“Ula had said it was unbecoming. I guess I thought it would increase my chances with a young woman if I looked a bit younger myself.” Ronan let his hand fall back to his side. “You look a bit different when you are fighting or angry.”
Fiona stiffened. “I’m a changeling.” Generally people did not like those that were different. Some even went so far as to say a changeling was someone magic had marked or cursed. Most like that were driven by fear, jealousy, and cruelty. She hadn’t thought Ronan Culley was like that.
Ronan grunted. “An interesting one at that. A deadly snake. Beauty with a bite.” Ronan chuckled at his own joke. “Do you know the wizard who is to be king?”
“Yes.” Fiona got up and moved to toss more wood in the fire. He wasn’t judging her. He was just stating the things he saw. He’d not cared before that she was a changeling. It had seemed unimportant to him when he kissed her.
“What is he like? I’d heard he was young. Chosen early because he is more powerful than many others who have trained their magic for years.” Ronan turned his head to look at her as he returned to his side.
“He
“Someone told me.” Ronan rolled his head to the side to gaze toward the road. The horses still awake near the road. Fiona followed his gaze and found Ahearn looking back at the blacksmith. Keegan had mentioned some kind of communication between the blacksmith and the larger horse.
“Fortunate for you,” she said and Ronan looked at her again. “It is dangerous to use the sword the way you did.”
Ronan sighed heavily. “Are you certain you will not kiss me tonight?”
Fiona pressed her lips together. He did not want to talk about the sword. He’d changed topics each time she mentioned it. Perhaps, he’d already discovered the danger of the sword.
“Quite certain. And it will not help you to start begging.” She grinned.
“Then I will sleep. You said I needed rest. Perhaps you were right.” He closed his eyes. Fiona remained at his side, studying him closely. He’d been brave without the white metal. He’d faced the centaur with a mock of the King’s Sword, faced him with dark danger in his eyes. She wondered if maybe she was wrong about him.
Two hours later, Ronan’s temperature began to rise. Fiona bathed his face and arms with cool water while trying to keep him still. She considered waking Ula when she was unable to keep the blacksmith from tossing and turning. Instead she held on to him as he rode through the fever. But then, when the fever receded, chills began to rack his body.
“Dragons…blood,” He cursed from between chattering teeth. “I’m…so cold.” Fiona frowned. He had two blankets covering him and they’d done nothing to warm him. She glanced at the others who still slept. Finally, she lifted the covers and slipped beneath them at his side.
His head snapped around and he stared at her as she slid her nearly naked body against him. “What are you doing?” Fiona almost laughed. He was looking at her as if she’d bitten him.
“I have to get you warm,” Fiona explained patiently as she wrapped her arms around him. “Try to sleep.”
“Not an option,” Ronan answered. Fiona mistook the strangeness in his voice for caution. No doubt he had to be so since he started this journey to Merisgale. Too many would try to throw him off course or attempt to harm him.
“I will not harm you. You can trust me. I only want you to grow stronger so you can take the sword to Merisgale,” Fiona insisted, tightening her arms around him. “Are you not warmer?”
“I am,” he said. “Considerably so.”
“Then sleep.” She felt his arm come up across her back and did not resist when he pulled her closer, resting his head against her shoulder. He was seeking warmth, giving into the reason she spoke. When he inhaled deeply though, she stiffened.
The air had changed. Before he had only been flirting playfully, passing the time. Now, she was acutely aware of the thick tension that stretched between them. She started to pull away but he held her still.
“Much warmer,” her murmured in a deep voice as his fingers splayed across the small of her back, holding her to him. Fiona didn’t move, her heart pounding. Only seconds before he’d been as weak as a babe. He was not a babe now. He was a grown man with a grown man’s body, one that yearned for pleasure just as any other. She hadn’t considered he might want more than warmth from her.
“Your skin,” Ronan’s hot breath slipped across her shoulder in a thick whisper and she almost shivered herself as it caressed the sensitive skin of her neck. “It is so soft.”
“Don’t think of me like that,” she told him. She was lonely. It had been months since she and Diato had come together and her body had begun to finally want for a man’s touch again. That’s all she could think of to explain the heat that began to coil in her belly.
“And warm,” he said in a low voice as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s been so long…too long.” He brushed his mouth against her shoulder. She shivered when she felt the wet heat of his tongue as he licked her. He is ill, Fiona told herself. He doesn’t realize what he is doing. It is the fever. But the temperature of his cheek was only slightly warm when he breathed in her natural scent again. He lifted his injured arm and rested his hand on her hip, caressing her through the leather she wore.
“No, don’t move that arm. It needs to be kept still so it can heal properly.” Fiona bit her lip as his arms tightened and she realized she was pressed completely against him. He wasn’t listening to her. His breathing had deepened and his body was relaxed against hers. He’d fallen asleep. Moments later, he began to snore.
Fiona let herself relax. But the ache that had come to life within her still stirred. Her attention remained on the hardness of the man who held her. She could still hear the depth of his voice, feel the roughness of his fingertips echoing upon her. She closed her eyes, forcing thoughts of her mission to replace those that were tempting her. She could not allow her dedication to Merisgale to be swayed. She would not. She was a Serpentine Warrior.
Eight
“I may not be the smartest of men,” Keegan’s baritone voice filled with good humor roused Fiona from sleep, “But it looks to me like you took advantage of being ill.” He followed the observation with a laugh.
Ronan frowned as Fiona stirred, then sat straight up. He’d wanted her to sleep as much as possible before they headed out. He vaguely remembered her being awake during the night, at his side and tending to him.
“You are right, Yore. You are not the smartest of men.” Ronan continued to adjust his pack on Sorcha’s back, being careful not to move his arm too much. He’d awakened to Ula pouring her concoction down his throat and the serpentine sleeping soundly against him. He’d tired to push the healer away but she forced him drink every drop of the broth. It had obviously worked because half an hour later, he felt much stronger and revived.
“He is a King’s Guard now. He can do anything he wishes.” Arien came to Ronan’s defense and the blacksmith smiled. The boy suffered only a reddened bruise across his chest. He hadn’t even complained of it.
“And I couldn’t have done much anyway in the state I was in. I can barely remember anything that happened.” Ronan glanced at Fiona. Pity. She looked breathtaking as she rose from his blankets.
“You were feverish and talking nonsense most of the time.” Fiona rose to her feet and collected the blankets. She reached for her sword and sheath and slipped them across her back before handing the blankets to Ronan.
“No trouble from the centaur Bryan then?” Ronan made himself look away from Fiona and rested his eyes on Keegan.
“None.” The horseman shook his head. “Perhaps he hasn’t even noticed the sword he carries is a fake. Or he could have given up.”
“I don’t want to take any chances.” Ronan tucked the blankets beneath his pack on Sorcha’s back and then turned to wave to Ula. “Come, take a walk with me. I wish to speak with you privately.” The healer looked surprised at his request. She hurried forward to do as he wished, glancing back at the others.
