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  "Temple life isn’t what it was, say, ten years ago. My advice to you is stay as you are. Find yourself a sweet wife and raise a houseful of babies. But if that's too boring for you, you're welcome to come down to Qets. First Lieutenant Duncan will tell you in very short order whether you have the right stuff for a trooper."

  "Finished." Chana tied off the suture and packed away the catgut and needle. "Now, let’s see what’s under here." She yanked his shirt out of his pants.

  Searing pain lanced across Kree's chest and down his side all the way to his toes. He drew in a quick breath. Sweat popped out on his forehead. "Cut it away. Bloody sodden hell, woman! Are you trying to kill me?"

  Using the tip of her knife to slit the garment from hem to neckline, Chana laid it open assessing the damage to Kree’s ribs with a practiced eye. "Namar's tears, My Captain, how many times did you let them ride you down?"

  Kree rolled his eyes. "I didn't count. I was busy staying alive long enough to persuade the other bastard to die."

  "You need a healer."

  Kree limped around for a minute testing his weight on his newly stitched leg and found it sound. The stitches held. There was no seepage. "You've got to fight with the army you have. We both know that. Be a good little soldier. Help me bathe and tape up my fucking ribs. Then, we’ll decide what to do about Sandahl."

  Once the painful process of taping his ribs was completed, Kree and Chana walked to the barn. Slowly. He did not object to Hob tagging along. The woodcutter had a young man’s lust for adventure and Kree could not fault him for it. In fact, he sympathized with it. Besides, the lad knew the area. They could use him.

  A quick search through Eldren’s pack yielded the map Kree wanted. He spread it flat on the square hay bales. His finger traced a line from Tarburg to the forested foothills. "I think we’re about here." He glanced at Hob for confirmation.

  "About." Hob pointed to a thin blue line representing a stream. "This is our water source. It runs behind the house."

  Kree pointed at an unidentified X mark farther into the mountain range along the watercourse. "This is where Eldren wants me to go. Do you know what’s there?"

  Hob nodded. "Guardians. Sometimes. They have a hunting lodge up there. Belongs to one of their high lords. We supply the firewood."

  The captain studied the map for a few more minutes before lifting his eyes to Chana. "I want you to take Sirocco, and ride back to Qets. Push him. He has speed and endurance you can’t imagine. Tell Duncan to bring Red Fist to me. Here" Kree tapped the city of Arabla southeast of their present location. Hob excused himself.

  "What do I tell Duncan about his mission? You know how he is. He’ll want minute details."

  "Tell him I need him. Here." Kree tapped the map again.

  "You'll make him crazy. You know that. He’ll have us sleeping in our saddles."

  Kree grinned. "Yeah."

  "So what's there?"

  "A major Temple. I'll see a healer, and rest for a day or two. Our enemy does not know we’ve lost Eldren. They won’t expect us to move south. I should be able to make it in a day." He thought about the jarring horseback ride and the state of his ribs. "Better say a day and a half."

  Chana saddled the gray stallion while they talked. "Okay, but aren’t Templemen working against us?"

  Kree snorted. "I am Goddess-born, and a Gryphon to boot. We’ll be safe enough. Besides, I am not convinced these fellows are Templemen, and I have a good relationship with the Matriarch at Arbala. If I mind my manners and jump through enough hoops for her, she’ll help me sort it out."

  Chana stopped tightening the saddle girth, and stared at Kree, amazed. "Don’t tell me you’ve slept with a Matriarch."

  He regarded her in silence for moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Not at Arbala. Arbala is—was my home Temple. The current Matriarch is my birth mother."

  Chana returned to her task. "I didn’t know you had a mother."

  "What did you suppose? I sprouted on papa’s stoop one night like a mushroom, or that he was such a bounder he didn’t know whom he got me on?"

  "Temper. Temper. I simply meant that I thought the Goddess-born were not supposed to know their natural mothers since they are supposed to be the sons of the Goddess Namar."

  Kree shrugged before he thought. It hurt. "My papa believed I had the right to know where I came from, who I was. The point is my mother will know who is hiring Templemen around here. And if Duncan can’t get to me before I’m ready to ride on, I can leave orders and a map with her without worrying they'll go astray."

  Hob returned carrying a large sack. "I asked Mama to pack some food for your journey, Sister."

  "Thank you." Chana mounted. "I don’t need a map, My Captain. I could track you across water."

  As Chana disappeared into the forest, Kree muttered, "I should never have left the fort without Red Fist,"

  "Then why did you?"

  Realizing he’d spoken aloud, the captain raked his hand through his still damp hair. "Because, Hob, I am a prideful man. It makes me stupid sometimes." He blew out a long breath. "I could justify it by saying I didn’t have all the facts when I made my decision, but I won’t. Point is, I promised to keep Katie safe. Instead, I’m dragging her deeper and deeper into danger." Kree scrubbed his hands over his face. Goddess, he was tired. "I wish I had another option."

  "Miss Kayseri could stay," Hob offered, "with Mama and me I mean. Just until you and the little guardian finish your business on the mountain."

  "She could?" Kree’s face split into a grin. "She could!"

  Hob nodded. "I’ll run tell Mama." He stopped. "Do you need help getting back to the house?"

  "I’ll be along. I need a minute—to see to my horse."

  The barn smelled of animals and hay, a combination Kree always found comforting, peaceful. He bent to pick up his pack, wincing as pain lanced down his side despite the fact that Chana had wrapped his ribs so tight he could scarcely draw a breath. Leaving the pack where it lay, he eased his weight onto a hay bale, his injured leg outstretched, and waited for the pain to subside. He had been in much worse shape and survived. Granted, he had been younger then not to mention higher than a kite.

  Chapter Ten

  Kayseri watched Kree from the shadows cloaked in mischief. He had donned his uniform, black riding britches and a sleeveless black pullover shirt made of finely woven cotton. A thin line of shocking blue piping set off the shirt's high neckline. A jacket of the same shocking blue, dragon’s eye blue they called it, lay beside him on the hay bale. Like the soft stretchy fabric, the dye for it came from Elhar manufactured there exclusively for Qets Garrison. She let her mischief fade.

  "You can't make me stay here."

  "Hells bells, Katie! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? I might accidently hurt you."

  "I don't care. I won’t stay here and let you ride away when you're injured." Kayseri picked up the saddle pack he had reached for and put it in his lap. "My Captain, you need to rest. You need to take care of yourself. We are not at war."

  Kree took her hand and kissed it. "We will be, if you don’t stop spying on me. Listen, sweetheart, I can think of twenty good reasons to leave you behind, and not one good reason to take you with me." He gazed into her eyes with that intensity that made her stomach do flip-flops. "This is fatal business we are tangled up in. People are dying. People are going to die. You will not be one of them. You will stay here and that is a solid fact."

  "Prince Eldren is dying isn't he?"

  "He won’t last the night, sweetheart. I am very sorry, so very sorry I can't prevent that."

  Sweetheart. Kayseri's heart melted. She liked the sound of it so much better than little girl. Her gaze traveled the length of Kree’s body. "And you?"

  "I'm not dying today." Kree flashed a brief half-smile. "My body can take a lot more punishment than this. Believe me I know my limits. Tomorrow?" He made a balancing motion with one hand and winked at her.

  "Don’t you d
are make jokes! You didn't drag me into danger. I dragged you. If I hadn’t been so childish, I'd have let you take Eldren to the garrison. He would have told you about Sandahl, and you would have the Red Fist with you right now. Eldren wouldn’t have been shot. You could have been killed today, and it's entirely my fault."

  "I could be killed any day. It is not as though I have a safe quiet job." Kree’s thumb traced lazy circles on the back of her hand. "Don't fret yourself, Katie, no one can predict outcomes. Battle is about chaos. Troopers lay down their hopes and dreams and charge into the chaos, because if we didn't we’d be so paralyzed by fear we couldn’t fight at all."

  He paused, pushed a stray curl off her cheek, smiled wistfully. "It doesn’t matter when death claims me, because I signed on for it. But if I died tomorrow, I'd feel better knowing you're safe and sound. Please stay here. Please be safe."

  The expression on Kree's face puzzled her. He had kissed her as if he had wanted to devour her. It had been scary and wonderful. Maybe he did not love her. But he cared for her and he desired her the way a man desires a women. Inexperienced though she was, she was not pixie-stupid. Would desire be enough to move him? No. There was no undoing the mate bond, and Kree knew this as well as she did. He would never turn desire to action.

  "Kree." He looked as stunned as if she’d hit him between the eyes with a board. "What do you know about taking care of little girls? Sandahl has nothing. She will have to have clothes made for her in Arbala. She’ll have to have someone to dress her for this Prince Rian. Can you do that?" Kayseri laid her palm against his chest. His heart beat fast. "You help people all the time. Just this once, let someone help you. Let me come with you. Let help you." Plainly, Kree had not considered any of these practical girly things. Kayseri saw it in his eyes and felt it in the sigh beneath her hand.

  "I'll take you if you promise to do what I tell you, when I tell you, and there will be no mischief either, or I’ll bring you right back."

  "I promise."

  Kayseri watched Kree pluck the vial of Goddess nectar out of his field kit and turn it between his long fingers. There was an odd look on his face...wistful.

  "Are you going to use your nectar to make yourself better?"

  He stood slowly, like an old man, tucked the vial under his belt. "It doesn’t work that way, little girl. Nectar isn't a magic elixir. Oh. Sure. I’d feel stronger, but it’d be an illusion. One meant to keep a Goddess-born man on the battlefield long after he should quit. I’m going to feed a few drops to Eldren. If you really want to help me, keep Sandahl out of the way."

  Kayseri entwined her arm through his and sighed. She was back to being little girl. "How will it help Eldren?"

  "It will give him a quick peaceful death."

  ***

  Sandahl drew herself up to her full four-and-a-half feet, every inch, a princess of the First House, and fixed Kree with a steady gaze. "I have heard that Templemen accept contracts. Is this true?"

  Kree regarded this little marvel of a princess with frank admiration. Just less than two hours ago, she had wept inconsolably because he told her they had buried Prince Eldren in the ground. She shuddered when he said ground. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to do. Kree didn't know shit about the elfish idea of afterlife. Now Sandahl stood before him, full of regal composure, asking about Temple contracts.

  "Some do, Princess."

  "Do you?"

  "I am not a Templeman. I am Goddess-born. There is a huge difference. I have not practiced my faith in years, but, yes, in a way I suppose you could say I do. My garrison and I are contracted to the Great Ladies in Elhar."

  Sandahl wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Exclusively?"

  Kree frowned. "Are you offering me a contract, Princess?"

  Sandahl advanced two steps and spread her hands in supplication. "My prince-protector insisted I do so."

  Kree felt his face turning dark as a thunderhead. That thrice-damned elf had not trusted him. All right, maybe he hadn't given Eldren much reason to trust him, but hell...it brassed him off. Seriously.

  Contracts, like everything having to do with the Goddess Namar, required an offering of passion or pain, usually from the one making the contract. Since Kree wasn't about to bloody the princess, and passion was out of the question, he sank to his right knee. That way he could rise on the uninjured left. It was not correct form, but it was preferable to pitching over on his teeth when he tried to stand. Blood sealed the pact, not the form. With one of his gryphon knives held parallel to his chest, the razor sharp edge resting on his palm, Kree glanced at Sandahl. "Place your hand on top of mine." She did as he instructed and he closed his hand tight on the blade. Blood welled, overflowed his fist, staining the steel and Sandahl’s tiny hand.

  "I will see you to your destination. This promise, I give you in my blood." Kree brought the knife to his chest so their bloodied hands touched his heart. "I live to serve."

  He stood, slower than he would have liked. "There. You have a blood contract, Princess. May it satisfy your damned prince-protector." Anger roughened his voice, turning velvet into sandpaper. He quit the house, slamming the heavy wooden door so hard the windows rattled.

  "My prince said the captain would not like it. He did not say he would be furious." Sandahl shuddered. "I should not have done this."

  "Your lion has a thorn in his paw now. That's a certainty," Greta said, as she finished packing a hamper for their journey.

  Kayseri carried the hamper to the door. "My Captain made the oath freely. No one forces him to do anything, Sandahl. He’ll be fine." I hope. She had no wish to spend the rest of the trip tiptoeing around a surly Kree Fawr.

  She glanced at him through the window as he packed their gear onto their horses with Hob Woodstock's aid. He laughed at something Hob said. Out of view, as he believed he was, Kree moved slowly, paused often, favored his injured leg. What a strange creature he was.

  Mistress Greta assured her that men in love behaved strangely, but Kree was not in love with her. He hated her race. Hadn’t he said as much? She used to be able to read him, but not anymore. How had five short years changed her open, easy-going captain into a quick-tempered, complicated riddle? He was fire and ice, sunlight and thunder wrapped up in one delectable package. Kissing him last night made her heart stutter. Just looking at him made her stomach tingle, made her hot between her legs. Kayseri heaved a heartfelt sigh. What was that all about?

  ***

  The homey scene greeting Kree when he came inside to collect his charges did not improve his mood. There was Kayseri, heart stopping beautiful, damn her eyes, bustling about the kitchen while the old woman and the little elf princess washed and dried their breakfast dishes. It echoed of home and family. Something he had longed for and could never have.

  "The horses are ready, Princess. We’d best get going." Kree picked up the hamper. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ma’am. Today or tomorrow men may come looking for us. Say I forced you to help us. Say nothing about the Garrison at Qets. Tell these men that I am Goddess-born, a Gryphon of the Temple." He flashed a quick crooked grin. "It’s a solid fact, and if they are Templemen, it might make them rethink their choice of contract. I’ve told Hob to do the same. I’d not see your household suffer for your kindness."

  "I’ll do that, sir." Greta gave Kree a motherly buss on the cheek and whispered. "Don’t be too hard on the little one, sir. It weren't her idea."

  Kree knew this, but he was through playing warrior-fool for a bunch of Wilderkin. All he wanted was to finish the dammed contract, get Kayseri safely home, and hope he could avoid her for rest of his days. His gaze flickered over her. Damnation. Maybe he’d make war on Malachite. There was nothing like a nice little war to make a man forget his troubles. "Let’s get underway, Princess. Daylight’s wasting." The princess darted an anxious glance at Kayseri. Good. He hoped to the hells he did frighten them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kree's party traveled southeast throughout the morning leaving the fo
othills behind. The sky was a bright clear blue promising another fine hot day. Kayseri and the princess rode before him shaded from the twin suns by broad brimmed straw hats courtesy of Good-wife Woodstock. He followed exactly one horse length behind. The arrangement allowed him to watch the trail and afforded him an ample reaction zone, but best of all it discouraged conversation. He was in no mood for conversation although it did not prevent the ladies from trying. Twice they dropped back alongside him. Twice he ordered them forward.

  It was a joke really. He was only going through the motions and he knew it. If they came under attack today, he could do little to protect his charges. He had lost too much blood. This was what? Three days in the saddle on a couple of hours sleep. He was too tired to plan anything beyond their next rest stop.

  His ribs plagued him with every jarring movement and made it difficult to draw a breath. The newly closed gash on his leg throbbed in time with the horse’s gait. His craving for Goddess nectar was—Namar's bloody tears. It did not bear thinking about. Still a man did what he could. Accordingly, Kree arrayed his party for optimum defense sure that the only thing he could do for his charges was die well. Hells. He'd have to work pretty damned hard just to manage that. What would happen to Sandahl then? What would happen to Katie? He let go of a soft stream of curses. He should have left Kayseri at the woodcutter's cottage.

  Kree's gaze shifted to the wild half-pixie woman who commanded his heart and mind these days. Luscious black curls spilled down her back and brushed against the saddle’s tall cantle. It was a sight to see. Kayseri rode in strict emulation of the troopers she had grown up watching, backbone straight as an arrow with a good steady hand on the reins. Kayseri had a good seat, a very good seat. She’d needed no lessons. Pixies and horses don't mix. What a fool he was.

  When she had kissed him last night, Goddess help him, he had lost control. The memory shamed him. Where was his discipline then? Discipline was practically his middle name, and this was a good thing because he was a see-the-hill-take-the-hill sort of fellow, with the all the natural restraint of a twelve year old.