body gliding along his. Each touch generated a wave of longing.
She pressed close, melding her flesh to his from shoulder to
knee.
Secure in his embrace, she floated. Like liquid satin the
water stroked them, while scented steam drifted above the black
surface of the pool, swirling gently in the air.
“Touch me,” he groaned. His tongue teased the sensitive
hollow behind her ear.
Made bold by his plea, she ran her palms down his arms. In
response his fingers dug almost painfully into her waist. At her
small sound of distress his grip eased, and his hands stroked
over her hips to clasp her buttocks. His arousal throbbed
insistently against her belly.
Fingers probed between her thighs. In a moment of panic
her muscles clenched, then memories stirred, and her body
seemed to liquefy. Except for the band of Kyne’s arm around
her hips, she felt at one with the pool—soft and flowing, warm
and open. Her legs drifted apart. She rested her cheek against
his shoulder and pressed her lips to the moist skin of his throat.
His low growl of pleasure spurred her to imitate his actions
and taste the flesh behind his ear.
“No more, little witch, or I’ll disgrace myself. I was too
rough and quick this morning. You are still raw and swollen.”
His fingers lightly stroked the sensitive flesh, and she felt a
twinge of pain. But the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by
others far more compelling. Wanting more, she pressed her
hips into his hand.
His soft chuckle made her flush with embarrassment and
bury her face in his shoulder. When he held her at arms’ length,
she felt abandoned. Despite the warmth of the water, cold
seeped over her.
How could he want her? She was his enemy’s daughter. If
only she could read his emotions, but aside from a few fleeting
moments of connection, he remained closed to her empathic
talent.
After the warmth of the water, the rock felt cool against
her backside as Kyne seated her at the pool’s edge. Ashamed
of her brazenness, she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms
protectively around her chest.
He placed his fingers beneath her chin and said, “Look at
me, Sianna.”
Reluctantly, afraid of what she might see, she opened her
eyes and met his gaze. She hoped the dim light and moist air hid
the tears trembling in her eyes.
His dark eyes reflected the flickering glow of the lamplight,
but revealed little of his thoughts or feelings.
She started to rise. “I’ll get dressed now.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Dressed? Whatever for?”
He held her in place with his hands on her thighs. “Have I
frightened you? Don’t be afraid. There will be no pain this
time, I promise. We will take this slow and easy.”
His tender, concerned looked eased the building ache in
her heart.
He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her forward.
“Kiss me.”
Because he asked and did not demand, Sianna’s doubts
and fears melted away. She pressed her trembling mouth to
his.
Molten desire boiled through her—hers or his, she could no
longer discern. With the touch, their emotions melded. In that
moment they became one. She felt the heavy silken weight of
her hair on his one hand, the soft skin of her thigh beneath the
other, along with the smooth, wet flesh of his biceps under her
palms and his hot, slick tongue tangling with hers as they kissed.
Kyne’s emotions and sensations became hers and, by his
body’s ripple of satisfaction, she sensed that hers became his.
Excitement raced through her veins like the bubbles of fermented
wine. This is what she had longed for—the blending of souls,
the becoming as one with another.
And yet they were not one. She still knew nothing of his
thoughts. Only his desires and physical sensations were clear
to her.
For now they were enough. She refused to think beyond
this moment, to the future, the distant morning when he might
again look at her with anger and hatred. She clutched his head
to her breast and gave herself to this instant out of time.
He freed his head from her clasp. With his hands on her
inner thighs, he spread her legs wide apart and moved between
them. Water lapped over the edge of the pool to lave her exposed
flesh. She gasped in startled awe and clenched his hair in her
fists when the liquid fire of his tongue replaced the warm balm
of water. Her back arched and her hips thrust forward to meet
his hot mouth as it closed over her. With every stroke of his
tongue, tension coiled in her belly like a whip ready to crack.
Sweet and salty, her own taste and scent pooled in her
mouth. Like a shower of crystal dust, feelings cascaded over
her skin. Low, animal-like moans echoed in the cavern. She
trembled on the brink, unwilling to pull back, yet afraid to step
off into the unknown. But it wasn’t unknown, she reminded
what little remained of her consciousness. Kyne had shown
her this abyss once before. He would keep her safe. With a
sigh she surrendered to the glory of his assault and let herself
take flight beneath his touch.
Boneless and weak, she sagged forward, resting her chest
on top of his now lifted head.
His low chuckle of masculine satisfaction barely made her
stir. She smiled, wondering who was the conqueror and who
was the conquered.
“You taste like warm honeyed wine, sweet and tangy.”
Heat flushed Sianna’s cheeks at his brash words, but she
felt no true embarrassment. Nothing that passed between them
could be ugly or wrong.
He lifted her upright and tugged her forward into the water
once more. She flowed into his arms like the river flows into
the sea, without hesitation or awareness of where one ends
and the other begins. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and he
slid smoothly into her tight sheath. She pressed her face to his
chest.
“Look at me,” Kyne commanded and nudged her chin up
with his knuckles. “Don’t be shy. Yes,” he said when she gave
him a startled look. “I can sense your emotions. What kind of
unholy bond has been forged between us?” Fear and a fierce
sense of exultation surged from him to her.
Locked in his embrace, his body intimately joined with hers,
she had difficulty forming her words. “I’m unsure. I’ve never
experienced this before.”
His laughter vibrated throughout her body. “That was
obvious this morning, but I wasn’t referring to the joining of our
bodies.”
Stung by his seemingly casual dismissal of their lovemaking,
she stiffened. “Neither was I.”
“I know.” He tightened his hold, allowing her no room to
pull away. “I but teased. How is it I sense your emotions? Feel
what your body feels?” He moved his hips and groaned.
The sensation of him sliding in and ou
t of her drove any
rational thought from her mind. Though her insides quickened
to his motion she went limp in his arms, unable to speak an
answer.
He didn’t ask again. Instead, he backed her against the
smooth stone wall of the pool and began to rock his hips. His
muscles went taut beneath her hands. She knew he held his
need in check while he drove her again to the brink of the
abyss.
This time she didn’t hesitate. She plunged willingly into the
unknown. Moments later he threw back his head with a
triumphant shout and followed her.
Only a damp towel separated his backside from the hard
rock floor of the bathing cavern, but Kyne felt no desire to
move. Like a fragrant silk coverlet, Sianna’s damp hair draped
across his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder, and one leg
nestled deep between his thighs. The brush of her nether hair
teased his hip, while her gentle breath stirred the underside of
his chin. Though well-sated by their hours in the pool, his body
roused to her touch.
Contentment radiated in the air. He could almost reach out
and touch it, but feared to do so. Like a cloud or a dream, if you
gripped it too hard it would dissolve.
And, like a dream, this feeling could not last. Outside the
bathing cavern the world waited.
He chided himself for succumbing to her feminine charms.
With the finish of their sex—he refused to acknowledge
their joining as lovemaking—the strange bond he had felt with
Sianna evaporated like a morning mist. Perhaps what he felt
was nothing more than the sensations of a man who had long
denied himself the pleasure of a woman’s body. He clung to
the thought and ignored the small voice inside that countered
the idea.
Damping down his growing arousal, he moved her aside.
He needed to rise. There were questions to be asked. Decisions
to be made. By remaining here he only delayed the inevitable.
“Kyne?” she questioned sleepily. Flushed from the cavern’s
moist heat and passion well spent, her cheeks and chest were
rosy. Dark, tangled hair tumbled over her shoulders, blocking
his view of dusty pink nipples.
Guilt prodded him as he rose. What excuse did he have for
taking what she offered when he didn’t know who she truly
was?
“Get dressed,” he ordered.
At his harsh tone, color leeched from her face. With
trembling fingers she snatched up her stained and crumpled
tunic. Clutching the cloth to cover her nakedness, she faced
him with a courage he rarely saw. Even warriors often cringed
when he used this tone.
“You regret what we’ve done.” She spoke the words as a
statement, not a question.
“Do you regret your lies?”
Anger sparked in her eyes. Her chin lifted. “Lies! What
lies? I am my father’s daughter?” Her voice gained volume
with each word. One hand fisted at her waist while the other
clutched her tunic to her chest. The limp fabric hid little of her
charms. The curve of her hip peeking from around the faded
material distracted him.
“Does what we shared mean so little to you?”
“What exactly did we share? Sex.”
Her lips tightened. “It was more than mere sex.”
He rejected her claim.”And how would a virgin know the
difference?”
“I may have been a virgin, but I have eyes and ears. In my
years with the Sisters of Light as a healer I saw and heard
much about what goes on between men and women. Deny it
all you like, but we shared more than just our bodies.”
“Seeing and hearing are far different from experiencing.
You read more into our joining than was there.” Kyne dismissed
his memory of the bonding between them as the fantasies of a
man too long without a woman.
“If you truly believe so, you are denser than the rock
surrounding us. I will waste no more breath arguing with you.”
Though he discounted her words and his own nagging
thoughts, at her show of outrage, Kyne’s annoyance faded. He
smothered a smile. When riled, the little shecal would bare its
teeth. “We will speak of this further, but not here. In my chamber.
I will have the truth from you.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” she
muttered and turned her back to him. Sianna quickly pulled the
tunic over her head and secured the cord at her throat.
The soiled fabric clung to her damp skin like guilt clung to
her soul. Though she hid behind bold words, her own weakness
and longing had led her down this path. At any time she could
have cried “no,” and he would have stopped. For a moment of
pleasure she had led Kyne to corrupt his honor. For that he
might never forgive her.
“Kyne, I....”
Warda’s low growl interrupted her.
Unmindful of his nakedness, Kyne pushed her behind him
and grabbed up his sword. “Who goes there?”
“It’s just me, Etam, Rul Cathor.” Eyes downcast, the boy
shuffled nervously into the cavern. “The guard sent me to find
you, but...” he stammered, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Kyne glared at the poor lad.
Even in the dim lamplight Sianna could see the boy’s fiery
blush. Heat at what he might have seen flooded her own cheeks.
Kyne yanked up his trousers and strapped on his sword
belt as he questioned the boy. “Did the guard send a message?”
“And?” Kyne prompted with ill-concealed impatience.
“Je’al has returned. The guard says to bring the healer as
well. Je’al is injured.” Having delivered his message, Etam
bowed and quickly scampered away.
Je’al. A chill of foreboding crept through Sianna. He would
have word from her father. Soon Kyne would know the truth
of her identity, but not from her lips. She had to speak first.
Explain her lie. And find a way to continue to conceal Laila.
Thirteen
Kyne crowded close behind Sianna in the small, dim
chamber. Her backside rubbed against his groin as she bent
over the bed and brushed sweat-soaked hair from Je’al’s bruised
and battered face. Her gentle touch contrasted sharply with
the brutality inflicted by her father.
Half-dead, Je’al groaned when she opened his shirt and
ran her hands over his chest. Dried blood covered his white,
still childish flesh. If he died, Kyne knew the fault lay on his
shoulders. He’d sent a lad to do a man’s job. Kyne’s fingers
closed around the hilt of his sword. Along with his other sins,
DiSanti would pay for this.
“How bad is he?” He forced the question past a throat
tight with anger.
Brow furrowed in concentration, Sianna leaned over the
lad. She carefully wiped away the crusted evidence of her
father’s inhumanity. “Bruises. Cuts. He’s been...tortured.” Her
voice broke, then firmed as she continued. “His ribs are br
oken,
as well as one arm.”
For a moment Kyne waited and watched.
With each pass of her hand, Je’al’s ragged breathing
seemed to grow easier, while hers grew more labored. A tinge
of color touched his chalky cheeks, and the glaze of death faded
from his eyes. Her shoulders slumped. She turned to Kyne.
“Will he live? Can he speak?”
With one hand against Kyne’s chest, she held him away.
The warmth of her fingers burnt through his shirt. “Do not
badger him. He must rest. His information will wait until
morning.”
“Do you fear what he might say? Will he live to see the
dawn?” Anger made him discount the weariness in her tone,
and he jeered at her concern.
“I seek only his welfare. If you do not trust me to care for
him, I will wake Althea.”
He felt the stab of pain that flashed in her eyes as she
turned away from his harsh accusation.
Before he could retract his words and soothe the ache he
knew had settled in Sianna’s tender heart, bloodied fingers
gripped his arm.
Je’al struggled to sit up. “I will speak.”
Disregarding Kyne’s presence at her back, Sianna slipped
an arm behind Je’al’s shoulders and settled him against the
wall. “Drink this.” She held a cup of heated alt root broth to his
mouth. His lips curled in distaste, but he didn’t hesitate to drink
the foul-smelling brew.
“Prince Timon sends greetings to Rul Cathor,” Je’al rasped.
Rul Cathor. Elation rushed through Kyne. With two words,
Prince Timon acknowledged Kyne’s position and declared his
own. Though yet a lad, Prince Timon would some day rule
Dramon. If he lived and if he did not support DiSanti, there was
hope.
Sianna bathed Je’al face as he spoke. He caught her wrist
in a punishing grip. She flinched. Before Kyne could protest,
the lad eased his hold.
A look of bemusement settled over his old-young face as
he stared up at Sianna. His lips twisted in a odd smile.
“My thanks, Lady Sianna. And my apologies.” His words
held a meaning Kyne could not decipher.
She nodded and smiled.
“Send the woman away. The prince’s message is not for
her ears.”
“Leave us.” Kyne felt her distress at Je’al’s harsh tone.
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and her brief accord with Je’al