Chapter 9 #3
and then hung them over the fire while Alina washed the greens in
the river, which she set aside in the pot.
“Do you prefer your greens raw or
cooked?”
“Either way,” he said. “You pick.”
“Raw then,” she said. They sat in silence by
the fire, soaking up the heat while Roark turned the salmon on the
spit, each of them sneaking glances at the other. When Alina could
take it no longer, she asked, “What happened between last night and
this morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why have you been so distant since we
woke?”
Roark worked his jaw and toed the ground with
his boot. “Because,” he said, “if I don't keep my distance from
you, Ali girl, I’m afraid I’ll be stones deep inside of you. And
that, I’ll not do.”
A surge of liquid heat pooled between her
legs. “Why not?”
Roark chuffed. “You and your whys.” He turned
to face her, his eyes showering hot, sleeting rain into hers.
“Believe me,” he rumbled, “there’s nothing I want to do more, and
would if we lived in that faerie world where our actions had no
consequences or repercussions. But we don’t. I’ve sworn to right
the wrong I’ve done to you, to get you back to your family safe and
sound,” he ground out the word “sound.” “Which will’na happen if we
keep kissing and, well…”
Alina’s cheeks were flaming, and the heat
between her legs had turned into a deep, pulsing ache. “I see,” she
said. And she did. He was a man of his word, and his word was his
honor.
***
After a night of little sleep and much
tossing and turning, her dreams full of Roark’s hot, sleeting gaze
and his deep voice calling her Ali girl, they ate a quick
breakfast of leftover cold salmon and bitter greens, and then
mounted up. They rode north until noon, when they crossed the Ghar
River. Already wet from the crossing, they decided to bathe and
wash their dirty clothes while letting the horses rest and fatten
up on grass before starting their long climb into the Mounths.
Roark kept watch first as Alina bathed
downriver, sneaking glances at him, and catching him pointing the
spyglass her way several times, lowering it or turning it toward
the countryside whenever she caught him. When she rose up out of
the water after rinsing the soap from her hair, he didn’t lower the
spyglass or turn it away from her.
He could have been a stag in a hunter’s
sights, he stood so still and rigid. Emboldened by his stance,
Alina stood tall and proud, her nipples growing hard under his
brazen scrutiny, the ache between her legs actually starting to
throb. She smiled boldly, and full of hunger.
Roark lowered the spyglass and set it down on
the grassy shore. He removed his short sword and untied his waist
belt and blade and set them down beside the spyglass, kicked off
his boots and walked into the river for the second time in as many
days. Taking pity on him, and herself, Alina strode out of the
water and quickly dried and dressed herself. Then she walked
upriver to where Roark was treading water chin deep.
“Catch,” she said, tossing him the tub of
soap.
With the tub in his hand, Roark floated
downriver to the small pool where Alina had bathed and stood in the
thigh-high water. She watched from afar as he peeled off his wet
tunic and breeches and set them on a rock. He scooped a handful of
soap from the tub and lathered his hair and body and then dunked to
rinse. Alina picked up the spyglass and watched him emerge,
admiring his strong, muscular, male body. She followed the line of
dark fur down his belly and stopped and stared as his cock grew
before her eyes. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. She
could’ve sworn his cock jumped. She lifted the spyglass to his face
and her cheeks flamed at the heat of his grin, even fifty paces
away.
Lowering the spyglass, she set it down on the
grass next to his sword and waist belt and turned and practically
ran over to their camp, taking refuge with the horses as he dried
and dressed while she set out their meager repast of cheese and
hazelnuts.
Hunkering down beside her, Roark met her
unsure gaze and grinned. “Well,” he said, “that was, uh…”
“Informative?” she said, and they both burst
out laughing.
She still couldn’t believe she’d stood so
boldly while Roark had studied her naked body, or that she’d
studied his as brazenly. Nor could she believe how stirring and
unsettling it had been to see him naked and proud.
She’d seen her younger brothers naked when
they’d been little, and she’d grown up around enough men to have
seen bits and pieces here and there, but she’d never seen a naked
man in a state of arousal before. Even Leif had only been at
half-mast in the stables. Seeing Roark standing naked in the river,
his cock at full mast, had been a magnificent sight she would not
soon forget, if ever.
After eating their meal and filling their
waterskins, they rode due north into the heavily forested foothills
of the Mounths. As they left the lowlands behind, Alina glanced
back over her shoulder with mixed feelings.
On the one hand, it truly was beautiful
country, rich and verdant with thick woods, tilled fields, and
rivers and streams flowing with life. This was the country Roark
had been born and raised in, the country he loved.
On the other hand, it was the country she’d
been forced to by Roger and his venomous family to exact revenge on
hers. Turning back around, she faced forward and onward, patting
Etain’s neck and smiling at Roark and Artur, glad they were on this
journey with her.
The foothills rose at a gentle slope compared
to the jutting mountains of her homeland, with wooded forests full
of birdsong and small creatures scurrying between the trees with no
villages or roads to worry about being seen on. The afternoon sun
shone down through the leaves of birch, pine, and oak, dappling the
forest floor, though not enough to keep the chill of early spring
away. Alina was glad for the otter cloak Roark’s mother had given
her. She and Roark hardly spoke as they rode, though the looks they
kept giving each other said plenty. She knew without asking his
thoughts kept wandering back to the river, as did hers.
They rode until dark, made camp, and Alina
went to search for greens and mushrooms while the grouse Roark had
killed roasted over the campfire. She followed the babbling brook
and started humming along with the melody of water trilling over
rocks as she picked leaves from a patch of sorrel.
“What tune is that?” Roark asked as she
strolled back into camp, still humming. He cocked his head and
quirked his brows. “I’ve heard it before.”
“It’s an old Green Isles love song called
‘Somebody,’” she told him. “It’s the song Oona the Swan sang to
Asad the Lion the first night they met. The song they fell in love
to.”
“‘Somebody.’ I’ve heard it a few times
through the years. Will you sing it to me?”
You’re the only man I’ll ever sing it
to. “If you like,” she said, setting the sorrel leaves in the
pot.
He turned the grouse on the spit and sat
cross-legged on a bedroll as Alina drew a deep breath in and let it
out slowly, her belly fluttering at the expectant grin on his face.
She’d never sung “Somebody” to anyone but herself while riding
through the fields on Brynja, dreaming of a love like Oona’s and
Asad’s. Now she would sing it to Roark, the only man she could see
herself loving to the end of time. A man she would sail away from
if everything went to plan. She drew another breath in and began to
sing.
“My heart is sore, I dare not tell,
“My heart is sore, for Somebody.
I would walk a winter’s night
All for a sight of Somebody.
If Somebody were to come again
Then one day he must cross the main,
And everyone will get his own
And I will see my Somebody.
Oh, oh, for Somebody,
Oh, hey, for Somebody,
I would do, would I do not
All for the sake of Somebody.
Why need I comb my tresses bright,
Oh, why should coal or candlelight
Shine in my bower day and night,
Since gone is my dear Somebody.
Oh, I have wept for many a day
For one that’s banished far away,
I cannot sing and must not say
How sore I grieve for Somebody.
Oh, oh, for Somebody,
Oh, hey, for Somebody,
I would do, would I do not
All for the sake of Somebody.”
“Damnation.” Roark stood and closed the three
paces between them and kissed her as he had on Spring’s Eve by the
lake. Kissed her as if knew he was her Somebody. And she kissed him
back. She kissed him with heat and passion coursing through her
veins, never wanting to stop. Mewling with disappointment when he
broke the kiss to stare into her eyes, his own heavy-lidded with
desire, he muttered, “Damnation.”
He pressed featherlight kisses to her
eyelids, her ears, her jawline, her lips. He suckled her earlobe
and she shuddered and tilted her head, exposing her throat. He
nipped and nibbled his way down her neck, and she could feel her
pulse pounding beneath his lips. He cupped her backside in his big,
strong hands and pressed her pelvis to his. A newly familiar length
of hard heat pressed against her belly and Alina moaned.
“Do you trust me, Ali girl?” he said, his
voice thick with desire.
Alina stared into eyes the silver grey of a
moonlit lake. “With my life,” she said with an earthy sough.
Her words, meant to reassure him, brought him
up short. With a heavy sigh he held her face in his hands and
touched his forehead to hers, caressing her cheeks with the pads of
his thumbs. “Which is why, my lady owl, as much as I wish
otherwise, we must stop what we were about to do.”
“Which was what, exactly?”
“I cannot say for certain, but ah, I can say,
pretty much everything but…”
“But?”
Roark dropped his hands and stepped back from
her. He laughed, short, quick, and rough. “But consummation, my
curious little owl.”
“Oh. Why not?” she pushed. “Why can’t we do
everything but? Nobody would know, and my precious maidenhead would
remain intact.”
“I would know, Princess Alina. And so would
you.”