VirtualDesire (19 page)

“So I heard once from your friend, Maggie,” Vad said. “I
thought she was just making up tales to entertain or entice Kered.”

“No, it’s true. We’re far from perfect and have a long way
to go, but we try.”

“Of course you have a long way to go,” Ardra agreed. “You
must trek the ice fields. ‘Tis a very long way.”

Vad arched a brow and grinned at Gwen over Ardra’s bent
head.

Somehow being on the same wavelength with him warmed her
insides. “I wouldn’t be too worried about the cooking thing, though. You seem
to be cooking up your first failure. Whatever that mess is, it smells like the
inside of your boots,” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose.

“And when were you smelling my boots? Are you sure you do
not have a foot fetish?” Vad’s deep laughter sent a bolt of pleasure through
her.

She could not help a smile and a little smugness that Ardra
didn’t get the joke.

“Go, Ardra,” Vad said, giving a final stir to his caldron.
“This needs to cook for several hours.”

Ardra extended the medicinal pouch and Vad took it, opening
the drawstring top and sniffing. He grunted a thank-you. Gwen turned to follow
Ardra from the cavern.

“Gwen. Remain here.”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Gwen hopped up onto the flat
boulder and sat by the drawing when Ardra was gone.

“It is tempting fate for you to be too long above. Instead
you may tell me all Ardra left out.” He leaned next to her. His scarred cheek
looked fairly well healed, but only the finest of plastic surgeons would be
able to restore him to his original perfection. How smooth his skin was despite
the rough beard, the grime from their journey. A temptation to touch his cheek
nearly overcame her.

“Why don’t we fix up your arm while we talk?” Gwen hopped
off her seat. She didn’t really want to be in such close proximity to him.
Hypnoflora flashback must be responsible for these nearly uncontrollable urges
she had toward him.

He rolled up his long sleeve. Gwen stifled a gasp. The wound
was puffy and looked painful. “It’s a miracle you can still move it. Doesn’t it
hurt?”

“I am trained—”

“Yeah, yeah. To withstand pain, eighth-level stuff.” She
shook her head.

“Seventh.” He grinned and touched the tip of her nose in an
unexpected gesture of playfulness.

“Oh…seventh…sure,” she said, losing her train of thought.

“If you are intent on playing the healer, take one of the
bowls over there and mix a paste of the herbs and water for after I bathe,” Vad
directed her.

She sensed he could do it himself, but was deliberately
sending her from his side. Maybe he felt the same urges as she?
Not likely.
Don’t read too much into his smile or touch,
she warned herself. He had
recovered from their lovemaking quite quickly.

As she mixed the paste, she forced herself to do as Vad had
asked—tell him what Ardra had left out. “Ardra got me back here very quickly
this time. Why didn’t she take the shorter route when she brought us here?”

He shrugged. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is that when she urgently needed to talk to
you, her path was pretty direct, but last night it took forever to find this
cavern. Why the subterfuge with us?”

“Subter…?” he repeated.

“Subterfuge. Deceit, ploy? Aren’t we supposed to be on the
same side?”

“Perhaps it is just the caution all Selaw are bred to when
dealing with strangers. They have been dealt a hard life and must often fight
off marauders who want the ice.”

“And there’s a definite tension in the fortress. The gossips
think there’s going to be some huge storm that will flood all of Selaw, washing
everyone into the river to drown. They say they’ve never seen such a gathering
of darkness.”

“Do not be afraid.” He rose and offered her his hand.

She stared at his hand, the strong fingers that had caressed
her skin, skimmed her lips, raised flames of desire. She entwined her fingers
with his.

“Get a grip, girl,” she muttered.

“Why don’t you also make use of the pool?”

Gwen’s skin itched, and the temptation was almost
overwhelming. “I suppose we’d better make sure you’re really cleaned up or the
maidens won’t be tempted to run off with you.”

“No temptation, no rescue?” He smiled.

She couldn’t help smiling back. “That’s right. No
temptation, no rescue… Is there something more I can do to help with the
rescue?” she asked impulsively.

“Why?”

She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you help us?”

“I want this all over and done. I guess I want to go home.”

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “And how do you
think you will go home?”

“The same way you traveled to Ocean City—I’ll cross the ice
fields.”

His fingers tightened; his words were hard. “If ‘twas so
easy, men would be doing it daily. ‘Tis why the council sent me for the map in
the dagger and accused Kered of being a traitor for taking it. No man has
attempted to cross the fields and ever returned.”

“Maybe they just really loved Ocean City,” she said softly,
shaken by his vehement assurance that no man had survived the journey. Her
voice squeaked a bit when she went on. “Does that mean you won’t try to get me
home?”

“When we have rescued the maidens and released Ruonail from
Narfrom’s power, you will find Ruonail grateful enough to grant us a reward. I
shall ask him for an escort for you—to Nilrem. Suitably protected and
provisioned, you should be able to remain at Nilrem’s until he returns. He will
know how to assist you.”

“And what will you be doing while I’m backtracking?”

“Fulfilling my quest. Returning the dagger and the map, and,
I hope, regaining my sword.” He clenched his fist, the knuckles white. “It is
all I want.”

“What if it doesn’t work out? What’s the worst the council
can do to you?”

The expression that flitted quickly across his face just as
quickly disappeared, and she knew he was not going to tell her. He shrugged.
“They will deprive me of status.” The words were simple, but Gwen imagined it
entailed much more than she could possibly understand.

“I need something to wear,” she said, changing the subject.

“Try these garments.” He swept a hand out to the bundles
he’d carried from the Selaw settlement. “They will not fit me, so you should
make use of them.”

“I suppose.” She sorted through the miscellany of clothing
and found a linen tunic so soft, she had to resist rubbing her face on it.
There was no way she could put it on over dirty skin. Sounds behind her told
her Vad was shucking his clothing. For a moment she gritted her teeth against
the vision of his beautiful body—and the temptation to turn around and admire
it. A splash and a stifled oath made her turn.

He was scrubbing at his hair with sand he scooped from the
bottom in huge handfuls and dunking his head.

She pulled off all her clothes except her long, rough linen
overshirt. It came to her knees.

“There’s soap in Ardra’s basket,” she said. “So why the
sand?”

“It will remove most of the grease. Soap is too precious to
waste on such a task.”

She sat at the edge of the pool, and tucked her chin on her
knees and her shirt about her feet.

What a simple pleasure it was to watch him. The torches
bathed him in a golden glow. The beautiful colors of the nearly transparent
stones reflected light and lent a gemlike atmosphere to the chamber.

He stood up. The water barely reached his waist.

“Yikes,” she muttered. Water ran in silver trails down his
back and moved in a wide vee behind him as he walked toward the steps. Every
move he made was fluid and strong. A sigh filled her chest, but she stifled it.
He was unreal, from another world, a distrustful world, cold and cruel. And
wasn’t a person shaped by his world? Maybe he was cold and cruel inside.

No, she wouldn’t believe that. Somehow there was no cruelty
etched on his face. Whatever fine lines he had about his eyes and mouth looked
as if they were put there by laughter and smiles.

A sharp, vivid image came to her. Vad, his eyes closed, his
body moving over and within her. Then he had opened his eyes, looked down on
her, and smiled. A bright rush of flaming sensation deluged her. It had nothing
to do with the joining of their bodies and everything to do with the joining of
their…
What? Souls? Minds? Hearts?
She couldn’t explain it, just
instantly knew she would never feel cold in his arms.

And she wanted to feel his arms around her again, unaffected
by the seductive soap. She wanted to touch her mouth to the pulse at his throat
and know again pure, unrelieved passion.

The thought of being lost in such a swamp of caring as she
remembered from her visions made her rise abruptly to her feet.

Every muscle of his body was sculpted like marble, and
perfectly set off by this dazzling cavern of turquoise and lavender. She tried,
but failed to look away as he washed his upper body. Hers was on fire. Thank
heaven, he had his back to her. He started to climb out of the pool.

“Don’t you have any modesty?” she asked, fanning her shirt
to cool herself and looking away as he stood on one of the steps and soaped
down the rest of his body.

“You have seen all I have to offer. And…you need not look,”
he said with amusement.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she muttered.

“No,” he said. “Most women are happy to look at me.”

“Sure. Who wouldn’t be? Your genes should be registered as a
deadly weapon.”
She
was sure shot through with knee-wobbling lust.

“Could you put that in words I understand?” He stepped back
into the water and stood there, hands on hips, the water lapping dangerously
low on his belly. His honed chest, long arms, and corrugated stomach were a
feast to the eyes. The three arm rings on his well-developed biceps told her
how far from her he was in this world.

A quick dunk in the pool would cool her off. She slipped
into the water, fighting down the shirt as it billowed up around her chest.

No
. She was not going to be cooling off. The water
was blood warm. Soothing underground springs moved the water about her legs in
an imitation of the gentlest of whirlpool baths. It stimulated as well.

A splash behind her made her jerk around. The cavern was
empty.

“Vad?” she whispered, glancing right and left. A rush of
water by her legs made her leap toward the side of the pool.

He rose in a fountain of water, like a pagan water deity.

His laughter echoed about the small space. “Frightened? What
did you think it was? A water dragon?”

“W-w-water dragon?”

“Aye. Of course, they have not been seen in many
generations. ‘Tis said they disappeared when man began to ply the sea in wooden
ships.”

He made his way through the water to where she stood. To
avoid his intent blue gaze, she dug her toes into the side, boosted herself
out, and stomped to where the soap lay on the step.

She washed her face and hands.

“I bathed you that day in the Selaw cottage,” he said,
coming up behind her. She froze, conscious of their closeness, the memories of
that day, his nakedness, her wet shirt plastered to her hips and bottom. “I
bathed your hurts with the hypnoflora soap. Are you still marked as you were
then?” He didn’t wait for a reply. His hands encircled her waist, turned her to
face him, and drew her off the steps into the water.

“I’m fine,” she managed.
No, I’m not. I’m lost.

His hands were gentle as he turned her chin, inspected her
cheeks. “I am responsible for all your hurts.”

“Shhhh,” she said.

Every feature of his face was familiar to her now,
memorized. His gaze was beguiling. Somehow she felt as if he could see inside
her and feel every sensation she felt. Without hesitation, she touched her
fingertips to his lips. A shudder of need ran through her.

“Kiss me,” she said.

His hands flexed on her waist. Without hesitation, she went
into his embrace. Strength and heat—from the water, from his body—suffused her.

“Vad…” She skimmed his lips with hers. She ran her hands up
his arms, along his water-beaded shoulders, into his thick hair. In return, his
hands gently stroked her back, up and down, up and down, as mesmerizing as the
most potent hypnoflora. “Each time we touch, this heat, it…it runs through me.
Can you feel it?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said against her lips, drawing her lower one
between his teeth and biting gently. “It runs through me like a river of
flames.” He kissed down her chin, her throat, her shoulder, to her breast.

“Please, Vad, make love to me,” she said in a gasp.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her heated flesh. He tongued
her through the cloth, dragging his teeth back and forth, back and forth, with
agonizing slowness.

Every bone in his body felt molten-metal hot. Weak. Able to
be bent, molded…

Her fingers slipped into his hair and held him. “I want
everything, all the heat, all the flames, all of it,” she whispered, giving
voice to what his body craved.

He met her gaze and held it. Answering flashes of desire
followed her touch, like lightning flickering within his body.

Deprivation
, he thought,
it is only the
deprivation of three conjunctions of celibacy
.

She touched her lips to his chest. He felt the stroke of her
tongue.

And knew he was lost.

“We cannot,” he said, and gently disentangled himself from
her arms. Clumsily, with his body intent on passion, not flight, he climbed
from the pool. Wanting to deal honestly with her, he dried himself off and
pulled on his tunic to conceal from her his continued arousal. “I cannot grant
your request.”

Finally dressed, he turned to her. Her eyes were huge and
luminous, just visible over the stone lip of the pool.

Nilrem’s throat, he swore silently. She was going to weep.
He had always had trouble resisting a woman’s tears. He went down on one knee
by her. Her garment billowed about her hips in shimmering white. “One night,
three conjunctions ago, I realized—or Kered helped me realize, for he was as
much teacher to me as brother—that the women who so craved a night of my
attentions cared not for what was in here.” He thumped his chest with a fist.
“If I wanted to share what was on my mind, my troubles, my dreams, there were
no listeners. Save Kered. He suggested that I had merely to choose my next
partner more carefully, someone worthy, a woman who was an equal, someone
willing to see beyond my face. Kered’s words kept me awake throughout a very long
night of soul searching. Do you ever search your soul in the dark?”

A tear ran down her cheek, but she bobbed her head in
agreement.
Good, she might understand then.
He clenched his fist to
prevent himself from wiping her tears away. “That night I vowed my next partner
would be a Tolemac woman worthy of an honorable lifemating. A virgin. One of a
lineage of pride.”

“Well,” she said with a hitch in her voice, “I’m certainly
not a virgin.”

“Aye. Nor a woman of my place.”

Should he continue?
Aye
. He must. He owed her that,
at least. To begin seduction and then pull away even once was unworthy of him,
even if that once was from the hypnoflora. He did not consider that an adequate
excuse. She needed to hear it all. “I must ask your forgiveness for misleading you…arousing
you to no purpose.”

Her small shoulders rose and fell in a negligent shrug, but
her eyes still looked wounded.

“I am an orphan, found with Kered on Nilrem’s mountain when
we were but children. Kered was adopted by the old high councilor, Leoh, and I
was fostered with Kered, but only because we were found together. Nilrem stated
that ‘twas an ill omen to cast me off. And I was near death, unable to speak,
eat, do the simplest of things. But Kered took on the task of encouraging me,
forcing me to see my surroundings, eat. Nilrem said ‘twas only that connection
to Kered that helped me live.

“With Nilrem’s encouragement and Leoh’s kindness, I learned
at Kered’s side, was made a warrior to serve under him. It was been my whole
life, that service.”

She reached out and touched his fist. With great difficulty,
he opened his fingers and allowed a moment’s touch with hers—just the tips.

“I remember nothing of my childhood save the lessons at
Nilrem’s knee, by Kered’s side.”

“But Kered told you who you are. He said your name is
Nicholas San—”

“Enough! Kered must be lying. He is seduced, has lost his
honor.” He shot to his feet in agitated fury.

“Then how do you explain how we got here? One moment in my
shop, the next here? What of the family Kered said you had?”

“All dead? How convenient.” The creeping doubts must be held
at bay. Kered had lost his honor, lost his way. He, Vad, would not be
mesmerized, turned from his goals as his friend had been.

“And the rest? You know a song from my place. Wanted
pepperoni on your pizza. How do you explain that?”

“Magic.” He knelt at her side again. She touched the back of
his hand where it lay clenched on his knee.

“You told me warriors don’t believe in magic.” Her voice was
low and insistent, seductive, each word sending a shiver of sensation to his
belly.

He shrugged. “This is all I know—my life here.” That uncanny
heat still pulsed between them, tempted him to lock his hand on hers and bend
his lips to her palm. To experience the beat of her heart against her breast.

Gently he put her hand away. “I am a warrior—here, in this
place. That is all I am. But a warrior with no family has nothing beyond life
in the barracks. And I want more. I want a living family—not a dead one. And
what kind of life would my children lead with a man of no lineage to guide
them? For their sake, I need illustrious ancestors. And for ancestors, I need
to lifemate with a woman who is well connected. I might be able to serve as an
honorable model, but my mate must provide the ancient pride, the breeding I do
not have.”

“Would a woman with such qualifications want a man who has
no background?”

He rose and went to the map of the fortress, unrolled it,
and studied Ardra’s marks. “Just as the maidens will come to me, so, I expect,
a woman of worth will as well.”

“And that’s it?” She climbed out of the pool. Her garment
clung to her, tempted him with hints of high breasts and rounded hips. “You’ll
just beckon and this illustriously ancestored woman will meekly accept you?
Aren’t there going to be a few men in her life who will think an orphaned
warrior less than perfect? Don’t forget your face is scarred now.”

He forced a smile of amusement he did not feel and turned
his unblemished cheek to her. Her expression changed subtly, softening. When he
turned full face, her rapt attention did not falter. “Until this accusation
against Kered, there was nothing to be said against me. Only a councilor is
above me in rank, and there are few councilors of mating age. Thus, my worth,
scarred face or not, is great to a father who would barter his daughter’s
fate.”

“I see.” And he knew she did. “So much for widows from Ocean
City,” she said.

“Hold yourself separate from me,” he warned. “If I had you,
I would leave you.” His voice sounded rough. It was his second warning, made as
much for himself as for her. He had meant it the first time, and still he had
embraced her, returned her kisses.

“I understand,” she said, and wrapped a cloak around her
shoulders. She began to shiver. “Don’t let it concern you. I’m okay with it.”

He knew she was lying. Her face had flushed into ugly red
blotches.

“You have to understand that I’m no different from any other
woman. I just wanted you for your body, too.”

Although he knew she was lying to save her pride, her words
touched his composure. “Then ‘tis best I have put you in your place—alongside
the other shallow women of my acquaintance.”

“The non-virgin, shallow women of your acquaintance,” she
corrected softly.

“Aye,” he said in a growl. The fortress plan wavered as he
turned to examine it. Gwen would not get the better of him. “We must hope Ardra
returns quickly.” He needed someone between them, a buffer, a reminder of who
and what he was.

“Your arm,” she finally said after many moments of silence.
“We didn’t treat it.”

Submitting to her gentle care was almost as heady as
submitting to her kisses. She was matter-of-fact at her task, but still, she
needed to touch him, smooth on the healing paste, wrap a heavy bandage about
the wound.

Finally she completed the treatment and spoke. “Could you do
me a favor?”

“What?”

“Go somewhere. I want to finish my bath and I can’t with you
around.”

With a curt nod, he sheathed the jeweled dagger and took a
torch to light his way. Within moments he found his steps leading him to a
narrow opening he had found while Gwen had been above in the kitchen. Cold,
fresh air bathed his face. He was out of sight and hearing of her ablutions—and
temptation.

How long should he wait for her to regain her tart demeanor?
Drawing the jeweled dagger, he twisted the hilt from the blade and slipped out
the map that was the key to his honor. He uncurled the treasure map and turned
it to the torchlight. What hope had anyone of surviving the perils guarding the
treasures?

A thought had been swirling about in his head since the treasure
map’s discovery in Ocean City. Wouldn’t the council expect him to open the
dagger? Look inside to ascertain the map was there before returning with it?

And if they knew about the treasure map wouldn’t they expect
him to then know he’d been used and resent it? Perhaps keep the map for
himself? Or try to obtain the treasures himself and keep them?

And therein might lie the true test of his honor. Would he
return with the map?

But if the council was testing him and he failed, never
returned, kept the map for himself, would they not also be the greater losers?
He put the map into the knife and looked on the icy world outside.

“Anything going on?” Her words were calm, distant. She was
once more in control of herself. She’d garbed herself once again as a Selaw
man, concealing her feminine form.

She peeked under his arm. But there was no concealing her
heat. He could smell her, Ardra’s soap, Selaw wool. No Ocean City seductive
scents clung to her now.

What he wouldn’t give to have that little scrap of fabric, what
she called a dryer sheet, to remember the scent of her and her shimmery white
and glittery silver gown. How it had captivated him.

Before his world had tipped upside down.

“Is this a window?” She prodded him in the side with an
elbow.

He stepped away. “In a way. Come see. I noted there was a
constant movement of air through here—cold air—so my curiosity led me to
explore, thinking there might be another way from this chamber. Where do you
think we are?” he asked.

“Beneath a mountain of evil?”

He laughed softly, the low sound sending a jolt of desire
right to her middle. The “window” was a narrow slit two feet high. It started
about three feet from the floor and revealed a small slice of the world
outside. Indigo clouds, tinged with dark green, filled the sky. She leaned
forward, her head and shoulders fitting comfortably through. With a deep,
shuddering breath, she looked down. It was like being in a bird’s nest on the
side of a cliff.

She craned her neck and could just see the fortress
overhead. In the distance were flat plains of white, tinged the color of the
sky overhead.

A frisson of evil tickled her spine. This was not her world.
“It’s beautiful—in an ominous way,” she said truthfully and sadly.

Vad was not from her world either.

“Aye.” He bent down beside her, and she pulled back enough
to allow him to share the view. “We are not deep in the bowels of the mountain,
but in the outer skin.”

“What’s happening down there?” She craned forward and he
clamped a hand on the back of her tunic. Would the sudden heat between them
each time they touched ever go away? Sadly, the answer was yes—when she went
away.

“‘Tis just the death procession.”

Gwen watched the haunting beauty of the row of torches
snaking along through the desolate white world beneath. A low sound, a mournful
music of drums and some stringed instrument, reached her.

He tried and failed to ignore the wriggling of her bottom
beneath his hand. “Ardra is late.” He thumped his fist on the stone ledge. “The
mourners will have returned, the funeral meats will be eaten, and the wine will
have been drunk before she even comes back.”

“We have something very similar in Ocean City, too. I
remember when Bob died, everyone brought me food. I threw it all out. Couldn’t
eat for weeks. And the buffet after the funeral just turned my stomach—all that
food, and everyone happily eating it. I felt like screaming, ‘How can you eat
when Bob’s dead?’”

She slipped from her precarious perch and dusted off her
sleeves.

Did she still mourn her Bob? In the tiny paintings in her
home, one man had figured so often, he had to be her Bob. He did not look to be
anything so special, but who better than himself to understand it was what was
inside, and not outside, that mattered?

“Gwen, there is something I must tell you, should something
happen to me. I know the key to the labyrinth.”

“How’d you figure it out?” For the first time since their
words at the pool, she met his gaze.

He scratched his brow. “Honor prevents me from taking
credit.”

“Really? Tell me.”

“Take a close look at Ardra’s pendant and the design around
the amber stone: a maze of lines. It is unlike any engraving I have ever seen.
It is also not like the traditional Selaw patterns. When she left this time,
she held it to the light.”

Shadows were etched beneath Gwen’s eyes. Her hair was sleek
and wet on her head. He wanted to cup her face and touch his mouth to hers,
make a better apology, erase the line between her brows.

As if he had conjured her, Ardra called to them from the
cavern.

“I’m surprised to see her. Why isn’t she in that
procession?” Gwen asked, hurrying ahead of him.

Ardra moved quickly toward them. “Is the potion ready? We
must hurry if we are to use the funeral wine!”

He nodded. “Everything is in readiness.”

“How’d you get away?” Gwen poked through the large leather
pack Ardra had put on the flat boulder and tried not to stare at the pendant
dangling on a long silver chain between her breasts.

“I slipped away from my father by telling him I was ill, ill
from the effects of those traitorous men’s handling of me. It hurt to lie to
him.”

“The potion is ready, Ardra. I will pour it into these
bottles. Put one in each cask of wine, no more, or you will cause more harm
than good.”

“Nay! You did not intend that I should do it? I cannot. I am
afraid.”

Gwen and Vad both looked at Ardra, who stood wringing her
hands.

Gwen spoke first. “Afraid or not, there’s a girl’s virtue to
think about, not to mention lives that are in danger. If you can’t do it, I
will. If Vad can trust me, that is.”

What would he say? She held her breath.