Elizabeth Haydon - Rhapsody - Child of Blood

Ashe had taken up arms willingly in defense of Canrif, slicing through the frontal assault on the halls of the Cauldron without help. Within a few moments after the fighting had begun, he had cleared the main hallway of half a dozen Hill-Eye infiltrators, then followed Grunthor out to the mountain passes in the Teeth.

He had served as Grunthor’s cleanup man initially, dispatching the overflow the Sergeant allowed to pass, swinging with admirable sword technique in lightning-fast execution. His sword itself was hard to see, the blade appearing like a slash of blue in the darkness, sheathed quickly when not in use before it could be seen or examined carefully. He was well trained and obviously experienced. Achmed was more annoyed than ever, but at a loss to explain to himself why.

Ashe was also unassuming; he was easily directed and willing to fight on any front, including good-naturedly providing cover for Jo without being obvious about it to spare her feelings. And though it was apparent he enjoyed fighting beside Rhapsody he did not seem to seek to do so, but rather followed Grunthor’s commands without question. He was personally responsible for taking out more than a captain’s share of the rebellion. Even Grunthor was impressed.

Now Achmed sat alone, in the dim light of the Great Hall of the Cauldron, pondering what to do. He did not like the feelings he was experiencing; he was unable to recognize jealousy, as he had never encountered it before.

The rancid smell of the place was apparent to him for the first time since he had become Warlord; it caused a bitter taste in the back of his throat that made him choke. It was better to endure the presence of this man for the moment, he finally decided. Better to learn of him first than to drive him away, knowing all the while that he would be back. It was important to find out what it was Ashe really wanted there. Whatever it was, Achmed knew he wouldn’t like it.

Rhapsody unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open, then moved back to allow Ashe to enter the guest chamber.

While he and Jo were at supper she had taken the opportunity to bathe and change clothes, cleansing and dressing a minor wound she had sustained at the hands of a Hill-Eye chieftain. Ashe had taken grim pleasure in beheading him for her as she fell back; it had impressed him that she recovered fast enough to counter her attacker’s blow before the Bolg dropped.

His senses told him the wound was painful but minor as long as she tended to it properly to avoid infection, which she had, cleansing it with witch hazel and by applying plantain and thyme to it. As he passed her he inhaled her scent, fresh and unperfumed, with a hint of vanilla and soap to it, and it made him shiver.

He looked around the room in surprise. The chamber was scrubbed and whitewashed, with a cozy fireplace and a plaited rug to warm the room and floor. There was a bed with a packed-wool mattress and a blue quilted counterpane, a washstand with a basin and pitcher, and a chamber pot under the bed, as well as a coat tree in the corner. It was not what he expected in a guest chamber in the realm of the Firbolg, but then, neither was Rhapsody.

The fire was burning on the hearth with a merry crackling sound, almost as if it had been laced with green pine nuts. Ashe stretched out on the bed and settled back, waiting to see what she would do. He closed his eyes beneath his hood, enjoying the onset of the darkness while still feeling the heat from the fireplace on his eyelids. He opened them a crack. Rhapsody was still facing the door.

When she turned she was wearing the dazzling smile that had left him weak-kneed on more than one occasion, but there was something new in her eyes, something strange and wonderful and warm; they sparkled in the light of the fire as she looked across the room at him.

Without speaking, she gently placed her hands on her waist, then slid them slowly up her torso, over the prim blouse, caressing her breasts as they passed. They ended up at her neck, where the first of the laces that held the blouse together was carefully tied, and began to unthread it with delicate grace.

Ashe felt his breathing become shallow as she freed the lace from its closure and opened the top of her blouse, the light gleaming off the luminous skin at the hollow of her throat. His lips burned, as they always did when he thought of the lovely indentation of her neck.

One by one the other laces opened. As the closure of her blouse fell away her smile grew brighter until she stood, her breasts barely hidden by the fabric of her shirt. Then her hand moved around behind her head, causing the blouse to open and Ashe’s heart to race faster as the arousal that was constantly there in her presence became even more intense. The fire on the hearth was cold by comparison to the heat in his blood.

With a gentle tug she loosed her hair from the black velvet ribbon that customarily held it in place and shook her head. The waterfall of golden tresses spilled down over her shoulders and caught the light; Ashe felt his resolve, his requirement to remain hidden and alone, give way to a painful burning need that spread caustically through him. He began to breathe lightly through his mouth as the blouse slid from her arms over her waist to the floor, where it lay in a crumpled heap.

Now she stood at the door, the firelight flickering off her rosy-golden skin, looking for all the world like the legends of the goddess of morning. But it was night, and she was here, unclothed before him in the firelight.

Her smile broadened as she unlaced her skirt and slid it down over her hips, past the graceful legs that had made him tremble when he first had sensed her, even without actually seeing them. Then she came to him, and sat down beside him on the bed. He was afraid to sit up for fear of losing control.

That was apparently what she wanted. She reached out and took his hand with the grace of a woman who had been able to choose and capture the heart of any lover she had ever desired. His palm grew moist with the knowledge that her choice now was him.

With infinite patience she placed his trembling hand on her long, smooth thigh and gently drew it over her skin, moving upward toward her waist. She closed her eyes as his hand came to rest on one of her exquisite breasts; it fit perfectly within his palm.

Gently he traced the elegant nipple, feeling it harden beneath the callus of his fingertip. As he caressed her there she began to breathe lightly herself and took hold of his other hand, bringing it to rest on her leg again.

This time, however, rather than moving it up over her slim waist toward her heart, she parted her legs slightly and drew his hand over the silk of her inner thigh, breathing in a deep, musical pattern as he summoned his courage and moved to touch her intimately. The nervous moisture of his fingers met that of her desire; his hand turned to explore her more ardently, and as he did she looked deeply into his eyes, longing in her incredible green ones.

“I want to thank you for what you did for us today.”

Ashe blinked. Rhapsody was still standing by the door, as she had been the moment before, fully clothed, her hair properly bound. His fantasy shattered and Ashe sat up, arousal still pounding through him. He gave silent thanks for the mist cloak; because of it alone she would be unable to discern the intensity of his stimulation.

“My pleasure,” he said, smiling at the play on words; it could have served as his nickname for her. “You’re quite a warrior, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Rhapsody made a face. “Hardly.”

“No, you really are,” Ashe said, swinging his legs down to the floor and sitting up straighter. “You wreak a lot of havoc with that sword of yours.”

“Well, there certainly was a lot of havoc wreaked today,” she said, walking to the washstand and bending down before it. She drew forth a rough drying cloth from the lower shelf and draped it over the basin. “What an unholy mess that was. I have a serious dislike for untidiness.”