived by now. I need to check on them and see
what the delay is.”

Aslyn nodded.

He caught her chin. “You will not leave
the cottage while I’m gone?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
Resentment flickered through her, but she dismissed it. As urgent
as her need to go was, she could not chance being caught by Kale
again. The only way she might have a chance was if she allayed his
suspicions, allowed him to believe that she would stay. “I
won’t.”

He studied her a long moment and
finally nodded. “Keep the door bolted. Don’t open it unless it’s
someone you know.”

She nodded. “You think he’ll come
back?”

“I know he will. It’s only a question
of when.”

“Kale…,” she said, halting him as he
opened the door. She had been about to tell him that Lord Algar was
a werewolf, but quite suddenly it occurred to her that that was not
necessarily true. He was a killer. He seemed to believe he had some
special powers, but she had not seen anything to indicate that he
was anything but a man … a vicious, possibly crazed, killer … but
still a man, and, regardless of the tales Kale had told her about
the werefolk, she wasn’t so certain he believed in them, or would
believe her if she claimed Algar was one. Then, too, whatever Algar
was, or was not, she knew without a doubt that she had become one
of the werefolk. She didn't particularly want to set Kale’s mind in
that direction. She certainly did not want to tell Kale what had
led her to believe Lord Algar was a wolf. “Take care,” she
finished.

He nodded and left. Jim Baker arrived
so closely upon the heels of Kale’s departure that she had to
wonder if he’d waited outside. Embarrassed as she was that he might
have witnessed the intimacy between her and Kale, she was far more
ashamed when she discovered the man had a terrible gash that should
have been tended promptly.

His wife, he said, had done her best to
stop the bleeding, and wrapped it tightly, but it had continued to
bleed sluggishly. One look as she unwrapped the bandage was enough
to make her wonder that he’d been able to walk to her door. It was
not a terribly deep gash, nor did it seem any large veins had been
ruptured, but it was a long, gaping cut. She cleaned it carefully
and stitched it closed. “What happened?”