Rycca sighed with pleasure. The spell of the story still clung to her. "Mayhap the wind was his brother's spirit come for revenge."
"Mayhap," Dragon agreed, "but the Romans of old thought it was the gods who came for Romulus, to make him one of them."
They had come along the trail to a pleasant glen. Dragon drew rein, glad of the excuse to dismount. "We should water the horses."
Rycca nodded and slipped from the saddle. She rubbed her horse's nose affectionately, cooing over him. "You're such a good boy, aren't you? You have such a splendid gait, so smooth and steady. I'll bet you could run all day and never tire."
"Romulus"—the four-footed one—was taking all this in with the delight he would give a big juicy apple. He butted his head against the girl, which only prompted her to laugh and stroke him all the more. "Remus" could not stand missing out. He shouldered up against his brother, trying to push him out of the way. That several thousand pounds of horseflesh were shoving and jostling right in front of her did not seem to trouble the girl at all. It bothered Dragon mightily. He had seen men crushed beneath such animals in battle.
"All right," he said, stepping between her and the unruly pair. "Let's get them watered."
Rycca looked at him curiously but complied. As the horses drank, then grazed, Dragon made himself comfortable against a moss-draped rock. He was thinking that he should have brought a fishing line when the girl asked, "Who were the Amazons?"
"Don't tell me you want another story already?" Dragon teased.
She shrugged. "Do you have another?"
"I suspect I have hundreds, maybe more. It seems all my life I have been collecting or creating them."
"Perhaps you should have been a bard."
"I have thought of that but…" He paused. "I have been called to a different path." Patting the ground beside him, he said, "The Amazons… what a tale is that."
She sat, he spun.
"The Amazons were a race of women warriors, very fierce in battle, it was said. They lived without men for the most part, associating with them only to get children. The females they kept, the males they sent back to their fathers. Many great stories are told of them. For instance, they warred with a mighty hero called Heracles, who was set tasks by the gods, including to steal the girdle of the Amazon's queen."
"Some hero," Rycca scoffed, "stealing a woman's girdle."
"Better than her head, wouldn't you say?"
"I suppose."
Dragon continued. "At another time, a great war was being fought at a place called Troy. The Amazons were allied with the people of that city. They battled with another hero, called Achilles. He slew their queen in battle only to realize after he had done so that he loved her."
"He should have thought of that first, wouldn't you say?"
"He should have indeed. Another Amazon queen, I think it was the same one who had her girdle stolen, ended up marrying yet another hero after he defeated her in battle."
Rycca rolled her eyes. She plucked a piece of sweet grass and chewed it thoughtfully. "For women who wanted to live apart from men, it seems they had to spend a lot of their time fighting them."
Dragon shrugged. "It's just a tale. Obviously, they never existed."
She looked up quickly, caught the laughter glinting in his eyes, and smiled. "Must I mention Boudicae again? She led her men—and women—into battle on her war chariot and fought right alongside them. Nor was she alone. Many women on this isle have taken up arms."
"But an entire race of women choosing to live without men? That's unbelievable."
He hadn't brought a fishing line but he had brought bait and he was enjoying dangling it. She started to speak, caught his teasing smile, and laughed. "I suppose we might want to keep one or two of you around. Only the good ones, of course."
Rycca watched the play of light over his face and body. He was stretched out on the grass, looking completely relaxed, but she was vividly aware of the power coiled within him. Aware, too, of how very odd he made her feel, safe and excited all at once. No doubt if women were to decide to go off on their own, they would likely insist on bringing him along.
He reached out suddenly and brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her forehead. His touch lingered, lightly caressing. "That's a bad bruise."
"I scarcely feel it." Indeed, she probably could have been smacked over the head with a log just then and would scarcely have noticed.
"Even so, you should not overdo."
"Does that mean a gallop is out of the question?"
Dragon moved a little closer to her, the more easily to look at her hair. He felt entranced by the sparkle of sunlight in the fiery depths. Absently lifting silken strands and letting them trail through his fingers, he said, "We are in a forest, there is nowhere to gallop."
Her voice wavered slightly. "The land is open near the cliffs. How far are we from there?"
He gave her hair a little tug and let it go. "I can't believe you would want to go back there."
Bereft of his touch and astonished to feel that way, Rycca answered tartly, "Think you I will fall off again?"
"Anything is possible on one of those monsters:" He gestured toward the horses, who were lunging at each other, supposedly playfully, in between snatching up great chunks of grass.
She looked at him in amazement. "You can't mean that. They're darlings."
"They're horses. I see no reason to get foolish about them."
A long moment of silence followed, ending finally when Rycca said, "You don't like horses." She spoke with utter astonishment, as though she had just stumbled upon the strangest, most outlandish discovery possible. "You own the two most wonderful horses I have ever seen and you
don't like them
?"
"Why must I like them? Is it not enough that I care for them well?"
That he did so she could hardly deny, yet she was still amazed. "How can you possibly not like horses? You ride well enough." At the prompting of a raised eyebrow, she amended that. "You ride very well. How can you do that if you don't like horses?"
"I suppose the same way I can hack men to bits on a battlefield when I don't really like doing that either."
"No," Rycca said quietly, "I suppose you don't." She had never thought of that before, never imagined there were warriors who disliked war. Her own family seemed to relish it for surely they sought every opportunity for conflict, at least those they thought they could win. Of late, the pickings had been slim.
"But why horses?" she asked. "Did you have a bad experience with one?"
"Yes," Dragon admitted. He was distracted, watching the graceful movement of her body as she settled more comfortably on the grass. The oversized boy's clothes concealed much but not the lithe slimness of her legs. She had really wonderful legs. Too easily, he imagined himself lying between them.
"What happened?"
"When?"
"When you had a bad experience involving a horse," she explained patiently.
"Oh, that. I got on one."
"And then… ?"
"Then it did what they do… walked, ran, the usual things."
"Did you stay on the horse?"
"Of course I did. I wasn't foolish enough to jump off while it was moving."
She was looking at him oddly. "You weren't thrown?"
He shook his head. "I've never been thrown. It's easy enough to avoid."
"Really? How?"
"You just have to hold on with your legs and stay properly balanced." His tone said she must surely know that.
"If you've never been thrown by a horse, why don't you like them?"
"If I tell you, will you be satisfied and stop pestering me about this?"
"Likely, but it will have to be a really good explanation. I simply cannot believe that someone who rides as well as you do doesn't like horses."
"It isn't really the horses, it's… being on them."
She peered at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. Tiny wrinkles appeared between her brows. "I really am trying to understand."
"Up on them."
"Up?"
Dragon nodded glumly. He could not believe what he was telling her, that which he had never confessed to a living soul, not even his brother. But if it helped her to trust him, it would be worthwhile, or so he hoped.
"Up," she repeated, and suddenly understanding dawned. "You don't like heights."
"Hate them."
"And horses are high up, at least horses big enough to carry you are, so therefore you…"
"Don't like horses."
She nodded slowly. "I can see how that would be a problem, but why don't you like heights?"
"I thought you were going to stop pestering me."
She shrugged unapologetically. He sighed. There was no getting around it.
"When I was very young, my brother and I left home. On board ship, I took it into my head to climb the mast. For some unknowable reason, I thought when I got to the top I would be able to touch the stars. I found out otherwise and I wanted to get down, but it was dark and the weather had turned suddenly. Wind was howling and the ship pitched violently. It was all I could do to hold tight to the mast and wait for dawn when my brother found me."
A child seeking to touch the stars. Rycca's throat tightened. "Where were your parents?"
"Dead in a raid, the usual kind of thing. Or at least it used to be usual. Thankfully, that's changed."
Without thought, she reached out and touched his hand. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and knew she was remembering again. Cursing himself for taking her back into that memory, Dragon sprang to his feet, drawing her with him. "The beasts will get rambunctious if we leave them alone much longer."
They were standing very close together. He could smell the perfume of her skin, fresh grass mingling with hints of honeysuckle. His gaze drifted to the fullness of her mouth. White teeth worried her lower lip. He raised a finger, touching lightly. "Don't."
He felt her sigh, saw her uncertainty, knew what he was about to do was wrong. Worse yet, mad. Yet nothing could have stopped him save the girl herself. He bent his head, dark against the brightness of hers, and lightly, tentatively touched his mouth to hers.
Rycca stood utterly still, too stunned by sensation for so paltry a thing as breathing.
Pleasure
jellied her joints. Her reason, poor thing that it was, whirled away forgotten and she became again the woman who had knelt beside the bed that morning, breathing in the scent of him. She swayed closer… seeking… His lips were smooth, warm, hard… careful. She had seen men kiss women with the same finesse they brought to gorging themselves on a haunch of venison, greedy mouths slobbering and devouring'. It so repulsed her that she had thought herself cold. Fool's fool! She was on fire, trembling with the dual shocks of discovery and need… God's blood, such need! How was it possible to yearn so suddenly and so much?
She had to touch him, press her palms against the solid wall of his chest, had to taste him with a little flick of her tongue and oh, the delight when she felt the shudder that ran through him. His hands were big and hard on her back, drawing her closer. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips, his tongue penetrating swift and sure. Had she breath, she would have cried out in sheer, exultant delight. That the world held such marvels and she all unknowing all these years!
She raised her arms, sliding her palms up his chest to stroke the breadth of his shoulders before twining around his neck. His hair was pulled back at the nape; it brushed over her fingers like thick silk. Beneath the boy's tunic, her nipples ached. Helpless, she yielded to the need to move her hips against his.
He held a column of fire in his arms, Dragon thought dazedly. Pure, incandescent flame leaping from her body to his. He was an ardent man well schooled in the amorous arts but never had he felt such raw hunger as overtook him now. His warrior woman, for so he had come to think of her, had a sensual nature to match his own.
Yet was she an innocent, of that he was certain in the way of a man who knows women. It was the realization of that piercing the haze of desire that finally made him draw back. Even so, he could bring himself only to break off the kiss, not to let her go. He pressed her head to his chest, stroking her hair gently, as he struggled to control the near-overwhelming urge to lay her down on the soft grass and give them both what they so obviously wished.
He had compelled her to come with him. He wanted her to trust him. Two stone-hard truths that stood as sentinels to buttress his wavering conscience. No matter that they were both willing participants, honor demanded he do that which was right.
"I should not have done this," he said softly.
She looked up at him in bewilderment until the meaning of his words sank in. Instantly, she stiffened and pushed against his chest. He had to force himself to release her. Even so, he reached out a hand as she moved quickly away. She eluded him, cheeks flaming, but she could not elude his words.
"Listen to me," he said urgently. "You are a girl, young and untried. I am a man. I have pledged to keep you safe. Therefore, I should not have done this, but in truth you tempt me as I have never—" He caught himself. Best not to frighten her too much. "You tempt me deeply. Yet do I pledge you have nothing to fear from me. I swear this to you."
Truth.
Rycca stopped, turned, looked at him. She saw a man indeed, one of breathtaking beauty and virility who had held her gently through the night to keep her terror at bay, put aside his own feelings to take her riding, set them aside yet again to keep her safe even from her own turbulent desires. The hero of this strange world. Truly, there was no better way to think of him.
Softly, she said, "You went over the cliff."
Indeed, he did feel as though he had fallen a great distance, but somehow he didn't think that was what she meant. She saw the question in his eyes and smiled a little. "You hate heights, yet you followed me right to the edge of the cliff and over it. You climbed all the way down to get me."
His mouth quirked. The weight was coming off his chest. She was not angry. "I climbed up it, too, to get you."