Part 4 (1/2)

Her father had made her in lies, then had run away from his obligation.

Her mother had done her duty, and she had been kind. But her heart had been broken into so many pieces there had been none left for her child.

And what sort of child was it who could grieve more truly for a dead dog than for her own dead mother?

She had nothing emotionally to give a man, and wanted nothing from one. In that way she would survive, and keep her people alive.

Life, she reminded herself, mattered most. And what she felt for him was surely no more than a churning in the blood.

But how could she have known what it was like to be held by him? To feel his heart beat so strong and fast against hers? None of the books she'd read had captured with their clever words the true thrill of lips meeting.

Now that she understood, it would be just another precious memory, like a ride on horseback, to tuck away for the endless lonely nights.

She would decide later, she thought, if the nights were longer, lonelier, with the memory than they were without it.

But today she couldn't allow herself to think like a woman softened by a man's touch. She must think like a queen with people to provide for.

She caught the scent of the stag even before the horse did, and held up a hand. ”We should walk from here,” she said under her breath.

He didn't question her, but dismounted, then reached up to lift her down.

Then his arms were around her again, her hands on his shoulders, and her face tilted up to his. Even as she shook her head, he brushed his lips over her brow.

”Deirdre the fair,” he said softly. ”Such a pretty armful.”

The male scent of him blurred the scent of the stag. ”This is not the time.”

Because the catch in her voice was enough to satisfy him, for now, he reached over for his bow and quiver. But when she held out her hands for them, he lifted his eyebrows.

”The bow is too heavy a draw for you.” When she continued to stare, hands outstretched, he shrugged and gave them to her.

So, he thought, he would indulge her. They'd make do with more cabbage tonight.

Then he was left blinking as she tossed aside her cloak and streaked through the trees in her men's clothes like a wraith-soundless and swift.

Before he could tether his horse, she'd vanished and he could do no more than follow in her tracks.

He stopped when he caught sight of her. She stood in the gloomy light, nearly hip-deep in snow. With a gesture smooth and polished as a warrior, she notched the arrow, drew back the heavy bow. The sharp ping of the arrow flying free echoed. Then she lowered the bow, and her head.

”Everyone misses sometimes,” he said as he started toward her.

Her head came up, her face cold and set. ”I did not miss. I find no pleasure in the kill. My people need meat.”

She handed the bow and quiver back to him, then trudged through the snow to where the stag lay.

Kylar saw she'd taken it down, fast, mercifully fast, with a single shot.

”Deirdre,” he called out. ”Do you ask yourself how game, even so spa.r.s.e, come to be here where there is no food for them?”

She continued walking. ”My mother did what she could, leaving a call that would draw them to the forest. She hoped to teach me to do the same, but it's not my gift.”

”You have more than one,” he said. ”I'll get the horse.”

Once the deer was strapped onto the horse, Kylar cupped his hands to help Deirdre mount. ”Put your right foot in my hands, swing your left leg over the saddle.”

”There isn't room for both of us now. You ride, I'll walk.”

”No, I'll walk.”

”It's too far when you've yet to fully recover. Mount your horse.” She started to move past him, but he blocked her path. Her shoulders straightened like an iron bar. ”I said, mount. I am a queen, and you merely a prince. You will do as I bid.”

”I'm a man, and you merely a woman.” He shocked her speechless by picking her up and tossing her into the saddle. ”You'll do what you're told.”

However much she labored side by side with her people, no one had ever disobeyed a command. And no man had ever laid hands on her.

”You... dare.”

”I'm not one of your people.” He gathered the reins and began to walk the horse through the forest. ”Whatever our ranks, I'm as royal as you.

Though that doesn't mean a d.a.m.n at the moment. It's difficult to think of you as a queen when you're garbed like a man and I've seen you handle a bow that my own squire can barely manage. It's difficult to think of you as a queen, Deirdre,” he added with a glance back at her furious face, ”when I've held you in my arms.”

”Then you'd best remember what that felt like, for you won't be allowed to do so again.”

He stopped, and turning, ran his hand deliberately up her leg. When she kicked out at him, he caught her boot and laughed. ”Ah, so there's a temper in there after all. Good. I prefer bedding a woman with fire in her.”

Quick as a snake the dagger was out of her belt and in her hand. And its killing point at his throat. ”Remove your hand.”

He never flinched, but realized to his own shock that this wasn't merely a woman he could want. It was a woman he could love. ”Would you do it, I wonder? I think you might while the temper's on you, but then you'd regret it.” He brought his hand up slowly, gripped her knife hand by the wrist. ”We'd both regret it. I tell you I want to bed you. I give you the truth. Do you want lies?”

”You can bed Cordelia, if she's willing.” ”I don't want Cordelia, willing or not.” He took the knife from her hand, then brushed a kiss over her palm. ”But I want you, Deirdre. And I want you willing.” He handed her back the dagger, hilt first. ”Can you handle a sword as well as you do a dagger?”

”I can.”

”You're a woman of marvels, Deirdre the fair.” He began to walk again.

”I understand developing skill with the bow, but what need have you for sword or dagger?”

”Ignoring training in defense is careless and lazy. The training itself is good for the body and the mind. If my people are expected to learn how to handle a blade, then so should I be.”

”Agreed.”

When he paused a second time, her eyes narrowed in warning. ”I'm going to shorten the stirrups so you can ride properly. What happened to your horses?”

”Those who left the first year took them.” She ordered herself to relax and pleased herself by stroking Cathmor's neck again. ”There were cattle, too, and sheep. Those that didn't die of the cold wer e used as food. There were cottages and farmhouses, but people came to the castle for shelter, for food. Or wandered off hoping to find spring. Now they're under the snow and ice. Why do you want to bed me?”

”Because you're beautiful.”

She frowned down at him. ”Are men so simple, really?” He laughed, shook his head, and her fingers itched to tangle in his silky black mane rather than the horse's. ”Simple enough about certain matters. But I hadn't finished the answer. Your beauty would be enough to make me want you for a night. Try this now, heels down. That's fine.”

He gave her foot a friendly pat, then walked back to the horse's head.