The Battle Lord Saga 02 - Her Battle Lord's Desire (23 page)

“But Fortune said the Battle Lord was wanting a taste of my verbossa,” Diad noted.

“Ahhh, the man’s getting a good enough taste of what he wants,” another said what they

all were thinking. The remark got him a few snickers of agreement.

Regardless, Diad drew a mug of his brew and proceeded toward the pecan tree, despite

his friends’ urgent requests to reconsider.

* * * *

Yulen peered down into Atty’s eyes, now slitted with desire. She had managed to undo

the top three buttons of his tunic, and with her tongue had placed little wet trails of fire from his

throat down to his chest. Her body along his rubbed tantalizingly, and his body had responded

until he felt he was being consumed. He exhaled with a low groan. She felt so good. So warm.

And soon, he would feel her raging heat again when he buried himself deep inside her.

“Atrilan.”

His hand was at the back of her head, his fingers twisted in her thick, glossy, indigo-

colored hair. Slowly he began to pull her head back until he could reach her neck. Where he

could lift her higher into his arms and bury his face in the fragrant valley between her breasts. Her

hands were around his waist, her fingertips sliding inside the waistband of his pants. Teasing him.

Tempting him. She jerked at the waistband as if she was struggling with the buttons. Her nails

skidded across the line of velvety hairs trailing downward past his navel and disappearing from

view, and he felt a bolt of heat jerk his erection to attention.

A movement from the corner of his eye put every nerve instantly on alert. Without

thinking, he clasped Atty tightly to his chest and bowed his head over hers to protect them from

prying eyes.

In a small voice, trembling from her pent-up frustration, she whispered almost too softly

for him to hear, “Who? Cole?”

“Surprisingly, not this time. Some man. Coming over. Little bird-like feathers for skin.”

He felt Atty giggle against him. Her breath on his bare throat sent shivers through him.

“That’s Diad. Does he have a mug with him?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly she pulled away from him. The coolness of the evening washed over them,

tempering their passion, and giving them a chance to collect themselves before the Mutah got

close enough to see them clearly. Despite the slight distance now separating them, Yulen refused

to release his wife from his embrace.

“D’Jacques?” the man inquired as soon as he was near enough to be heard.

“You must be Diad. The man with the verbossa. I’ve been warned about you,” Yulen

greeted the man with a grin. They shook hands before Diad handed over the mug he’d drawn.

“Can’t let your doctor have all the fun. Drink up, D’Jacques, but don’t say you weren’t

warned. I’m told you can be quite testy when you’ve had more than your share,” he grinned in

return.

“Oooh, mean, crafty,
and
testy,” Atty giggled, glancing up at her husband.

“Oh, hush,” he groused good-naturedly at her. “Thank you, Diad.”

“There’s plenty, in case you want more. It can be addicting. Atty, how about a mug for

yourself?”

“No, thanks. I’ll get a sip or two from Yulen’s. Careful, my love. I’m warning you. It’ll

sneak up behind you when you’re not looking,” she snickered.

Diad left them alone, returning to guard his keg. Atty watched as Yulen took his first

tentative sip. As she’d expected, he winced at the tartness.

“Leave it on your tongue for a moment before you swallow it,” she suggested. “It makes

the heat easier to take.”

Despite her suggestion, Yulen was forced to release her as he coughed against the

potency, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Atty wasn’t surprised to see tears in his

eyes.

“Good God, what else does he put in this stuff?” he finally managed to say in a strangled

voice. He tentatively sniffed the liquid.

“Fortune did say it’ll put hair on your chest, although I think I like your chest as it already

is,” she teased him with a playful smile.

Yulen tried a another swallow. Again, it burned all the way down, but by the third

swallow he believed he was getting the hang of it. Either that, or he’d lost all sensation from his

throat to his stomach since the brew probably had seared away most of the flesh anyway.

Atty took the mug for a swallow. She was unable to keep from wrinkling her nose when

the strong liquid scorched her throat. Shaking her head to help clear it, she fanned a hand in front

of her face. “Wow. It’s worse than I remember,” she laughed lightly as she handed the cup back

to him. A smile teased his lips.

“I don’t recall you telling me how you react to alcohol, my love. Dare I even ask?”

“No, but you’ll find out eventually.”

Looking up at him, she watched as he took a partial sip, then bent down to kiss her. As

she parted her lips beneath his, she tasted the verbossa as he let it slip onto her tongue. Warmed

by his mouth, the brew tingled. Her lips softened and grew more sensitive. And when his rough

tongue found hers, she could feel the sensations it gave her down to her toes. Leaning back, she

was unaware of her fingers tightly gripping the front of his dark green tunic. “That...was nice,”

she whispered.

“What was?”

“Whatever it was you just did,” she purred, and rubbed her face against his strong chest,

keeping her eyes closed. The alcohol was reaching her stomach and would soon spread to other

parts of her body. It was not an unwelcome feeling.

“Atrilan?”

“Mmm?” Dimly she could feel his hand on her hip. Not unexpectedly, it slid over the

fabric of her dress, branding her bare skin underneath with the heat of his palm, to her buttocks

for a quick squeeze, and proceeded to press her against him, and his stiff erection. She fought for

every breath with quick, little gasps as the painful need to feel herself being impaled over his

thickness spread through her, pulsing sharp and strong. Her hands turned sweaty as his mouth

caressed her hair, against her ear, until a sigh whispered a single word.

“Come.”

He moved slightly, sliding against her body, which was partially draped over his, and then

he had her hand, pulling her along. Atty opened her eyes to see him leading her, guiding her,

toward the tent. As realization washed over her, he turned to look at her, and she was unable to

stop the trembling coming over her.

“Yul?”

He smiled at her. It was a smile of love. Of anticipation, and full of promise. Although

she felt terrified, Atty knew they couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey! You can’t leave the party so soon!” a voice called out to them.

Atty turned around in surprise just as three woman descended upon them and surrounded

her in squeals of delight. Corianne skipped around the couple, reaching out every now and then

to tug on Atty’s sleeve.

“They’re going to do the waylay! Come on, Atty! Come join us in the waylay!”

“I... I...” Unable to catch her voice, Atty could only look over to where Yulen stood a

few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. But the heat of

his desire continued to burn in his eyes.

“Come on, Atty! You have to do it with us,” Jessit commented matter-of-factly. “Just

this once.”

She was unable to resist their indomitable force as they started to drag her toward the

bonfire. “I haven’t danced it in years.” Atty vainly tried to wriggle out of their grasps.

“All women have to dance the waylay,” Portia said, as if repeating an oft-quoted remark.

“You might have been able to talk your way out of practice, but we got you cornered this time,

and you’re not going to sneak out of doing it tonight!”

“Ladies, if I may ask,” Yulen interrupted in a deep, moody voice. “What is a waylay?”

Corianne covered her mouth as she burst into a fit of giggles. Jessit shot her a look that

clearly told her to behave herself, and answered the Battle Lord. “It’s a dance we’re taught to do

growing up. Whenever there’s a celebration and bonfire, all the women have to dance it. It

guarantees them a happy and fruitful marriage.”

One eyebrow raised above hooded eyes. “All women? Unmarried and married alike?”

Portia nodded. “Maidens dance it, hoping to find a husband. Wives dance it, hoping to

bear many healthy children.” She turned to Atty, who was still attempting to escape their grasps.

Iron chains could not have held her tighter. “You haven’t danced it in ages, Atrilan! Don’t think

you’re going to talk your way out of it this time, either.”

“I don’t remember the steps. Not all of them,” Atty argued.

“Then you should have come to lessons when you were supposed to, instead of sneaking

out of the compound,” laughed Corianne, who gave Yulen a conspiratorial wink.

Despite Atty’s struggles, the trio hustled her over to the bonfire where the women were

gathering, preparing for the dance. Unlike his wife, Yulen knew when to admit defeat, and went

over to top off his mug from Diad’s limitless keg before joining the men on the outskirts of the

bare patch of ground where the women would be dancing.

A small cheer went up when the girls delivered their reluctant prisoner. From his vantage

point, Yulen could see how uncomfortable Atty felt becoming the unavoidable center of attention.

It was clear that if she was being lauded for an exceptional kill, she would have no qualms about

taking her bows. But this was a different situation altogether. This required a skill from her she

either lacked, or had little practice in, and standing among people who knew that and still

expected her to perform was making her extremely nervous.

She looked up and scanned the crowd, searching for him. When her eyes found him, he

gave her a wink and a smile to let know he was there for her no matter how badly she flubbed up.

She made a face in reply. It was a typical irritated Atty face, and he laughed in spite of himself.

The women circled the bonfire, facing the crowd of men. From what Yulen could tell,

only the matured women danced. Children and young girls who had yet to reach puberty

remained with their fathers.

The women took their places, standing straight with arms out until their hands touched,

heads bowed. The music began, slowly, softly, and gently crescendoed.

Yulen kept his eyes locked on Atty, fascinated by this side of her he knew nothing about.

Atty dancing? It was almost as alien as Atty in a dress.

For the first few steps old memories came back to her, and she moved with the rest in

unison. There were a couple of missteps, when she lifted the wrong hand or led with the wrong

foot, but the women on either side of her quickly whispered corrections to help guide her through

the motions.

The music continued to weave a melody. A simple line, uplifting, almost happy in tone.

Until it grew more sensuous, and an underlying theme began to play. The movements of the

dance changed, from light and joyous, to darker and deeper.

Yulen watched in surprise as Atty began to sway her hips with the dance, lacing her arms

overhead, eyes closed, head slightly tilted back. She turned, and stepped, and dipped, and twirled

until her loose hair cascaded over her arms. Her arms swooped outward like wings covered in

midnight blue feathers, before she swung around, matching the steady beat that seemed to grow

stronger, pounding like a thundering heartbeat.

The women moved as one entity, and the music grew more insistent, more intense.

Around him, Yulen could hear the men calling encouragement to their wives and loved ones.

Many called out to Atty. With the light of the huge bonfire behind her, he could see every curve

of Atty’s beautiful body highlighted through the thin material of her gown as she undulated

provocatively, seductively with the rhythm. The lines of her thighs, her flat stomach, and the

curves her small but perfectly-formed breasts were unmistakable. If he noticed, he knew others

did as well. When she bent backwards, her breasts strained against the fabric, and he was aware

of how her nipples had grown taut, either from the dance, the cool weather, or from an inner

emotion rising within her.

Belatedly, Yulen understood the effect of the dance on both the dancer and the watcher.

Giver and recipient. Female and male. No wonder she had skipped out on her lessons, he

acknowledged to himself. The dance was meant for lovers, for husbands and wives. It was a

dance laden with sexual overtones, filled with promises of the body as only two people in love

could share. Back then, Atty had been right to avoid practice, having sworn an oath of celibacy.

No wonder she panicked tonight.

But now, her life had changed. Atty had changed. The dance, though, had not. A small

bead of perspiration rolled down the side of his face, and he wiped it away with the back of his

hand. The dance wasn’t the only thing getting to him, he realized. Yulen cursed the drink’s hold

on him, even as he took another long draught of it.

These people remembered the old Atty as a thin slip of a girl, dressed in hunters togs, and

more often than not covered in grime or blood, or both. When he had presented her in the low-

cut velvet gown, her body molded by their lovemaking, their shock had been genuine. This was

not Atty the innocent, virgin hunter any longer. She had become Atrilan, the woman. The little