Part 8 (1/2)

”Unwise. What goes on must come off.”

Kith watched the commander with surprise as the violence of Chapel's emotion struck him like a relentless riptide. Why would this stranger feel so strongly about his sister's pain, he wondered. Kith had been puzzled by it from the outset, but it came stronger and stronger, it seemed, with every pa.s.sing mile. Why would this strange warrior care so much for a woman he no doubt considered little better than a savage? All of the men, in fact, displayed a great level of concern for her well-being. Men in Kith's world gave very little consideration to females. It was different in the temple, of course, because the women tended to be more powerful than the men; but in the village, women were meant for breeding, s.e.x, and household management. One woman was as good as another, and emotions were rarely a factor. Living in a wilderness village was a hard existence, and there was little time for soft emotions. It made Kith wonder what kind of world these men came from. What kind of world used women as soldiers? What was truly startling was that the woman soldier seemed the least inclined of them all to care for the pain of another. It confused Kith because all the women he knew were extraordinarily compelled to be nurturing. This anomaly mystified him.

”Ravenna,” Bronse whispered as he leaned over her shoulder from behind to speak softly to her. It was an instant intimacy, one that flew in the faces of the onlookers around them, narrowing the world to just the two of them. Her pain, his concern. Her grat.i.tude, his empathy. ”The choice is yours,” he said quietly, his fingertips tenderly sliding over her silky hair, wis.h.i.+ng it could soothe her somehow. ”You are bleeding. We can bandage you to stop the bleeding, but it will mean a great deal of pain later on when the bandages have to come off. I cannot guarantee that our medic will be able to use any more pain medication by the time we get to him. Even as advanced as our medicaments are, too much can cause harm.”

”And if we don't bandage them?”

”Blood loss. The s.h.i.+rt will stick to your skin. Dirt and debris might further the infection.”

”Bandages then. Ophelia will take care of the rest. We just need to get there.”

Bronse didn't waste her energy or fort.i.tude with arguments. He accepted her choice and nodded to Lasher to proceed. But even as he began to unfurl reams of sterile cloth and hold it over her back, Lasher hesitated.

”Bronse, I need ... I won't get the pressure I need to staunch the bleeding unless I wrap her full around.”

”Ender, Justice, Kith ... take a walk,” Bronse ordered instantly without looking up at them. ”Kith, help them find fresh water and edible plants. We could use something to eat, and I'd rather save rations if there are natural resources close by.”

”Hey, she's my sister,” Kith argued, not liking the idea of leaving her alone with them.

”And I'm sure she'd rather not be stripped in front of her younger brother,” Bronse retorted.

”Oh, and strangers are okay?” Kith snapped.

”Kith.” Ravenna spoke up gently before Bronse could escalate the argument. ”Please do as he asks. I'll be fine. Stop arguing. Learn to trust what you feel.”

Kith flushed, lowering his face as his ears turned pink. She was right. His empathy would tell him if they meant her harm, and it was obvious that they didn't. Bronse had antic.i.p.ated Ravenna's feelings about being stripped in front of him, and it bothered Kith that, after so short an acquaintance, this stranger could know her better than he did.

Everything about these soldiers, especially their leader, disoriented Kith. He knew they honestly wished to help them survive, but he felt an elemental fear every time he looked at or into Bronse. Something about this man alarmed him. Kith was bewildered not just by the strangeness of Chapel's feelings toward Ravenna, but her equally strange impulses toward him. Being an empath all of his life had taught Kith a great deal about listening to the feelings from within. Within himself and within others. Emotions s.h.i.+fted fast and often, and for an empath, the targets emitting them s.h.i.+fted just as fast. Kith had learned that he was inherently able to sift through all of that and focus on what was important. It was a skill that he had consciously refined as he had grown and mastered himself. Kith believed that it was safe to say he'd fallen into a very comfortable state of being, where things ebbed and flowed around him in a specific way that he was used to.

Until now.

When Bronse and Ravenna came close to each other, it was as though the miasma of emotions that always swam around Kith was swept back by a torrential rain of feelings that were demanding someone's-anyone's-attention. It left Kith raw with intensity and confusion, and he could not understand why, or why he should feel so desperately worried about leaving this hard warrior alone with his sister. She was everything opposite to what he was. Too gentle and too naive in certain respects to be trusted in the hands of a man who bit off orders and decisions about people's lives based on some logical formula that he seemed to have stored in his head.

But Kith had never countermanded Rave's wishes, and he would not start now. She was the eldest in the family and by far the wisest. With his tense hands closed into fists, he turned and led the other two soldiers toward the sound of water.

Bronse slowly walked around the boulder that Rave was seated on and unhurriedly crouched down in front of her until they were eye to eye.

”Hey,” he greeted with a smile that was enigmatic but warmed his periwinkle eyes.

”You keep saying that,” she told him, her smile far more tremulous. She blinked and tried to turn her face away when the gleam of tears filled her topaz eyes.

”Hey, hey now,” he soothed sympathetically, reaching to cup her cheek and turn her face back to look at him. ”It will be okay. I promise you. I will keep you safe.”

”I know,” she said with absolute faith in her gentle voice. ”Please. Let's just hurry.”

He nodded. He reached forward to touch her shoulders, which were swelled and red from the secondary infection, and caught what remained of the small sleeves of her gown in his fingers. Gingerly, keeping his eyes on hers, he inched the tattered material down her arms. She slid her wrists and forearms free when the material fell to her waist. Shyly, she raised awkward arms to cover her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn't keep his gaze.

”Ravenna, I need you to hold your hair and raise your arms,” Lasher instructed, ”if you can. Bronse, if you take the roll when I pa.s.s it forward, it will keep me from having to reach around her and b.u.mping into her raw skin.”

”Okay,” Bronse said with far more efficient neutrality than he actually felt. It infuriated him that she was so injured and so in need of him, and yet all he could do was think about how d.a.m.n attractive she was, how smooth and soft her skin looked. She seemed fragile, and he saw her trembling. Why did he want so badly to sweep her into his arms and kiss her into comfort, gently and with care? He would serve her better helping Lasher bind her, not smearing her with ... with useless physical affections.

Ravenna wrapped the tousled sheaf of her hair twice around her wrist before grasping it in her fingers. The rising sun s.h.i.+mmered through the mussed ma.s.s, giving it golden lights as well as deeper amber ones. Again a surging need to touch it washed through Bronse. To touch it, to touch her, any kind of contact, his mind and body cried desperately. Why? d.a.m.n it all, why was he so plagued by this need? Disgusted with himself for his mental fancies, Bronse strove for competence as Ravenna raised her arms and the secured hair over her head and Lasher began to pa.s.s the sterile fabric to him. Bronse made it through three revolutions of winding fabric before he actually allowed himself to look at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he laid the fabric over the swells of feminine flesh.

The vicious curse exploded out of him before he even knew it was forming.

His eyes widened with outrage and unspeakable fury when he saw the mean fingerprints bruised onto her precious skin. Both b.r.e.a.s.t.s were marred with these bruises, as well as angry scratches flared with inflammation because the nails on the ends of the offending fingers had been sharp and dirty. She had been callously manhandled, and the evidence of it was stamped into her skin for him to see.

”By all that is cursed and holy,” he swore vehemently, reaching out to brush his knuckles over the blue and black marks near her areola. ”Is there much pain?” he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

He wanted to ask who had done it. Oh, he knew it was the guards, but he would elicit a description if he could and go back to hunt the specific b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for himself, and d.a.m.n the danger. Still, he knew he could not. He would have to satisfy himself knowing he had gotten her away from them, that she'd be safe with him from now on.

When she didn't answer, he looked up at her. Her face was flushed a furious rose color, and she wasn't looking at him. He searched for tears, but her averted eyes were clear and dry, only her rapid breath giving him any hint of her emotion.

”Lasher, she has some angry bruising,” he said softly, running his thumb ever so gently across the marks. ”Do you have a reabsorption patch? Tight bandages will hurt if we-”

”Absolutely. Just a sec,” Lasher said, turning to rummage in his kit.

But Bronse was not paying him any attention. He had suddenly become aware of the soft, breathless gasp that Ravenna uttered, and the immediate reaction to follow. The nipple close to his caressing thumb tightened and formed itself into a thrusting point, and a ripple of goose-flesh p.r.i.c.kled beneath his fingertips and palm where they rested artlessly against her. Bronse watched the reaction with the same fascination as one would watch the inevitable rush of an approaching avalanche. Awe at the sheer magnificence of how natural and beautiful it was sent a thrill of body-rocking excitement completely through him. Then came the realization that if he didn't move, and move fast, all h.e.l.l would break loose and sheer survival would become an issue.

Bronse jerked away from her as if he'd been stabbed through his hand, awkwardly staggering back as he gained his feet, which, for some reason, refused to work with their usual dexterity. He was dimly aware of Lasher looking at him in surprise and confusion from over her shoulder, and he almost laughed at how well his second's expression reflected his own feelings of the moment.

”I need to-”

It was all he said before executing an about-face and walking off. Lasher watched him go with a sense of disbelief and consternation. ”Now what the h.e.l.l got into him?” he asked aloud. His patient didn't answer, keeping her arms raised and her face averted as he moved around her to apply the reabsorption patch to the s.p.a.ce just under the first bandage wrapping. Then with her help he finished covering the bleeding wounds. It was awkward and would have been far easier with Bronse's help. Shaking his head, Lasher grimly noted the bruises on Ravenna's b.r.e.a.s.t.s and wondered if Bronse had left to cover a bout of temper. His commander had a well-defined sense of honor, and evidence of defilement such as this would be just the sort of thing to p.i.s.s him off beyond control for a moment.

Lasher helped Ravenna tie off her dress at her waist so the skirt remained in place, and then he helped her ease back into Bronse's s.h.i.+rt. He took a deep breath and met her troubled gaze firmly as he b.u.t.toned it for her.

”There is only about sixty minutes' worth of medication in the block. The topical and bandages will help, but not much. I'm going to be watching you. Please ... please let us narc you when it gets to be too much. If for nothing else than your brother will have an apoplexy if he sees you hurting. Trust us, we can take care of whatever comes up. Besides, I think you know that you ... you have an effect on my commander. Don't be a distraction for him. He needs to focus on keeping everyone safe, not on worrying about your pain.”

”How long will I be out?”

”I'll give you a patch. It will let me be able to take it off you at whim, and you'll wake in fifteen to twenty minutes max. Or sooner, if I'm guessing your pain level right.”

”Okay. Lasher ... I ...”

She broke off and looked dead and deep into his very light jade eyes, their unusual specks of black an instant fascination. Ravenna had only meant to express her thanks to him. She was so grateful for all of his care and all of his acceptance. She knew how far above and beyond they were all going strictly for her benefit and to see her safe. She was a stranger. They cared because they cared about Bronse's wishes, but she sensed that for Lasher and Ender it meant more to them than just orders. Lasher's concern went beyond his love for his commander. It was touching and a rare blessing in her life and she wished to acknowledge that.

But the words suddenly wouldn't come. She looked up into his eyes and was swept into that sensation of chill that washed down the back of her neck and demanded her attention. She suddenly reached out for him. Lasher jolted, grabbing her forearms as she seized him by the back of his neck and laid a hand over his heart, physically fis.h.i.+ng past the weight of his vest in order to find the flat span of his pectoral muscle through his s.h.i.+rt. She drew him forward with surprising strength, and he went to pry her hands off his chest in discomfited reflex.

Her eyes flashed open, the topaz glowing with fierce purpose as they looked up at him through her lashes, and he found himself paralyzed by her gaze. She looked like a hunting cat fixed on a target, and he felt like he had just become lunch. Then her whole body jerked and she gasped. Her focus blurred, then softened, and she seemed to mentally disappear from the close clutch they shared.

”Masin,” she said quietly, using his given name and chilling him to the bone because he couldn't remember anyone having used it in front of her. ”Masin, you must be careful. Bronse needs you. There are those who plot against him and wish him dead.”

”I ... I know,” he found himself saying in spite of himself. But how did she know?

”A woman will come to you,” she continued as if he'd never spoken. ”She comes under the guise of neutrality or friends.h.i.+p. But be warned, she seeks to remove you from the equation. She will strip Bronse of his armor. You, Masin. You are his armor.”

And just as suddenly, Ravenna released him, sagging back as she shook from head to toe, as if she had exerted herself mightily. Lasher instinctively surged away, up to his feet, bracing his legs and body defensively as his eyes widened with a dozen rus.h.i.+ng emotions and ten times as many thoughts.

”What the h.e.l.l was that?” he demanded fiercely.