A Magic King (5 page)

"The mages?" She bit her lip, deciding to take things one step at a time. "What's a mage?"

"A wizard. One who uses the Power in other ways."

"Other than healing."

He nodded. Jane sighed. Wizards, mages, and some unknown power. She had the horrible feeling her life was about to get a lot more complicated. They'd been traveling for over a day, walking east through meadows, fields, and a few farms. The area reminded her of what America looked like in the history vids about settlers. It was wide open, the land green and lush, if a bit odd to the daughter of a botanist.

Everywhere she looked, she saw plants she thought she recognized, but then again didn't. This tree looked like a maple, except its color was off. There seemed to be a blue tint to the leaves, not to mention the strange strings that almost looked like hair. Even the water tasted different. She'd expected non-chlorinated, unpolluted water from a crystal clear stream to taste different, but not with an almost electric tingling as it slid down her throat.

At least last night she'd been able to see the stars. Much to her relief, there was only one moon and it seemed very familiar. Of course, one moon looked pretty much like another to her, and this one was just a quarter full. She thought she recognized the Big Dipper, but who could tell? She'd seen more stars last night than ever before in her life. The sky seemed littered with them, like glitter dust spilled by a careless child. She'd been enchanted, even more so when Daken gave her a lesson in constellations. The names were unfamiliar, but she listened to his lyrical voice and watched where he pointed, feeling almost at peace.

They talked late into the night, and she found unexpected depths in her normally taciturn companion. She also discovered things were very different in this strange world. Fortunately, Daken was a gracious host when he wanted to be. He told her the legends of his people, and thankfully, he didn't press for information about hers.

With all the good will of the night before, one would think she'd wake up in a chipper mood. But without coffee, a good doughnut, or even normal toothpaste, much less her favorite minty fresh gel, she stomped and grumbled about. Now they were breaking for lunch, and her mood had deteriorated. She felt tired, sore, and completely at odds with the world.

Then she spied a stream through the trees and hit on a wonderfully delightful thought.

"I'm going swimming," she declared, daring him to argue. "I know you've got a schedule, but I'm going to be a miserable person until I wash this grime off of me. Please, please say you don't mind." She was half begging, half threatening him, and given the tight set to Daken's jaw, he didn't appreciate her attitude.

"Ask for permission," he said.

"Permission? Like I'm supposed to go down on one knee and ask you if I can bathe?" She hated herself for the sarcasm that dripped like acid from her tongue. She wasn't normally this caustic a person, but this whole world threw her into a deep regression.

"You don't need my permission," Daken answered slowly, his dark gaze burning into her. "That's someone's home."

"Well, the fish can share today." And with that she stomped off to the water.

She didn't want to waste time any more than necessary, so she stripped as she walked, peeling off her belt, leotard, and leggings as quickly as possible. She was already naked and about to step into the water when she thought to glance behind her.

Sure enough, he was watching. But not with the lurid, peeping Tom, behind-the-bushes type stare. No, he was out in the open, legs spread, hands on his hips, scowling at her. Scowling! Like washing was some mortal sin!

Well, to hell with him. She wanted a bath.

She eyed the stream. It was a little muddy, a little dirty, generally healthy, but not exactly crystal clear mountain water. Still, it was cleaner than she was, so she stepped into the stream, ignoring his strange comment about asking permission.

At first it tingled, the tiny stabs of electricity a sensory delight when combined with the cool water as it rushed by her. She released a sigh of pure pleasure, then dropped down to her knees, intending to arch backwards to trail her hair in the stream.

She never got the chance. She started to sink, and then the stream turned on her. There was no other way to describe it. What started out as a cheerful, bubbling brook became a roiling, seething mass. What once was a cool tingle became tiny needles of pain which then became slashes of agony. Her body was suddenly on fire, and she screamed, clawing at the bank as she scrambled to get out.

To her horror, the feeling lingered long after she'd achieved dry land. Wherever she was wet, wherever a drop of water clung to her body, it felt like a boil burning into her. She swiped at her skin, her imagination creating insects or creatures burrowing through her body leaving corrosive trails in their wake. But in truth, there weren't any bugs. The water was eating her.

She turned her tormented gaze on Daken who sighed and knelt by the stream.

"I am sorry for the intrusion. The woman is ill and meant no harm. I am Daken, King of the western land of Chigan, and she is in my care. I did not realize she was so ignorant." He turned his head on his last comment and shot her a look of fury.

Jane was still wiping away the water when slowly the pain lessened. Everywhere her skin burned red and raw, but at least it wasn't getting worse.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she said softly.

Daken nodded and turned back to the stream. "Thank you for your patience. I beg permission to wash her wounds. Afterward, I will bless your home to cleanse her stench from you."

To her surprise, the stream slowly calmed. The churning subsided to waves and soft gurgles. It was once again a happily, bubbling brook.

She stared at Daken, her thoughts running back through everything that just happened, stumbling over his last comment.

Jane lifted her chin. "Cleanse my stench?"

"Yes," he said, coming over to roughly inspect her raw skin. "Stench."

"That's why I was trying to bathe in the first place."

'Too bad stupidity doesn't wash away. I told you it was someone's home. What else did you expect?" He started pulling her back to the water.

She dug in her heels. "I'm not going back in there. It's dangerous."

"Weren't you listening? We have permission now."

"Permission?" she repeated. "I'm getting a little confused about this permission business. To me a home is where someone lives. Like a house or an apartment building. A stream is not a home, and so why would I need permission to enter it?"

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock. "Do you know nothing?"

"I know a hell of a lot," she snapped, losing her patience with a world gone mad. "I know water isn't alive, and it can't give permission for someone to walk into it. Water is a combination of hydrogen and oxygen, and it can't suddenly turn acidic and eat my skin off."

"Then what happened to do this?" He deftly twisted her wrist to reveal an especially raw patch.

Jane bit her lip, staring at the damage with a horror bordering on panic. "I don't know," she breathed. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

"Come on, little fool," he said gently. "Let me tend to your skin."

"I'm not a fool," she grumbled, feeling very much one.

He sat down on the edge of the stream and started stripping off his clothes. "It is not an insult. It means one who is innocent. Who does not understand the ways of the world."

"Then call me innocent. Don't call me a fool."

He nodded to her. "As you wish." Then he stood. He'd taken off his shirt and boots, dropping them with his weapons onto the ground. But he kept his breeches on as he stepped into the stream. "Come, innocent. You are in a great deal of pain. Even without touching you, I can feel your burning."

She nodded. Her entire body seemed to throb like an exposed nerve, which in essence, she was. She stepped nervously into the water, her eyes trapped by Daken's gaze, and he drew her in firmly, inexorably, one step at a time.

This time the tingling hurt, and she winced as she moved, but then he touched her, his own skin reddening as he brushed his hands over her body. His touch was heated. It spread through her like good coffee, barely cool enough to drink, soothing and vitalizing every inch, every ache, every cell.

His hands brushed through her hair first, lingering over her face and lips. Then he caressed her shoulders, moving past them to stroke her breasts which puckered at his touch, thrusting forward into his palm. He hastily skipped away to her hand, rolling her fingers between his, before moving up her arm.

Everywhere he touched, the skin cooled and healed. She watched amazed as raw welts faded, slowly disappearing into healthy, pink flesh.

He repeated the process with her other arm before turning her away from him, smoothing her back, then spanning her waist. Jane flushed, acutely conscious of her extra pounds there, but he didn't seem to mind, running his hands along the slight indent above her hips, then turning her around again so he could lightly brush her belly. She sighed, letting her body and mind relax, enjoying the sensation as her muscles quivered beneath his touch.

This was wonderful.

When he reached around her to cup and mold the swell of her buttocks, she leaned into his embrace, lifting her lips for his kiss. But he drew away, shifting her to lie on her back against the shore while he held her feet. He spent his time there, washing away the blood and blisters, tenderly kneading her shins and knee. By the time he pressed against her thighs, her breathing was thick with desire, her body heavy and languid.

He continued up her thighs, and she moaned once beneath his feathery brush, arching against him, silently begging him to deepen his touch. He did, rubbing and kneading her thighs before spreading her legs. Then with a firm stroke, he probed her deepest core. She cried out in ecstasy, climaxing over his hand while he continued to stroke and brush her pulsing flesh.

She was in heaven.

Gazing up at him, she reached out, pulling him down to her for a deep, sensuous kiss, but he evaded her to brush his lips against her forehead.

"That was great," she said, her voice still husky with desire.

"That was healing," he countered softly. "Your body is free of sores now."

She looked down, her mind slowly clearing. He was right. Her skin was pink and healthy and flawless. Even her moles were gone. She stared back at him.

"But I... I mean you..." She couldn't put her mind around what just happened, much less express it in words.

"It was a completely natural reaction given your injuries. I had to touch you everywhere the water burned you. The process can be quite stimulating."

"The process? Quite stimulating!" She sat up. "You mean this had nothing to do with..." She stopped, feeling suddenly naked. She twisted out of the stream, reaching for her cape to wrap around her. "You weren't even..." She look down at his breeches, partly submerged in the stream. Nothing. No bulge. No telltale bump. Just flat, flaccid nothing, which pretty much summed up just how she felt.

"I am a King," he said, his bland expression failing to cover how awkward he clearly felt about this whole thing. "A doctor. I healed you."

"You healed me." She said the words, but only now began to understand their meaning. "That's it. A few swipes of your hand, and I'm fine."

"Essentially, yes."

Jane climbed out onto the bank. "Essentially, yes," she mimicked, appalled at how blind she'd been.

"Jane, why does this upset you?"

She rounded on him, feeling her fury burn through her like poison. "Let me tell you something, Buster. Next time you feel like healing someone, you might mention you're doing it as a scientist. That it will be a... a simple clinical procedure."

"Jane!"

"Save it, King Daken." She practically spat out his name. "I'm perfectly healthy now. Maybe I'll come back for a check-up later. Like when hell freezes over." She grabbed her clothes and stomped away.

"Jane!" She heard him step out of the water, and she hurried away faster. "Jane! Leave your clothes. They must be washed. Your skin is still too new to abrade it with dirt."

She rounded on him, her fury seething through every pore. "Oh! You do laundry too! Well, bully for you!" She threw her clothes at him, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the fabric landed splat on his face. "Have a ball!"

Then she whirled around and ran to the edge of the trees, not bothering to stop the tears that streamed down her face.

* * *

Daken watched Jane run away and felt each of her tears as a slap on his face. Beneath him, he could almost hear the laughter of the stream, which, thank the Father, at least had a sense of humor.

Grumbling in frustration, Daken threw the woman's odd clothing into the water, weighted it with rocks, and let the old soul in the stream wash it clean. Meanwhile, he stripped off his own breeches and began the irritating task of washing those.

The Crones of Fate must be truly laughing today. How could they land him with a moonling of a fool? Not only did he have the new responsibilities of the kingship, but also a war to fight. A war! Yet here he sat, wasting his time and energy on a witless woman.