VirtualHeaven (21 page)

This was for real.

“We can’t fall off any benches here, can we?” she whispered
when he was completely naked before her. She rose on her knees and knelt
between his thighs, then reached up and stroked back his hair to study his
face. Gently, she rubbed the crease that seemed permanently etched between his
brows.

“No, Maggie, there are no benches to fall from, no one to
interrupt us.” He turned his head and caught her fingers with his teeth. The
sensation was exquisite.

The workshop was an oven. Their hair stuck to their cheeks
and shoulders. Maggie remained motionless on her knees. Bolt after bolt of
sensation streaked through her as Kered moved his attention from her fingers to
her breast, his lips and tongue gliding over her.

“You belong to me,” she said, at last drawing his mouth to
hers. His tongue was hot, and she moaned at the rough silk feel of him.

“I belong to you,” he agreed, drawing her once again astride
his hips.

The exquisite sensations of his hands on her skin and his
mouth locked to hers did not prepare her for the startling moment of his
possession. She wanted to scream at the power coursing through her. He was hot
metal fresh from the forge. The air grew heavy with their breathing. Her chest
heaved with each breath. The scent of him rose about her. She bent her head and
pressed her mouth to his chest to keep from crying out as he moved.

He was the hammer and she, the metal. Each movement became a
shaping of her body to his. He fit himself relentlessly, possessing her soul.

A swirl of sparks from the hearth rose and floated above
them like stars in the heavens. His hands owned her, finding every sensitive
spot, and just as she fashioned tiny links of a chain, each touch, each caress,
forged a hold on her that was as strong as any steel.

His body reached its limit quickly, as if left too long in
the flames, and he arched beneath her, his muscles going rigid. She braced her
hands on his shoulders to watch him. Their eyes locked and then his fell
closed. The arch of his neck drew her hands, the growl in his throat told her
what would come next. He heaved against her and like a stream of molten silver,
she felt him pour his passions within her.

The sensation shook her. Liquid waves of pleasure rolled
from where they were joined. Her thighs went rigid, shaking against his hips.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her over. She
shook and trembled in his arms. Without words, he touched her where they were
joined and she moaned. He pressed his mouth over hers, smothering her sounds,
gathering them in. Despite his swift ending, her inexperienced and unrhythmic
hip movements tantalized him as nothing ever had, readying him in an instant of
time that might have been an hour later or perhaps moments.

The heavy air clogged in his chest, thick with the scent of
hot metal and passion. Her breasts were slick with dew and he licked across her
skin, savoring the taste of her. The sounds of her passion were raw with
something akin to fear, and he murmured against her lips to reassure her. Every
nerve of his body throbbed with the heat of her around him and against him. She
palmed his cheeks and stared, dazed, into his eyes.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Would that I could burn
this image of you forever into my mind. Sear deep this sensation of the fire
and your heat possessing me, so that this moment might never be lost. Whatever
dream I might have had of taking you gently in some flower-bedecked bower,
pales to what it is like to possess you here.” He touched a smear of blood on
her thigh. “Possession is painful.”

Maggie’s hand shook as she traced the shape of his face. His
heart ached that she would never see her home or her family again. He could
never let her leave.

She was his soul.

The price was high—perhaps to be paid later if he did not
fulfill her dreams of love and happiness or keep loneliness at bay. But he
touched her lips with his and began to move anew, and his doubts and fears
burst apart with his passions. Tears ran down her face. He hoped and prayed
they were caused less by the loss of home than by the joy of discovery.

Every muscle in Maggie’s body ached. She tried to get up,
but Kered’s heavy arm kept her pinned to his bed. A gentle tickle and he
groaned and rolled over, freeing her. Quietly, she left the bed, crossing the
path of orb-glow that lay across the floor, and tiptoed to her dark cell and the
chamber pot.

She stood in the chilly room for a moment and sighed over
the loss of plumbing. Perhaps she should invent the flush toilet. Or Velcro. Or
ice cream. There were a thousand little things she missed.

When she stood again at Kered’s bedside, watching him sleep,
she knew none of them mattered. She eased down to his side and, as if he knew
she was near, he turned and gathered her in. His warm breath feathered against
her cheek. She kissed him. He hardened against her thigh, and she grinned at the
incredible sensation of power it gave her to know that with but a look or a
touch she could engender such reactions in him.

Maggie frowned. Was it just lust? No, Kered was not ruled by
lust. He had all those awareness lessons to help him stamp down those feelings.
The damn man had taken months to seek her out. She smiled. She owed Vad a game
of gin rummy for bringing her that virgin costume. She frowned again. Losing
her virginity had been more startling than painful. “I’ll never forget the
moment, or the look on Kered’s face, or—”

“You dream aloud now?” Kered whispered against her cheek as
he stroked his fingers along her hip.

Maggie knew she was blushing and said a quick—and
silent—prayer that she’d not said anything too embarrassing out loud. “I was
just remembering this afternoon, Ker.”

He growled deep in his throat and leaned over her, moving
between her thighs with an urgency that stole her breath. There was nothing
gentle about him. Like a wild storm he possessed her. He drenched her in his
passions.

His madness transmitted itself to her. She trailed stinging
bites across his shoulder and chest, devouring him as if she were starving.

They fell to their backs, spent from their passions. “I love
you, Kered.” Maggie gasped, drawing his hand to her mouth and kissing his palm.

“I love you, too, Maggie.” He rolled over onto his elbow and
captured her hand. “Say the lifemating words with me, here, now.”

“Why?” she asked, drawing away from him. She sat up and
pulled a blanket protectively to her breasts. “You own me. I have papers,
remember?” The wonderful glow of their lovemaking cooled.

“The papers protect you—nothing more. I can never own you,
Maggie. You and I both know that.”

He sat up and drew so close she could see the glitter of
orb-glow in his turquoise eyes. “Whether we say the words in a temple or here
in my bed, if we mean them, they will join us.”

Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. An unpleasant sensation
fluttered in her stomach. “I don’t need words, and I don’t want any promises
you can’t keep. Surely, the council will demand that you chose a lifemate who
offers a powerful alliance?” Pain rubbed its raw path across her heart as she
waited for his answer.

“How can they force me to take a lifemate? Tie me up? Flog
me? I will refuse.”

“And if refusing means the end of peace or the breakup of a
treaty? Perhaps a life or two?”

She could almost hear his teeth click closed on any excuse
he might offer. Tears ran over her cheeks and dripped onto the blanket. “Don’t
say words or make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered.

Kered stared at her. The truth of her words stung him.
“There is always something separating us.” He leapt off the bed and paced the
chamber. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he cleared the table, sending
documents and goblets flying. The clink of metal on stone made him freeze.

Maggie’s cry of anguish tore him apart. He went down on a
knee and picked up the turtle. One edge was dented, but otherwise it was
unharmed. She snatched it from his hand and clutched it to her chest. “That was
careless of me,” he said. “Forgive me.”

She nodded briefly and then offered him the turtle. He took
it and placed it carefully at the center of the table. A shaft of light from
the window cut across the wood surface, shining on the glass. “Where is your
pendant?” he asked, turning abruptly and gripping her arm. “I just realized it
was not about your neck when—”

“I have the pendant.” She quailed at the expression on his
face, but he was powerless to change it. “But the chain…I bartered it.” She
twisted from his grasp.

“For what?” he shouted.

Maggie bent and retrieved her gown. He sensed she was hiding
from him as she pulled the soft fabric over her head. A raw memory of slipping
the gown off her body earlier that evening made his fists clench. She tapped
the turtle on its back with one finger. “I bartered the chain to make this.”

“Ah.” Kered groaned, sinking to the foot of the bed and
dropping his head to his hands.

“I made the necklace and if I wanted to give it away, or
melt it down, I could.”

“Nilrem said the pendant and your appearance at the
conjunction was an omen. How could you have tampered with an omen?’’ Kered
stared up at her in disbelief, anger consuming him. “Get the chain back.”

“Mada broke it apart and sold it as small bracelets. It’s
scattered all over Tolemac by now.”

Kered rose and went to the window, knowing words were
useless. He stared up into the indigo sky. The four orbs had chased each other
across the heavens and now, as if fatigued, they drew close to one another.
Aligning
for the next conjunction.

He shivered.

Maggie ignored Kered, who stood silently watching her work
in a small anteroom of his chamber. She knew his curiosity would bring him
near.

“May I help?” he finally asked.

Maggie grinned, rising from her seat and offering him her
place. “Just give it a few extra turns,” she said, showing him how to turn the
handle on the wooden tub.

He did as directed. The sight of his arm muscles moving
smoothly against his soft shirt sent desire through her like a bolt. Her
nipples tightened against her gown. With conscious effort, she shifted her
attention to his hands. A mistake, for the sight of his hands evoked memories
of gentle and not-so-gentle touches.

Maggie thanked him and when he stepped away, she wiped salt
and small chips of ice from her contraption. The tentative treaty with the
Selaw had yielded the starving tribe much needed oats and each Tolemac
councilor a sampling of the much craved ice.

She turned away and picked up one of the large alabaster
bowls that Kered used when he ate. She scooped some of the pink mixture into
the bowl and handed it to him along with a spoon.

“What is that thing and what is this food?’’ He held the
cold bowl gingerly in his palms and stared at it with suspicion.

“Consider it another gift,” she answered. “The bucket man
constructed it for me from a drawing I made. It won’t bite you!” Maggie
frowned. “I hope you won’t consider it a waste of the ice. You did say to help
myself.”

He scooped a tiny spoonful and brought it to his lips. As the
chilly mixture touched his tongue, his gaze rose to hers in amazement. “‘Tis
marvelous!”

Within moments, the bowl was empty and he was digging his
spoon in the tub.

Maggie smiled at his delight. “There’s more,” she declared,
pulling on his arm. He ignored her and, like a starving child, would not be
deterred from scooping up more of the treat. “Kered!” Maggie punched him on the
arm and he finally looked up, his tongue licking his lips.

“‘Tis…fresh berries and sweet cream, am I right?”

Maggie nodded, then swept a hand out to the table and pulled
off a white cloth. There, arrayed in a row, stood dishes containing diced nuts
and candied peel and pureed fruit. She tugged him to the table and ladled a few
of the toppings into his bowl.

“It’s called ice cream and when you top it just so,” she
said, ladling some pureed fruit over the concoction, “it’s called a sundae.”

Busy eating, Kered did not speak for many moments. “I cannot
remember having tasted anything so wonderful.”

“You can’t eat it all; you’ll get a belly ache,” she warned.

“‘Twill be a small price to pay,” he said, rising.

Kered elbowed her aside as he hefted the tub, eschewing the
bowl. His gluttony added to her mirth. Kered settled on a low bench and put the
tub between his feet, then began to eat directly from it. “Bring the rest,” he
ordered.

“Please?” Maggie asked.

“Please!” He grinned up at her.

Maggie brought him several bowls at a time, warning him,
“You’ll be sick,” as he dumped them into the tub. One by one they all
disappeared into the mixture and then into his mouth.

“That’s the most vile sundae I’ve ever seen,” she said,
tossing the last of the fruit atop the rest.

Kered ate every spoonful, then licked his spoon.

Maggie stared at him. He looked down at the tub, spoon
poised in midair. “I did not save any for you!”

“You glutton!” Maggie grinned.

“What is a glutton?” he asked, then held his hand out, palm
outward. “Do not explain. ‘Tis an animal who eats like a pig and offers none to
others.”

“Very good, you’re learning. You certainly inhaled that
treat. I hope you won’t be sick.” Maggie patted his shoulder.

“I will have Einalem tend me.” Maggie frowned, picking up
his empty alabaster bowl. It was his turn to laugh. “Perhaps the twins may tend
me, if not Einalem?” he mused.

“You cur!” Maggie banged his bowl on the tabletop.

“C-U-R!” he asked.

“Yes, C-U-R!” She smiled warmly.

He rose from the bench and wrapped his arms around her
waist, swinging her high. She squealed and clutched his shoulders. “Thank you,
Maggie. ‘Tis a food to please the gods, or a food for making love.”

There was a sudden silence between them as they stared at
each other. A communication as old as time passed between them. Kered lowered
her very slowly, just enough to bring her lips in line with his. He leaned to
her and she to him.

He tasted sweet and sticky. Maggie used her tongue to lap
the treat from his lips, and as she did he growled deep in his throat and drew
her closer against his body. She let her tongue stray along his lips and then
she boldly slipped her tongue in to taste his.

The kiss exploded. He lost his grip on her, and she slid
down his body, their lips never breaking apart, his empty bowl dangling from
her fingertips. Their tongues thrust and parried in an ancient game. Kered
lifted her and carried her to his bed. With a speed that astonished her, he
stripped them both.

Maggie pushed him over onto his back and leaned over him.
She placed the alabaster bowl on his broad chest and dipped a finger into the
remaining pool of melted ice cream. Boldly, she grinned, and as his turquoise
eyes widened in surprise, she drew her wet fingertip over the tip of his
arousal. “Now, let me explain a Popsicle to you,” she whispered.

She had just bent her head to him when the door burst open.
Men poured across the room and snatched Kered from her arms before a scream
could escape her throat. It took four men to subdue him and two others to bind
him. It took but one man to hold Maggie still. He bent her arm behind her back
until pain streaked through her shoulder like a hot knife.

“I see you have readied your slave for me,” Samoht said as
he strolled in with three other warriors. Each man wore a black tunic
embroidered over the breast with a red rose. Maggie knew instantly that this
was personal treachery and not the doing of the council, for Samoht had brought
only his own guard and none of the Tolemac sentries.

She tried to ease her posture, only to have her arm jerked
higher behind her.

“I will kill you for this!” Kered snarled, heaving against
the men who held him, trying to break free of the thick ropes that bound his
wrists behind his back. They forced him to his knees.

Samoht snapped his fingers and a warrior drew forth a
pathetic figure. Maggie gasped. The man’s mouth gaped, toothless, in a swollen
pulp of bruised tissue. From the ends of his sleeves, his hands hung limp, his
fingers twisted into grotesque shapes.

“Do you recognize this man? Either of you?” Samoht asked,
pulling the man before Kered.

Kered shook his head. “No, should we?”

Maggie didn’t know how Kered could sound so calm. Then she
saw his arms. His muscles bulged against his arm rings. The tendons on his neck
popped beneath his skin. Her teeth chattered. She bit her lip to clamp down her
fear.

Samoht shook his head sadly. “This man knows you both—well.
He is a N’Olavan guard. He came skulking to me behind the council’s back,
seeking a reward in exchange for information. As you can see, I have tested
this man quite strenuously to verify his story. I could not shake him on a
single detail. Most happily, I have persuaded him to tell his story without
monetary reward.” Samoht flung the man back against a waiting Red-rose warrior.
“Such a pity he is not up to repeating his story to you just now.”

“What do you want?” Kered snarled, heaving against his
guards. They grappled a moment, lost their grip, then regained their hold.

Samoht stormed across the room, snatching down the sacred
sword from where it hung on display against the stone wall. He pressed the tip
to Kered’s skin, piercing it and sending a stream of blood running down his
chest. “This man accuses you of using witchery to obtain the cup. How do you
answer?”

Kered snorted with derision. Samoht slashed the sword across
Kered’s shoulder, flaying a strip of skin several inches wide. Blood welled
across the patch of raw flesh. Maggie screamed.

Samoht smiled, wheeled about, and crossed to the bed. He
leaned down. His light-blue eyes seemed half-crazed as they sought hers. “Are
you a witch? If so,” he whispered so only she could hear, “cast a spell and
free him.”

“Why are you doing this?” She gasped.

A commotion made Samoht turn away. Two guards scrambled to
hold Kered still. He had gained his feet. Samoht kicked Kered in the thigh.
Maggie moaned as the blow sent him back to his knees. Samoht tossed the sacred
sword to the ground and drew his dagger, moving close to Kered, turning his
blade side to side.

“This man claims your slave pointed at the N’Olavan temple
guards and then cast a sleeping spell on them. How do you answer these
accusations?”

Kered spat at Samoht’s feet. Samoht touched the blade to the
birthmark on Kered’s right breast, etching a circle in the already blood-matted
hair. “A pity you have nothing to say.”

Carefully, as if he wished to prolong the moment, Samoht ran
the edge of his knife down Kered’s ribs, separating skin from flesh. When he
reached Kered’s waist, he smiled at Maggie. “Is there something important here
you would miss should it be removed?” With a deft flick of his wrist he slanted
the blade down Kered’s thigh, scoring him in half a dozen places.

Maggie battled to remain as silent and unmoved as Kered.
Samoht frowned, then stalked to her side. “Let this black-haired fornitrix go.”
The guard released her, and Maggie groaned at the burn of pain as she tried to
straighten her arm. With shaky hands, she drew the silky sheets up to shield
her body from the warriors’ avid interest.

“Men, take the N’Olavan guard back to his cell. When I have
examined this slave myself, I will call for him. Stand guard beyond the door.”

“This warrior is dangerous. He could escape with ease,’’ one
Red-rose warrior protested.

“He will be suitably complaint should he wish his slave to
live through her examination.” Samoht lifted a lock of Maggie’s hair and used
his dagger to sever it. He held it high and chuckled. “See this? Should she be
a problem, I will flay another strip from him and perhaps the sight of his
blood will settle her down…and him.” Samoht sent his men away. He slid the bar
into place.

“What is the purpose in this? You will suffer grievous
censure for this behavior,” Kered snarled.

“Will I?” Samoht strode to where Kered knelt. He fastened a
rope between Kered’s wrists and ankles, making it impossible for him to stand.
“‘Twill be a pity when the council learns that their favored man has lain with
a witch.”

“I’m not a witch,” Maggie cried. She slipped her hand
beneath the pillows, searching for the game gun she kept there for protection.
Her hands met nothing but smooth, cool silk.

“Sit still, slave, or he will suffer.” Samoht bent over
Kered like a lover to give him a kiss. He slowly drew his blade along Kered’s
temple, and down his cheek, leaving a red welling of blood in its path. “All my
life, you have gotten what I want. Einalem. The council’s admiration. I may sit
in the high councilor’s seat, but ‘tis you they listen to. I have finally found
your weakness. How long can your power last if all believe a witch gained the
cup?”

Maggie moved slowly, edging toward the foot of the bed.

“And if ‘tis true and we know witchery? How can you protect
yourself from us?” Kered asked.

Samoht pressed the point of his dagger to Kered’s lips to
silence him. “If I truly believed in witchery, would I come here alone?”

Samoht turned to Maggie. She froze. “Get back on the
bed
,
slave.”

Kered jerked his head away from the knife. “You will never
be able to explain this brutality. Your days as a councilor are numbered,”
Kered said, blinking to clear the blood from his eyes.

“Are they? I think not. You see, I have but to explain that
you were ensorcelled by this slave. I will say you then lost your senses. ‘Twas
necessary, I shall say, to end your poor suffering at this wicked woman’s
hands. Who is to know what transpired here? There will be no witnesses.”

Samoht tested Kered’s bonds, then stripped naked. He had a
runner’s lean body and exuded an invincible air. “Einalem might miss you—but I
will comfort her.” Samoht stood at the foot of the bed. “Before I kill you,
Kered, you will wish that you were dead…and so shall your lovely little
fornitrix. Come, slave. Cast your spell if you have one. Else get on your back
or he suffers.”

Kered already suffered. Blood ran down his thighs and pooled
about his knees. Maggie turned from one man to the other. Somehow she had to
save Kered. She realized that Samoht would never release either of them.
“Please, a moment,” she begged. “One moment with him.”

Samoht laughed, turning to Kered as he tossed his blade from
hand to hand. “I have wanted your slave since the bathhouse, and now I shall
have her. Yet I do not begrudge her one last moment with you. Say your piece,
witch. If I am pleased with your performance perhaps I shall hear your pleas
for his release—to quick death.”

Maggie slipped around Samoht to Kered. Never had she felt so
exposed, so powerless. The candle’s glow glinted off the blade as Samoht
continued to play with it. She cupped Kered’s face. The agony she saw there
frightened her. It was not physical agony, it was agony of impotence. He would
die trying to free himself. Even now, sweat and blood ran down his face and
body.

“Ker, hear me.” She tipped up his head until his beautiful
eyes, so filled with pain, looked into hers. “Hear me, please. Close your eyes,
shut your ears. Don’t hear this, don’t watch it. It means nothing. He can’t
really touch me. Whatever happens, it won’t be me lying there. I’ll be
somewhere else. He won’t touch me where it matters—in my heart. I couldn’t bear
it if you suffered one scratch more over this. Let it be done.”