Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Y OU ARE WOUNDED ," she said in a voice that sounded as if she meant he were dead.

"I don't think it's bad, but perhaps we should see to it."

Running to him, her arm about his waist, she leaned into him. "Sit down. I will fetch Rosamund and—"

"Alyx," he said, amused. "It isn't a mortal wound, and I can well ride back to camp. You know, you are the worst squire I have ever had."

"Worst!" she gasped as he sat down heavily on a tree stump. "You are an ungrateful—"

"What took you so long with the horse? I was fighting for my life and I could hear you in the woods singing. Were you hoping to entertain the enemy?"

Never, never was she going to speak to him again, she decided, as she turned her back on him and went for the horse. Hearing him chuckle behind her only made her lift her chin higher.

Even when he struggled to rise, she refused to help him and turned away so she could not see him.

"Alyx, I must mount on the opposite side and the horse will not like it. You must hold him steady. I don't wish to jar this leg more than I must."

At that she took the horse's head in her hands, looked it in the eye and began to sing, controlling it with her voice. Raine seemed to sit on the horse's back for some time before he spoke to her and offered her his hand to help her mount.

All the way back to camp, she held onto the saddle and watched Raine's blood seep down his thigh. The horse, smelling blood, began to prance, and, as a reflex, Raine clutched with his knees to control the animal. Alyx felt him stiffen at the pain that caused.

"Perhaps you could calm him with your songs," he said quietly.

"With my noise, don't you mean?" she answered, still hurt by his words.

"As you wish," he said stiffly.

Alyx had never heard this tone before, but she recognized it as a voice covering pain. He said his wound wasn't bad, but it showed no sign of ceasing to bleed. Now was no time to be angry. She began to sing and the horse calmed.

"I will have to show you to my brothers," he murmured. "They won't believe this unless they see it."

As they approached the camp, several people, sensing something was wrong, came out to greet them.

"It would be better if they did not see that I was wounded," Raine said to her. "They're hard enough to control and I need no new problems now."

Quickly, she slipped off the horse and went to stand at Raine's side, her body blocking the people's view of his leg.

"We heard there was a fight," a black-toothed man said, his eyes greedy.

"Only in your mind, old man," Alyx yelled, startling everyone with the power of her voice. Visibly, the crowd jumped, and so did Raine's horse. "Stand back," she ordered. "The animal's gone wild. We had to take a whip to him to control him."

While the people were looking with fear at the great horse, its eyes rolling, smelling Raine's blood, Raine swung a mace from the saddle. "Have you no work to do?" he growled. "Joss, come to my tent. I have work for you."

Grumbling, the people began to go back to their fires and hovels.

When the horse was in front of the tent, they stopped and Alyx braced herself to help Raine dismount.

"For God's sake don't help me," he said through clenched teeth. "They will see you. Go and hold the horse's head. Sing good and loud and draw attention to yourself."

Alyx did as she was bid and did indeed draw much attention to herself, so much that she was nearly half an hour getting away from the people who wanted her to sing song after song. At last, feeling she'd covered Raine's awkward dismounting, she went into his tent.

He was propped on his cot, wearing his shirt and loincloth, Rosamund kneeling by his thigh, a basin of bloody water by her knees.

"There you are!" Raine growled. "Can't you do more than display that voice of yours? Heaven help us if you should go to war. Your enemy would ask you to sing and you would drop all weapons in order to perform like some mummer. Go now, Rosamund, and see to the man I hurt. Jocelin, show her the way. And you, my worthless songbird, see if you can bind this leg or may haps sing the wound closed."

Alyx opened her mouth to speak, but Joss put his hand on her shoulder, his back to Raine. "He is in pain, remember that," he whispered before leaving the tent.

One look at Raine's pale face made her realize the truth of Jocelin's statement.

"Do not stare at me! Make yourself useful," Raine spat at her.

She wasn't going to stand for this treatment. His anger and hostility could only hurt him. "Be quiet, Raine Montgomery!" she ordered. "I'll not take more of your insults. Lie still and I will tend to your wound, but there is nothing you can do to change the fact that you have been wounded. Growling at me will only make you feel worse."

He started to rise, but one look from Alyx made him lie back. "They'll kill each other," he said hopelessly, meaning the outlaws outside his tent.

"It doesn't matter if they do," she said callously, moving to the far side of the cot and Raine's wounded leg. "There aren't five of them worth their space on earth."

Kneeling, she went down beside Raine's thigh and lifted the cloth Rosamund had placed there. It was her first sight of such a wound, the skin cut, angrily inflamed from the puncture wound, blood still seeping out, and her stomach tightened.

"Are you planning to lose your dinner?" Raine taunted as he saw her pale. "I've had much worse wounds, only this one seems to be so deep."

His legs, with the heavy, muscular thighs stretched in front of her, had several thick ridges of scars. Tentatively, she touched one.

"An ax blade," he murmured, lying back, at last the loss of blood beginning to drain his strength.

As gently as she could, she cleaned the wound, frowned when she saw how dirty it was, as if the arrow had been filthy and had cleaned itself in Raine's flesh. When she was finished, she drew a stool near his bed and watched him, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow but even, and she hoped he was sleeping.

After a very long time, he spoke, his eyes staying closed. "Alyx," he whispered, and immediately she knelt by him. "Under the cot is a case. Would you get it?"

Instantly, she pulled the leather case out, smiled when she recognized it as containing a lute.

"Can you play it?" he asked.

Smiling confidently, she opened the case and withdrew the lute, her fingers already dancing in her anxiety to touch the strings. Softly she began to play and sing one of her own compositions.

It was hours later when she felt sure Raine was asleep, lying still and pale on the cot, and she put the lute aside. In the silence, with only his ragged breathing in the tent, she wished Rosamund would return. Raine seemed worse than he had been and she needed someone to tell her he was going to recover.

A glance about the tent showed her they needed water, and the side of her doublet was soaked with Raine's blood and needed to be washed. In the morning there would be questions from the outcasts as to where the blood came from.

Silently, buckets in both hands, she left the tent and headed for the river, avoiding all contact with the camp people. With a sigh of relief she saw Blanche engaged in a game of dice with several men and knew the woman would not leave to see to Raine.

It was almost dark by the time she reached the water, filled the buckets and began to wash the doublet. To her chagrin, her shirt was also soaked. After a moment's hesitation, she removed it and the binding on her breasts and began to wash everything, including her own dirty skin and hair. Nearly freezing, she dried herself with the binding cloth and gritted her teeth as she slipped into the very cold, very wet shirt and hose, tossing the doublet over her arm, grabbing the buckets and nearly running back to camp.

Inside the tent, she held her breath, listening, glad Raine was still sleeping. When she'd rid herself of the buckets, she quickly discarded her wet clothes and pulled on one of Raine's shirts, which covered her to her knees. She knew she was taking a chance, but, truthfully, she wasn't sure if she didn't hope he woke and found out she was a girl.

She'd no more put the shirt on than a groan from Raine made her turn.

"Mary," he said. "Mary, I'll find you."

With one leap she was beside him. He must stay quiet and not let the people in the camp know he was unwell. The idiots had some idea that Raine secreted jewels and gold inside his tent, and Alyx had no doubt they would love the opportunity to search.

"Mary," Raine called louder, one big arm waving, just missing Alyx's head.

"Raine, wake up," she whispered loudly. "You are having a bad dream." As she caught his arm and touched his skin, she realized immediately that he was feverish. His skin was hot to her touch.

"No," she gasped and cursed Rosamund for leaving the camp when Raine needed her. A fever! What could she do? Feeling totally useless, she dipped a cloth in one of the buckets of water and went to place it on his forehead, but one of Raine's arms hit her and sent the cloth flying. At the rate he was flailing his arms, he'd hit a tent pole and the whole canvas would come crashing down on their heads.

"Raine," she said fiercely, commandingly. "You must be still." She grabbed both his hands in hers and found herself lifted from the floor, pulled half across him.

"I must find Mary," he said, much louder, slurring his words, and as he moved, so did Alyx.

"You overgrown ox," she hissed. "Keep still!"

That seemed to register with him, for he opened his eyes and she could see the feverish glint even in the dark tent.

For just a moment he looked at her, unseeing, and then his eyes seemed to focus and he put one hand on the back of her head and pulled her mouth down to his.

Protest, even if Alyx had thought of such a thing, was not possible. The moment her lips touched Raine's all was lost. She was a woman of great passion, great feeling and, always, she'd spent that passion on music. At the first touch of Raine, music exploded throughout every pore of her body, angels singing, devils humming, choruses reaching new notes, happy songs, sad songs.

He turned her head as he nuzzled her lips apart, seeking the inner sweetness of her mouth, his tongue touching the tip of hers. It didn't take Alyx but a moment to learn how to kiss him back. One foot on the floor, the other waving about, in heaven, her body half across his, she put her arms around his head and pulled him closer to her, her tongue plunging deeper and deeper into his mouth. This was what she'd wanted ever since she'd first seen him, not to be treated as a boy but as the woman she was.

Raine reacted enthusiastically to her aggressiveness, his lips sucking at hers, biting them, pulling them between his teeth, running his tongue over the sweet swell of them.

When his hand slipped downward and touched the top of her calf, she drew her breath in sharply and began to kiss his cheek, her lips trailing down to his neck, that powerful, strong neck she'd looked at so many times, had watched with interest as sweat trickled down it.

His skin, so hot, broiling, left seared places on her legs as he moved to his side and began to run both hands up the sides of her legs, his fingers digging into the firm muscles at the backs of her thighs. When he reached her buttocks and cupped them, he gave a little chuckle of satisfaction. "Sweet wench," he murmured, moving his head so he again captured her lips, and the kiss strengthened as his fiery hands stroked her legs, kneading the flesh, exploring the curves and contours of her body.

But Alyx was not content to be a passive participant and her hands also began to explore him, pulling up his shirt, touching his feverish skin with her ardent, inquisitive hands. The hair on his chest, great curling piles of it, was as soft as she had imagined, and the muscles on his chest, undulating, curving, were exciting beyond her wildest imagination.

"Raine," she murmured, her lips following her hands, detesting the linen shirt. His hands stilled as he gave all his attention to what she was doing with her mouth. When the shirt would allow her to go no lower, she moved so that she could start at the bottom and work up.

Her lips touched the line of hair as it disappeared into his loincloth and Raine's breath quickened, his hands still as they clutched her firm, hard thighs. As her lips moved upward, so did her hands, taking the shirt with her until she reached his neck and, miraculously, the confining piece of cloth slipped off his body, exposing all of that sun-bronzed, hot skin to Alyx's view, and touch.

Raine, slow to move, slower to realize what was happening to him, that this nymphet from heaven was making love to him, easily, with a practiced gesture, divested the vision of her shirt, and in the same motion put an arm around the specter's tiny waist and pulled her to lie beside him.

It was Alyx's turn to gasp as her nude body touched Raine's flaming skin and his hot hands began exploring her body, stopping at her waist, loosely encircled by the gold Lyon belt. He seemed to think it was natural that she wore no clothes but this golden belt of her ancestors. As his hand moved upward toward her free breasts, she held her breath, afraid he'd reject her as too small for his taste, but as his hand encircled her and his lips nuzzled her neck, she forgot any imagined deformities. And when Raine's mouth burned a path down to her breast and touched the rosy tip with his tongue, she gasped and arched against him, her hips ungracefully banging against his.

A low, deep sensuous chuckle welled out of Raine's throat as his teeth nipped too hard on her nipple, causing her to squeal and move away from him. Raine quickly slipped a hand under her waist and easily pulled her back to him and all in one gesture caught her earlobe in his teeth. "You are mine, my sweet woodland fairy," he said between his teeth, and his breath, as hot as his skin, seemed to enter her ear and travel directly to the pit of her belly.

"No," she giggled in a tone that no one could mistake for a negative answer, her hands on his stomach, pushing against him. He let her move a few inches from him, but his hand pulled her back, treating her as if she were a child's toy on a string.

Caught up in the game, not liking his toying with her, Alyx brought her knees up to her chest and pushed out at him. She was pleased to see that at least it took two arms to hold her against the strength of her legs.

Seeming to enjoy her curled position, he held her and ran his hands down the back side of her, caressing her back and legs, curving around her buttocks, stroking and stroking, leaving a trail of heat until Alyx knew her body was as hot as his, and suddenly he turned serious again as his lips found hers and crushed her to him, hard, hard, his passion rising, a tangible thing, something she sensed in the air about them as well as felt through the crushing of his body on hers.

Impatiently, he pushed her legs down so they lay on their sides, facing each other and his hands were no longer gentle but demanding, pulling her slight body in to his larger one, seeming to attempt to fuse their skins.

Blinded, music, magnificent music, roaring in her head, Alyx tried to get closer to him, throwing one leg over his, wrapping it about his thighs, hooking her foot behind his knee.

Raine's hand descended down her back, slowly, feeling every nook and crevice until he reached the center of her being. Gasping, eyes wide, Alyx pulled back from him, saw his eyes were closed as he concentrated on feeling. When his finger entered her, she began to tremble, scared of this new experience, frightened of what was happening to her, of what her mind and body were feeling.

His hand moved, stroking her inner thighs, touching her ever so lightly, making her part her legs more and more widely, as she wrapped them about his hips, holding him so tightly she threatened to crush him.

When his hand left her she whimpered, but his mouth captured hers as he attempted to swallow her and Alyx, nearly in tears, pushed her body closer and closer to his. His loincloth disappeared and as his maleness touched her womanliness, she fairly jumped atop him. He held her back, entering her slowly, slowly, slowly, inch by inch by inch.

He held still, filling her, resting, allowing the sensations to flow from one body to the other until Alyx, eager, inexperienced, began to move, jerkily, ineptly. Raine's hands cupped her buttocks and guided her, moving her in a fluid, slow motion, rhythmically, easily and with each stroke, pushing her higher and higher in her pain-pleasure.

When she began to move faster, he accommodated her, thrusting harder and faster, deeper and deeper until Alyx began to claw his back, bite at his neck, her whole body beginning to twist and turn, seeming to fight him and at the same time beg something of him.

With one twist, Raine slammed her on her back and lowered his magnificent, delicious, glorious weight on top of her, pressing her into the cot so hard she threatened to fall through and she clutched at him with her legs, locking her ankles, pushing her hips up to him as he came down for two penetrating, blindingly hard thrusts—and Alyx died.

White hot, intoxicating music exploded throughout her, blasted apart her skin, separating all the pieces of her as her body trembled and quaked, shivered until her strength turned to jelly.

Sticky, horribly weak, unsure of what her body had just done and she had done to it, she clung to Raine, letting herself feel all of his hot skin, his breath, uneven, in her ear. Moving one arm, and feeling as if she'd just rolled down a steep hill covered with stones, Alyx touched the damp hair along his neck. In a quick, fierce movement, Raine grabbed her hand as he rolled to his side, pulling her with him and clutched her hand in his, so tight he threatened to break her fingers.

"Mine," he whispered, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing two fingers before sleep overtook him.

For several minutes Alyx dozed, half in sleep, half out. Her body was exhausted, yet somehow she was more alive than she'd ever been. She felt no shame for mating with a man who was not her husband, and perhaps she should, but at this moment there was nothing in life she needed other than this dear man's leg across her, this wet stickiness holding more than their bodies together.

"I love you," she whispered to the man sleeping in her arms. "I know you can never be mine, but for this moment you are. I love you," she said again as she kissed one damp curl and fell asleep again, more happy than she'd ever been in her life.