Chapter Three

Una the sorceress cowered before Drogo Belandrake. He reveled in the fury emanating from him, knowing it was palpable.

“You have failed me yet again. I don’t bear disappointment well.” His voice boomed across the enormous room.

“My Lord, the moonstones were inferior. They are too small to power the scrying stone.” She wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

“You assured me that if I acquired enough moonstones to power the stone it would locate the Sword of Sorren. This would enable me to rid of the Sorrens once and for all.” He enunciated through gritted teeth. “I did this at great cost. I have provided every thing you requested, so tell me again why I don’t have the power I want.”

“Quantity over quality won’t work, My Lord.” Una explained. He watched her gulp in fear at the thought of setting him off again, and reveled in it. “According to the legend, we need much larger stones. Twenty stones, each with a ten-inch circumference, set around the ball in a bowl made of obsidian. Stones of that size are only found in the mines of Nubrah and Sorren.” She trailed off, visibly bracing herself at the mention of the Sorrens.

Drogo crossed the room and flung himself into his throne before casting a scathing glance at the throng of people standing before him. He curled his lips in disgust, his head pounding as his anger rose. He would not be denied the magic that was his birthright. True power eluded him because of the fickleness of a woman … much like the one on her knees before him now.

The Sorrens’ magic was inherited through their mother’s bloodline, the woman their father stole from his, leaving him to depend on incompetent witches and useless talismans. He would regain the magic the Belandrake bloodline had lost through the carelessness of his ancestors, no matter what the cost. Restless, he went to stand before the towering windows looking over the valley below, the dwellings shuttered against the viciously beating sleet. Time trickled by as the silence in the room became oppressive.

“Is there not one of you in my service able to carry out a single request to my complete satisfaction?” he asked in a deadly quiet voice. He took ruthless delight in the fact his people knew that tone usually signaled some forthcoming cruelty on his part.

“I believe we could obtain the moonstones, Sire. My spies have informed me that Straith, the most northern township in Sorren, hit a mother lode in the autumn. If we could wait ’til the spring thaw, it would give us time to find the right people to bribe and arrange their theft,” his spymaster Bane ventured. “If you’ll give me some time, I’m sure we could obtain the moonstones you need, without alerting the Sorrens.”

“No. I’m not willing to wait. Find a way to acquire those stones. We can use the cover of the storm to get in and out. The element of surprise has never failed me,” he stated harshly, his stony gaze daring them to offer an alternative to the dangerous plan. He signaled General Burus forward. “Send five battalions; nothing of Straith is to be left.”

The crowd parted like sheep as Drogo left the room. He didn’t acknowledge the courtiers who had been waiting hours to petition him for various needs.

*

Johan, Prime Minister of Draken, signaled Bane and Una to follow him; they entered an anteroom, where Una locked and warded the room against Drogo’s house spies.

“His madness grows more dangerous. He will be the death of us all,” Johan muttered in an undertone. “If we continue on this path, the provinces will break the uneasy truce that exists between us.”

“There might be a way,” Una said. “I have been trying to locate an unbonded enhancer. I’ve had the troop Captains secretly bring me girls with potential during the raids. With an enhancer I could try to get a reading of Darreth ap Syrren’s tapestry. It might hold off Drogo until we get the correct moonstones.”

“I assume you were aware of this, Bane.” Johan accused distrustfully. “I should have been informed of this before you started down this dangerous path. You’ve endangered innocents.” What little trust he had in either one of the two people in the room was diminishing by the moment.

“We’re all here to save our necks; I’ll see to it that the girls are hidden from Drogo and his cronies,” Bane drawled. “So far Una hasn’t found an enhancer suitable for her purposes, so they are set free.” Stroking his well-barbered beard he watched them, unconcerned by Johan’s agitation. “Telling Drogo about this too soon could send him rampaging through the countryside, grabbing every nubile girl from a magical family. We must tread carefully,” he cautioned. “Una, study the bloodlines of the sorceresses and find the most powerful enhancer of this generation. I’ll have my man in the provinces get her for you.” A powerful enhancer at his disposal would bring him closer to his plans of wrenching the Draken throne from Drogo’s cruel grasp.

“How do you propose we do that? They are closely guarded until bonded.” Ever suspicious of Bane, Johan wanted details.

“Do you really want to know my methods, or would you rather continue to hide your head in the sand? In the meantime have the battalions raid Straith as soon as the storm dies down, so it would appear that we are at least attempting to obey our leader.” Bane rose from his chair, and knew he left them wondering if they had aligned themselves with the devil.

* * * *

Rhys woke slowly and reached across the bed searching for Syra, his head coming up when all he found were chilly sheets. Damn, he’d been hoping for a morning romp before they rose for the day. Hearing a splash in the adjoining bathing chamber, he perked up. He found Syra sitting in his tub under the fall of heated water.

“You simply have to get my father to put in one of these for my mother, she’d love it,” she grinned at him from the middle of the marble pool. The water had darkened her hair, plastering it down on her skull, making her amethyst eyes more prominent. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses the night before. Stepping into the tub, he winced at the temperature of the water.

“I’m sure he’d rather not have her parboiled; the water is much too hot.” He waded through the water toward her.

She stuck her tongue out and flicked a handful of water at him, obviously confident of her place with him now after the intimate night they spent together, loving and talking.

“I can think of better uses for that impertinent tongue of yours.” He lifted her up to straddle him. Her skin was bruised where he had held tightly in passion. “Did I hurt you in any way?” he asked, gently touching her arm, testing it for tenderness.

“I bruise easily. However, I’ll forgive you, if you’ll forgive me for the ten nail marks on your rear.” She wiggled as the tip of his erection nudged her clit.

“I’ll do my very best to earn your forgiveness. As a matter of fact, I’ll start earning it right now.” Syra shivered in reaction to his cock rubbing heavily against her bud.

Rhys grinned sensuously as he cupped her ass, and then lowered his head to take her mouth in a heated kiss. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she pressed her plump breasts against his chest, and then rubbed them back and forth, teasing him. Their tongues stroked the other’s playfully as he palmed her breasts, plucking her jutting nipples and drawing them out. They kissed hungrily, mouths joined, heating the already pulsing lust in their blood.

“I can’t decide which one I like better.” He held her breasts in his large palms, as if weighing them. He nipped at each peak, and then settled on one breast, drawing it deeper into his mouth. He widened the space between her thighs and perched her parted labia over the ridge of his shaft. Syra clung to him, moaning as he slid her clit along the hard ridge of him and her pleasure grew.

“I need you inside me now,” she demanded breathlessly as she tried to capture the bulbous head of his cock at the mouth of her pussy.

“You’re so impatient darling, you must learn to prolong your pleasure,” he drawled, holding her away from him.

“I think eighteen months of foreplay is enough for anyone, don’t you?” She captured his shaft in her hot little hand, stroking it from the dripping tip to his cum-filled balls. Rhys groaned and rethought his plan to draw out their morning loving.

“You may have a point,” he said, no longer willing to deny himself. Flipping her over onto her stomach, he entered her from behind in one forceful stroke. Syra grasped the edge of the tub and spiked her butt up to give him full access. With each thrust he went deeper, and soon the blunt crown of cock touched her cervix. Syra clenched tightly with her innermost muscles in response, as if to hold him there forever. She whimpered as he rubbed two fingers inside her labia on either side of his pistoning cock, using the juices gushing from her to facilitate the friction he was creating over the heated flesh.

Rhys loved the way she reacted with total abandon when he was inside her. She arched her back as she lifted her hips to draw him deeper. She delighted in every new sensation, and he loved showing her more.

“Do you like that, kitten?” he asked, thrusting into her fully, until she was stretched to the limit

Quivering like a leaf, she sobbed as her climax bore down on her, screaming when the first wave of joy hit her. Increasing the tempo, Rhys bore hard into her; the night before he had held back. He’d made love to her then, but now he needed to fuck. He worked his pounding cock into the tight ring of flesh enclosing him. The slapping of their flesh was a melody building to a crescendo until she peaked again. He shot his load deep inside her, slumping over her back to place a soft kiss on the damp skin on her neck. Panting, he picked her up, fearing they would both drown if they stayed in the tub.

Teleporting them to his room, he wrapped her in one of his robes, and then carried her to his bedchamber, to find Maida had left a meal on the low table for them. Settling on the mound of cushions, they dug into the bountiful spread. Under the covered dishes they found sweet breads, fat sausages, soft cheeses and rare pink cherries, which Rhys teased Syra reminded him of her nipples.

Replete at last, Rhys pulled her between his legs, her back to him, with her head just below his chin.

“We are a truebond but I want to keep it to ourselves until this is over. You would be targeted if Drogo got wind of it. If I could, I would shout to the world you are mine, but the time is not right.”

Syra twisted and stopping him from going any further by pressing her fingers against his lips, smiling gently at him.

“Darling, you forget I’m an empath. I know what you’re feeling, so no explanation is necessary. Besides, this way we can pretend we are having an illicit affair; that should add spice to our time together.”

Heaving a sigh of relief, he dropped a kiss on top of her flaxen locks, grateful for the time the blizzard would insulate them for the rest of the world.

* * * *

With Maida keeping Gilda busy and the rest of the castle staff occupied, the young couple spent the next three days exclusively together. Rhys showed Syra his favorite places in the castle—the library with its thousands of books, the atrium filled with exotic plants his mother had cultivated. The room was heated by moonstones placed under wide basins of water to create a humid atmosphere. The secret passageway that linked his bedroom to hers, opened by a simple spell cast by a long-ago ancestor. The vast stables where his stallion Blaze was pampered like a king, he introduced her to the firesteed Lily … his gift to her. In between their explorations they made love whenever the mood struck, getting to know each other.

On the fourth morning after Syra’s arrival, the guards began returning to the castle, looking rested and somewhat relaxed, having used the time very much like their lord. They were all dressed similarly to Rhys, in black embossed leather and armed to the hilt. Rhys introduced Syra to the six men and four women of his personal guard. They all welcomed her warmly, noticing how relaxed Rhys was, and surmising Syra the cause. The only exception was Morag di Mari, whose resentment was obvious.

Rhys stood behind Syra, his demeanor changed from the gentle lover of an hour ago; in his place was the ruthless warrior feared by his enemies. His stance implacable, he placed his hand on her shoulder and stared at Morag, his eyes frigid in a face hard as granite, until she dropped her eyes.

“The Lady Syra is under my protection.” His edict was loud and clear; Syra was to be protected at all costs.

Each of his guard bowed to Syra, placing their arm across their chest as a show of allegiance. Syra felt a spurt of pride in Rhys, for his men showed no hesitation in their loyalty to him.

“Leda, step forward please.” One of his female guards stepped forward. She was a six-foot blonde, long and lean, sporting muscles that rivaled any of the men’s. “I would consider it a personal favor if you would accept the post of being Syra’s bodyguard.”

“The honor would be mine.” Leda bowed to Rhys, obviously proud to be chosen for the task.

“Shouldn’t a more experienced warrior protect the Lady Syra?” One of the younger guards stepped forward and took Syra’s hand, dropping a light kiss on the back of it, his brown eyes full of mischief. Like all of Rhys’ men, he was handsome, but would be an intimidating sight in battle due to his height, build, and the unrelieved black leather banded with chain mail. But the shoulder-length curly black hair, the charm of his smile and the slashing dimples in his cheeks gave him a roguish air.

Elbowing him out of the way, Leda placed her body between Syra and the man, and then she placed the heel of her boot forcefully down on his instep, making him wince.

“Like you’ve just said, pup, she needs an experienced bodyguard and that wouldn’t be you, Ryder.” Leda elbowed him in the ribs, her lips twitching. “For some reason he thinks he’s a warrior, but the truth is, we keep him around because he’s so pretty.”

“Lies, all lies; she maligns me. I’m a superior swordsman, who would protect you with his life,” he declared, dropping dramatically to his knee.

The men behind him started to hoot with laughter, one giving his brother-in-arms some tongue-in-cheek support.

“Oh, you’re a superior swordsman, all right. That’s why we lock up all our women when we see you coming.”

Rising to his feet, Ryder sidestepped Leda and reclaimed Syra’s hand. “At your service, Milady. I’m Rhys’ resident telekinetic so if you need any large objects moved, I’m you man.”

“Yes, he’s our mule—his only use it to move provisions from village to village,” one of the men called out.

“Do ignore these buffoons; it’s rare that they are in the presence of such beauty.”

Amused by the young warrior’s tomfoolery, she smiled at him. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I won’t be asking you to make such a sacrifice. I wouldn’t want to deprive Rhys’ guard of your pretty face.” She said, laughingly declining his offer

Rhys stepped forward, removing Syra’s hand from Ryder’s. “Perhaps you should sharpen your skills with a shovel in the stables,” he said.

Syra bit back a satisfied smile as Rhys’ possessiveness evaporated his good mood.

“Oh, Rhys you’re still here, I didn’t notice. I’m too dazzled by Milady to see anything else.”

“Syra, meet my young cousin Ryder. All of his senses seem to have been frozen by the storm. Conn,” Rhys called his captain forward. “Practice in the lower solar in five minutes; see to it that our superior swordsman shows you his mettle.”

Groaning, Ryder winked at Syra. “I’m more fun than these two; just send word if you should ever need me,” he said, stepping back to join his friends.

Rolling his eyes at Ryder’s foolishness, Rhys dismissed his guards and led Syra into the library, closely followed by Leda. “I’ll be back in an hour or two, Leda will see to all your needs.” He brushed a light kiss on her cheek and strode from the room. It seemed larger as he closed the doors behind him.

She gave Leda an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with protecting me, but Rhys has this idea I must be kept safe at all costs. So, for now I’ve decided to humor him.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll enjoy seeing Morag’s nose put out of joint. She’s been putting on airs lately because she’s shared Rhys’ bed on occasion. We all knew he’d find his mate sooner or later, and it wouldn’t be her.” Leda shrugged off Syra’s unnecessary apology.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Syra protested.

“It’s written all over you two; you’re bonded. But don’t worry; all of Rhys’ men are happy for him. We’ll keep it quiet for your safety’s sake. But watch out for Morag, she’s used to having her way, and won’t give up the dream of being Rhys’ consort easily,” Leda warned.

“I didn’t get the impression that they had an understanding,” Syra replied, perturbed that she may have rushed into Rhys’ bed.

“They don’t. Usually, after a particularly fierce battle, we’re revved up and sex is the end result … especially if we’ve been victorious. It’s a celebration that we’re still alive and well. With our blood running hot, it’s the best loving you can experience.” Leda smiled.

“So what are we going to do for the next couple of hours?” Syra glanced around the book-lined room; she could wile the days away in here.

“Reading is not my thing, but watching the men practice is always a good way to pass the time,” Leda answered.

Approaching the lower solar, Syra heard the clash of metal against metal, the grunts of the men as the force of the blows shook them. It was a long room; the walls on one side had tall arched windows, with many panes of sparkling glass to let in as much sunlight as possible on the overcast winter day. The facing wall was littered with weaponry of every kind hanging from it. The guards had shed their heavy outerwear and wore only leather vests, as they were now heated from their swordplay. Almost everyone in the room was paired off and sparring, but it was Rhys she was focused on. He was magnificent as he sparred with Conn, a sword in either hand, using swift strikes to outmaneuver his opponent into leaving his stomach unprotected. Panting, he stepped back from his captain.

“You would be dead now if I were from Draken. If you keep this up, I’ll have to make Ryder the captain of the guard,” he said, taunting Conn into coming after him.

“He’d drive you mad in a day,” retorted Conn, crouching into a battle stance.

They circled each other again, waiting for an opening, both well-matched veteran fighters. Syra and Leda leaned against the wall and enjoyed the sight of the beautifully made men, the bulging muscles in their arms, thighs and buttocks outlined in sweat dampened leather. They started to spar, moving around the room as each man gained or lost the advantage, until finally Rhys feinted to the left, using his long sword to twist Conn’s to the right, raising his short sword to the pulse in his throat and bringing the match to an end.

Turning, he looked over at Syra, his masculinity never more potent as he stood there panting, his hair falling over his eyes. His body glistened from the exertion, the adrenalin rush still pumping through him. Syra’s breath caught in her throat as she read the signs she was becoming familiar with. A tingling started in her body as she responded to his arousal.

“Down girl, the heat between the two of you is singeing my eyebrows, and I’m not the only one taking notice,” murmured Leda.

Blushing, Syra shifted her gaze away from Rhys only to have it clash with Morag’s. Syra held the woman’s searing, hate-filled gaze and lifted one brow haughtily, not backing down.

“We’ll meet in the war room an hour after the noon meal; in the meantime, see to the troops.” Rhys moved to her side and took her elbow as he prepared to leave the room. “Leda, you’re with us.”

Once they were out of the room, Leda tried to excuse herself but Rhys stopped her.

“I’m going to get cleaned up; take Syra to Maida, she’s in the upper sitting room,” he instructed Leda before turning to Syra. “She has a surprise for you. You can thank me later.” He tossed the remark over his shoulder as he stalked down the corridor.

Hurrying to the sitting room, Syra found Gilda and Maida cooing over a pair of kittens. They were snow white with black stripes. The kittens stared at her with the crystal blue eyes found in their rare breed.

“Snowcats! I thought they were nearly extinct.” Syra crowed with delight, moving to cuddle one of the kittens, laughing as it licked her face with its sharp tongue.

“Lord Rhys bartered a firesteed for this pretty pair,” supplied Maida as she smiled at Syra.

Leda reached down to pet one of the kittens as it latched onto the tassel of her boot and tugged at it. “Their paws are huge. They’ll make a fine hunting pair when they are full grown.”

As Syra played with the kittens she thought how much her cousins would enjoy the animals. She opened the link between them and connected with both girls simultaneously. A jumble of impressions bombarded her… Sun-kissed women in sheer bits of material showing bare breasts with only tiny metallic triangles covering their mons… Asha filled with curiosity and Mikel’s mouth licking the back of her knee. Lara’s thoughts full of exasperation over Rorii. He spent all his time either dodging a pair of lustful girls or kissing her at every opportunity.

She reassured them of her safety and withdrew so as not to intrude on Asha’s intimacy, though the first chance she got, she’d be asking Asha about the tiny lock attached to her hip.

The gong sounded, signaling the start of the noon meal. Syra rose, kissed the kittens and placed them in their sheepskin-lined basket. Descending the main staircase, she found Rhys waiting to escort her into dining hall.

“Thank you for the kittens, I love them,” she exclaimed, looping her arm through his.

“I’ll want to be thanked properly, as soon as Gilda retires tonight,” he murmured softly as they took their seats at the high table.

“But I’ve thanked you very prettily, just as my mother has taught me,” she replied, pretending to misunderstand his meaning, her expression a study in innocence.

“I’m sure if you thought about it long and hard enough, you’d come up with a warmer way to thank me. If you can’t, it will be my pleasure to remind you,” Rhys said, his expression bland, as if they were discussing the weather. Under the table his fingers traced the laces at her crotch. Syra glanced around the room, hoping no one was aware of their love play. Fortunately they were all occupied with diving into the feast set out on the tables.

“Just so you know that two can play this game,” she purred, and reached across for the platter of assorted breads across from him with her right hand. She slipped her left hand under the cloth covering the table and cupped him, handling him surreptitiously, as if she were weighing him. Rhys drew in a sharp breath as a spear of raw lust shot up his spine. Syra felt it in their link and released him with a smile, then turned to the dining companion to her right, offering him the bread basket in a most ladylike manner.

Looking around the room she noted that Rhys’ retainers were well fed, eating the same food as they were instead of poorer fare.

“I see your table is not short of fresh meat even at this time of year. Is the hunting in your home forest good in the winter?” she asked politely, though her eyes belied her demeanor.

“The hunting is always good for me. You see, I always bag my prey,” his face was hard with the lust heating his blood, stirred by the caresses of her hand. Syra felt the smug smile slip from her face. Her jaw dropped slightly as she read in his eyes the promise of things to come.

She gulped as she turned back to her dining companion and fervently hoped that as time went by she would be able to control her reaction to the impossible man, and stop gawking at him like an inexperienced girl.

Rhys shifted in his chair, widening his thighs to ease the constriction in his crotch. He promised himself that as soon as he got the little witch alone, he was going to introduce her to a new pleasure he was particularly fond of. He was going to make her beg for mercy. He watched her as she skillfully drew his usually reticent steward into a lively conversation about bartering for spices from the various merchants. His steward’s reputation for being tight with his coin was well deserved.

Rhys grinned at the high color in her cheeks and filled his plate with savory meats and cheeses. He tore into a fat capon as his mind ran through the strategy he’d go over with his captains in the war room.

* * * *

The room was crowded as the men and women waited for Rhys; the storm had finally died down, leaving the landscape blanketed in pristine snow. It was only disturbed on the small rise behind the town where the children played, their laughter carefree. Rhys stepped into the room with Syra by his side.

“Now that the weather has improved we can expect the attacks to resume. With Syra’s help I’ll be able to move several battalions. Once we’re there, I’ll send her and Leda back here to safety.”

“Send me back?” Syra protested. “I’m not a bundle to be sent anywhere without my consent.”

“Your safety is paramount, that’s one thing not up for discussion.” His voice brooked no argument; he was used to having his orders followed without question.

“Oh, I see, send the little sorceress home when she’s served her purpose while the big strong warriors go off to save the world,” Syra scoffed at his overbearing stance on her safety.

“You‘re a gently bred lady, in the midst of heated battle is no place for you,” he replied easily, sure she would see the sense in her returning to the safety of Castle Sorren.

“Who are you to decide where I belong? I was sent here to help with our cause in any way I can, not to be your pack mule.”

“Syra, if you’re there I’ll be worried about you. I don’t need that kind of distraction in the heat of battle,” he tried to reason with her.

“You can’t send me back without my help,” she said smugly, trumping his argument.

“Sending a few people back takes no effort. It’s a large group that I’ll need your assistance for.”

“I won’t be sent back like a child, I’ll be staying to fight.” Syra folder her arms across her breasts, ready to argue her point. Through their link, he could feel her stubbornness; she wouldn’t give up easily.

A scornful laugh shattered the tension that hung between them.

“Fight, what would you know about a fight?” Morag mocked, her lips curled in contempt. “What would you fight with, your tapestry needle?”

Syra turned to boldly face her rival. “Never judge a book by its cover, Morag.” She tilted her head to one side, hands fisted on her hips. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Rhys. If I can defeat Morag in a fight, you’ll let me stay.”

The group of men stirred uneasily, recognizing the animosity Morag felt for Syra.

“Absolutely not, I forbid it. Morag is a seasoned fighter, one of my best.”

“Then she will have no trouble guaranteeing your wish, now will she?” Syra’s expression dared him to deny her the chance to prove herself.

“Very well, but no blood will be drawn; the first fighter down loses,” he ruled reluctantly, trying to minimize the damage that would surely befall her.

She nodded in satisfaction. It should have been his first clue. “If you could ask Gilda to send my swords down.”

“Swords. You have swords?” Rhys asked, surprised by her request.

“Yes, swords. Didn’t I mention I had some skill with them? It must have slipped my mind,” Syra smirked.

Rhys had a bad feeling about this, but held his tongue.

They made their way to the lower solar, followed by his guard. Ryder, ever the opportunist, was taking bets, strangely in Syra’s favor.

By Morag’s confident swagger Syra knew the woman thought she would have an easy victory. Her opponent stood in the center of the training hall, swinging her sword in a skillful display of thrusts and jabs. Morag had removed her short jacket, revealing a well-toned body. Gilda hurried into the room, followed by an agitated Maida.

Morag gave Syra a mocking bow before standing ready for their skirmish.

“Aren’t you going to remove your coat? It could restrict your movement, and you’ll need every advantage,” Morag goaded with a superior smile.

Syra took her swords from Gilda and moved forward, signaling her readiness before she lost her nerve. Morag rushed forward, her sword up. Blocking Morag with her crossed swords, Syra went on the attack. They thrust and parried back and forth, each determined to win. Syra knew Morag’s skills were superior to her own, and she was tiring.

Morag danced out of her reach, bouncing on her heels, and raising her broadsword high, came at Syra. Seeing the opening she needed, Syra stooped down and swept her leg under the unprepared Morag’s feet. Syra hooked her foot at her opponent’s ankle, bringing Morag down on her back in one smooth move. Quickly rising to stand over Morag, Syra prevented her from getting to her feet by laying the tip of her sword at the woman’s throat.

“It seems I’ll be staying for the coming battle after all,” Syra said dryly as she stared down into the face of the incredulous woman. Lowering her sword and stepping back, she offered her hand to help Morag up.

Morag ignored Syra’s hand and got to her feet, panting. “That wasn’t a fight; you won by trickery,” she accused, ready to demand a rematch she was sure to win, now that she knew Syra was not to be underestimated.

“The rules were the first one down, loses,” Conn called out before Morag could continue.

Morag’s gaze swept the faces of the people milling around the room, but could find no support. She swept from the room, her back stiff with humiliation as coin exchanged hands fast and furiously, Ryder reaping the most.

“How did you know I might have won?” Syra asked as he tallied up his winnings.

“I know your brothers. They happened to mention they had a little sister, who, if you weren’t careful, would put you on your ass,” he responded with a quick smile. “A little trick your maternal grandmother taught you, I believe.”

“You are full of surprises,” Leda commented as she joined them, grinning. “I don’t know who was more surprised, Morag or Rhys. I know it’s small and petty of me, but seeing the mighty Morag flat on her ass is a sight I’ll savor for years to come.”

Syra looked up to find Rhys standing in the crowd of his men, the expression on his face a mixture of anxiety and pride.

She offered him a small rueful smile as she walked towards him across the room.

“There are a few other things I might have forgotten to mention. My maternal grandmother was a warrior; she thought I should be trained for every contingency.”

“How good are you?” Rhys wanted to know.

“Better than most, but not as good as some,” she answered. “My greatest weapon is that no one thinks I can fight.”

The women of the guard offered Syra their congratulations and encouraged her to join their training session in the morning. Agreeing, she left for her bedchamber, inviting Leda to join her. Rhys stopped her.

“I want you to go to the blacksmith, so he can fit you with chain mail.”

“I already have some.”

“Good. Then you can show it to me later, when I come to collect my thank you,” he reminded her with a sinful smile.

“I’m retiring early, having exerted myself so much I find I need a nap,” she said, when all she really wanted was to have a minute to herself; she had never really faced an opponent intent on doing her harm. The hate-filled gleam in Morag’s eyes had promised she would hurt her, if she could.

“I’m kind of sleepy myself, having my nerves shattered by the sight of you facing Morag in a fight.” Faking a yawn, his eyelids lowered until nothing but a glint showed.

Syra swallowed, knowing she would get very little sleep if he joined her, then couldn’t help but be amused.

Snorting at his supposedly shattered nerves, she calmly said, “I’m going to take a long hot bath. I like to be clean when I say thank you.” Then she made a grand exit, grabbing Leda’s hand and pulling her along behind.

Syra spent the afternoon in the hot tub, smoothing scented sand over her body to exfoliate, and then having Gilda massage oils into her skin.

Leda curiously sniffed at the jars and asked what they were doing. With a smile, Syra beckoned her into the tub, and the next thing her bodyguard knew, she was scrubbed from head to toe, until her skin was soft as baby’s. She had slick warmed oil slathered all over her body and rubbed in. Moaning with pleasure, she commented that this ladylike pampering wasn’t half as bad as it seemed.

Early evening found them reclining on a chaise by the fire to speed the drying of their hair. When Gilda had gone to fetch their evening meal, Syra made a suggestion. “If you really want to be girly, you’ll let Gilda trim you down there, and give your partner a nice surprise.”

“No thanks; when I change my clothing in the communal bathhouse, the rest of the guard would be sure to notice.” The jeers she would have to endure from the other guards had her refusing Syra’s offer quickly.

“You mean everyone of the Rhys' personal guard share a bath, both male and female?” Syra asked, sitting up.

“Yes, we have a communal bathing chamber. Why? Don’t you have them in Syrren?”

“No, the good wives would be scandalized.” Communal bathing at Syrren was unheard of.

“Life can be short in Sorren, and the winters are long. Loving, even for a short time, is better than nothing. This way you can see what you’re getting and save yourself some time. Not that any of the guard are less than impressive.” Her lips parted reminiscently, her eyes dreamy. “Why don’t you join us tomorrow evening? You can see firsthand what it’s like.”

“I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.” Syra wasn’t ready to prance around nude before a roomful of men, especially that randy bunch.

“You wouldn’t have to participate; no one would force themselves on you. Rhys would have their heads; think about it,” Leda said casually.

The panel concealing a secret passageway slid open with barely a sound. Leda rolled off the chaise grabbing her sword. She stood naked, ready to defend Syra, as Rhys moved into the room carrying a crystal bottle. Two goblets dangled from his fingers.

“Ladies, what a delightful surprise, I should have made my way here much sooner.” Rhys grinned as his eyes slid over the nude women with male appreciation. Syra knew the contrasting picture they made. She, all sleek curves, lounging indolently back against fat pillows. Leda standing beside her, swords raised ready, was all warrior, her lithe muscles in no way diminishing her femininity.

Lowering her weapon, Leda sighed with relief and moved to her discarded clothes and started to dress. “Some warning would have been nice.”

“True, but this confirms that my decision to have you as Syra’s bodyguard was the correct one.” He poured pale golden wine into the goblets and offered one to Leda.

“I should take the wine and linger here for a long time, ignoring the fact you can’t wait to see the back of me. But I have plans of my own this evening, so I’ll take my leave.” Smiling her thanks to Syra, she left them.

Rhys moved to the chaise to loom over Syra. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he handed her one of the goblets.

“Now, let us discuss the manner in which you are going to thank me,” he drawled.

After taking a long sip from her glass, she set it on the low table beside her. “I suppose I could thank you again,” she admitted grudgingly, then dropped back on the pillows to stretch sinuously, sighing like contented cat. She held a hand up to him in invitation, then tugged him down beside her and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you ever so much for my pets, I’ll treasure them forever,” her tone was deliberately demure, contrary to the erotic picture she presented.

“Oh, I think you can do a little better than that,” he whispered as his hands crept up her torso to cup her breasts, lightly pinching the peaks. Rhys lowered his head to draw the whole aureole into the heated cavern of his mouth, suckling hungrily, lavishing attention on one breast, and then paying as much attention to the other. Syra wiggled impatiently beneath him. He shifted one of her legs aside and settled between them. A strangled moan escaped her as the tug at her breast shot bolts of sensation to her core. A gush of moisture filled her pussy, preparing her yearning passage for his penetration, the walls clenching and releasing in anticipation. How she wanted him inside her. She craved his penetration, the stretching and stroking of her sheath.

Simultaneously a warning and a cry for help went off in their minds … his from Rorii, hers Lara. Straith was under attack.

Syra felt Rhys tamp down his need, and assume his mantle of a warrior lord, deadly and resolute. Attuned to him, she listened as he added Ryder to their link, ordering him to have the battalion captains ready the troops. When he turned to her, ready to ask her to notify her father, she forestalled him.

“I’ve already done it; I’ve linked with Asha as well. She says to tell you that Mikel stands ready for your call to battle.” She paused as more of her relatives relayed information to her. “My father says all battalions are in position, and await instructions. My brothers said to tell you surely the mighty Lord Sorren can handle a tiny skirmish without having to disturb them on such a cold night.”

“Tell Orren I will go in first and make an assessment. Then you’ll visually send him which flank he’s to mount his attack from. Tell your brothers to stay with their wenches; we’re only taking the best warriors anyway.” He was positive his last statement would prick the pride of the ap Syrren boys.

Sliding off the chaise, they held each other briefly, separating to garb themselves appropriately for the coming fight. Ten minutes later Syra ran down the main staircase dressed in Sorren leathers reinforced by the chain mail her grandmother had given her, a helmet tucked under her arm. She found Rhys’ personal guard and battalion captains gathered around him, waiting for last-minute instructions. Standing above his men on the last step of the stairwell, Rhys was a formidable sight in heavy black leather interspersed with armor plate, the wolf in the Sorren coat of arms emblazoned in gold across his chest. His left hand gripped a sword of tempered steel, etched with gold.

“My only instruction to you is to do what you are trained for. I will accept nothing less.” His eyes held the cold determination of a warrior who would give no quarter to his enemies.

Signaling Syra to join him, he headed for the door and into the icy twilight. After checking the cinch on Syra's mare, he gave her a leg up before mounting his own Blaze in full battle gear.

“To a sweet and swift victory,” shouted Rhys as he galloped out of the courtyard to a precipice hanging over a sheer drop. He opened his mind to receive Syra’s enhancement and she poured her gift into his. His troops—and Syra—followed him unhesitatingly to what might have been a plunge to their deaths. But Rhys’ power teleported them all safely to the rocky field that led up to the township of Straith. They went into a battle formation directly behind the attacking Draken army. Hearing Rhys’ war cry the enemy froze momentarily, then the well-trained enemy captains recovered quickly and ordered their troops to about-face and engage the incoming force mounted on firesteeds.

Linking with Syra, Rhys swiftly gave her concise instructions. “Tell your father I need him to attack from the left flank, Mikel of Nubrah on the right. We’ll take them head on.”

Through their link, she felt him swiftly assess the strength of the Draken forces with an experienced eye.

Orren ap Syrren appeared at full gallop to Rhys’ left, followed by his wife, sons and troops. They presented an impressive sight … a swarm of mounted solders clad in the Syrren colors of pale blue and silver, brandishing weapons of elven cold steel that could cleave a man in two.

From the right came the Nubran army clad in their strangely iridescent leathers embellished by the bones of past enemies. Their helmets made them look taller by the lofty arrangement of feathers. But what inspired a blast of terror that even Rhys could feel were the equine-feline hybrid the Nubrans rode. They had the speed of a horse and the incisors of a full-grown snow cat. Pawing the ground, the animals roared out a challenge. The gates of the town were thrown open, and Straithan soldiers poured out to join their rescuers.

Surrounded on all four sides, the overwhelmed Draken battalions sounded a retreat, but they would have to fight their way to freedom. For the people they had intended to slaughter weren’t going to give them a second chance to try again. Rhys sounded the charge and the combined forces of the provinces moved as one entity. The battle was swift and brutal, the sounds of steel against steel—a discordant cacophony—rose as the stench of blood and death hung in the air. Syra stood at Rhys’ back throughout the battle, their link constant.

Her sixth sense twitched and she whirled. A lone enemy fighter had managed to slip through the guard. He’d viciously slit the throats of two of Rhys’ guard. Fury stormed through Syra. She knew the picture she presented … a deceptively fragile girl, short sword drawn. He would assume an easy victory.

He raised his sword to take her head, and she met him with swift, deadly thrusts and parries that caught him off guard. Not having the strength to outfight him, she used his momentary surprise at her defensive skills to cast a confusion spell. He woodenly turned away from her to take the place of men he had murdered, defending Rhys’ back from his own comrades.

Security in the knowledge that Syra could take care of herself freed Rhys. Drawing back his lips in a wolfish smile, he met his adversaries unbridled. Ruthlessly he cut a swathe through the vicious onslaught of fighters coming at him. Recognizing him, they attacked, pure greed for the bounty Drogo had placed on his head coloring their judgment. Disregarding his reputation as a master swordsman, they came forward eagerly to their deaths. At the end he stood on a pile of bodies drenched with their blood.

The victory cry went up as the scattered remains of the opposing battalions limped away, leaving their dead behind. Locating Syra standing between Leda and Ryder, he hauled her up in front of him to ride towards the town gates.

Gathering their fallen friends and the wounded, the victorious army triumphantly entered the township to a hero’s welcome. Young girls tossed ribbons sprinkled with tiny moonstones, the townspeople offered food and drink in abundance. The general air of merriment lifted the spirits of the battle-weary warriors. The wounded were quickly bundled off to healers so they would be well enough to attend the coming celebrations. Rorii wove in and out of the riders, looking for his brother. Seeing Rhys unscathed, he grinned from ear to ear.

“What took you so long?” he shouted cockily at Rhys over the din.

“We were here within fifteen minutes of your call, you ungrateful pup,” Rhys shot back, relieved the boy was safe. “I should have let the Draken have you.”

“They would have tossed him back.” A familiar voice spoke behind Rhys. Turning, Rhys saw Syra’s twin brothers approaching them with a woman on either arm.

“Syra, we leave for a few days and you start keeping questionable company.”

“I’m merely following the good example set by my older brothers,” she replied tartly as she eyed the women her brothers had chosen as companions. Their breasts practically spilled out of leather corselets worn over transparent under-blouses. Their dark aureoles were clearly visible, topped by large red nipples that stood high and proud.

“I see you managed to brave the cold and join us after all,” Rhys said dryly.

“It was the least we could do to assure your success,” Seth, the taller of the twins answered, flashing a smile reminiscent of Syra’s. “Now if you will excuse us, we are going to allow these young ladies to pay homage to the conquering heroes. See you later Syra.” The exuberant crowd quickly swallowed them up.

“Well, really, the fight must have rattled their brains. They usually lurk around whenever I’m near a man who’s not a blood relative.” Mystified by her brothers’ change in attitude, Syra watched as their fair heads disappeared into an inn.

Laughing, Rhys rode to the guildhall, dismounted and helped Syra down. She let out a shout as she spotted Asha dressed in what she thought was a furry cloak. Reaching her, she saw it was made of feathers woven together. The cousins hugged enthusiastically under Mikel’s indulgent golden gaze. Syra looked around the room to find her parents and Lara.

“Where’s Lara? Have you seen her?”

“Only for a short time; she’s with the healers. Some of the men had really bad wounds, but we’ll see her at the victory banquet,” Asha explained.

Syra saw her parents talking with the town’s Guildmaster, who was pouring the potent local ale into tankards with a heavy hand. Her mother’s face lit up when they made eye contact. She nudged Orren and nodded in Syra’s direction. Excusing themselves, they made their way slowly over to her as they were delayed by people offering their thanks.

“Darling, you’re positively glowing, your father will be peeved.” Devilry filled Siri’s eyes as she grinned at her husband.

“Where is that scoundrel Sorren?” Orren’s voice roared over the rumble of the crowd.

“I believe he’s over there,” Siri pointed to Rhys, who stood in a group of other warriors toasting him. The lopsided grins on their faces showed they had imbibed deeply of the free-flowing ale.

“I think I’ll go and have a word with him. Mikel, would you care to join me?”

Bowing formally to the ladies, Mikel followed Orren.

“Well my dears, do tell me every detail since I saw you last.” Siri smiled knowingly at the blushing faces of the girls.

The raucous laughter of the men grew louder and their stories taller as the level of the ale in the barrel sank. Siri and the girls were shown their rooms to freshen up for the coming evening. Siri conjured lace-trimmed velvet dresses for them to change into. Each of the gowns showed the women’s assets, ensuring they wouldn’t be outdone by the local ladies.

They rejoined the men; the room was now filled with girls dancing in colorful skirts slit high at the sides to give tantalizing glimpses of pearly skinned thighs and lush hips. Men stood on the sidelines clapping and singing, encouraging them to twirl faster and faster, sending their skirts flying higher and higher. Tables were scattered around the room to accommodate the influx of people. All formality was gone as they found seats where they pleased.

Syra felt warm hands on her waist. “I’ve missed you,” was whispered in her ear, and she glanced up into Rhys’ amorous but slightly unfocused eyes.

“Been enjoying yourself, have you?”

His usually serious expression had been replaced by an ale-induced grin. “I couldn’t insult the men by refusing to drink with them. Now, let’s find our table,” he said, and ushered the women towards a large table already occupied by their men.

Servers appeared, setting steaming dishes of spit roasted boar, fat chickens, cheeses hard and soft, a variety of bread, greens glistening with sweet butter and a large pudding dotted with raspberries.

“Rhys, maybe this is the cook we should kidnap,” Rorii said as he piled food on his platter.

“How do they have fresh greens at this time of year?” Siri wanted to know.

“Straith is built over a series of huge caves. With the careful use of moonstones we’re able to grow anything we want all year round. Tell the Guildmaster what you need and it’s yours,” Rhys offered.

“See Orren, fresh fruit and greens all year round. He came in handy after all.” Holding a plump raspberry to his lips, Siri teased her mate.

Laughing, he gave up all pretense of disapproving of Rhys and Syra’s union. A scowl set in as his sons joined them at the table looking a little worse for the wear.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Orren asked, knowing full well what they had been up to by the smugly satisfied look on their faces.

“I introduced them to the Stratham sisters.” Rorii said, his expression innocent as a baby’s. “Wasn’t that generous of me?”

Orren threw back his head and roared with laughter until tears ran down his cheeks. “You’ve killed two birds with one stone; clever of you, boy.”

The women looked inquiringly at the men, who were suddenly busy passing platters and pouring wine. Conversation at the table was lively as they sampled the delicious meal, catching up as well as getting to know Mikel a little better. Ale and wine flowed freely as the evening got later.

The center of the room was filled with a whirling mass of people, determined to live this moment to the fullest. Men and women from all the provinces painted a colorful picture, in their assorted modes of dress. Girls dragged their shy beaus to dance a merry jig. Unattached men used the opportunity to further their flirtations with the willing women who had caught their eye as a possible partner for the coming night.

The stars came out as the night deepened; the dancers’ movements slowly became less and less of a celebration and more of a seduction … an affirmation of life as passions heated and blood ran hot. Couples found shadowed corners and alcoves to stoke the fires, to entice and titillate. In dim corners, bared bosoms and loosened clothing only added to the libidinousness in the air.

Syra saw Leda leaving the hall with twin warriors from Nubrah. Their rippling ebony muscles were evident even through the thin feather covered leathers they wore. As if she felt Syra’s gaze, Leda looked over her shoulder and winked, her hand cupping the impressive bulge one of the Nubians sported. Ryder, sitting not far from them, had his face clasped tightly to the chest of a buxom girl, as she extolled him to suckle her harder.

“Let’s dance,” Rhys said as he pulled Syra into the gyrating crowd.

Syra tossed back her head, her hair coming undone and swirling down her back, and laughed up into Rhys’ face as she tried to keep up with the unfamiliar steps. Never had she seem him look so carefree, his white teeth flashing in his tawny face as he spun her around. They danced until she was breathless and her head spun from a combination of the ale and the dancing. The potency of Rhys’ body brushing hers intimately as they moved with the melody was almost overwhelming. Syra hung onto his shoulders as he swung her through the door of an anteroom and kicked it shut, enveloping them in darkness. He backed her up against the rough wall, holding her hands above her head.

His hot breath smelled of the sweet ale, and she felt a whisper on her cheek before his mouth took hers in a hungry kiss. Rhys’ tongue sought and found hers, drawing it into his mouth as if savoring the sweet tidbit. His busy hands hiked up her full skirts and petticoats.

“Shouldn’t you find us a bed for this?” she asked huskily as his hand wandered up her outer thigh to clasp her bare buttock.

“This is nice, no impediments to hinder my pleasure,” he replied hoarsely, squeezing his prize.

Seating her on a barrel, he dropped to his knees and trailed his wickedly knowledgeable tongue to the twin dimples at the back of her right knee. Swinging her left leg over his shoulder, he parted her thighs and slowly made a damp path up her inner thigh. Syra shivered as goose bumps covered her bared legs.

“Rhys, what on earth are you doing?” She pushed ineffectually at his shoulders as his mouth neared her crotch and a pool of cream seeped from her, dampening the narrow strip of hair shielding his destination.

“I have another little gift for you, even though you never got to thank me earlier. I’m sure you’ll thank me for this one.” Her eyes widened as he gripped her hips, easing her closer. She gasped as the pointed tip of his tongue ran up the length of her pussy; to leisurely lap at her, surprising her with a wave of intense sensation that made her yelp.

It was delicious, this new delight, she wantonly widened her thighs. His stiffened tongue sank deeply into her; her inner walls tightened involuntarily around the intrusion. Rhys suckled at her inner folds, making her pearl tauten before he tickled it. Syra slumped back, helpless, and through their link she felt his joy at giving her an ecstasy she never imagined.

“Oh, by the Gods Rhys, it’s too much.” She pleaded as he zeroed in on the center of her pleasure. Syra writhed beneath his mouth, the pressure increasing, as Rhys worried her clit playfully. Wanting it to stop, yet never wanting it to end, she wrapped her thighs around his head and grabbed a handful of his black locks to anchor him in that position. Just when the joy was most acute, tiny beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. She heaved her hips to assuage the clawing greed of her hungry pussy against Rhys’ talented tongue. Biting her lower lip to keep from howling at the top of her lungs, her orgasm swept over her.

He stood to loosen his laces, parting her legs he sank into her in one sure stroke. Rhys grunted with satisfaction as she closed on him almost to the point of pain, a taut tight pleasure ran from his balls to the plum-like head of his raging cock.

He shuddered, holding still to prolong their lovemaking. Her arms twined about his neck as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts, inhaling the heady scent of her. He had her happily pinned to the lid of the barrel. He started to ride her with short shallow strokes, teasing her to beg for a deeper penetration.

“Rhys, please now,” she whimpered, seeking to get more of him inside her.

“Not yet.” Steadying her, his large hands splayed on her hips.

He lengthened his strokes, and then withdrew, until only the fat head of his cock was left in her pulsing mouth of her pussy. He drove back into her hard. Syra hugged him to her with all four limbs tightly as if she wanted to incorporate him into her. His breath came in harsh bursts as the rest of his body tried to keep up with the frantic movement of their hips. Striving to fulfill Syra before the seed racing up from his balls erupted, he shortened his strokes. The slip slide of their bodies was made easier by their sweat dampened skin as he fucked her with a slow easy rhythm.

“Harder! Rhys, harder,” she commanded, teeth clenched as her hips rose to meet his.

Sealing her mouth with his to muffle the scream, Syra was clenched in the unrelenting grip of her climax. Free to find his own release, he pumped his hips, spraying the warm channel with his essence. Groaning his deep satisfaction, Rhys slumped over her, fighting for breath.

The beauty of the replete woman beneath him almost broke his heart, because he knew he could not live without her. The old fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe reared its ugly head. Drogo’s retaliation would not be long in coming. But, he had prepared for the day they would meet face to face and he had untapped resources he could use for that fateful day.