The Sword (21 page)

Reminded of their continuing need for liquid, he ordered, “Drink, woman!”

She peered over her shoulder at his command, then dropped the towel just low enough and jiggled impertinently in his direction, her backside prominently displayed. Even though it was meant as a wordless, rude disagreement, it was an incredible sight. Dropping his forehead to his arm, he groaned. Kelly laughed and continued drying off.

“Are you
certain
you're an untouched maiden?” he demanded, his nose and mouth barely an inch from being submerged in the water, his head still resting on his arm.

She came back and stroked the top of his damp head. “Poor baby. Not sure if you can handle an Earth-girl, are you?”

He lifted his head and caught her arm with a snap that proved, toxin or not, he still had warrior reflexes. Tugging her wrist close, he pressed a kiss to her palm. “Not tonight, my dear; I am still feeling the poison. And don't call me ‘baby.' I am a fully grown man. Which, since I know you stared at me blatantly several times as I came back from the refreshing room, I
know
you have noticed by now.”

She laughed at that and crossed to the wardrobe bureau where her clothes were stored. Drawing out the sleeveless chemise she had made, she donned it. Then she wrapped her hair in a dry towel, dragged a chair close to the tub, sat and poured herself a dollop of the remaining juice from the third flagon brought to them by his brothers. She poured him some, too, and watched as he downed it with a waterlogged sigh. Kelly admired him as he dunked under the water yet again, then sighed herself as he came back up.

Saber wiped at his eyes and studied her. “What was that for?”

“Not tonight, dear. You're poisoned,” she repeated wistfully.

“Kelly…if you are twenty-seven, and yet you said your culture doesn't value virginity,” Saber asked, knowing by now after all their talking—and thankful for it—that she preferred more direct conversation than most other people did, “why are you still a virgin?”

“Overprotective parents, lack of real enthusiasm, busy making a life for myself…” She rested her chin on her hand, her elbow on the rim of the tub, and thought about it. “I did promise my parents I'd try to wait until my wedding day. Maybe…I kind of also felt like I was born in the wrong time. I mean, I went to college, got a degree in business administration and office work, and had a couple good jobs from early on, but there weren't that many girls my age who were interested in the same things I was, such as when I first got hooked on needlepoint and embroidery at twelve, then interested in the medieval society at thirteen, when a friend's family took me with them to a local event.

“Things just deteriorated from there,” she added with a mock-shake of her head. “Sewing my own medieval-style Halloween costumes, making my own prom dress, rather than buying one premade—I'd rather embroider than watch TV, though I didn't mind listening to the radio. Of course, your brother makes a pretty decent radio,” she added with a little smile, meaning Evanor. “Especially since I like folk and classical, and that's the kind of music that he sings.

“At least, from my perspective.” She fell silent a moment, then eyed him. “Mind you, I've kissed and been kissed, and done a little, um, fully clothed fondling, and I've had five boyfriends—swains, you'd probably call them, where we indulged in flirtations and light courtings, but nothing overly serious. Plus I had a very thorough theoretical education in the pleasurable arts, thanks to my many friends' attempts to enlighten me. But I never really felt the
urge
to pick out a lover and rumple the sheets with him,” she added honestly. “At least, not as strongly as I've been feeling around you. You're rather handsome, intelligent, and even funny—when you're not yelling at me. I not only find you attractive, I'm also attracted to you. So…how about you? May I presume, being male, you aren't a virgin?”

He blushed at that, charming her. Especially since she knew now he was two years older than her. They had talked about a lot of things, after all.

“No, I'm not. But I've only lain with a few. They were castle servants, and it was mostly their idea,” he added. Then shrugged with a twinge of honesty. “Okay, I coaxed some of them into it sometimes, too, but what can I say? It's quite enjoyable. It has been a few years, though. On top of the exile, I mean,” he added. “I was often too busy or too exhausted, learning how to run the estate from our father, then running it on my own. And I'd even gotten used to it—being celibate—until shortly after you showed up.”

“Poor baby. Did you have to stop at the self-service gas station of love?” Kelly asked with a sympathetic, feminine purr.

He quirked a brow in uncertainty at her odd phrase. Some things were translated by that potion she had drunk, but others simply weren't. “Did I have to
what
?”

She grinned, but blushed at the same time. “Did I make you, um…want to touch yourself?”

He blushed a sort of bronzed red as his lightly tanned face colored deeply. “How did—?”

“So you
did
?” she inquired as she leaned closer, wide-eyed and avidly curious.

“Kelly!”

“Oh, don't be scandalized, Saber! I do it myself,” she pointed out, flicking drops of water at him with her fingertips. “It's perfectly natural…and it totally beats abstinence hands down.”

He colored again. Two seconds later, Kelly realized how her common-phrased cliché
could
have been taken.

And laughed out loud, throwing her head back so hard, the towel wrapped around it slipped free, tugging on her still-damp hair as it fell to the floor. Saber grinned back, flashing his nearly even teeth at her. Then grimaced and splashed quickly out of the tub, heading for the refreshing room door once more.

H
is fingertips finally pruned three hours later. Despite her promise to stay awake, Kelly had drooped about an hour and a half ago onto her forearms, and was dozing lightly while slouched in her chair. Tired but elated over the proof of his cure, Saber pulled the plug, drank the last of the juice as the bathtub drained, patted himself dry enough to climb into bed, and mustered just enough strength to swing her up into his arms and take both of them to her bed.

Her mattress was less lumpy than his own, he discovered. Not that it was exactly comfortable, trying to fall asleep while holding her lightly clothed body against his naked one. But he wouldn't have let go of her if the whole donjon was on fire…and when she snuggled closer in her sleep, murmuring something indistinct, he knew his annoying youngest sibling was right.

One couldn't escape one's Destiny.

He wasn't even going to try anymore, and he was content with that. Pleased with it. She would make him one hell of a wife. A hell-raiser, though thankfully not a literal one.
Actually, she's like a cat, fiercely independent, unafraid to unsheathe her claws if needed, yet capable of purring and nuzzling whenever she is pleased.

It's a good thing I admire and like cats,
he mused as he drifted off.

 

W
hen Saber woke again, her chemise hem had risen to the top of her thighs, which were tangled with his own; his hips, in a morning-roused life of their own, were flexing, rubbing himself intimately against her dampness.

He jerked back, cursing himself under his breath as he crawled free of her body. She woke and blinked sleepily, while Saber quickly stripped the bedcovers back and checked for virginal stains. Nothing. He hadn't sheathed himself in her yet, though he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to, especially looking at her, pushed half up on her elbows, her knees splayed, her sleeveless chemise nightgown pooled at her waist, giving him a torturous glimpse of copper-curled heaven between her thighs.

One minute she was blinking sleepily at him, making him hard and randy just from the sight of her. The next moment, her eyes snapped wide, her knees slapped together, and her hands yanked down the muslin of the undergown in belated decorum. Her lightly freckled cheeks turned a little more than pink; they turned decidedly red, in fact. Then she rubbed her fingers through her already rumpled hair and gave him a wry smile, still blushing but recovering her composure.

“Good morning. Nice to see you're alive.” Her gaze drifted down to his naked hips, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “
Very
alive…”

“Quite.” Even though he knew his own cheeks were heating at her blatant innuendo, Saber
did
feel incredibly alive. And thirsty. He backed up, found his trousers—mostly dried where he had tossed them to the floor yesterday—and did his best to pull the damp fabric on. He had to turn around, stare determinedly out the window, and wait a few moments to be able to get the lacings fastened, but it didn't take too long, all things considered. He heard her slide out of the bed and pad into the refreshing room; once she was gone from immediate view, he managed to relax a little more, enough to be able to bend over and finish dressing.

A mug appeared around his arm as he finished tugging his tunic down into place, wrinkled but more or less dry, like his pants.

“Water?” Kelly offered, holding up the mug.

Groaning ruefully, Saber took it anyway. He lifted it in a brief, mock-toast before drinking from it. “I think I have seen
enough
water for the next week. May Jinga keep me from seeing more.”

“For at least the next month,” Kelly asserted, drinking from her own mug.

“The next year!” he saluted, turning and clinking mugs with her.

“Halleluia, Brother, you're preachin' to the choir!” she drawled. At the arch of his brow, she shook her head. “Never mind. Just one of my otherworldly oddities; it's a cultural reference.”

“Ah.” He finished draining his mug, wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, then frowned thoughtfully. “I believe I have forgotten something.”

“Underwear? You weren't wearing any to begin with,” Kelly mused, tipping her own mug up for the last drop. She grimaced a moment later. “I do hope the diarrhea is over with?”

He nodded. “More or less. Though neither of us will feel normal, inside or out, for another day or two. And it's best to keep drinking, to ensure the dehydration doesn't return. Which it has been known to do.”

“Oh, that's reassuring.” Shaking it off, she eyed him. “So, what did you forget?”

“This.” Hooking his left arm around her waist, he pulled her up against him, bent his head, and took her mouth in the kind of kiss they hadn't allowed themselves to indulge in before. His lips nipped hers, his tongue flicked in a taste, and her own opened to tangle with him in a hot, wet, oh-my-good-
morning
! kind of kiss. Her breath hitched, her fingers curled around his shoulders, knocking him in the back with her pottery mug, and she arched against him, burrowing her breasts into his chest, her belly into his groin and let out a little whimper.

Saber liked that sound. He flicked her lower lip, caught it in his own teeth as she every so often did with hers, then sucked on it. Making her emit that tiny mewl of pleasure again. With one arm around her back, he transferred the mug in his other hand to it, then slid his now freed right hand down to the curves of her bottom, lifting and squeezing them to press her in against him. After a month of regular, frequent meals putting on some much-needed pounds, her backside was becoming nicely cushioned, perfect in his palm. He slid his other hand down there, too, feeling her around the handle of the mug.

She liked that so much, she rewarded him by teasing his tongue into her mouth with strokes of her own, then sucking on it. Making him groan.

Bam-bam-bam.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart a little. Saber sighed and dropped his forehead against her own. “Remind me to kill my brothers for their sense of timing.”

She shook her head, rolling her forehead against his with a wicked smile. “Nah. It's much more fun when you can plot to do the exact same thing to them, one day.”

That reminded Saber of the Curse; not of the coming Disaster, exactly, but of the fact that there were seven more women destined to come into their exiled lives. He tried picturing seven more versions of Kelly and failed. One was exactly enough for him—and only one, no more. He wasn't sure yet what he would do if they ended up having a daughter as boisterous as her…or worse, a son with some of her more redheaded traits. Saber tried to picture that, too, and failed again.

One of his brothers knocked on the door again. “Hey! Anyone still alive in there? This door is spelled shut, you know!”

It was Evanor. Releasing his strawberry-haired Destiny reluctantly, Saber crossed to the door, passed his hand over it with a murmur of the release word, then opened it.

The light-haired, brown-eyed brother beamed at Saber the moment Evanor realized he was dressed. “An excellent morning to you! Is it safe to come in?” he added politely, a jug of something fresh-squeezed in his hand.

Saber glanced back at Kelly. She was still clad in the chemise. “Would you put something on?”

“I
am
wearing something,” she retorted

“Something more decent?” he asserted.

She planted her hands on her hips. “By my world's standards, this
is
‘more decent'!”

Evanor made a
psst
sound at his brother and whispered to him, “Should we be on the alert for a Disaster, or just another fight between the two of you?”

“
Very
funny,” Saber growled. “No Disaster, no fight.” He looked back at his bride-to-be. “Find your best gown. We will go to the chapel, clasp hands over the eight altars, and be wed before breakfast.”

She gaped at him. Then rolled her eyes and glared at him, hands going to her hips again. “Ha! If I'm marrying you, buster, we're doing this right! Which means you have to wait until I've
made
my best gown.” As his brows lowered in a frown and his lips parted to argue, she cocked her hip, hands resting in their usual place, and smiled at him slyly. “Out of that gorgeous aquamarine silk you brought me yesterday. I believe there is even enough of it to make you a matching tunic. That way we'll look like we belong to each other.”

“And it would give the rest of us time to finish—uh,
start
making your wedding gifts,” Evanor added.

Saber mock-glared at him. He felt too good to give his blond-haired brother the real thing, though. “
Fine
. How long will it take you to make your best gown?” he asked Kelly, twisting to face her. “Two days? Three?”

She gauged the time, adding up the difference between normally having a sewing machine and now having to do everything by hand. Even with an enchanted needle that created four stitches for every one she made. “One month. If I work on nothing else but your clothes and mine.”

“A month!” He wasn't going to last that long! He turned back to his brother. “Evanor, you're the best with clothing among us; use your magic to help her. You have two weeks at most.”

“Two
weeks
?”

At that too-familiar, dangerous tone in her voice, at the matching arch of her brow and the hands once again firmly planted on her hips, Saber abandoned the door and crossed to stand in front of his bride-to-be. He slipped his hands around her waist, tucking them into the space formed by her braced arms, and rested his forehead against hers, stooping a little to do so. Evanor looked elsewhere, humming quietly to himself, as Saber murmured in Kelly's ear.

“That is as long as I think I can wait for you, my love. As it is, I shall have the torment of remembering how we spent the night in your bed, and how we woke up together, so natural and right together, to torture me for all of the intervening time.” He brushed her mouth with his own. “Please don't make me wait any longer—please?”

“All right,” she murmured, kissing him back. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Ending their exchange before he could do anything that he wouldn't want his brother to see, Saber kissed her brow. Then caressed that ripe feminine bottom because he simply couldn't resist. “Get dressed and join us for breakfast, then. We'll plan for the celebration, among other things.”

Hanging in the air at the end of his words was the fact that they would also have to plan for whatever vaguely Prophesied Disaster would come from the fallout of their wedding. But he said nothing more, just nuzzled the tip of her slightly pert, freckled nose with his own straight, lightly tanned one, and left her to get dressed.

Evanor left the pitcher of juice just inside the door for Kelly's use and accompanied his older brother back down the stairs. “So, you finally embraced your Fate, Brother?”

Saber gave Evanor a dirty look. “
Your
turn is coming soon, Brother.”

Evanor smiled serenely, and slyly. “Yes, well, we all have our Destiny—in preordained order—to bear.”

 

“I
have it!” Morganen burst into the great hall four days later, fist raised high. Rydan, in the act of setting out the plates, eyed his youngest sibling.

“Have what?”

“I have the solution to our plague of deadly infestations!”

Kelly raised her brow, setting out the silverware behind the one brother whom she only ever saw at this post-sunset evening meal. “How often have you had these invasions, anyway?”

“About once every week or two,” Wolfer rumbled, hefting a keg onto the table and pulling out the knife at his belt to pry the cork out of the bunghole; he wanted to thrust in a new tap so they could pour the stout everyone seemed to prefer for their evening drink.

Not that she could fault their choice of beverage; one, they were men and would naturally want to drink something to put a little more hair on their otherwise lightly dusted chests, and two, proper, thick, dark stouts like this one were usually full of vitamins and nutrients, simply from the way they were made. She even kind of liked the nutty taste, especially with the spicy-sweet honey-nut pastries Evanor had showed her how to make for dessert. But the second eldest's comment caught her attention as his meaning sank in.

“Once a
week
? That often?” Kelly asked as her eyes widened, alarmed by the frequency.

“Not for the first two or so months, but after that, they came, increased, and stayed at a pacing of roughly one a week, though not always evenly spaced. It's only since you came that they have lessened in their frequency. Which makes no sense, if you are meant to be our Disaster-bringer,” Wolfer added, though he winked one golden eye at her to show he didn't mean any insult. “Are you certain you're the one meant to wed my twin?”