Part 8 (1/2)
She went back inside the longhut to check her patients. She dribbled water between a pair of cracked lips, changed a bandage over a seeping wound. She gave her strength and her skill and her concentration to the men and women who needed her. But it was not enough to drown out the high-pitched scream that drifted down from the hilltop.
The babe's whimpering woke her. Still half-asleep, she rolled toward him, guiding her nipple to his mouth. With a small animal growl, the toothless gums clamped on it and sucked greedily.
She s.h.i.+fted position, cupping her son's naked bottom with one hand and his head with the other. Too soon to know if the soft fuzz would darken or remain as unrepentantly red as hers.
Her eyes closed, blissful with the suckling. Tiny fingers kneaded her breast. Bigger ones closed on her thigh. She opened her eyes to look into Darak's. For a long while, he simply watched them while his fingers stroked her thigh, as rhythmic and sensual as the babe's suckling but slower than the insistent tug at her nipple.
”What does it feel like?”
She smiled; how to explain such a thing to a man? ”It tingles. As if all the energy in me is being pulled into that greedy little mouth.”
”It doesn't . . . drain you?”
”Nay. It feels good.”
”I wondered . . .” Even in the predawn gloom, she thought he was blus.h.i.+ng. ”Maybe it was like . . . well, when you . . .”
Her smile widened. ”It's not at all the same as when I drain you.”
Now she knew he was blus.h.i.+ng. She loved to make him blush. Even after a year, there were moments like this when he would turn unexpectedly shy. Whether it was his natural reserve or the lingering effects of his first marriage, she never knew.
The babe lay limp and heavy in her arms. She s.h.i.+fted him to her right nipple, but no amount of gentle urging would rouse him. With a sigh, she lay back.
”He's finished already?”
”I'll wake him in a bit and see if he'll take some more.” She cupped her swollen breast, wincing.
”Does it pain you?”
”A little. But if he won't feed again, it'll ache something fierce.”
His fingers covered hers, gently tracing the curve of her breast. She eased her right arm behind his head and pressed him closer. His lips fastened on her nipple and she moaned. He started to raise his head, but she pulled him back. His mouth was gentle, nothing like the babe's relentless tug.
”Harder,” she whispered.
His mouth obeyed, while his fingers brushed her body, gentle as fern fronds. Her hand wandered over the scarred shoulders and back. Locked together, they drifted, dreamlike, until the gentle rocking of their bodies carried them into another rhythm, fiercer than the first and even more ancient.
”Mam?”
Griane jerked awake to find Faelia squatting beside her.
”You were dreaming.”
”Aye.”
The shreds of the dream still clung to her, her nipples swollen, her body flushed with unsatisfied desire. Even as she noted the sensations, others intruded: the groans of the wounded, the smoky stench of the longhut.
”I heated up the stew,” Faelia said. ”Shall I fetch it here, or will you come home?”
Griane got to her feet, shaking the stiffness out of her limbs. She cast a quick look around the hut. Sali was sprawled near her, sound asleep. Mirili still sat by Nemek. Griane frowned when she saw Catha had joined her; the longhut was no place for a woman so big with child, but she could no more send Catha away than the others who had come to keep watch over their wounded.
”Go home,” Mirili said. ”We'll send to you if we have need.”
Griane nodded. She couldn't have slept for long; the heaviness of exhaustion still lay on her. Judging from the dark smudges under her eyes, Faelia was equally exhausted. She rested her hand briefly against her daughter's cheek. ”Thank you. For helping.”
”I had to do something.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. ”I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes . . .”
”You saw him.”
Faelia nodded.
”I can mix you something to help you sleep.”
”It won't help me forget,” Faelia said, her voice soft but savage.
”Nay.” She took her daughter's shoulders, the bones sharp under her fingers. ”Only time can do that. For all of us.”
”Can we forget this?” Faelia gestured around the hut. ”Or the dead lying outside?”
”We will never forget. Nor should we.” Griane heard the sharpness in her voice and softened it. ”But we will learn to bear it. Because we must.”
Callie was waiting outside the longhut. His tremulous smile of greeting changed to a look of horror. When she realized he was eyeing her bloodstained tunic, she got down on her knees and took his hands. ”The blood is from the men and women who were injured. I had to st.i.tch their wounds and bandage them.”
”Will they be all right now?”
She hesitated, then gave him the truth. ”Most of them. But some of the wounds were very bad.”
”Then we should pray for them.”
”Aye.”
”And for Keirith.”
Not trusting her voice this time, she just nodded. Callie studied her, his face puckered with concern. ”Don't worry, Mam. Fa will find him.”
Young as he was, Callie knew.
”Of course he will.” s.h.i.+elding her eyes against the sun's glare, she saw Nionik and the other elders making their way toward the village. ”Children-go home. As soon as I find your father, we'll join you.”
”Where is he?” Callie asked, his voice gone shrill with fear. ”Did the bad men come back?”
”Nay, love, nay. He went with the elders to . . . to talk to the man they captured. I'll find him. I'll bring him home. All right?”
Callie nodded, blinking back the tears that welled in his eyes.
”That's my good boy.” She hugged him hard. ”Go with your sister. We'll be there soon.”