Warrior:. Zoe Archer
horse. It pushed against the current, sidestepping, and, after what seemed like ten lifetimes, the mare breached the water and made it onto the bank. Though Huntley felt as though his arm was going to fly out of its socket, he continued to pull on the reins of Batu’s horse. The animal burst through the water as the creatures within it continued to claw at its flanks, leaving marks on its hide. Batu bent low over the horse’s neck, urging it forward. They had nearly broken free of the galloping river when a talon reached out and plucked Batu right from his saddle. The man disappeared into the water.
Huntley immediately let go of the horse’s reins, barely noticing when it galloped away. He didn’t care what happened to the beast, but he had to find the man. Through the pounding of the rain and the rising water, he searched for any sign of Batu, barely daring to believe that the Mongol might still be alive. He shouted the servant’s name, trying in vain to be heard above the almighty din.
Thalia’s voice joined his. He turned in his saddle and was furious when he saw her beside him, on her own horse, calling for Batu.
“Get back to the cave, damn it!”
“I can’t lose him,” she shouted, and called Batu’s name again.
Under any other circumstances, Huntley would have forcibly returned Thalia to the cave, but a man’s life hung in the balance. He, too, shouted for the Mongol as they searched, their horses moving gingerly down the bank. Thank God that the wall of water had moved on a bit, the beasts inside as well, leaving churning floodwaters in its place. They called and called for Batu until their voices gave out, and Huntley was almost resigned to the fact that the loyal servant had drowned, when he felt Thalia reach over and grip his sleeve.
“There,” she shouted, pointing a little further downstream. “He’s there!” He followed her direction. It was true. Batu clung to the branches of a partly submerged tree that was moments away from being torn from the ground by the water. He looked exhausted, barely able to hold on for much longer. As one, Huntley and Thalia kicked at their horses and rode toward Batu’s precarious salvation.
They reached Batu, and Thalia managed to get him to release his grip on the tree, but not without prying his fingers loose from the branches. Huntley grabbed Batu’s waist and swung the battered man in front of him, knowing that the nearly drowned Mongol had hardly any strength left and would not be able to hold on without support. Huntley gripped Batu, holding tightly to keep the servant from sliding off the saddle and into the river. The horses were also worn out, and Huntley and Thalia weren’t faring much better. Huntley nodded at Thalia. It was time to seek their shelter.
With a final burst of effort, Thalia and Huntley pushed their horses enough to get them up the hill and into the cave. It was a blessed relief to be out of the punishing rain at last. Everyone slipped from the horses’ backs to the ground. Freed from the burden of their riders, the animals retreated to the rear of the cave, their hooves clattering on the rocky ground. Batu’s horse no longer made up the caravan, having disappeared in the storm.
From their vantage, they could see down into the gorge, where the river continued to rage. The banks had completely overflowed, and the river itself looked to have been changed from a quiet stream of a foot’s depth to a torrent over seven feet high. The storm kept at it, howling winds swirling around the mouth of the cave. What had been a relatively peaceful day had been torn to pieces by a vengeful, sentient storm.
Huntley held on to Batu, who could not stand on his own. Both Huntley and Thalia helped lower Batu to the floor, leaning him against the wall of the cave. The servant’s breathing was shallow and labored, his eyes closed. Thalia cast Huntley a worried look, and Huntley held up his hand to ask for patience. As Thalia carefully held the manservant’s lolling head, Huntley produced his flask of whiskey and dribbled a little of the alcohol into Batu’s mouth. Batu coughed twice, but managed to revive a bit.
Thalia, kneeling on the ground, sagged with relief. She said something to Batu in Mongolian, and he answered, smiling at her weakly. He then looked at Huntley, crouched to his left, and spoke again in Mongolian, before closing his eyes, completely sapped.
“He says that his English washed away in the river,” Thalia translated. “But he wanted to thank you for saving his life. And,” she added, “I want to thank you, too. You saved us both, again.” She fought to keep her eyes level with his. “You humble us with your courage when we’ve asked nothing of you.”
Huntley, battered, soaked, tired beyond comprehension, sank beside Batu. His legs stretched out in front of him while his arms hung limply to the ground. He wrung out his last remaining ounce of strength to tip the flask to his own mouth, gratefully sipping at the warming whiskey. He offered the flask to Thalia. She took it and put it to her lips. Huntley closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch her drink from exactly where his mouth had been.
“Now’s the time you repay me,” he rasped. When he heard the cap replaced on the flask, he opened his eyes. A slight flush stained Thalia’s white cheeks, but he didn’t know if it was a result of the whiskey or his demand.
“Very well,” she said. “Name your price.”
Huntley forced his arm up and took hold of her wrist as she was returning the flask. Her skin was cold and smooth under his grasp. Her eyes flew to his.
“The truth,” Huntley growled. “We don’t take another step further until you’ve told me everything.”
Fortunately, some nomads had used the cave to camp recently, leaving behind a decent-sized pile of dry wood that Huntley used to build a fire. The blankets were relatively dry, but their clothing was soaked, and they knew that if they wanted to prevent sickness, they would have to let the clothing dry near the fire. Huntley first saw to the horses, removing their saddles and packs. Afterward, Thalia shyly retreated to the back of the cave and removed her wet clothes, while Huntley and Batu promised not to watch. Huntley made himself stare at the fire, trying not to listen to the sounds of Thalia disrobing, but he could mark each garment as it was taken off: first the robe, which would uncover her shoulders and arms; then the boots and socks, revealing her feet; trousers next, peeling off of her legs, one, then the other. There was a moment’s hesitation, followed by the sound of smaller cotton items being removed. Great God, she’d taken off her underwear, too.
Her bare feet slapped gently on the rocky floor of the cave as she approached the fire. Huntley saw that she had wrapped a blanket just above her breasts, holding it up with her free hand while the other spread her clothing in front of the fire. He knew he shouldn’t stare, and there were other, larger issues to deal with, but he was moonstruck by the sight of Thalia Burgess’s bare shoulders, her slim arms and creamy neck. Her black hair hung down, as she tried to shield her blushing face with its dark curtain. She didn’t have the arms of a lady of leisure, and he couldn’t help but admire the small bunching of muscles that moved there as she arranged her clothes.
She eased down next to the fire, drawing the blanket tight around her. As she did so, he caught a flash of slender, strong leg and hoped that he was too tired and cold to let that affect him. He felt his body stir, his cock lifting. Apparently, he was going to have to be suspended in the middle of an ice floe to be unmoved by her. If only one were handy.
Huntley helped Batu to his feet, and the servant had enough energy to take himself to the back of the cave and disrobe. After Batu had returned, also swaddled in a blanket, it was Huntley’s turn to strip. It didn’t take long, and soon there were three groups of clothes drying in front of the fire. Huntley noticed that Thalia’s eyes kept straying to him and the parts of his body that his blanket showed. It was the same pattern, over and over again: her gaze would wander to him, fasten on him—his shoulder, the length of his arm—then, as if chastised, skitter away. Yet never for long. This repeated itself many times. He wondered how many partially clad men she had ever seen. Doubtful if any of them were built like a common laborer…or soldier.
“It’s hard to know where to begin,” she said, after they were all settled.
“Let’s start with that Norseman in the storm and the beasts in the water.” Huntley could hardly believe he was saying such words, but it had been a day that defied imagination,