Servant of the Gods (4 page)

She couldn’t mistake the growing excitement among the troops, the quickening of their step, or the growing numbers of the scattering of villages they passed. She knew the feeling from her companions of old if she hadn’t known it herself. These folk were near to home. This night perhaps might be her last night among them.

Soon they would reach a city, with its markets.

A cool rush of fear went through her. She’d seen slave markets and knew what awaited. It was useless to fight, to be apprehensive, but she was.

That was for the morrow. She put it aside.

As they had each night, they brought her to Khai’s tent.

This might be her last night with him, too.

She listened as his people spoke to him, as he spoke to them. She understood more and more of their speech. She’d learned the methods of address, the forms and words of respect, the difference between the servant’s speech and that of his captains.

In his own way, Khai had protected her; she understood that. He’d kept her from being ill-used and had resisted using her himself. All the signs had been there, although she hadn’t dared act on them then. On the morrow that protection might very well be gone. Coldness filled her belly at the thought.

Once more she reminded herself that was for the morrow. She owed him something for this brief period of safety.

The hour grew late.

Khai was weary. So many preparations had to be made for their return – pay, bivouacs, leave. At last he could dismiss his people, give them some respite from battle. He would be grateful to finally reach Thebes and relieve some of his own tension. Not all of it due to his service.

From time to time he’d glanced toward the slave, knowing she was there, aware of her in ways that were sometimes maddening, to see that intelligent gaze observing everything. Watching, always watching. She might have been a statue to some foreign goddess, she stood so still. Each time her beauty caught at him and awareness of her body tormented him, but the stillness of her expression held him back. That and respect, the respect of one warrior for another.

He had neither wife nor family in Thebes, his parents and siblings were far away, but there were ways and other companions. He needed relief. There were the priestesses of the temples of Isis and Hathor to give comfort as well.

“My Lord Khai,” a soft voice said as if in answer to his thought.

Startled, he turned to look at her. Her eyes flashed to his in a quick glance.

The words, the language… Her phrasing was uncertain…tentative…but very nearly correct.

He was surprised. Although he’d had no doubt there was wit behind those eyes he hadn’t thought she’d learn so quickly.

As she spoke, Eres kept her eyes lowered respectfully.

This might be her last chance to be touched…kindly…and she owed him something for his consideration. He hadn’t killed her out of hand nor used her body as was his right.

She kept her face slightly averted, careful to look at him sideways in quick glimpses before she took a step forward, then another step. She was being presumptuous for a slave. Biting her lip, she let out a sigh and reached out to touch him. Awaited the cuff, the slap.

The blow never came.

Ever so lightly, she ran her fingertips across the smooth skin of his chest, spread her hands to the limits of the chain that ran between her wrists to trace the curves and plains of him. He felt very good, his tawny skin warm beneath her hands, as smooth as silk. Even with her fingers stretched to their maximum she couldn’t span the muscle there. She ran her fingertips lightly down over his taut abdomen. Though she knew her skin had darkened in the sun, her hands were still pale against the tawny color of his skin.

He was beautiful.

Khai’s breath caught as her light touch ignited the desire within him like a spark to tinder.

There was no less pride in her actions at that moment than there had been that first day. She knew what it was she did. Her touch, therefore, was all the more electrifying.

Escape?

For her it was impossible. She was too distinctive, too unusual, and she was too smart not to know it. They would only find her, bring her back. The penalty for an escaped slave was severe. Even so, she hadn’t bowed one finger length, she simply accepted what was. If chance gave her the opportunity to find her freedom, she would have taken it, he knew, but where would she go?  Where could she go in lands where her very hair, her eyes, marked her as foreign? And so, knowing her fate, she simply took what came.

So she offered him…herself, freely…if he wanted to take her.

Looking into those ethereal eyes he found he wanted to, and badly.

Tomorrow was Thebes with all the intrigue and politics of the King’s city, a different thing than the intrigue and politics of the King’s army. Exciting, yes, but it had its own dangers. With Kamenwati as Grand Vizier, Khai walked carefully, much more carefully than here.

He looked down into her unusual eyes.

If he’d had the gold, he’d have bought her himself in that moment as her hands touched him so lightly, so enticingly.

Instead, slowly, he curled his hand into the silken sunlight of her hair to cup her head and lower his mouth to hers in that most intimate of gestures. One could touch the body, but mouth to mouth, eye to eye and soul to soul? Khai tasted her, to find her clean and clear, as sweet as water.

Eres’s heart caught as she lifted her mouth to his, felt his lips touch hers, and fought the sudden, ridiculous urge to weep. She was a warrior and accepted her fate.

He hadn’t needed to kiss her.

She slid her hands up over his strong shoulders, to curl around his neck. Her fingers speared into his hair at the nape of his neck to draw his mouth down to hers as she rose to her tiptoes to meet his embrace.

He was the first man she’d ever met who made her feel small, almost fragile. The feel of him beneath her hands was exhilarating.

A thrill shivered through her at the look in his gold-touched eyes.

Khai felt her quiver.

Skimming his hands down her back over the crude material of the rough shift, Khai felt the slender yet firm shape of her beneath the rough linen, the long firm muscles of her back, as his hands cupped her tightly rounded bottom. A breath shuddered out of him as he drew her close. Need was sharp.

He needed to see what it was he touched. He’d never seen her unclothed, for he’d known that once he did, he would need to have her, to take her.

In one quick motion, he drew the shift over her head. It tangled in the chains around her wrists as he pinned her arms above her head against the central tent pole, baring her body to him so she was dressed only in the glorious mass of her shimmering hair as it spilled free and tumbled to her waist.

The bruises had faded but the scars remained.

Those unearthly eyes met his. She lifted her chin and arched her back. Had any other slave looked at him so boldly he would have cuffed her. Clearly she was prepared for that but she was still proud. But not arrogant.

She bore her warrior’s scars with dignity, a puckered mark in her shoulder where an arrow had pierced, a slash across one perfectly rounded breast, another across her belly, two on one calf, another on her thigh. And she was beautiful…

Scars and all, her body was magnificent in the flickering lamplight, her breasts high and full, firm, her stomach taut. Her hips were curved but tightly muscled, her legs shapely but strong. Even the curls between her thighs were golden, a darker gold than her hair. Incredible.

His body tightened in response to the sight of her in all her naked glory.

Khai reached out a hand to touch her, to brush across the fullness of her, the ripe curve of a breast.

Looping the chain of her shackles on an empty lamp hook on the tent post he explored freely, running his hands over her body. Bound and helpless she could do nothing but watch, her gaze locked on his as he cupped her full breasts to feel the firm weight of them in his hands, as he combed the fingers of one hand through the tight dark gold curls between her thighs to find dampness there.

Her expression softened and her lips parted as she responded to his touch with a quiver, her nipples tightening into hard nubs that had little to do with the marginally cooler air that wafted over her nakedness.

With her hands trapped above her, she couldn’t prevent his touch, and it was clear she didn’t want to. The more his hands explored her, the more feverish her body became, the stronger her need became. It was there in each quiver, each tremble of her frame.

Sliding his hands over her, Khai learned the curves and planes of her, the arched vault of her ribs, the flat, taut belly, as his mouth sought hers once again. He heard her sigh, and her lips parted beneath his, to allow the invasion of his tongue. Hers dueled with his, stoking his lust. His lips traveled down the column of her golden throat, to linger at the curve of her shoulder as she gasped. He brushed his mouth along her collarbone and down across the smooth, sun-touched skin of her chest to her breast. He looked up to watch her eyelids flutter while her body quivered to his touch as he teased her. His exploring hands found her damp.

A quick flip of the chains freed them from the hook. Relief rushed through Eres, she didn’t thing she could have born that sweet torment for much long.

Curling one hand around her head he guided her down to the sleeping pillows and rugs on the floor of his tent as his other hand slipped between her thighs.

When his hot, wet mouth closed around her nipple, Eres thought she couldn’t grow more heated, until his finger pierced her most intimate place and all thought fled. She’d been wrong, heat burst through her. It seemed her body had a mind of its own as it arched against his hand, which was as well, since his touch made her ache, made her want, as she had wanted him each night. She gasped as his fingers pierced her once again.

Khai’s body tightened at the sound of her soft gasps. He lowered his mouth to hers once more. The fingers of his free hand were curled around her breast, he felt it swell against his palm. He cupped that fullness, brushed his thumb across the tightly furled nipple, relished the weight of it.

He guided himself inside her, groaning at the tightness, the wetness, as she arched her hips up and spread her thighs to take him. So sweet.

It had been so long. He used her in every way he’d thought of over the long weeks, turned her this way and that, plunging into her roughly then softly, savoring her, pleasuring himself with her body.

As he knew she was pleasured by him. Each soft cry told him that.

All Eres wanted was more, more of the sweet pleasure of him filling her.

He plundered her, stretched her, filled her as he thrust inside her. His mouth and hands ravaged her breasts as Eres cried out her delight.

Eres felt him swell within her, filling her completely, pulsing within her, the sweet friction of him driving her wild. It was glorious, marvelous, and then he filled her even more completely with a deep groan, holding there. Delight hovered and she trembled with it, fought to hold it.

And lost the battle. Her own ecstasy rushed through her, and she cried out.

The soft cries and moans of the woman beneath Khai gave all evidence of her satisfaction. That was gratifying to know that he gave her that. Then, incredibly, he felt her tighten around him, her hands clutch at his back…gloriously, marvelously. Control slipped and he took her more forcefully as her body arched against his, her hips pumped to receive him. Her body shuddering, the muscles inside her closed around him and stroked him into ecstasy.

He exploded into her, releasing his long withheld passion into her.

Sleepy, spent, Khai drew her against him. She curled against him neatly, so perfectly – she fit so well against him – still trembling from his touch as he fell into a doze.

In the morning, he would have a word with the Master of Slaves in the market. It was the best he could do for her. He couldn’t take her as his once she’d been declared a prize of war, not unless he could make up the loss of gold. He couldn’t buy her, though, however much he might wish to, but he didn’t have enough gold to match what he knew she would bring in the slave market. It would also be a sign of weakness and wavering that would make him appear inconstant to his men, who would also resent the loss of the coin. Some of the other officers, also, who now anticipated being able to bid on her.