Shield of Fire Read online

  “What’s happening?” Ravyn whispered.

  Rhys didn’t reply and after a several seconds, Powell kicked his horse and headed toward Itta.

  Rhys dropped the curtain. “He’s gone.”

  Ravyn released a heavy breath but didn’t appear relieved. “He’ll be back.”

  “Perhaps.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Get dressed. We need to get you healed as quickly as possible. I’ll wait outside.”

  He stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him, trying to not imagine Ravyn naked mere feet away. Rhys straightened, on alert as footsteps thumped up the stairs at the end of the hallway, but he didn’t relax when Orvis turned the corner. Rhys met the innkeeper midpoint, away from Ravyn’s hearing.

  “You had a visitor,” Orvis said.

  “I saw. What did he want?”

  “He was looking for a girl and the man who kidnapped her.” His unspoken question hung in the air.

  “Yes,” he flicked his head toward their room. “She’s the girl he’s looking for, and no, I didn’t kidnap her.”

  Orvis crossed his arms over his belly. “I didn’t think you had, but a man can never be too safe when it comes to his family.”

  Rhys nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  “You’ve never given us any reason to mistrust you. I won’t start now. Besides, the monk gave me an uneasy feeling. Can’t put my finger on it but he wasn’t acting right.” He pointed to his head. “In here.”

  “Thank you for your help. Once Ravyn is healed, we’ll be on our way.”

  “As long as you’re honest with us, you’re welcome here. Can’t fight what we don’t know about.”

  “Of course.” Rhys clasped Orvis by the shoulder and extended his hand. “I’m in your debt.”

  Ravyn’s voice floated from under the door. “I’m dressed.”

  Orvis’s eyebrows raised and he smiled. “Best not keep the lady waiting.”

  Rhys smirked but didn’t dissuade the man of his notion that there was more than protection between Ravyn and himself. Let Orvis think what he wanted.

  Rhys entered to room to find Ravyn sitting on a straight-backed chair in only her shift and a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her posture was stiff.

  She stared at the wall. “I need your help getting dressed.”

  “Of course.” He closed the door and grabbed another chair on his way across the room. “Let’s heal you first, and then dress you.”

  She nodded but still wouldn’t look at him.

  He opened his saddlebags and pulled out his healing pouch. Unlike before, he removed only the pendants, placing one over his head and one around Ravyn’s neck. There’d be no need to change the fresh bandages until morning. He sat facing her. She shifted to the edge of her chair but her spine remained unyielding.

  “Relax. This won’t hurt…much.”

  Her eyes darted to his face and he smiled. Her posture softened slightly. “Have you ever healed yourself?”

  Rhys rubbed his chin with the top of his hand. “No.”

  “Never once?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not even when you’ve been gravely injured?”

  “I’ve always healed naturally unless Nattie got ahold of me. Then I had no choice but to instantly mend.”

  “I’m not sure I want to meet her if she’s more demanding than you with her healing.”

  He cocked a brow. Demanding, that described Nattie very well. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he instructed.

  “Relax.”

  Ravyn nodded.

  Rhys fingered the gold dragon, letting ancient words cascade from his mind. Low and melodic, the chant forced its way free and came to life, demanding to be spoken. Whispers of energy swept along his skin as the room filled with power. The healing light circled and danced. He invited the spirits to use his strength, and they accepted. Traveling through his body, the healers carried his vital force across the short distance and entered Ravyn.

  She gasped and opened her lids, peering at him. The glow of her eyes illuminated her porcelain skin and cast blue through her hair. The air hummed around them.

  The spirits’ dance intensified, taking and giving life. Streamers of golden light connected Rhys’s body to Ravyn’s as his strength poured into her. Pulsating ribbons cradled her, the energy guiding her with sensual movements. Whispered words formed on her lips. Rhys strained to understand, but caught only a few words of the ancient language. He stopped chanting.

  Ravyn slid farther forward on her chair, her gaze locked with his. He leaned toward her. Without warning, her hands snaked out and grabbed his wrists. Darts of heat spiked through him—pleasurable, glorious heat.

  Golden light erupted from Ravyn’s hands. Rhys tried to jerk away but the radiance encircled his wrists like glowing shackles and bound him and Ravyn together. Tendrils of energy burrowed under his skin, trailing rivers of light through his body. Each wave of power burned away more of his grief. Ravyn’s hands grew hotter and her grip tighter. He slid from the chair, kneeling before her.

  Closer. He had to be closer.

  Her eyes burned like a white flames. It felt as if she peered straight into his soul, seeking out his sadness. The blood in his veins seemed to crackle and burst with life.

  What was Ravyn? More powerful than Nattie and even more powerful than his mother—she must be a full-blood.

  She healed him, filling the dark voids and black wells of his soul. Her eyelids closed and her head tilted back. Vibrations rippled through her body, her chant growing louder, more commanding.

  Rhys was at her mercy. Unable to pull away and unwilling if he could have, he watched as Ravyn’s body began to glow. The dragon pendant grew hot against his chest. He glanced down at their connected hands and flinched. Blue flames danced across their fingers. He stilled the urge to pull away, feeling no pain. The tongues of fire grew, traveling up Ravyn’s arms.

  Though they touched, the flames enveloped only her. Like the sheerest veil dancing in the breeze, the blue lengths of flames flared around her. Ravyn’s head snapped forward and she stared at him, unseeing. Words poured from her mouth and swarmed around him. Rhys closed his eyes and gave over to her merciful healing.

  Seconds, minutes, hours, time had no relevance until her chanting slowed and finally stopped. Rhys opened his eyes. She was there, inches away, looking back at him. The flames were gone and everything had returned to normal—everything except him.

  He leaned toward her to—to what? He stopped, his lips hovering close to hers. She didn’t pull away, only watched him. The room grew shadowed in the afternoon light, returning him to reality.

  He’d almost kissed her, almost brushed the softness of her mouth with his lips, almost tumbled beyond the boundaries of duty. The desire to be with her nearly overwhelmed him. One indiscretion would steal away everything he’d built his life around and everything he’d locked out. She’d gotten too deep in such a short amount of time.

  With great strength of will, Rhys sat back. His body tingled and vibrated from her energy. Even when Nattie had healed him, he’d never felt like this. It wasn’t just the aches and pains that had been cleansed, but a small part of his soul hummed with renewed life, freed from the chains of guilt and failure.

  “How?” he said.

  She sat back in the chair. “I don’t know. It just happened. As if I suddenly knew what to say.”

  “How is it possible that you healed me?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” He stood, his mind fumbling for the right words. She’d done something he’d never believed possible, eased his sorrow. If he were a braver man, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her, the consequences be damned. But he was not a braver man. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a wary smile.

  He scrambled for a neutral subject. “You must be hungry. I’ll get us some dinner.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He walked t
o the door and stopped, his hand on the iron handle.

  “Rhys? Would you help me dress when you return?”

  “Of course.” He yanked on the handle and stepped into the hall. As the door closed behind him, he let out a heavy breath and leaned his back against the uneven wood.

  Holy Sainted Ones, he was in trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Sun filtered through the yellow leaves and lay across Ravyn’s legs like a bright blanket as she and Willa shelled peas on the front porch. Ravyn picked up a pod and popped the brilliant green nuggets from their nest, her gaze constantly scanning the area. Though she felt no chafe of the Bane, she couldn’t relax. This was the first time since arriving that she’d ventured outside. Afraid Powell would return, she had stayed hidden in the room, but the eight days of confinement hadn’t set well. After four days she thought she would pull her hair out from boredom. Another four and she’d tottered on the edge of madness, willing to risk discovery for the feel of sun on her face and fresh air in her lungs.

  “It’s a beautiful day, almost like summer,” she said.

  “Just glorious.” Sitting forward, Willa turned her face to the sun. “I try to savor days like these no matter how busy I am. Mother Nature is fickle. We might wake up to a white landscape tomorrow.”

  “Well, I hope she remains in a good mood. I’m not ready for winter.”

  Ravyn’s eyes never left the bustling crowd as she selected another pod and extracted the peas. Her fingers knew this work. From the moment the snow melted to its first fall, the abbey gardens had provided a sanctuary for her, and she’d preferred the company of plants and herbs to that of the Sisters. She and several of the girls would practically hibernate in the processing room, drying and putting up enough vegetables for the entire abbey.

  To help Willa gave her a purpose and kept her mind sharp. Rhys wished her to languish the days away in bed, hidden and healing. But honest work like this was the best cure. Though he seemed determined to keep his distance, this had been the happiest week of Ravyn’s life.

  She rested her wrists against the edge of the large bowl on her lap. Her gaze traveled across the busy yard and settled on Rhys, her task forgotten. Honed muscles flexed under the drawn material of his shirt as he hefted a small crate onto a wagon. Her eyes traveled down his wide back to a tapered waist and narrow hips. Her appreciation caressed his firm backside, and heat flushed her body. The man grew more handsome each day, and she grew too bold with her looks.

  Willa leaned across her basket. “He’s very attractive.”

  “What? Oh, I guess so.” Ravyn returned her attention to her chore and shelled a pod far more vigorously than it required.

  “You guess so? You’d have to be dead not to notice.” Willa flicked her head toward Rhys. “Have you ever seen a finer man?”

  An unladylike snort erupted from Ravyn. “I’ve lived in an abbey all my life, Willa. I’m lucky to know what a man is, handsome or otherwise.”

  Ravyn’s attention slipped back to Rhys, remembering their first night at the inn. He’d healed her, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. Perhaps she should be ashamed, but in all honesty she wished he had—just once, to know what it felt like.

  Lost in thought, it took several seconds before she realized Rhys returned her stare. He rubbed his hands against his pants and started across the yard toward her, winding through the crowd. Graceful, like a wildcat she once saw on the abbey grounds—that’s what he reminded her of.

  Ravyn shook her head and returned her attention to the peas. “How can any man be so handsome?”

  Willa chuckled. “I don’t know, but if you find a magic potion I’d like a vial to pour over Orvis’s porridge.”

  Ravyn slid her friend a questioning look.

  “Just a dash,” Willa said, holding up her thumb and index finger in measurement.

  They burst out laughing as Rhys stopped in front of them. His eyes narrowed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Ravyn shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and took a wide stance. “Tell me. I like a joke.”

  Ravyn highly doubted that. “You probably wouldn’t think it’s funny.”

  “Why not?”

  “Women’s humor,” she explained.

  “Try me,” he said firmly.

  “Well, Rhys,” Willa began. “We were discussing how women who live together have their monthly cycle at the—”

  He held up his hand. “Never mind.”

  Ravyn blushed at the mention of such an intimate subject, but couldn’t suppress a smile at his reaction. Willa gave her a sly wink, a secret pact between friends. Rhys seemed oblivious of his charms and Ravyn would be mortified if he knew she found him attractive. Some things were better left unsaid.

  Rhys cleared his throat. “I hate to break up your hen party, but I’d like to work with you a bit, my lady.”

  “Well,” Willa said, setting the basket on the ground next to her chair. “I have to start the evening meal. Dinner will be ready in a few hours, so don’t wander far.” She stood and picked up the basket, giving Rhys a beautiful smile. “Don’t work her too hard.”

  She glided down the length of the porch and into the inn. Several appreciative glances from the male patrons followed her departure. Ravyn scrutinized the gawkers. What would it be like to have that effect on men? She looked at Rhys. Was that a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth? She straightened. What did she care what men thought of her, including Rhys? She had more serious matters to consider—like the Bane.

  Rhys’s suggestion to work with her piqued Ravyn’s interest. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Stretching, if you’re up to it. Working some of the stiffness out of your shoulders. He paused. “And I’d like to gauge your strength.”

  Ravyn scanned the hive of activity around them. “Here?”

  “There’s a glen a ways from the inn. We shouldn’t be disturbed there.”

  “What about Powell?” She lowered her voice.

  “There are things I need to know about you. Things I can’t find out here.” He lowered his voice. “Like how powerful your fire is. I’m not worried about Powell.”

  “What about the Bane?”

  He gazed into the shadowed forest. “We’ll deal with them if the time comes.”

  Her eyes widened. “We?”

  He looked at her. “Yes.”

  Leaving the inn made her uneasy, but he was right, they needed to prepare her for what lay ahead. She held out an arm in front of her. “Please, lead the way.”

  He stalked toward the forest, and she followed, trying to squash the apprehension poking at her. His demeanor was suddenly rigid and curt, nothing like the man who had flirted with Matilda the day they’d arrived at the inn.

  Ravyn wordlessly followed him. Better an awkward silence than babbling like an idiot to fill the quiet. Her gaze slid along the silky black strands of his hair, down his back, and came to rest on his rear end. She cut a glance upward, away from the temptation to look her fill.

  Being with Rhys day after day was changing something inside her. An understanding of what a woman could feel for a man warred with the self-loathing for impure thoughts that had been beaten into her by the Sisters. He’d almost kissed her, and she wouldn’t have stopped him. Saints forgive her but the desire to feel his lips hadn’t been sinful. If anything, it had felt more right than all the prayers she’d performed her whole life. And though Rhys hadn’t kissed her, a sliver of curiosity about intimacy between a man and woman had burrowed just beneath her skin. There it stayed, unwilling to be removed, uncomfortable when too much effort was made to rid it from her body, a barely noticeable, constant ache.

  Rhys stopped. Wrenched from her contemplation, Ravyn barely avoided smashing into him. She looked around. Ancient stone crosses, worn away by time and weather, poked above the brambles and brown grass. A hazy gloom blanketed the resting place of the dead, leeching the area of
color.

  He pointed through an opening in the trees. “We’ll work out there.”

  Sun spilled a circle of light onto a large clearing. Its bright rays beckoned them from the shadows of the graveyard and into its warm embrace. “Is it safe?”

  “What do you feel?”

  Ravyn looked around the forest.

  “Not what you see,” Rhys said. “What do you feel?”

  Besides several ghosts hovering around the graves, she neither saw nor felt anything out of the ordinary. “Nothing.”

  “Me, either.” He turned and walked into the clearing. “Lesson one: when the Bane are near, your Bringer senses will alert you.”

  She followed him. “Meaning?”

  “Needles, biting, an irritation you can’t rub away. Have you experienced this?”

  “At the abbey the night you saved me. I’d felt it before, but that night was the worst.”

  “That is your demon alarm. Pay attention to it. Heed it.” Rhys circled her and grasped her right wrist from behind, lifting her arm out to the side. “I want to work your shoulders, loosen the tissues so they don’t adhere to each other.” He rotated it forward, pulling her limb in different directions. “Does that hurt?”

  “A bit when you draw my arm back, but the stretching feels good.”

  “You heal quickly.”

  She grunted. “It doesn’t feel quick.”

  “Your Bringer blood is strong.”

  Strong had never been a word used by the Sisters to describe her. Strong implied someone noble and worthy of respect. Stubborn? Yes. Rebellious? Most definitely. But never strong. She didn’t reply.

  “You know nothing of your parentage?” Rhys continued.

  “No. I asked the Sisters about my parents many times.”

  He’d stopped tugging on her arm and now his fingers performed a most delicious dance, massaging her muscles. “And?”

  “They beat me for asking.” The kneading slowed and deepened. Her line of thought dissolved. “I stopped asking after that.”

  His fingers stopped. A low growl issued from Rhys, its vibrations rumbled against her back. “Did they beat you often?”