The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (7 page)

“Ah, yes. Rebecca Massee. You are truly an Earth, no doubt of
that.” Freya’s gaze moved from Rebecca’s head to her feet. “Such fragile
women.”

“I’m not fragile.” Rebecca held her chin up.

Rhiannon kept silent, and Rebecca couldn’t help but think her
goddess should come to her defense. Instead, it was the Sentinel who rose to the
challenge.

“She isn’t fragile, Freya. ’Tis been a verra difficult day, and
the lass has handled herself well. She saved Megan’s life.”

“Yep,” Megan added. “She sure did.”

“Thank you, Megan,” Rebecca whispered.

She threw Artair a grateful smile, even if he’d exaggerated her
achievement. Warmth washed through her when he smiled in return.

“Ah, my Sentinel. I—” Freya began.

“He is
my
Sentinel.” Rhiannon’s
words were punctuated by the rustling of leaves despite an obvious lack of
wind.

“Does he not train
all
the Amazons,
including
my
Fire?” Freya gave her skirts an angry
swish. “Your selfishness knows no limits, and our Sentinel suffers for it.”

“
I
created the Amazons, and
I
choose and give my benevolence to the men who train
them.”

“Mayhap your memory fails you,” Freya replied. “I was at your
side on the Salisbury Plain as you mourned the death of your King Arthur—as were
Ix Chel and Ganga. The four of us banded together to create this group of
warriors. Had you acted alone, there would be no fighting force. A lone woman
could never defeat the evils these women face. Earth cannot stand without Water,
Fire and Air to complete the corners.”

Rhiannon dismissed her with a flip of her wrist. “’Tis hard to
remember something that happened so long ago.”

“Almost as hard as it is for you to share any of the glory in
the achievements. One day, Rhiannon, you will need the help of the other patron
goddesses. Perhaps you should take more care not to tread upon their toes.”

“I am the strongest of the Ancients. There is
nothing
I cannot handle on my own.”

Megan leaned closer to Sparks and Rebecca. “Do they fight like
that a lot?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sparks replied. “No matter what, stay the hell out
of their feud.”

Freya glanced to Artair, and her lips formed a smile that made
Rebecca feel another pinch of jealousy. “Artair MacKay.” The goddess placed a
palm on his muscular upper arm and squeezed. “You are looking
fit.
”

Artair struck the left side of his chest with his right fist
again. “Thank you, kindly, m’lady. You’re looking
fit
yourself.”

Rhiannon’s eyes flashed red before quickly returning to green.
The branches began to whip furiously, as if the trees were fighting each other
in some bizarre slapfest. The ground trembled beneath their feet. “Artair MacKay
is of Earth, Freya. Not Fire. He merely trains your warriors with my consent. He
doesn’t bed them, nor does he bed their goddess.”

Freya flashed a haughty smile as she sidled up next to Artair.
“I hear that lately he beds no woman.” She ran a finger over Artair’s chest.
“Nor does he bed any goddess. Including his own.”

Megan meowed and shaped her hand like a claw which set Sparks
to laughing loud and long. Neither goddess seemed amused as they turned to
glower at them. Megan clenched her gnarled hand into a fist, coughed into it and
stopped mewling. Their humor and rapport infected Rebecca. She bit her bottom
lip to keep from laughing.

“I wonder if he’d like to be the meat in that goddess sandwich.
A divine
ménage à trois,
” Sparks whispered at Megan,
setting them both to giggling again.

Artair scowled them back into a state closely resembling
composure.

For the first time since she’d met him, Artair seemed to be at
a loss as to how to handle a situation. His gaze caught hers, pleading with her
to help him. Her brain scrambled to find some way to extract Artair from all the
heavenly attention without offending the goddesses. Were they omnipotent?

Damn, that would really suck.

“Artair?” she asked.

He arched an eyebrow.

“I think my hand’s broken.”

Artair practically pushed the two goddesses out of the way to
get to her, his face so full of concern, it caused her heart to skip a quick
beat. “Which one, lass?”

She held up her swollen right hand. “Rick had a really hard
nose.” She hadn’t realized just how much her knuckles hurt until that moment.
Perhaps her pain had been muted by the extended endorphin rush she’d experienced
the better part of the day. Now, her hand throbbed.

“A wee bit rigid, aye?” He winked at her. “From the look of the
lad’s nose when we left, I think you might’ve corrected that problem. Appeared
to be much softer after you rearranged it.”

She couldn’t help but smile, and his laugh hung in the air as
he tenderly took her hand into his.

How could a man so strong—one who could wield a sword the way
she’d seen him fighting in Condemned—also be so infinitely gentle? She tried not
to flinch as he ran his calloused fingers over the back of her hand, tracing
each small bone with a fingertip before he slowly flexed each of her
fingers.

“’Tis nae broken, Becca. Best put some ice on it to help with
the swelling.” He turned back to the goddesses. “If you’ll excuse us, m’ladies,
I must help my new charge with her injury.”

Rhiannon stared at Rebecca long enough to make her feel
uncomfortable, while Freya appeared amused at the turn of events as she smiled
and hummed to herself, flipping her white-blond hair over her shoulder. The
Earth goddess finally gave them a curt nod. “You are excused to tend to
her.”

As they walked away, Rebecca glanced over her shoulder several
times, wondering what the goddesses were discussing with Megan and Sparks. When
the tree branches started whipping about again, she decided she really didn’t
want to know. “I don’t think Rhiannon likes me. She’s upset.”

Artair led her to one of the cabins, and just as she’d been
told, whatever she needed was waiting. A container full of ice sat on the bed
along with a few small towels. A pair of gray yoga pants and a pink T-shirt lay
draped over the footboard.

Although he motioned for her to sit, she shook her head and
hurried past him to the washroom, needing to rid her mouth of the lingering sour
taste. Thankfully, she found a new toothbrush, her favorite toothpaste and a
bottle of mouthwash. Once refreshed, she went back to let him help with her
tender hand.

Artair pushed Rebecca to sit on the edge of the bed. After
making an icepack, he lifted her right hand and set the ice against her
knuckles. She winced but didn’t pull away.

His towering height made it hard for him to stoop down and hold
the icepack in place, and just when she lifted her left hand to take over the
chore, he dropped down next to her on the bed hard enough she bounced.

His plaid had slipped away from a good portion of his
well-built thigh, which was now pressed intimately against hers. Her face
flushed hot, and he quickly sucked in some air. Did he like feeling her skin
against his, or did the intimacy annoy him? Yet, he tugged her hand onto his lap
and readjusted the ice over her knuckles. He would have moved if her touch had
made him uncomfortable.

“Rhiannon isn’t upset with you, lass.”

“Yes, she was. I embarrassed her.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth as if to say something,
but she cut him off.

“You know I did.” Casting her eyes at her pitiful clothing, she
sighed. “How can she not be ashamed I’m hers? I mean, just look at me.” She
grabbed the material of her wedding dress and lifted the skirt, revealing more
of her leg than she probably should have, but she didn’t care. She’d already
worked herself into a frustrated outburst. “I’m a—a mess. And I wasn’t much help
at that bar. And—and I got sick. And I’m not as strong as Megan. Or Sparks, for
that matter. I’m nothing like either one of them.” She shook her head. “Maybe
you got the wrong Rebecca Massee. Maybe I’m not supposed to be an Amazon. I’m
sure Rhiannon expected…
more.
Much, much more.”

Rebecca hung her head, trying to stop the tears stinging her
eyes. God, she’d disgrace herself in front of Artair again if she wept. Amazons
were warriors, and warriors never cried. After having watched her barf, the man
would think she was nothing but a basket case if she cried as well. But
suddenly, everything that had happened in the last day became too much. Way too
much.

* * *

Artair found himself at a loss as her chin quivered and
her teeth tugged on her bottom lip. Rebecca was close to losing control. In all
the years he’d been training warriors, he’d never had one cry. Not even one of
the Amazons. Some of them might have had a tear slide down her cheek during
conditioning, but it fell from anger, pain or frustration, not from an ache in
their hearts. They hardly cried when they lost one of their own, usually
choosing stoic anger to brace them against their loss. He’d spent little time
with the women in his clan and knew next to nothing of dealing with the fairer
sex. This woman, this beautiful woman, was unlike anyone he had ever known.

Artair was adrift in an uncharted sea. Had she been any other
Amazon, especially a Fire, he would have clapped her soundly on the shoulder and
told her to grab a sword so she could join him in the sandpit for a good
sparring session. Dropping an Amazon on her arse always seemed to perk her up.
That might work for Sparks and probably Megan, but not Rebecca.

He hunted for the right words. “Becca, you’ll learn. I’ll teach
you, and you’ll learn to master the powers of Earth. You can’t do what Sparks
and Megan can, but you do have important powers.”

She simply shook her head again.

Wishing he could face a hundred revenants without a sword
instead of soothing the troubled lass, he watched the first tear hit her
lap.

Reaching over to cup her chin, Artair lifted her face to look
at him. She squeezed her eyes shut tight as a tear leaked from each dainty
corner. He caught himself before he growled his frustration that she wouldn’t
simply accept what he said and be done with it. “It doesn’t matter what Rhiannon
expected. You’re the new Earth, and you
are
worthy.”
She tried to turn away, but he held her in place. “Look at me.” She wouldn’t
obey. This time he did growl. “Look at me, Becca.”

Brown. He hadn’t realized her eyes were such an incredible
shade of brown. Like good, aged whiskey. Nor had he realized how much those doe
eyes would affect him, reaching deep inside and squeezing a heart he’d feared
had withered long ago. Another tear spilled over her long lashes to slip down
her cheek, and without a thought, he brushed the teardrop away with his thumb,
smearing a bit of make-up he wished she wasn’t wearing. Beauty such as hers
needed no adornment. Her skin was soft, supple and smooth. The spray of freckles
on her nose gave her face warmth.

She tilted her head, considering him with eyes that seemed to
see so much. An old soul, he realized. That certainly explained her caution.
Rebecca probably had several lifetimes of experience squeezed inside her,
guiding her through the world.

True old souls held fast to the lessons they’d learned in lives
they’d lived before—lives they didn’t remember yet remained a part of them. Most
had no inkling of why they were such good judges of character or why they used
caution when others simply charged in. Her eyes revealed the truth of her depth
of wisdom. She approached situations with insight instead of relying strictly on
muscle. The trait would serve her well and would help balance the impetuous
Megan and the brash Sparks.

“Don’t cry, sweeting. You
are
worthy. You just need to ken it for yourself.”

A soft sigh made her chest rise and fall.

Artair eyed her bodice as it slipped precariously away from her
breasts—her very abundant breasts. He’d been alone or in the company of selfish
deities and women warriors for too many extended stretches. He craved human
contact.

How long since he’d touched a woman this way, wanted a woman
this way? A soft, kind, delicate woman. He was aware of every inch of Rebecca’s
body touching his. Her beautiful face resting against his fingers, her thigh
brushing his, her hand lying gently against his groin.

He was split down the middle. His Sentinel half roared to keep
his distance, to remember she was his charge, to follow the ancient rules.
Walk away. Now.
This was foolish. This was wrong. This
was forbidden.

But the man, the mortal he’d been and hoped to be again, craved
her with an intensity he’d never known. Rebecca made him breathless, tense with
anticipation, nearly heartsick. He wanted to feel her hands caressing his body,
wanted to run his fingertips across every inch of her skin, and wanted to
capture her moans with his kisses as he buried himself so deep inside her they
became one flesh.

Rebecca’s eyes flew wide. Her gaze fell to the hand she rested
on his lap.

Damn.
She knew the response she’d
pulled from his body, the back of her injured hand pressed intimately against
his growing erection. Artair waited for her to jerk her hand away. Instead, her
gaze rose to meet his, and a hesitant smile crossed her lips, sending heat
racing through his blood.

Tugging her chin, he pulled Rebecca closer and settled his
mouth on hers. For a moment, she gave in to his silent demand, closing her eyes
as her lips grew soft. Then she hesitated, pulled back a bit and opened her
eyes.

Had he overstepped? Had he misjudged the incredible attraction
between them? Could he have been that wrong?

Time stopped—just stopped. Her quick breaths fell hot against
his face as his whole body tightened, waiting for her to decide. She closed her
eyes and pressed her lips back against his.