Hers to Claim (4 page)

The
small religious sect her parents belonged to had indoctrinated Adonia with a scornful contempt for the aristocracy, but in a matter of months following Vergaza, she’d shed their influence and opened her mind to a different way of thinking. She’d been wrong about many things. The realization had hurt, but she’d swallowed her pride, owned up to her prejudices and set about changing how she thought and behaved. Throughout her internal upheaval, she’d clung to one certainty—Klaran cared for her. She had a place with him. She was Klaran’s betrothed, his future wife. She had lost her entire family and many of her sisters-in-arms to the Haarb, but she wasn’t alone in the world. She would always have Klaran.

It had taken Klaran mere
moments to obliterate her self-worth and years later, she
still
bled from the gaping wound. Klaran’s words had done more than strip her of any sense she was desirable. His betrayal had obliterated her identity, her confidence in where she belonged in the world. When he’d rejected her, nothing remained of her previous life and she’d no sense of her place in a new one. Maybe she would know where she belonged at the end of this journey. Nyth Uchel’s healer? Yes. She could take pride in being Nyth Uchel’s healer.

I am so stinking tired of this damnable horse.
Adonia snorted. The operative word being “stinking.” Nights on the ground, days of road dust and an accumulation of horse and human sweat created an unforgettable odor, and the ache in her bones was enough to bring tears to her eyes. While she would not have traded her days in the library of the High Enclave for anything, they hadn’t done her riding muscles any favors. She stood in her stirrups to ease the chaffed skin of her thighs, but when her legs refused to hold her, she slapped down onto the hard saddle seat and yelped.

Steffania
glanced her way at her outcry, and Adonia thought the woman laughed. Adonia had little time to visit with the redhead who rode beside her at a steady gallop. She envied the fit mercenary leader for more than one reason and thought back three days ago to their early-morning departure in the palace courtyard.

The High Lord
had watched Prince DeHelios tie a packhorse to his mount’s tail. “I regret we can’t send more brite-weed with you. We emptied the storehouses.”

“At this point, I’ll take what I can get. It will have to do.” DeHelios
had looked up at a clatter of hooves as two horses trotted into the courtyard.

“
You are late, Lord DeKieran, and why is the head of my Blue Daggers with you?” Ari DeTano had stood, arms crossed, and eyed Ramsey with displeasure.

“She is my wife, DeTano. Where I go, she goes, and
vice
versa
. I left her behind once. I’ll
never
make that mistake again.”

The two men
had eyed each other in a contest of wills until DeTano had exhaled forcefully, placed his hands on his hips and nodded curtly. “Take better care of her this time.”

Adonia sighed
, remembering. She imagined what it must feel like to be so valued—to be so loved that any separation was untenable.
Stop it, Adonia.
Such romantic imaginings were of little practical use. There was no one who felt that way about her, and she had a duty to Nyth Uchel. Those people needed a healer.
A healer, remember that, Adonia.
Her thoughts drifted to Prince DeHelios and the strange attraction that seemed to be forming between them.

Last evening, like the evening before, Hel
had helped her tend to her horse and arrange her bedroll before seeing to his own. “I’ve pushed you hard today, Healer. I will assist you.”

At her silent nod, his
gray eyes had lingered on her thoughtfully. While stripping her horse and laying out her bedding, his bare hand had brushed her arm. An electric tingle had slid over her body, prompting each hair follicle erect in an eruption of tiny goose bumps. Her nipples had hardened into tight buds. 

It was not the first time his frequent,
chance
contact had caused this inexplicable reaction in her.
Goddess!
He could not be attracted to
her
? Could he? A stick of a woman with an ordinary face? Hard muscles covered her skinny length and calluses dotted her strong fingers—fingers skilled in unfeminine, practical tasks, not seductive arts. Her mysterious arousal and attraction to Hel scrambled her composure. His studious silence compounded her confusion—and then there was the mystery of what he looked like under all that hair. She
had
to stop such thoughts. They paved the way to heartache. She deluded herself if she imagined a mutual attraction.  

When all was in order
, Hel had straightened and slowly smiled. “That should do for tonight, Healer. Rest well.”

Hel never addressed her by name—only as “
Healer.” That was her identity to him—the healer—desired for her skills, not her sex. She needed to hold firm to that thought.

Those
in front of her gelding slowed, and Adonia grunted slightly as her horse dropped down to a trot. Darkness had made the road a pale ribbon flanked by deep purple-black. DeHelios must know the region well because they turned down a break in the trees she hadn’t seen. She prayed they were stopping for the night.

“Praise the Goddess,” she muttered under her breath
as the dark lane opened up onto a wood-shingled, whitewashed building tucked snugly into a grove of tall conifers. Its multi-paned windows glowed with cheerful light and illuminated a small wooden sign that read simply,
Wayfarer’s Inn
. For the first time since leaving Sylvan Mintoth, the evening accommodations would feature a bed and four walls. Adonia fervently hoped they also included a tub and some hot water. She pulled to a halt and sat her weary horse as she summoned the energy to dismount with some semblance of dignity.

“Is the pace too
much for you, Healer? You aren’t the type to complain, so I must ask.”

Adonia started at Hel’s hand
wrapping her thigh and the inquiry on his face. While it was full dark, she must be more tired than she realized not to have seen him there.

“You needn’t worry
. I’ll keep up. A year ago, this ride would have been nothing. My months in the great library have softened me, but I won’t hold you back. My muscles will soon regain their fitness.”

He took the reins from around her horse’s sweaty neck and held out his arms to assist
her in dismounting. Her dismount became a controlled fall as she leaned forward into his hold and let him pull her from her animal.

“Oh!” Hel
caught her as her feet hit the ground, and her knees threatened to give out. The strong band of his arms held her securely against him, and she felt dwarfed by his sheer mass. Was this what being enveloped by an ice-bear felt like? “Thank you.” She grimaced as she tested her legs. They would hold now. “I think I can manage from here.” She smiled up at him as he released her.

“
Our swift pace is for those in Nyth Uchel for whom the brite-weed means life. But I would not kill our healer, either. You must tell me if I push too hard.” His hand strayed to her cheek and rearranged a wandering tendril of hair behind her ear.

His gra
y eyes locked on hers. Their message chased any thought from her head. All she could summon was a croak of affirmation and a nod, helpless before the magnetic pull of this larger-than-life man.

Hel grinned and turned, leading their horses toward the stables.

She realized with a start that she was standing alone in the yard, an arm held out as if to arrest his departure. She dropped her arm to her side. A fan of light falling onto the courtyard profiled Steffania DeKieran as she leaned out the red-trimmed door to the inn and hailed Adonia.

“Ramsey
acquired three rooms. I’ll bet they will furnish us with hot baths if we offer to pay. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of smelling myself.” The redhead laughed as Adonia hurried to join her.

After a welcome bath, no matter the tub held scant inches, t
he small group dined on a thick, meaty stew and fresh, hot bread with butter and stickleberry jam—the whole dinner washed down with cold cider. Adonia thought it tasted as fine as some banquets she’d attended at the palace. Hel, Ramsey and Steffania had excused themselves as soon as dinner had ended, but Adonia took a comfortable chair in front of the large hearth in the public room and sipped another glass of cider. A lone traveler shared the fire with her. After they’d sat in silence for some time watching the flames dance in golds and blues across the logs, he cast a brief glance in her direction.

“
Do you and your companions seek the safety of Sylvan Mintoth?”

She frowned. “No.
We’ve come from Sylvan Mintoth. We travel east to Nyth Uchel.”

“
East? You don’t want to be going east. I left my farm not two days ride from here and you’d think me mad if I told you the unnatural things I’ve seen.” He shook his head and a shudder ran through his lanky frame. Up-ending his mug in a long swallow, the farmer thunked it down on the floor and stood. “Take some advice from an old man, mistress. Turn around and go back to Sylvan Mintoth. Don’t go east.”  

Adonia
watched as he climbed the stairs and wondered at his words. Too tired to do anything as strenuous as worry, she sank back into the comfortable chair, the blissfully unmoving chair, sipped at her drink and gazed into the flames.

T
he hour had been late when she sought her room, and the bed felt especially fine as she crawled between the sheets. She appreciated anew the luxury of being clean, well fed and in a comfortable bed. A low moan disturbed her just as sleep started to relax her body. She sat up and fatigue fled as she listened to the sounds coming from the room next to her—the room occupied by Ramsey and Steffania.

There! Again
, a soft feminine moan and then a low masculine murmur in response filtered through the shared wall. A pause. More feminine groans, a quiet male laugh and then a pause. A choked-off plea, then Ramsey’s masculine voice clearly giving an order though Adonia couldn’t make out the words. “Please! Ramsey, please!”
That
was definitely Steffania begging. Again, she heard Ram’s low masculine laugh and more indistinguishable words uttered in his deep baritone. A low feminine wail answered. More male laughter and then a deep groan. A number of indeterminate sounds followed.

Adonia fell back onto her mattress with a
whimper.
Sex.
They were newlywed, and from the sounds of it, enjoying a passionate encounter. She jerked the pillow from beneath her head and covered her face, holding it over her ears to stop the sounds.
Oh, Goddess
. It had been so long—over two years since her thighs had parted for a lover.

Arrogant
eyes above a silky black beard flashed through her mind. She moved her legs restlessly, sliding them against the mattress and rubbing them together. One hand abandoned the pillow and slid to the small, hard bud of her nipple and gently rolled it between thumb and forefinger.
Gods!
The pleasure of that soft touch exploded in her clit. A small whimper escaped her mouth, and she abandoned the pillow altogether as her other hand crept to the soft folds between her legs. The plumped flesh was already slicking with her moisture. She dipped her middle finger into her hot center and slid upward to circle her tender bud as pleasure coiled like a wound spring in her pussy. A firm pinch to her nipple and a faster circle of her clit, and her flesh spasmed into a series of contractions that shot pleasure through her in spears of sensation. Her back arched, and her legs split, thrusting her pelvis forward as though meeting the penetration of a hard cock. Her soft keen was lost into the pillow.

Gasping,
she collapsed limply on the bed. She lay alone, solitary. No loving arms held her. No satiated male snored in her ear. No warm body cradled her, driving away the cold. The pillow still over her face, silent tears of heartbreak slipped down her cheeks, the hot wetness tickling as it ran into her ears. There was something so lonely and desperate about masturbation. Now she remembered why she rarely did so. It was province of the unwanted. It reminded her that she had no partner and no prospects of ever finding one. In a land of petite, softly curved women with sultry eyes and exquisite manners, no male could possibly desire the lanky, mannish body of an ordinary desert woman—particularly one who lapsed into incoherence when faced with an attractive man.

A
t sunrise, after a restless night’s sleep, Adonia joined the group gathered for a hasty breakfast of hot kaffè and buttered bread, consumed standing up, while the stable hands prepared their horses. Hel speared a resentful glance at a relaxed-looking Ramsey and grumped between mouthfuls about sleeping poorly because of “cats yowling” throughout the night.

Ramsey
swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I slept
very
well, thank you. I never heard a thing.” He snaked an arm around Steffania, pulled her to him and kissed her soundly.

Adonia
stood apart, stuffing her mouth with bread, trying not to watch, trying not to feel hollow and diminished.
I am content with the rewards of healing people
.
My accomplishments define me—not some man’s desire.

She took her horse from the stable hand, tied her pack behind her saddle
, checked her girth and mounted. Ignoring the protest from bruised flesh as her body settled into the saddle, Adonia put her horse to the walk and left the others to follow.

~~~

The small track Adonia rode resembled a game trail more than a byway of commerce. Her horse lunged up the steep, rock-strewn trail. In spite of the increasing difficulty in maneuvering the grade, the constant insults and rude comments volleyed between Ramsey and Hel lifted her foul mood with a growing sense of amusement. She heard the frequent cackle of Steffania’s laughter and her taunting jabs at both men.

“
Loyal to
you
, DeHelios? Ha! Your retainers only stay because they are frozen solid to that block of ice you inhabit. I should relieve your people of the burden of gazing on your flea-infested, hairy face,” said Ram.

“
Bring it on, dickless wonder. There aren’t any trees for you to fall out of to give you an advantage. Your wife inspires more fear in me. You aren’t half the man she is.”