Warlord

But then his head jerked up, and he swallowed and fixed me with his glare. "But there will be no more sneaking under tent walls to go healing!"
    "I promise, Keir." I reached out, took the empty bowl and handed him the full one. "After what happened in the village, I promise that I will tell you where I go and why." I gave him a sly glance. "Not that I promise to obey, mind you."
    "Might as well order the wind not to blow," Keir muttered. But the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and I knew he understood. I eyed him over the rim of my kavage mug, but said nothing. He smiled then, his shoulders easing down under his quilted tunic. He reached for more bread, and started eating again. I reached for the gurt, and popped a few in my mouth. For some reason, it still tasted wonderful, and I chewed with enjoyment.
    Keir reached the bottom of the bowl, and mopped up the last of the broth with the last of the bread. Mar cus had been right. Not enough to feed an army, but enough to feed one empty warlord.
    "I'll miss Keekai." I spoke softly, putting my empty kavage mug on the tray and reaching for a few more pieces of gurt. "She was a true friend to you."
    "Even in death." Keir placed the empty bowl on the tray. "She kept you safe for me."
    "She did." I caught my breath, remembering the pain. "I thought it was you, riding behind me, guarding me."
    Keir lifted the tray and set it by our feet. "I could not find you." Keir's voice was just as soft. "I thought I'd sent you to your death."
    I looked at him, my tears welling up. "Keir."
    He reached out, and I went into his arms and hugged him tight, crying at what might have been. The gurt dropped from my hand, forgotten. No threat of chainmail, so I rested my head on his shoulder, and listened to the beat of his heart. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should be so happy, but I was so afraid. And now . . ."
    "We're out of balance." Keir reached for my hand.
    I smiled. "It takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us, am I right?"
    "That is so." Keir rubbed my knuckles, and then started to stroke the back of my hand. "The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand."
    I watched as his fingers moved lightly over my skin. "Seems to me it's a convenient reason to touch another."
    "Really?" Keir arched an eyebrow.
    "Really," I whispered, reaching for his right hand, placing it in mine. "The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand." I massaged his hand as best I could, rubbing it lightly with my fingers. Keir made a sound of appreciation deep in his throat. "How clever we of the Plains are, to have a reason to touch."
    His hands moved then to the bottom edge of my tunic. He worked them up and under, warm as they covered my back with soft strokes. I leaned back, and he eased my tunic over my head. My breastband was next, tossed in a corner. The air was warm, Keir's hands were warmer still. I shivered at the pleasure of his touch, but I couldn't resist. "I thought the feet were next?" Keir smiled. He eased me down to sprawl on the bed. One hand covered my breast. The other worked through my hair, fanning it out over the bed. He chuckled softly, and then held up a piece of gurtle fur that he'd found there.
    "The gurtles kept me warm." I smiled at the memory. "They slept close enough that their fur covered me." Keir nodded. "They are trained so." He stretched out next to me, propping his head up with one hand. The other twirled the strand of gurtle fur, then reached to stroke it around one of my nipples. I gasped at the sensation. The fur was so soft, yet felt rough against that delicate skin. Keir chuckled, and continued his assault, moving the fur gently over my breasts in no particular pattern. My breath deepened, and I squirmed until I reached out and captured his hand. Keir allowed me to wrest the bit of fur away from him. But now his free hand slipped down to my waist, and slid just under the band of my trous.
    I shuddered as his hand spread out to cover my belly. "Oh Keir, I've missed this so." Keir smiled then, that relaxed, sly smile that I knew so well. "I want to see you, Lara," he whispered. I lifted my hips, and he tugged down my trous, removing my underthings all in one swift move. I would have curled up in modesty, but he placed his hands on my knees, his eyes hungry, his face filled with desire.
    So I stretched out instead, my arms up over my head, and arched my back, feeling slightly embarrassed, but pleased at his reaction.
    He rose then, to