Chapter 23 No Soft Words
“REMIND ME TO never piss off a cnoc-bane.”
Cailean’s gravelly voice shattered the eerie stillness that had followed the rockfall.
Vyr muttered something under his breath in response. “We should have offered them something before retiring … even a song or two might have helped.”
Ren, who now rode with Vyr, grimaced. “Aye … but we were all exhausted,” she murmured. “We forgot about them.”
They’d just pulled up their horses, farther down the mountain. Fern and those who’d fled on foot were bent over, panting from their sprint. Fortunately, the Shee were fast. None of the Marav could have outrun that deadly wave.
The rockslide had ended, and a deep hollow silence had settled. In the moonlight, Lara could see that many of her companions—Shee and Marav alike—bore cuts from the rocks and stones that had rained down on them before the mountainside gave way. Skaal was limping.
“We should keep going,” Alar said roughly. “There isn’t enough space here for us to camp.”
“Aye … there’s a ledge farther down,” Cailean agreed. “Let’s go.”
They urged their mounts on.
“Where’s your stag?” Lara asked, suddenly aware of how close she and Alar were sitting.
The heat of his body was a furnace against her back.
Now that they were no longer fleeing for their lives, embarrassment flushed over her.
The front of his thighs pressed against the back of hers. It was too intimate.
“Reedav and the others traveled farther down the mountain when we made camp,” he replied. “They’ll rejoin us at dawn.”
Bracken stumbled then, and Lara lurched forward. Alar’s arm looped around her waist, catching her. She fell back against him. For an instant, the hardness of his lithe body pressed indecently against hers.
And then, mercifully, he released her.
Lara pulled herself forward onto Bracken’s withers. It was uncomfortable to perch there, but preferable to the distracting strength and heat of his body.
“Your cheek was bleeding earlier.” Alar’s voice was subdued, with a wary edge to it now. “Did you get hit anywhere else?”
“No.” Gods. Why did her voice sound so breathless? “And you?”
“Just a knock to the forehead.” He paused then. “We were lucky.”
“Thanks to you.” She forced the words out. They needed to be said. If Alar hadn’t reacted so swiftly, they’d have been swallowed by the rockslide. “You acted fast.”
The clip-clop of their horses’ hooves on the rocky path echoed through the night. They rode in single file now, keeping close to the scree-covered slope to the south, and away from the edge.
“About earlier,” Alar said finally. His voice had lowered now, so that only Lara could hear him. “I meant what I said … I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.”
She stiffened. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Aye, we must.” An edge crept into his tone. “If you continue to misunderstand me.”
Heat washed over her. “What’s to misunderstand?”
“That I’m trying to crawl back into your good favor. I’m not.” Her heart started to punch against her ribs, but he wasn’t yet finished. “We agreed to be allies, remember? That means you need to stop snarling at me.”
Her cheeks started to burn, and she was glad he couldn’t see her face.
Was her estranged husband—the man who’d dealt her a savage blow—telling her off?
Angry words surged up her throat, but she choked them down. No. She wouldn’t engage.
Even so, her temper simmered, looking for an outlet.
But there was another problem. Their proximity.
With each stride, she slid farther off Bracken’s withers and straight back against Alar’s crotch.
Her cheeks started to burn. The fever hadn’t returned though.
Instead, embarrassment pulsed like an ember in her breast. It was ridiculous, really.
They’d lain together. He’d parted her thighs and feasted on her sex.
He’d sunk his teeth into her shoulder as he spilled deep inside her.
She’d nearly passed out as ecstasy pulsed through her womb.
Lara squeezed her eyes shut. Gods. She couldn’t go there. Why was she thinking about those lewd things when she was so angry with him? She had to stop. But curse her, the memories kept intruding. Her breathing grew shallow, warmth kindling in her lower belly.
She was aroused now, painfully aware of him. Her fury melted away like spring snow; she couldn’t hold onto it.
The musky scent of his skin, the smoky smell of leather, and that hint of wild mint that was uniquely him made her pulse quicken. His nearness overwhelmed her senses.
She tried to slow her breathing, tried to think of something else, yet when Bracken stumbled again on the rough road, he caught her once more to stop her from toppling over the mare’s neck. She slid back against him, their bodies flush.
Alar made a strangled noise and grabbed her hips, pushing her away from him. But it was too late. She’d felt it.
Something thick and hard was pressing against her backside.
Lara bit down on her lower lip. Even as desire jolted through her. Fuck.
The journey down to the ledge Cailean had mentioned was the longest ride of Alar’s life.
Every jolting stride brought Lara’s delicious arse up against his groin. The chafing was unbearable. His prick had turned to wood, straining against the tight leather of his breeches. Much more of this, and he’d humiliate himself.
The feel of her soft body against his, the tickle of her hair against his face, was driving him mad. Like him, she hadn’t bathed in a few days, yet he could still smell a hint of lavender on her.
Lara perched rigidly in front of him, no doubt horrified by his erection.
He hadn’t wanted her to know. She already thought he was an animal—and now she’d think him a degenerate beast.
And he was.
His body cried out for her. He longed to halt their horse, let the others go ahead, while he pulled Lara to the ground, spread her out under him, and sank into her heat. He’d make her his again.
You wouldn’t get that far. She’d knee you in the balls.
The reminder punctured his heated thoughts like an iron spike through a bladder.
All the same, he’d had to make things clear earlier. He wasn’t Lara’s adversary. He never had been, not really. Her hostility had gotten under his skin. What was he supposed to do? Prostrate himself before her. Tell her he was a maggot that deserved to be ground into the dirt?
No. He’d made mistakes—ones there was no coming back from—but he had his pride. They were equals on this journey.
And yet, she now knew he wanted her. Badly. It was humiliating. Her nearness was a cruel punishment, a reminder of everything he’d cast aside. Everything he’d lost.
Closing his eyes, he prayed to the Hearthkeeper for this ride to be over.
Sliding from Reedav’s back, Alar’s gaze swept over the line of trees stretching west. The carpet of sycamore, oak, and birch was changing hue now, bright-yellow and deep-gold leaves amongst the darker greens of evergreens like yew and pine.
The Hallow Woods.
After three days of travel, they’d made it over The Hog’s Back.
The woodland stretched right up to the edge of the foothills.
The mountains reared above them, slicing into an overcast sky.
It had been a dull and windless day, eerily so.
The Gaulas hadn’t returned—not yet anyway—yet the stillness made everyone quiet, watchful.
Around them, the shadows were lengthening.
They still had some distance to travel today, for they planned to reach a cave farther north, in the foothills of the Goatfells, before nightfall.
However, since a burn bubbled across pale stones nearby, this was a good spot to water their animals and take a short breather.
The sight of the woodland brought gusty sighs of relief from everyone.
Finally, The Hog’s Back was behind them. Of course, Alar had been the one to suggest taking this route. He didn’t regret it, yet the journey had been even harder than he’d expected.
Aye, it felt good to be standing on the other side of The Goatfells.
Even so, he noted that none of the Marav appeared comfortable here, especially Cailean.
The chief-enforcer wore a grim expression as he led his stallion over the burn.
Of course, Alar had heard of the massacre that had taken place here a few years earlier.
The news had traveled far and wide over Albia.
Several enforcers had fallen that night.
For his part, Alar had crossed the Hallow Woods a few times over the years, yet he always avoided the ancient burial site on its southern edge. The Slew dwelled amongst these trees, and it was best not to disturb them.
The Shee didn’t gaze upon the woods warily though.
Mor and her Ravens looked west, their eyes soft with longing.
Dunmorth Barrow lay at the heart of the forest—a sacred place for Shee.
Only fae-kind traveled easily in this place.
It was safe enough in daylight, if you kept to the paths and didn’t stray into its dark corners—thankfully, they wouldn’t be going in that direction.
Skaal stared into the shadowy trees, golden eyes sharp.
The blood on her left shoulder had dried now, and her limping had eased as they made their way down the mountainside.
Dorka yowled before scraping her claws feverishly upon the ground.
After three days without trees to blunt her claws, she was desperate.
“Come now, sweet one.” Mor swung down from the clag-doo’s back. “Let’s help you out.” She led Dorka over to the tree line, looking on then as the feline clawed at a sycamore trunk in a frenzy. Alar noted the soft expression on Mor’s face, the affection in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Reedav walked over to the bubbling burn and started to drink. Alar knelt next to him, scooping up water in his hands and slaking his own thirst. They had fewer waterskins with them now, although they’d fill what they had before moving on.
Shifting back from the water’s edge, Alar stroked Reedav’s ruddy coat, warmth kindling in his chest. He’d been relieved to see the stag at dawn.
He glanced then over at where Lara was watering her mare. Like the others, she now rode bareback, as their saddlery and saddlebags lay under a pile of rocks on the western slope of The Hog’s Back. Head bent close to her horse, she stroked its neck and murmured soft words.
The warmth faded. His breathing quickened, and his gut hardened. She had no soft words for him.
Ashes. Was he jealous of a horse?
He cut his attention away—to find his father watching him.
Wynn Sablebane stood barely more than two yards away, next to his own stag.
Father and son hadn’t spoken since their tense exchange the day after leaving Dulross. But the Slew attack and their journey across The Goatfells had taken their toll.
Their gazes locked, and then, to Alar’s surprise, Sablebane favored him with a faint smile. “Reedav has taken to you,” he said gruffly. “An honor indeed.”
Unnerved, Alar stared back at him. An awkward pause ensued before he found his tongue. “It would seem so,” he replied before turning away.
Uneasiness churned in the pit of Lara’s belly as she led Bracken toward the cave’s shadowy entrance. Her mouth was dry, her skin clammy.
A fever had plagued her for most of the day. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Her mind had wandered constantly, and she’d lost time twice.
She was getting sicker.
Pausing before the cave mouth, she glanced up at the sky, shivering.
The sun had now dipped behind the edge of the woods.
Mist had snaked in as they rode, drifting from the trees, blocking out the bulk of the mountains rearing above them.
It felt like days since she’d last seen the sun, and she wondered if the spirits that plagued the night now influenced the day too.
Heaviness lay in the air, and although she didn’t wish for the return of The Gaulas, she found herself missing the Four Winds.
The shriek of The Whistle would come as a relief, would shatter the oppressive stillness.
Inside the cave, her companions were already busy with their evening routine. Four of the Shee had gone hunting as they’d traveled north, catching up with the rest of their party later, each with a brace of fat red grouse. A fine supper awaited.
Duana and Eithne sat with the Shee as they plucked and gutted the birds. Next to them, Roth lit a hearth—without Lara’s assistance this time—while others went out to collect firewood.
Lara led Bracken to the back of the cave, where Annis, Ruari, and Ren were seeing to the other horses, rubbing them down and checking their feet and legs for injuries. Forcing herself to ignore the dread that clenched under her ribs like a fist, she tied up her mare.
“You’ve done me proud, lass,” she murmured to Bracken, stroking her neck. The contact soothed her. “You have nerves of iron.”
The horse snorted, tossing her head.
Lara huffed a sigh. “I know … you’re hungry. Let me get you some supper.”
Slapping Bracken on the rump, she went outside to pick grass with Ren. They had no grain to feed the horses with, and there had been little time to allow them to graze.
Outdoors, the light was fading fast.
The two women set about their task. It relaxed Lara to focus on something practical. Riding gave her too much time to think. And when she did, her mind drifted. Concentrating became difficult, like trying to catch hold of water.
But this repetitive job steadied her.
Some of the grass was dry and stalky; it was late autumn now, and the greenery was dying off.
However, their mounts would no doubt eat it.
As they worked, Lara and Ren filled the skirts of their over-tunics, and when they were full, carried the grass back into the cave.
The horses snatched at the grass immediately.
They were hungry. This task would take several trips.
Annis joined them when they went back outside.
Tearing off clumps of grass, Ren cast a nervous glance over at the dark line of trees. The back of her neck prickled. “It feels as if something is watching us,” she muttered.
Annis harrumphed. “There will be … more than the Slew live in those woods.”
“We’d better make sure a line of torches burns outside the cave entrance then,” Lara replied, deciding it was best to be practical rather than let the shadowy forest unnerve them. “Best we take all the precautions we can.”
“Cailean lost his ward stones in the rockslide,” Ren said then. “But I will hold vigil after supper.”
Lara glanced the bard’s way. Even in the dimming light, the lines of fatigue on the young woman’s face were clear. Her eyes were bloodshot and hollowed. “You need to rest.”
Ren pulled a face. “We all do, My Queen.”