Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (5 page)

He recalled her cool-nerved courage when she had come to his side in the horror of that night. Most of all, though, he remembered her kindness.
Strange…
He didn’t even know her name, yet for reasons that he could not explain, he felt deeply and mysteriously bonded to this stranger. The sight of her, so innocent and defenseless in her slumber, moved him.

Thaydor dragged his stare away from her, startled by the desire stirring in his veins, considering what he had just been through. Glancing at his armor by the wall and seeing the dents and scars and bloodstains all over it, he went very still. Verily, it seemed he had done nothing but fight for so long, until the metal death suit had become him.

But this fair stranger had freed him from it. He looked at her again in deepening speculation.

Keenly aware of her beauty, he could not deny the hunger to touch her and affirm the life and strength that still flowed in his veins. He shook his head. Alluring as she was, he usually had expert control over such impulses, much to the annoyance of the many temptresses who crossed his path.

True, he tended to get a little…frustrated after a battle, yearning for release, but he had never admitted that weakness to anyone. While other knights celebrated victory with a visit to the fleshpots of the city, he preferred to tame his libido with prayer and fasting, save it like a fuel for the next inevitable battle. This girl, though…

He drew his hand back, fighting the urge to caress her cheek.

Perhaps it was understandable after his ordeal that he should wake up needy and confused. This time, he had nearly died, and today he felt all strange and…new.

Hmm.
He was eager to learn her name, talk to her, and give her his thanks, but one thing was certain. No man could make a very good impression on a female in such a condition. His lips twisted in amusement. Alive though he was, the smell of death still clung to him. And sweat, and grime, and Urmugoth filth.

In short, the famous hero stank.

Rising to his feet, he winked at the wee silver fairy as he turned away, ready to rejoin the living.

The tiny creature watched his every move, wide-eyed. Stomach grumbling, Thaydor helped himself to the loaf of bread, hunk of cheese, and pitcher of cider that the girl had obviously left for him there on the table.

Piling it all into his arms, he stepped out into the dappled sunshine and paused to take in his surroundings. The picturesque woods. The funny little cupola-topped building behind him. The burgeoning garden in the bright glade.

I could still believe this is Elysium
, he thought with a mystified smile. Then he took a large bite of the bread and went on his way, chewing as he headed down the rock-hewn steps to go and bathe in the waterfall.

Chapter 3

Temptation

A
short while later, Wrynne awoke and found the bed across from her empty. She lifted her head from the pillow with a small intake of breath and glanced around the room.

Thaydor was gone.

She scrambled to climb—and nearly fell—out of her hanging cocoon chair, clumsy with nerves to find that the time had already come to meet her patient, who was obviously awake. She hadn’t expected him to rejoin the world so soon! At least not for another day, but it seemed she hadn’t counted on her patient’s nigh superhuman strength. Her heart pounded at the prospect of finally making his acquaintance.

Patting her hair, wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she brushed her wrinkled skirts smooth and somehow recovered her usual air of serenity before she stepped outside.

She glanced around. No sign of him. She spotted Silvertwig tending the garden and lifted her hands in an inquiring gesture.
Where is he?

The fairy pointed toward the waterfall.

Oh, that makes sense.
Wrynne swept back inside and grabbed a couple of clean towels for him, along with her basket of homemade soap and lotions and such, then she went back out and started down the mossy woodland stairs.

But she went motionless when she saw him standing under the cascade, his sleek, muscled body gleaming wet…

A shiver ran through her, and she bit her lip as a wave of stupid, girlish infatuation ran through her. She steeled her resolve.

He was her patient. She shouldn’t look at him like that.

But he’s Thaydor Clarenbeld. He’s gorgeous. He’s famous. And important. A hero. And he’s, well…

Stark naked.

Then all rational thought danced away from her when she noticed the man’s unmistakable joy upon finding himself alive.

Arms flung open wide, his face thrown back to the water, he welcomed the cascade tumbling over him, the rejuvenating spray of the water splitting over stones and misting him from all directions, falling in foaming circles around his lean waist.

She knew exactly how that felt, having done the same thing many times herself. And his simple, wordless exultation filled her with emotions she could not explain.

Wrynne’s flustered gaze softened, seeing him like that. Her initial awe at the sheer might and heart-stopping beauty of his honed warrior’s body turned to something deeper. She felt such a kinship to this man.

After that, it was not difficult anymore to go down to him. If Thaydor wasn’t going to be embarrassed of the Creator’s fine handiwork in making him, neither would she. Besides, the pool was up to his waist, providing him with at least some modesty. She continued down the steps.

Moving out of the main gushing current to the edge where the water flow was lighter, Thaydor turned and saw her coming. He stepped out of the pounding waterfall, hurriedly wiping water off his handsome face, then pushed back his blond hair with both hands.

Wrynne gulped at the play of chiseled muscles rippling down his chest and abdomen with the careless motion.

“Good morning!” he called.

Would you please act normal?
she begged herself, smiling, and trying to hide her breathless excitement at having the Golden Knight as her guest.

“Sir Thaydor,” she answered graciously, speaking in a loud voice to be heard over the rushing waters. “How are you feeling?”

“Wonderful, thanks to you!” He dove underwater; she watched him come swimming toward her with long, leisurely strokes as she walked over and knelt down on the sun-warmed stones around the edge of the pool.

Surfacing, he flung water out of his eyes, and rested his elbows on the stone ledge beside her. “So, tell me, lady. To whom do I owe my thanks?”

His blue eyes mesmerized her.

“To Ilios, of course,” she remembered to reply after a second of vacant staring.

“And?” he prompted. “What is your name, if it’s not too much to ask?”

“Wrynne. Wrynne du Mere, o-of the Daughters of the Rose. But that part you already know.”

“My lady, I owe you my life. I am in your debt forever.” He captured her fingers in his strong, damp hand and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles, his cobalt eyes blazing with utter sincerity.

As he held her gaze, she could have fallen right into those earnest sapphire pools. Indeed, she was rather sure the very heavens stood still.

She blinked herself out of her daze as a blush crept into her cheeks. “No debt. Don’t be silly. Y-you don’t owe me anything.”

Withdrawing her hand from his gentle grasp, she strove to lighten the unnerving mood of his chivalrous intensity with a jest. “I would appreciate it, though, if you’d try not to die for a while. Twenty to one odds, Sir Knight? That’s a bit extreme, even for you,” she said playfully, realizing she had succumbed to nervous chattering. But so be it. She was not used to the presence of a large, naked man. “Unless you were trying to commit suicide by Urmugoth?”

He smiled and stood up, stretching his neck and shoulders this way and that, the lower half of him still blessedly hidden by the shadowed water. She tried not to look at the glorious sculpture of his abdomen and chest and massive arms gleaming with wetness…

“There are worse things than dying, my lady. I sent for reinforcements, but they tarried.” He shrugged. “It had to be done. Besides, I thought if nothing else—” His words broke off. “Ah, never mind.”

“What is it?” she asked, intrigued.

He snorted and looked downstream to where the winding brook babbled away into the forest.

“Well?” she prompted, unable to take her eyes off him.

“I guess I thought that news of my death might, I don’t know, shake some in our kingdom out of their complacency.”

“Mmm.” She smiled wistfully at him, startled not by his never-ending bravery but by his willingness to die to make a point. “The sentiments are admirable, but I fear that price is much too high, if it would even work. Unfortunately, many of our countrymen are sleeping harder than you were.”

He sent her a sharp sideways glance, looking pleased and a bit surprised that she shared his opinion of the current situation in their country. “How long have I been here?”

“Only since last night.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “We’re just up the hill from where you had the battle.”

“Did I win?” he asked with a roguish glint in his blue eyes.

She laughed. “Don’t you always?”

“Well, usually,” he admitted with a boyish grin, then dove under the water and swam away.

She couldn’t wipe the mystified expression off her face as she watched him cross the pool. When he popped out of the water several yards away, she pulled a bar of soap out of the basket. “Don’t take this personally, but here.” She tossed it to him with a teasing smile.

He caught it. “Thanks!” He smelled the lavender-scented soap before he began rubbing it over his body.

Wrynne stifled a small groan of pained admiration and looked away.

“Du Mere?” he mused aloud a few seconds later as he continued washing himself. “Any relation to the Building Baron?”

“Ah, yes. That would be my father.” She cringed slightly even as she smiled, waiting for his reaction.

But to her surprise, Thaydor looked impressed. “You must be very proud. There’s not a town of any size in the realm that doesn’t have a guildhall, tower, aqueduct, or palace that one of your father’s companies didn’t build.”

“Oh, yes, he’s everywhere,” she said wryly. “No one haggles harder with the stonemasons’ guild. He’s the bane of the timber merchants, too.”

Thaydor laughed. “I respect a man who knows how to get things done. Especially one who came up from nothing and built himself a merchant empire with naught but skill and hard work.”

“That is
very
kind of you,” she said, grateful for the generous words coming from one the kingdom’s most prestigious citizens.

Many highborn people made fun of her loud, fat, coarse-mannered father. They neither knew nor cared that the Building Baron had a good heart. Only that he had the subtlety of a siege machine.

Wrynne had been but a child when Mother had made it her mission to parlay Father’s fortune into a title through generous political donations.

With a sigh, Wrynne shifted to a sitting position. Pulling her skirts up to her knees, she slid her bare feet into the water.

Thaydor watched her every move.

“Father has the energy of a bull, I’ll give him that. And the tact of one,” she added in amusement as she kicked her feet idly in the water. Then she nodded at the hill behind her. “He donated this acreage and the building to the church. Wanted to make sure I’d have a decent place to live so far from home.”

“It’s beautiful here.”

“It is. Father had his best elven architect draw up the plans for the pavilion. It does rather miss the whole point of a vow of poverty, though, doesn’t it?” she added in ironic amusement. “Not that I’m complaining. My superiors said it was all right.” She shrugged. “I have it all to myself for now. But it will remain for whoever the Bastion sends next, once my assignment here is over.”

“What exactly do you do out here all day?”

“Local healer.” She leaned back idly, bracing her hands behind her. “I grow my garden. I cater to the fairies when I must and pray the hours—for people who play fast and loose with their lives,” she added pointedly, splashing at him with a little kick.

“Well, thank you for the prayers,” said the great soldier, splashing her back. “Still, if you’re from town and used to all that bustle and noise, don’t you find it dull out here? Seems like it could get a little lonely.”

“Not at all. It’s peaceful,” she said. Even if he was right, she was not about to admit something as personal as that to a naked man. “Believe me, I’m more than happy here. It’s better than the life my parents would have chosen for me if I’d hadn’t pledged a few years’ service to the Daughters of the Rose and had stayed in town instead. Talk about boring!”

“Why? What did they have in mind for you?”

“Oh, the usual fare. Advantageous marriage, trying to get appointed as a lady-in-waiting at the court. That sort of thing.” She gave him a dull stare and shook her head. “Frankly, I’d rather pull some beggar’s rotten tooth out of his head than spend a day making sure the train of some royal woman’s gown is in place.”

Thaydor let out a bark of laughter, a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Pull a beggar’s tooth, eh?”

“My parents mean well. Truly. They are just very caught up in the cares of this world. My father ever builds his fortune, and my mother’s greatest wish is to enhance our family’s social status.” She paused a beat. “Why am I telling you all this?”

He ignored the question, smiling at her as if he knew the reason: that, yes, very well, she
was
often lonely out here, and longed for some other, educated person to talk to.

His blue eyes twinkled. “I have to say, you do sound like a bit of a mismatch to your clan. Maybe someone left you in a basket on their doorstep as a baby. Have you asked?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “It would explain a lot. I should show you my mother’s last letter, reproaching me once again for not becoming one of the temple priestesses in the city so I could wear the golden gowns and the jeweled headdress on the high holidays.”