No Wish to be Alone
Chapter 3
The inn wasn’t busy, but it
wasn’t empty, either. As they approached, he shifted her carefully, hoping not
to wake her. She had curled closer to him as they went, and he was loath to
lose her warmth. It was oddly comforting to have her in his arms like this. He
ducked his head under the low door and walked up to the counter, pointedly
ignoring the stares he received.
The girl in his arms murmured
something in her sleep.
"I need a room," he
said to the frightened innkeeper. "Now. Preferably your nicest one."
"Y—yes, sir," the
keeper stuttered, "Right this way."
They were shown to a
comfortable room upstairs, with a soft-looking bed against the wall, a chair,
and a fire burning in the hearth. He dismissed the innkeeper with instructions
for a hot meal to be delivered as soon as possible, then set her down on the
bed. He was about to straighten when she stirred and half-woke. His breath
caught at her expression.
Her eyes were dark green,
half-open, and her cheeks were rosy. She smiled up at him dreamily as he leaned
over her, raising her hands to cup his face. He remained very still as one hand
traced the silver line of his brow, the other brushing his lips. "Thank
you," she whispered, and her hands dropped to rest on her stomach, her
eyes closing once more in sleep. He stayed, watching her for any signs of
realizing what she’d done, and finding none, he smiled bemusedly.
A knock at the door announced
the tray of food he’d ordered. Once he had shooed the inkeeper away, he ate his
fill and settled into the overstuffed chair to sleep.
The sky had lightened by the
time she woke. Normally an early riser who liked to get things done first thing
in the morning, today she was unwilling to leave the bed. She snuggled deeper
into the feather mattress and drew the quilt tighter around her. Funny, I
don’t remember going to bed...
That thought made her sit bolt
upright. Hair disheveled, ribbon askew, she looked about the room for her
companion. He was sprawled in a large chair by the dying fire. His long legs
were stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his head propped up on
one hand. The other was draped across his lap, a book dangling from his
fingers. She hopped out of bed, landing silently on her feet. She padded over to
him, knelt beside the chair, and peered up at him.
He certainly doesn’t look
evil when he’s asleep, she
thought, folding her hands on the arm of the chair and resting her chin on
them. He really is handsome. I always hated the idea that someone so beautiful
could be so terrible. She felt a mental "tug" that meant the
Planet was talking to her, and she closed her eyes to concentrate. It was
always harder to Listen when she wasn’t in direct contact with the earth.
Safe here. For both of you.
Why, is he in danger, too?
Always. Always. He must
stay with you to be safe.
I don’t understand...
You will. Ask him. The music sounded like a chuckle behind
the words. Cannot tell you everything, child. Must do some things on your
own.
You know, dear Friend,
sometimes you’re too cryptic. She couldn’t help but smile, though. She knew there were rules of
Nature that even the Planet needed to follow. She had the sneaking suspicion
that it had already "bent" a rule or two to make her enemy into her
friend.
"What’s so funny?" His
voice rumbled, and she jumped. She blushed furiously when she saw him watching
her, one corner of his mouth quirked upward.
"N-nothing," she
jumped to her feet and backed over to the bed. She hit it unexpectedly and sat
down with a yelp. At his low laugh, she hung her head, hands clenched at her
knees. Great, now I’ve been caught staring at him. He probably thinks I was
mooning over him or something. She tried not to listen to the little voice
at the back of her mind that said, well, wasn’t that what you were doing?
"Are you feeling
better?" She heard him stand and stretch.
"Yes, I think I just
needed to sleep." She looked up at him. He seemed impossibly tall in the
small room. "I am sorry for being such a burden."
He looked at her in surprise.
"You are no burden. Indeed, I seem to recall hardened soldiers that gave
out under less pressure." He motioned toward the tray the innkeeper had
brought the night before. "There’s some excellent beef stew in there, as
well as half a loaf of bread. I’ll go get us something warm to drink, if you
like."
She nodded, grateful for the
chance to be alone for a moment. "Do they have tea? That would be
lovely." He smiled.
"I’ll see what I can do.
You can finish whatever is left now, I’ll get more in a while from the
innkeep." With that, he stepped out the door, closing it carefully behind
him. She waited until she heard his footsteps fading, then went to the
washbasin to clean up. Stripping to the waist, she used a linen cloth to remove
some of the grime of the road. It felt so good to be clean! A sound outside the
door caused her to dress again quickly before he came back with their tea. Just
as the last button was done, she heard his steps in the hallway, coming back.
She found a small comb and started to work through the tangles in her hair. He
knocked twice.
"Is it safe?"
She opened the door for him,
and he nearly dropped the small tray, hot water and all. She had been working
on her hair, he saw. It fell in soft waves to below her hips, the ends just
brushing her outer thighs. He normally didn’t pay attention to women’s hair,
but hers just begged to be touched. He remembered running his fingers through
it earlier, when she had cried against him.
"Is something
wrong?" She asked, looking up at him uncertainly. He realized that he was
still standing in the doorframe with the tray, staring. When he nodded and
forced a slight smile to his lips, she relaxed a bit and took the tray from
him. Setting it down by the hearth, she opened the canister of tea and prepared
two mugs. He closed the door carefully, trying not to look at the curtain of
chestnut hair that flowed over her shoulders and arms as she worked. How would
it feel to bury his hands in it? It looked like silk; he wondered if it always
smelled of flowers.
She straightened, handing him
one of the mugs. "Here, let it steep for a moment. Thank you for getting
this. Somehow, a cup of tea always manages to be the most comforting
thing." She finished the leftover stew, then sat on the bed, comb in hand.
He made himself comfortable in the chair and watched her work through some of
the knots from traveling. When she was having a particularly difficult time
with one, he intervened. Ignoring her protests, he plucked the comb from her
fingers and sat beside her, instructing her to turn away from him.
"Hold still. How did you
manage to get it this bad?" He carefully began loosening individual
strands.
"I can do it,
really," she insisted. "I’m used to it."
He snorted. "We have
quite a bit of traveling ahead of us, my dear. We don’t have time to wait for
you to fix your hair. If I didn’t like the colour so much, I’d have you get it
all cut off." As soon as the words were out, he nearly bit his tongue. Now
where did that come from?
She, too, fell silent,
thinking about what he had just said. He liked the colour of her hair? She
didn’t know whether to be flattered or worried. She felt the blush creeping
over her cheeks again. Oh, I hope he doesn’t notice how red I am now! What
would he think of me?
That small voice in the back
of her mind said, Why does it matter what he thinks of me?
He smiled at the way her ears
reddened. At least she hasn’t slapped me or something. Deftly, his
fingers separated the fragile strands of her hair. He ran the comb through it a
few more times, stopping once or twice to pull more of it back so he could comb
all of it. She shivered when his touch brushed her temples and the back of her
neck. Once that was done, he separated the whole thing into four parts and
began weaving it into a complex braid.
She closed her eyes as he
worked. It felt—strange, to have someone else’s hands working on her hair. It
was definitely pleasant, and his hands were surprisingly gentle. She could feel
him braiding it for her. His hands brushed her back as he worked, flipping the
sections over and around each other, until he reached her waist. He paused,
then leaned forward. So close to her ear she felt his breath with each word, he
said softly, "Hand me your ribbon."
She stopped breathing. Such a
small, ordinary thing to say, but suddenly the whole act of letting him so
close, letting him touch her hair, seemed…intimate. Hands shaking, she gave him
the long piece of grosgrain over her shoulder. He took it, hesitating for the
barest of moments, slowly drawing the ends out of her grasp. She felt it trail
down her back, and then he was tying it tightly about the end of the braid. She
tried to sit without touching him, but all she really wanted to do right then
was lean back against his chest and feel his warm breath on her neck again.
He watched her swaying, could
almost see the battle raging in her mind. When the bow was done, he gave in to
the temptation of touching her hair one more time. He closed his hand about the
base of the braid, gently tugging on the long spiraling column. She didn’t
resist, as she gave in to her body’s demands, a slight "oh" escaping
her lips. That was all he needed.
His left hand tunneled under
the braid, until his fingers were trapped by her hair against her head. He
turned her face upward to his, pulling her into his lap with his right arm
around her waist. Her hands grabbed at his arm as his mouth met hers in a
searing kiss. She couldn’t resist, nor did she even want to. She had been
kissed before, but never like this, and never by this man. He ran his tongue
over her lips, demanding entry, and she opened her mouth to him. He tasted her
thoroughly, coaxing, encouraging her response, until she began nibbling on his
bottom lip as well. He felt, rather than heard, her moan, and he tilted her
head further back, exposing her white throat. He placed a line of fiery kisses
along her jaw, under her ear, and over her neck. She was threading her hands
through his hair now, urging his mouth back up to hers. He obliged, whispering,
"I need you," just before he captured her lips again.
The music in her head rose and
fell madly. The Planet sent a whirl of colours into her mind, impressions of
passion reds and yellows. His kisses were intoxicating, addictive. She wanted
more.
Good, good, good, the Planet sang, Right. This is
right.
A sharp knock at the door
brought them slamming back into reality. They stared at each other, dazed. Both
jumped when the knock sounded again.
"Hello? Umm, sorry to
interrupt, but the door wasn’t closed all the way…," They looked over at
the door to see the innkeeper. He seemed to be trying to make himself very
small. The General fixed him with an icy glare worthy of Shiva.
"What?" He growled,
not trying to keep the venom from his voice.
"I—I was coming up to get
the tray if you were done with it, and th-the door was open." The poor
frightened man yelped at the murderous expression in his guest’s fathomless
green eyes. "I, um, guess I’ll, uh, get it later…" A book floated up
from the floor and hurled itself at the innkeeper’s head. He quickly pulled the
door shut just in time to hear several items thud against it. Feeling extremely
lucky to be alive, the innkeeper ran down the stairs. He decided to hide in his
kitchen until his unnerving guests decided to leave. Let his wife deal with
them.