Chapter 16

Roan

You weren't supposed to stare at the tits of a noblewoman, were you? Not even if they were the sweet little breasts you'd sucked on last night. Remembering the feel of her hard nipple and how it left an impression on my tongue, I was half tempted to fish my cock out. A few quick, hard strokes and I'd be spilling on the grass in seconds. Dealing with your needs like that was something you became accustomed to as a soldier. Sometimes the urge would ride you, particularly after battle, and if there were no women within miles of the battlefield, you had to take matters into your own hand. Instead of doing so, I let out a hiss as I watched her and chewed at the end of my stalk of grass. I'd tossed it to the ground, shaking my head at myself when I heard it.

Not the splashing of a beautiful, naked woman. My ears had become well attuned to that discordant tune, tugging at my breeches, luring me closer far more effectively than the sweetness of a siren's call. But Her Majesty's ablutions weren't what had my hand going to the hilt of my sword.

A lot of men have silly ideas about what a warrior is, imagining a berserker-like madman rushing onto the battlefield and laying waste to all around them. While there is a power to that, my sword masters always taught me that knowing when to pull your sword is just as important as how you deploy it.

The sudden silence of all the birds, then a sharp little crack of a twig breaking, was what had me spinning around, dragging me away from the sight of the naked princess. There in the undergrowth, his fur as tawny as the sun-bleached grass he slid between, was a catamount.

Big, heavier than most men and with fangs like sabres, the bloody things were death on four paws. I drew my sword free slowly enough to smother the silvery sound of steel on sheath.

"I need you to get out of the water, lass."

"What?"

Her head whipped around. Although I could tell she was looking my way, I couldn't spare her a glance. I'd worship that beautiful little body once I'd shown this bastard the error of his ways, but this was no time for distractions. Part of me relished the clarity that came with danger as my heart pumped adrenaline hard and fast through my entire body, because this was the moment I became fully alive. As I swung the sword free, drawing the cat's eyes away from her and to the bastard it'd have to get through before it could even nibble her pretty rear, the princess got some idea of what I was about. She spun around to look for the threat, a mistake if ever there was one, because I watched the cat's pupils blow wide as it fixed its gaze on her. Fast movements were prey movements, and that was what this predator was after.

"Slowly, Jessalyn. Get out of the water, slowly."

But she didn't. The princess saw the great cat and started wading rapidly through the water in her urgency to get to the bank.

And that's when I leapt forward.

I caught the moment its furry haunches bunched, its massive paws clawing the earth, the same adrenaline powering it as it leapt from its hiding place with claws outstretched. Save the fucking girl, was the only thought in my head as I jumped too.

You had to believe your arm would strike true, that in any given battle you'd stand over your enemy, victorious, while his blood fed the earth. If you doubted yourself for even a second, you'd pull your strike at exactly the wrong moment, fumbling the whole fucking thing.

I believed.

I believed that I would see my sword slicing through the air, the entire strength of my body and the momentum of my leap behind the blow. My broadsword would chop down through the big, feral bastard's neck, blood gushing like a fountain as its yowl was choked off. Those golden eyes would glare up at me for just a second before the light went out in them forever as its head dropped into the mud.

And that's what happened.

We collided in mid-air, my blade with his body, but though I felt the vicious swipe of his claws across my chest, the pain was somehow a counterpoint to the savage music inside my head. We both went splashing down into the chilly water. I didn't mind, because while I did so in one piece, the cat did it in two.

Dead.

My breath came in great whoops, something I leant into when I saw the size of the bastard thing, then I let out a great shout of victory. It echoed all over the clearing, which I knew would bring the others running, but I did it mostly in shock and in jubilation that we'd survived.

We.

She stood there on the riverbank, white-faced, with tears running down her cheeks. Her teeth chattered like a guard's might when sitting watch on the parapets in the depths of winter.

"Oh, lass…"

Big eyes flicked to meet mine. Hers were wide and glassy with shock. She rushed towards me as I waded out of the river, her arms slapping around me the moment I got close.

And I wrapped her in mine.

Gods' balls, there was nothing like the feeling of a sweet little woman pressed against your body after you've just emerged victorious from a fight. I felt a flash of guilt then, at taking pleasure when she was feeling so vulnerable. She wasn't some tavern wench clinging to my side because I'd just won a bare-knuckle fight.

Jessalyn was a princess.

And I had to treat her like one, which meant I needed to get her back to camp and away from any other danger that might lurk in the bushes. Catamounts didn't hunt in packs, but wolves did. Of course, that was the only reason I scooped her up into my arms, cradling her body against mine, which served to remind me that the girl barely weighed a thing. It had nothing to do with the fact that there was a special kind of pleasure to be gained from carrying a wet, naked, terrified princess away from danger rather than towards it.

"Roan…"

Her whimper was a knife being plunged into my heart, hurting far more than the cat's filthy scratches. My little sisters would make the same sound when they appeared at my bedside in the middle of the night, complaining of nightmares. I used to put myself on top of the blankets, then roll them up tight in mine and promise I'd watch over them to ensure no monsters rose up from under the bed.

"You're all right, lass," I said over and over in low soothing tones, walking along the track with my eyes trained on our surroundings to make sure more wildlife didn't make a liar of me. When we arrived back at the clearing, Creed tossed his bundle of firewood to the ground as he ran over, his eyes almost yellow as his wolf pushed him hard.

"What happened?" he snapped, searching my face, then Jessalyn's. "What the hell happened?"

"Catamount—" I started to say.

"Is it dead?" I saw Creed's fangs flash in the red light of sunset. "Is it?"

"Go see for yourself," I said with a frown.

He was a fucking prick for doubting me, even for a second.

But he didn't head down the track. He moved towards Jessalyn, snatching his hands back when he saw she was naked, although not for long. The wolf might want to tear my head off right now, but the man was a different story. Creed was a good healer and he responded when he saw someone in pain. He used light touches to assure himself she was whole, ignoring the fact my chest had been slashed open.

"What the hell happened?" Arik asked, approaching us at a jog.

"She was attacked is what happened," Creed snapped, as if he had been the one there. "And you won't be sending me off to collect firewood next time. I should've been there! It should've been me guarding her!"

His hand shook as he reached up to smooth her hair away from her face. I'd seen the man maintain iron control as he shoved a bloke's guts back into his stomach and then stitched him up. This was what it took to unman him? He didn't seem worried about how any of us might react, instead he stared at the princess the entire time he assessed her. Once he was convinced she wasn't harmed, he reached out to take her from me.

"No… No!" Oh, I liked that: the moment her grip tightened to hold onto me rather than go to another man. Jessalyn clung to me like a limpet before burying her face in my shoulder. "No." Her last dismissal was muffled by my chest, and Creed just shook his head.

"I'll make you some tea that will settle your nerves. You'll feel better after that."

While Creed had been peppering me with questions, Silas had drawn close to take in the details of what happened. A frown had appeared on his face, then he'd turned and marched over to his horse. But Arik? He watched the proceedings with a stony expression that made clear he wasn't going to show anything he might be feeling.

"Settle her down on a bedroll," Silas instructed, flicking out one of the mattresses we kept rolled up on the backs of our horses.

"No…"

Jessalyn's voice was a ghost of itself—all imperiousness gone—making it clear that we weren't dealing with the princess, but, rather, the woman.

"You're all right," I said, settling down on the mattress but not letting her go for a second. I'm not sure if I could've, even at a direct order. She was starting to warm up. She had to be, that was the only explanation of the sudden warmth in my chest. "I'll not leave you. I'm right here. I'll be here for you."

These were nonsense words. They were promises I had no right making. I wasn't her protector. I was her fucking jailor, but I needed her to feel safe. Creed returned with a mug brimming with hot tea, the aroma letting me know it was the herbal brew he used for insomnia or nerves. Jessalyn eyed the tea, the man, and then the entire camp suspiciously, as if everything threatened to leap forward to bite her. She shook her head then shrank back against me, and Creed stifled a growl when I took the mug from him instead. For shifters, preparing food and drink for their mates has special significance.

He was offering her something he'd made from his own hand. It may as well have been his still-beating heart he was holding out, but she wasn't having it. I brought the mug to my lips and had a sip, and the astringent taste of the tea instantly made my muscles loosen.

And reminded me of the pain of the cat scratches.

"It's good stuff," I assured Jessalyn. "Your blood is full of adrenaline, wanting to fight, freeze, or flee, but there's no need now. You're safe. I'll keep you safe."

But I wouldn't. That realisation punched me fair in the gut when I thought of the fate of this tiny little girl. We'd ferried women—too many fucking women—to Khean to stand before the king in the grand nave and recite their vows, and we'd seen each one lowered into the ground within months. My arm tightened around her as she stared up at me like I'd hung the moon before taking the cup from me.

As a deep sense of satisfaction filled me when she parted those pretty little lips and took a sip of tea, I wondered if this was what wolf shifters felt. Of course, watching her mouth move reminded me of the other night. The memory was one I'd brought out over and over on the interminably boring ride: her little gasp, then her lips parting right as they swallowed my— I resolutely pulled my attention back to the here and now and nodded in encouragement.

"Doesn't taste too bad, does it?" She shook her head. "Some of the shit Creed makes tastes like you've licked the floor of a fucking privy, but not this brew. Have another sip."

Gods, she was damn pliable now. She did as I asked, drinking more and more until the mug was emptied.

"Come, let's get you dressed."

I didn't expect Silas to be standing there holding out one of his shirts by the tips of his fingers, as if he thought the cloth might bite him. His voice somehow breaking the spell she was under. Damn Silas to hell. Jessalyn blinked, seemed to see where she was and in what state, and her whole body stiffened. I expected her to pull away, but instead she turned herself around in my arms, her hands shaking as she looked at me.

"You're hurt."

Those big eyes stared into mine, then her brows creased as she dropped her gaze and reached out to touch the scratches. I knew it'd hurt like a bitch if she did, but I couldn't bring myself to stop her. I felt a rush of relief when she snatched her fingers back at the last second, but that was short lived when she pulled free. Scrambling up, she took Silas' shirt, gripping his hand for a moment as she murmured her thanks, then yanked it over her head.

"We need medicine; a healer." She was all princess now as she paced back and forth, a finger to her lips while she developed a mental list.

"I do the healing," Creed said, his eyes shining with pride.

"Then what do we need, Master Creed?" she asked, not noticing how he basked in her attention. "Hot water?" She glanced over at the fire. "Clean cloth." Her eyes dropped down as though considering whether one of Silas' fine shirts would fit the bill. "Herbs? Just let me know, Creed, and I'll go and fetch them."

"And get eaten by a catamount for your troubles?" Arik drawled. His smile was pure poison as he shook his head. "Right now, you're seeing Sir Roan here as your sworn protector." Acid curdled in my guts at his words. "But he's not. He's an employee of the king"

"And he got himself hurt in the line of duty protecting me," she responded calmly. Gods, she'd make a fine queen if she ever got the chance. She was tiny, but she stood tall with her hands balled on her hips, meeting the bastard's gaze head on until he was forced to look away. She turned to face Creed and her eyes softened considerably. "Now, Master Creed—"

"No need to be gathering herbs," he told her, pulling out the soft leather roll he kept all his supplies in. "I make sure I carry with me what I might need, and I have some for just this purpose."

His fingers moved like lightning, pulling out packets and twists of this and that as Jessalyn squatted down to watch him at work. I admit to looking at her pert little arse pressed against the tail of the shirt because a man's got to do what he has to when managing pain.

"Bladderwrack?" she asked when he picked up a dried sprig of some plant.

"Good for cleaning the blood," he informed her. "Cats are foul creatures. They rake their paws through their own shit in an effort to cover it, so when they take a swipe at you, they drag all that filth through the wound."

"Roan's at risk of getting blood poisoning?" Her whole body stiffened as she looked back at me.

"Not today," Creed assured her, showing her how he made one of his decoctions, the two of them chattering about the contents and its uses.

I leaned back, beginning to feel the full effects of my actions as the adrenaline washed out of my system, leaving me feeling flat as a pancake. Every muscle ached from the lack of sleep last night, the ride all day, and then that one big burst of exertion. As I slumped back on the bedroll, I revisited, over and over in my mind, the moment I cut that bastard cat's head off. I needed that sense of satisfaction to stop me from spiralling down, down, down, to a place I never wanted to go. Just as I was struggling to keep myself seeing the positives and was letting a long breath out, she reappeared.

Gods, she looked like a fucking angel as she bent over me. The last rays of sunlight expended themselves in limning her body, outlining every delicious inch of her. But it was the look of concern in her eyes that undid me. How long had it been since a woman—anyone—had looked at me like that? I didn't care to think too hard on that as Jessalyn reached for me now.

"All will be well, Sir Roan," she said, bestowing upon me a title I'd never earn, but I couldn't bring myself to complain as she sat down beside me before lifting my head into her lap. Sweet, floral female scent flooded my nose as her hands brushed my hair back. Pleasure and pain, that's the life of a warrior, so it made sense that whatever Creed would do would be enough to make me suffer just when I was about to purr like a kitchen tabby. I winced as Creed scrubbed the wounds with a mixture that burned.

"Fuck… You bloody bastard…" I ground out.

"You're being too rough with him, Master Creed," she reprimanded.

"We need to be to get all of the taint out," the prick replied, wringing out the cloth in the pot of hot water and herbs before coming back for more.

"Allow me." She held out her hand. Creed stared at it, then into her eyes, and nodded. He'd never be able to deny her a thing, but she didn't know that yet. "The wound must be thoroughly cleaned?"

"If even a trace of taint remains in the cuts, Roan will end up with a nasty infection."

"Then I will be meticulous."

I didn't want this, didn't want her hurting me. She could stroke my hair as Creed did the dirty work, taking my mind off the whole thing, but when she touched the cloth to the scratches, somehow it didn't sting as bad. Perhaps because she dabbed at the wound rather than scrubbed at the thing, like Creed had. Over and over, she worked until finally Creed said she was done. Then she did stroke my face, my eyes able to roll closed just for a second, revelling in the pleasure of it.

A warrior had to live in the moment, because he never knew if it might be his last. I'd lived by that motto, but I'd never known the truth of it more than now. Because as I basked in the princess' attention, I could ignore that a princess soft-hearted enough to take care of a soldier's wounds wouldn't last two weeks in the court of Khean.