The Iron Princess (11 page)

“He just wants to find a dry place to bother his wife,” he mumbled under his breath for only Katia to hear. She giggled, clearly agreeing with him.

“Perhaps when we reconnect with Valen and Fist in Prague, we could leave these two behind. We will make much better time. I wager it would take a week or more for them to even notice we left.” She laughed and he joined in. He really liked the sound of that lighthearted laugh.

“Come, let’s make two shelters. We will stick them far away in the trees. With luck the sound of the rain will drown them out.” The teams were now irrevocably divided; Katia and Lothair against Lars and Tosha. They had started out their journey as two pairs of best friends, but now Katia and Lothair had been tossed aside by their dearest friends for the sake of love. To retain their sanity, they needed to stick together.

A seasoned team, Katia and Lothair had their camp routine down pat. One went for long branches, while the other unpacked the canvases. One started the fire, while the other fetched the water. One started the soup, and the other constructed two warm beds. They had the entire camp set up before Tosha and Lars came back from their walk “to secure the area.”

Just as the soup was ready, the sky opened up, dumping a heavy rain on their heads. Katia and Lothair took shelter under the goatskin tarps, with their bowls and hunks of stale bread in hand. The newlyweds had already taken shelter in their own tent. Thunder cracked, and what seemed like an ocean of water rained down upon them in a matter of minutes. From the weight of the rapidly collected rain, one side of the tent collapsed, dumping its load without warning onto Katia’s head.

She gasped as freezing water crashed down all around her, soaking her to the bone. Lothair moved quickly to help secure the tent’s collapsed roof back in place, but the damage was done. Katia and her once dry, warm bed were submerged in several inches of cold autumn rain.

She tried to grin away her obvious discomfort.

“I will get Lars,” Lothair said. “You and Tosha can share my bed for one night.” He was standing up when they heard the familiar sound of Tosha’s giggling gasps. Lothair glanced back at her. “Perhaps I will give them a few minutes . . .” He gave her an awkward nod.

***

“Good idea.” Katia turned her head away. Embarrassed and pathetic did not begin to describe how she was feeling. She began to shiver, the cold setting in quickly.

“You should take off all your wet clothing. You’ll get a chill.” He moved over to his side of the tent. “Here, put this on.” He passed her his spare wool tunic and turned his back to grant her privacy.

Katia’s hair was dripping wet. She rubbed it with a corner of her wet gown, but it did little help. She did, however, feel much better once she was out of her soaked garments and draped in his dry clothing. She wrung out the water from her clothing and the blanket and hung them from the rope suspended between the two angled supports of the tent. She didn’t know why she bothered, though—the air was so damp and cold, nothing would dry until the rain ended, tomorrow midday at best.

“Here.” Lothair wrapped her in his blanket. She nodded her thanks and found a dry spot to sit near his bed. “We should try and get some rest. It is our turn to sleep first tonight, and Lars will be waking us in a few more hours.”

“Of course.” Katia moved to lie down on the ground.

“Katia, do not be ridiculous. You will take my bed. You are still shaking,” he accused.

She didn’t have the strength to argue, so she lay down on his mat. “Thank you, Lothair. Sleep well.”

“Would you . . . I think I should put my arm around you until you are warm. If you get ill out here . . .We still have a long road to Prague.”

“I will be fine,” she whispered unconvincingly. Her head was screaming,
Yes, hold me!

“I will lie next to you, and my body heat will be enough, I think.” Lothair lay down less than an inch away from her back, yet he took such care that he didn’t touch her at all—not even an accidental bump.

“Are you still shaking?” he asked, speaking directly into her ear.

“No,” she lied, her teeth chattering.

Lothair let out a loud sigh, put his arm over her shoulder, and pulled her back into his chest. He curved his body against the entire length of hers in a spoon shape. She was in heaven and hell at the same moment.

“Lothair?” she whispered in the dark.

“Yes.” He breathed against her ear and she shivered again, but this time for a different reason.

“I am warm now. You don’t have to hold me . . . if you are . . . if you are uncomfortable in this position.”

“Just stop talking, Katia, and go to sleep.”

She tried to breathe, but her heart raced and her body tingled all over. “Sleep well, Lothair.”

“Sleep, Katia,” he whispered. The rain beat on the tent rhythmically, and, his scent—soap, leather, and the spicy note that only Lothair carried—enveloped her. Her body had never been so acutely aware of itself. She turned her head to see him wide awake and staring at her.

“I’m not tired,” she whispered.

“Yes, you are,” he said.

She turned and readjusted the blanket over her shoulder, cocooning them inside.

“My feet are cold.” The naughty side of her brain was winning out over the good.

He moved down and trapped her feet between his warm calves. “There. Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She closed her eyes and told herself to quit while she was ahead. She was snug and warm, lying in Lothair’s arms in a nearly perfect moment. If she opened her mouth now and told him how much she loved him, how amazing he was, how brave, how handsome—if she said any of it, he would probably pull away and never touch her again.

“Stop doing that,” he said in a husky whisper.

“Stop what?” She opened her eyes and turned toward him. He was glaring at her.

“Don’t rub your leg against me like that.”

“Oh.” She swallowed nervously. “Sorry.”

“Are you warm yet?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He raised his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles, sweeping back the hair that had come loose from her braid. “Your hair is wet. You’ll probably still be cold in the night,” he said. She swallowed the rising purr of contentment bubbling up inside her. She wasn’t cold any longer, but rather every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire. She’d needed another shower of cold water on her head to put it out.

“I wish you would stop looking at me like that,” he said unconvincingly.

“You’re doing the same thing,” she retorted.

“I hate it when you look at me like that.” He was staring at her mouth. If he really did hate the way she looked at him, Katia got the impression that he may kiss her as punishment.

His hand slid from the side of her face to the back of her neck and he drew her in, capturing her lips in a soft, full-mouthed kiss. He held her there, breathing her in, hungrily tasting her, pressing harder and prying her lips open with his own. She gasped at the sensations that flooded her senses. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, brushing up against hers, an entirely new surge of feelings tore through her. Her feet wiggled free and hooked around his calf muscles, pulling him in. She was on fire and wanted—no, needed—to press against his body. She was moving purely on instinct, her brain disengaged and her body taking over.

He rolled half of his body onto her, locking her under him without releasing her lips or his hold on the back of her head. She slipped her hand under the collar of his tunic, and felt his heart hammering against her hand as the rain continued to hammer against the canvas tent. Nothing had ever been so perfect; nothing had ever tasted so good; nothing had ever felt so right. She had never wanted anything more than she wanted this.

Being held by her heart’s greatest desire and being desired by him in return was almost too much. If she must attach her life to a man, then she would only ever settle for Lothair. He was the one, her destiny. He had always been the only one. She could never have these feelings for another person.

Lothair continued to kiss her with a raw, powerful passion. Katia did her best to keep up and not lose her head. She felt like she was in a dream . . . no, not a dream—she was too alive, too aware of every blissful sensation to be asleep. Probably she would never sleep again, but if she did manage it, she would dream about this moment.

Let the devil take him, Lothair thought. Katia was worth it. As he teased her tongue, Katia had started to make small moaning sounds. She wiggled against him, rubbing her foot up and down his leg as if he were a tree she wanted to climb. Did she have any idea how good that felt? How much harder she was making it for him to stop?

Lothair tucked her legs back under his so they wouldn’t push him over the edge of a cliff from which there was no coming back. Once he stepped off that cliff, he would be lost. She would be ruined for her future husband, and she would one day hate him for his undisciplined selfishness . . . But, he realized, that “one day” would never come. He would never let her be another man’s wife, not if he had been her first. He would be forever fused to the iron princess if he allowed this recklessness to continue.

He tore his mouth away and cradled her head into his shoulder, imprisoning her against his chest.

He couldn’t hurt Katia by acting on his lust and forsaking her future happiness. She was in a vulnerable position and was confused about what she wanted. She’d regret this tomorrow.

Lothair pressed his cheek into her damp head and breathed. He wasn’t going to take her innocence, and he wasn’t gong to talk about it with her, and he wasn’t going to let her move. Not until his body had safely come back under his control. For now, she’d have to learn to sleep in this position.

The scent of her hair and body did not help him find the control. Katia continued to tremble in his arms, and he knew it had nothing to do with her body temperature. He could feel every part of her soft flesh pressing into his.

Lothair gradually relaxed his muscles and a short time later, he felt Katia do the same. Eventually, her breathing evened out and she slept soundlessly, his limbs locked around her. His self-control had returned. If she didn’t test him, he could hold her, chastely like this. Just this once, and only because she needed the protection of his body heat.

Sleep evaded him. He would not have the chance to hold her like this again. Tomorrow, he would speak with Lars and tell him that they needed to pick up the pace for Prague. He needed to get far away from Katia and the memory of this tent.

***

With the onset of the heavy autumn storms, the temperature plummeted. By dawn the rain had stopped, but threatening clouds predicted more damp weather was still to come.

Lars wanted to keep his bride warm and dry in their tent, and who could blame him?

Even so, Lothair had to disagree with his friend. They needed to keep moving. Winter would wait for no man. Katia’s garments were all damp, and Tosha’s spare gown was much too thin for the dropping temperatures, so Katia wore Lothair’s spare wool tunic over it with leather trousers underneath. They were much too big, even with the cuffs rolled up. She used a tight belt around her small waist to keep them up. Her cloak was soaked as well, so he wrapped his around her. She protested, of course, moaning that she was rugged enough to handle a little cold. He ordered her to quit giving him a hard time and get back to repacking the horses. Miraculously, she obeyed.

It was an oddly stirring sensation to see her outfitted in his garments, to think of the coarse wool fabric rubbing and bunching against her soft, bare flesh . . . it was an image that no sane man should dwell on.

Soggy and nervous of the coming weather, the four friends rode in silence. They sped up where they could, but the rolling hills soon became muddier, forcing them to slow down and take precautions with the horses.

As a heavy fog rolled in, the road led them into a dense evergreen forest, choking out light, creating blurred shapes, and muffling the sounds of the forest.

Katia came to a halt, looking down concernedly at her horse. The group waited as she slid down to examine the black Arabian she had named One That Uses Reason, or Akil for short. “I think Akil may have a stone. He is favoring his front right leg.” She picked up the hoof and pulled out her dagger to pry the stone out. “Go ahead, I will catch up—this will only take a moment.”

“Do not fall behind in this fog,” Lothair warned.

“I won’t. Truly, go. I will be right behind you.” She smiled up at him and blushed. His cloak was too big on her, as was the tunic she wore underneath. It gapped out at the collar and he could see the delicate lines of her collarbone.
Bloody hell
. How she tormented him. He should keep moving down the narrow trail—he needed distance between himself and her eager smile.

They had not discussed what happened between them the previous night in the tent, and he planned to keep it that way. Kissing her had been a lapse in judgment. And that was all it was. He would not let it happen again.

Lars and Tosha passed him as he waited, towing the extra warhorses. They had more than they needed to trade in order to make it back comfortably to Lubeck.

“Got it!” Katia held up the stone. “Now go on, would you?” She sent him a sweet smile. “I will just massage his sore leg for a moment.”

Lothair commanded his horse forward. She needed to stop smiling at him like that, and he needed to stop wanting her to smile at him like that.

Moments later, he heard her riding up to rejoin them, moving with too much speed for such thick fog.

“Lothair!” Katia yelled. Before he could turn his head, two riders charged at him from the trail ahead of them. Ambush. He drew his sword and spurred his mount toward them.

Tosha was slightly behind him to the left, and Lars was behind Tosha with the spare horses, who were spooked, stomping and jerking their heads, tugging at Lars’s saddle and rendering him practically useless to defend an attack.

Lothair met the first highwayman with a downward strike of his sword, knocking his opponent’s blade to the ground. Lothair jerked Homer’s head back around, searching through the fog and chaos for Katia. She was somewhere behind Lars, but the bend in the forest road and the dense fog made it impossible to see her.

He charged forward toward the next bandit, a dark-haired lad wearing little more than rags. He had a cheap blade that shattered after only a few strikes from Lothair’s sword. Leaving Tosha at the lead, Lothair pushed past her and saw that Lars was making quick work of his share of the raiders and required no assistance.

“Katia!” Lothair shouted into the fog. He saw the outline of two riders. Katia’s form became clearer and he closed in on her. She slashed her sword down across the arm of a rider, who was naught but a boy. He fell to the ground, clutching his arm, and scrambled off into the thick green underbrush of the forest.

“Are you all right?” Lothair called from his mount.

“Yes. Is everyone else okay?” She panted. A steady stream of blood flowed down from her shoulder, dripping bright red blood from her fingertips.

“You’re hurt.” He grabbed at the bridle of her horse to pull her closer.

“Lothair, let me go. I’m fine. Let us go to Tosh and Lars. There may be more bandits in the fog.”

“Let me see your shoulder.” He swept her cloak to the side.

“It’s just a scratch.” She shoved him off and commanded her horse down the path toward the others.

Buried within the fog, they found Lars on the ground wrestling with another young man.

“Where is Tosha?” Katia cried.

“Get my wife, Lothair!” Lars roared as his fist connected with the raider’s jaw, ending the fight.

“Stay with Lars, Katia,” he ordered.

Of course, she ignored him and charged her horse ahead.

Tosha’s bobbing head and flapping cloak came into focus. Lothair reached her only one stride ahead of Katia.

Two thieves held the leads to the tethered horses, one with Tosha on its saddle. The older of the two charged Lothair with a rusted blade held high over his head. Lothair had no remaining mercy for abductors or horse thieves, and cut him down. Then he turned to point his sword toward the last man, who promptly dropped the reins to Tosha’s horse and fled for his life.

Once all was secure, Katia and Lothair hurried back to Lars.

“How bad?” Lothair asked him.

“I’ll live,” Lars answered without making eye contact.

“There may be more thieves lurking around here.” Lothair scanned the dense fog, sword gripped tight, on full alert. “Do you want to go after them or do you want to get the hell out of this fog?”

“We can’t risk the girls. We keep moving.” Lars’s anger was palpable. He would not look at Lothair,

Katia worked silently beside Lothair to get the horses back in formation and get everyone back on the road. They rode for over an hour at a swift but cautious pace. The fog lifted as they emerged from the dense forest, yet they pushed on for another hour in the dark before coming to a halt in a field next to a brook, where they set up a small camp for the night.

***

Lothair sat next to the fire, watching Katia serve soup. His insides had not yet unclenched from the panic of almost losing her. He could not remember ever being so afraid and indecisive in battle. Yet to his mounting annoyance, Katia was behaving as though she had done nothing wrong.

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What were you thinking?” Lothair moved around the campfire to stand before Katia, glaring down at her. She glanced up, gave him an annoyed scowl, and passed him a bowl of soup.

“What was I thinking?” she said, her tone controlled and even, but distinctly cross. “What were
you
thinking? Tosha was almost taken because of you.”

“
Me?
” he replied. “I saved her. You almost got yourself killed, again, by charging off where you didn’t belong.”

Lars put his bowl down and stood. “If you had thought of the entire group’s safety and not just Katia’s, that boy could never have gotten ahold of Tosha’s reins.” Lars stood toe to toe with him. Lothair had never fought his best mate, had never wanted to, until right now. “You put my wife at risk. Katia was handling herself. I had called back to her. I knew she was holding her own.”

“You are saying that it is fine for me to risk my—” He caught himself. Katia was not his woman—not his anything. “They both needed protecting.”

“No.” Katia pushed between him and Lars. “I had a sword. Tosha didn’t.” She crossed her arms. “They were just boys. I could take care of myself.”

“You stupid little chit!” Lothair shouted. “Your luck will run out one day and then what? Your father did you no favors treating you like you had no limits! You are going to get yourself killed one of these days, and I won’t be around to stop it.”

“Who cares?” She threw her hands up in the air. “I am a worthless little chit anyways.” She leapt up on her toes. “If I want to go sit on my ass embroidering all day, I will. If I want to get my throat slit on a dirty roadside, then I will. I didn’t ask you to save me. I’m responsible for myself. You don’t own me, Lothair.” She spun on her heel and stomped off.

“To hell with you, princess!” He chucked the bowl of soup. He wanted to strangle her and then thrust his tongue in her mouth. Instead, he kicked a log into the fire.

Lars gave him a look like he was about to tear into him next but Tosha put her hand on her husband’s arm and he stilled.

Tosha brought over a new bowl of soup and handed it to Lothair. She looked him sternly in the eyes. “Thank you for saving me, Lothair. Lars will thank you tomorrow, but for tonight, I will thank you. I wish I wasn’t such a burden to my friends.”

“I regret not securing the raiders first,” he said.

“No, you don’t regret it. And you shouldn’t. Katia was somewhere in the fog, way in the back. I was just as concerned. It all happened so fast. You protected your heart. That is very understandable. I would have done the same in your place.” She touched his hand lightly, turned away, and went back to Lars’s side.

Under a sea of stars, Lothair sat in silence, watching Katia as she moved gracefully about the camp. He had held her in his arms for hours last night, kissed her until his body’s need for her nearly took him over. But, he had no right to her. She was not his. He didn’t own her and never would . . . although she owned a large part of his heart.

She would be easy to seduce. He could have his way with her until they reached Lubeck, and then ship her off to Tronscar and never think of her again. A part of him wanted that to be the solution.

Damn it.
She was always smiling at him in that way, staring at him boldly. If he pulled her to his lap right now, he knew she would submit. He could have her, right now . . . but could it be that simple? She claimed to have no want of a husband, no need for a protector, so why couldn’t he have her? He wanted her. She wanted him. They were in danger of losing their lives daily. There was no guarantee he would safely get her home to Tronscar with the hundreds of dangerous miles ahead.

The rules of normal life didn’t apply in this situation. He made a decision: no more guarding her virtue. If she had no care for it and wanted to throw it away on him, then so be it. At the rate she was going, she would not live a long life anyway. She was reckless and undervalued her own existence. She wouldn’t live to be an old woman with that outlook.

The thought of her death turned his stomach, and he shook his head to rid it of such thoughts. With his head pounding, he wandered over to the tent that he was sharing with her. Katia had arranged her own bed, but it was closer to his than it had been before. His tunic and cloak were laid out to dry on top of his saddle. She had washed the blood out of both.

She lay on her side, pretending to be asleep.

“Does your shoulder need stitching?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Tosha saw to it.”

“Is it deep?”

“No.” She opened her eyes. “Would you like me to take first watch?”

“No. How many stitches?”

“A few.”

He reached over and pulled her blanket down. She wore only her white shift and took in a sharp breath as he tugged the fabric down to see her wound. Lothair did not ask before he unwrapped the bandage and examined the large laceration. He counted seven ragged stitches, the skin puckered and swollen. He tore strips of bandages from his spare linen tunic and rewrapped the wound.