Warlord

the sleeping area.
    Keir swept me up in his arms and carried me over to the bed.
    "Keir, it's just a few steps!"
    He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Marcus took the hint, and closed off our portion of the tent. We were finally alone. Out from under the prying eyes of both friend and foe. Keir eased me down to my feet. I placed my hands on his chest and looked up into his weary tired eyes, and smiled. "Keir . . ."
    He took me in his arms, and claimed my mouth with his.
     

 

     
     

Chapter 18

 

     
     

     
    In the past day, I'd passed through curiosity, terror, fear, and despair, only to find myself in Keir's arms. I sighed, and melted against him. I was tired and dirty, but far more important, I was home. I leaned in, letting him take control of the kiss, answering his passion with my own. His arms crushed me to his chest. But the rings of his mail pressed into my palms, and I broke the kiss, hissing at the pain. Keir took my hands in his and gently started to work the bandages loose. He cursed when he saw the abused flesh underneath.
    "It's not that bad," I whispered. "They're better than they were." Apparently, that didn't impress him. "Marcus!" Keir called out, not bothering to lift his eyes from my hands.
    "Warlord?" Marcus answered from the main area.
    "Fetch Lara's satchel." Keir brushed his fingers over my hands. I shivered at that slight touch. They did look better to my eyes, the swelling was down and the redness greatly eased. But Keir remained unimpressed. He eased me over to sit on the edge of the bed. Marcus coughed and entered with my satchel. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. "Next time, wear gloves."
    I smiled, but Keir didn't see the humor. "As if she had a choice," he barked. I jerked my head back in surprise at the tone in his voice. Keir still wasn't looking at me as he continued.
    "I throw her on a horse, no saddle, no reins, and expect—"
    "And I'm taken to safety," I pointed out gently. "As you planned."
    "Planned!" Keir grabbed my satchel and tore it open violently. His voice was filled with disgust. "I'd thought you safe and—"
    "Find the green jar." I kept my voice mild, but I feared for my satchel and its contents, the way Keir was rooting around. If he broke the jar with the ehat musk in it, we'd all regret it. "Marcus, I could use more kavage. And more stew, if there is any left." Marcus gave me a nod and turned to go. "Oh, and gurt, if you've any."
    Marcus turned, and raised his eyebrow.
    I shrugged. "I'm hungry."
    "At least you eat," he grumbled, with a sharp look at Keir. "I'll bring what I can." With that he vanished beyond the flap.
    Keir had the jar now, the contents of my satchel strewn about the bed. He reached for my hands, but I pulled them away. "They'll bring water for washing, Keir. Once they're clean, we'll put on the salve." I gave him a smile as I toed off my shoes. "Why not take off your armor?"
    "No. Better to be prepared in case of attack."
    I raised an eyebrow. "You're not sleeping next to me in that. My hair will get caught, and then where will we be?"
    His laugh burst out, catching him by surprise, and I knew that he'd remembered exactly when my hair had gotten caught in his mail. But he shook his head just the same.
    My stubborn Warlord. I leaned in close. "Keir, I want you in my bed this night, and all the nights of our lives. Skin to skin, beloved."
    His eyes blazed bright blue. He leaned down, and I lifted my mouth, and we kissed again. I reached up to pull him close when there was movement at the entrance.
    The tent flap moved.
    Keir snarled, pulled a dagger and lunged, placing himself between me and—
    Amyu, holding two buckets of steaming water. She looked up, then dropped to her knees, the buckets sloshing over as they thumped down. Amyu lowered her head, showing the back of her neck.
    "Keir," I cried out, afraid that he'd kill her. But Keir managed to stop, and stood over the poor girl. A soft snort, and Marcus stepped in with a tray. He raised that eyebrow of his as he stepped past Amyu to set the tray on the bed. "Foolish child." Marcus carefully pushed the tray close to me. "You serve a warlord now, not a warrior. Never sneak up on a warlord. Always give warning, to let him know where you are and what you are doing."
    "Forgive me, Warlord." Amyu spoke carefully. She remained on her knees, her head down. Keir sheathed his dagger.
    "Hisself is even more on edge than normal, given events," Marcus scolded Amyu as she rose to her feet.
    "You