33. What you were thinking

[moonshadows]

 

"...what you were thinking! You could have been seriously injured. Cracked or broken ribs. And then what would you do?"

For all my apparent rage, inside I'm relieved that he isn't badly hurt. Those rocks weren't sharp, but they weren't dull, either. There's some annoyance at him having rushed blindly into something - again - but now that I know he's just bruised and scraped, most of what I feel as I dab at his bloody chest with what remains of his shirt is relief.

"Suffer in silence and let you fuss over me," he teases, completely unrepentant for the worry he put me through.

Just for that, I prod a particularly tender spot under the flimsy pretense of dislodging a bit of bark. He winces, chastised by pain if not by my unhappy expression. I resume cleaning his assorted scrapes as best I can with dry cloth. After a moment, he seizes my wrist gently in one hand - not tightly enough that I can't break free, just enough to get my attention.

"For as angry as you're pretending to be, my love, you're being remarkably gentle with me."

There is nothing I can say to that. Unfortunately, my silence is equally eloquent. The fingers of his other hand beneath my chin gently urge our faces closer and then his lips are on mine and the familiar flame kindles itself beneath my skin.

I pull back. "Damn you," I hiss, but the cloth is already dropping from my fingers and my arms are around his neck, fingers twining in his thick, wild hair and spreading over his broad, powerful back as my lips seek his out.

One hand on my waist, the other behind my head, he slowly leans back in the grass until I am straddling his hips. My hands meander from grass to his shoulders as I settle into a more comfortable position, but I must have hit something because he grunts.

"Gently," he teases. "I'm injured, here."

It's my turn to be unrepentant. "Should have thought about that before you started this."

A few minutes go by, however, and he doesn't seem to be complaining. At least, not until I shift and discover that his hardness has been trapped beneath my thigh. The grunt that escapes him has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with holding his self-control in both hands.

"Keep that up, and I won't be able to walk home," he growls, breath hot against my ear.

I shift again, deliberately caressing the hard length of his manhood through the sturdy fabric of his pants. "I wasn't going to let you walk back anyway."

Whatever Varian might have said is lost in a primal sound just before he claims my lips again, one hand sliding down my thigh in search of the hem of my skirt while the other crawls up to the nape of my neck and rests there. I gasp as his hand finds my hem and those warm, rough fingers slide back up my thigh, stroking and caressing but stopping just short of where I want them. In vengeance, I shift my weight until his manhood is beneath softer flesh and then grind my hips against his. A second time he groans as he tries to control himself. I push myself up to a half-sitting position to better torment my lord husband, but it backfires as he deftly loosens the laces of my bodice. The thinner fabric of my blouse is no barrier, and his nimble fingers elicit a moan that I don't entirely bite back. The hand on the back of my thigh now urges me to move forward and, beguiled by its mate, I do. A quick fumble and he lets out a breath before giving me a cocky smile.

His hands switch places; the one that had been teasing my breasts now seeks out my other thigh while the other hand picks up where he left off. When I lean back to better balance myself, I can feel the shaft of his manhood hot against my buttocks. Before I have time to do more than glance at him curiously, his hands on the bare flesh of my hips urge me up and back. It doesn't take much to figure out what he's wordlessly suggesting, and I splay my hands against his chest for balance while I fumble blindly for the right angle. My first attempt goes wide, and the head of his member slides up between my folds to rub against the hot bud nestled there. We both freeze at the sensation, and I can't help bucking my hips a few times to repeat that delicious motion.

Slower now, I lift myself back up and manage to guide him inside me. He lets out a low groan as I ease back down, forcing him deep enough that I gasp with renewed longing. Gently, he tugs me back down for a kiss and I moan into his mouth, hips grinding against him, feeling him move inside me. One arm goes around me, holding me tight as he slowly rolls over, and somehow we wind up with positions reversed, his mouth hot on my breast, tongue teasing my nipple as he thrusts into me with controlled passion. When I moan his name, his abandons my nipple and gasps mine before ravishing my lips.

It never ceases to amaze me that even in the depths of passion, he remains gentle in that respect.

It does, however, surprise me to discover that I have both fists buried in his hair and am bucking a counterpoint to his rhythm. His breath grows ragged and he moans my name into my shoulder, nuzzling at my neck, but I have outpaced him and my desperate cries cease as shuddering pleasure floods me. He thrusts in a frenzy of effort at feeling me milk his length, and then stills as his own pleasure takes him. In the afterglow, he again rolls over so that I am half-laying on him, head on his shoulder and one leg draped almost possessively on his.

We lay like that for some time, sweat drying in the cool forest breeze.

“Oh, Tari, I love you.” He lavishes that molten adoration of his on me, one hand smoothing back a few strands of hair that have escaped my braid.

I decline to answer, instead choosing to snuggle closer. He chuckles, making my head bounce, and in mock-irritation I prop myself up on one elbow to fix him with a stern look. “What do you find so amusing, my lord?”

He grins, unrepentant again. “Just the irony of the two most powerful people in the kingdom lost in the woods, half-naked and dirty, because of a romantic picnic gone wrong.”

“Maple’s probably still where we left him, at least.”

“Which is…where exactly?” One eyebrow raises in a gentle reminder of the mad chase Duskwind led us on when a startled young wolf interrupted our picnic.

With a sigh, I push myself up to a kneeling position and start putting my clothes to rights. “I think you broke every bush between here and there. We should be able to find our way back before it gets too dark if we hurry.”

He groans as he sits up, wincing and holding his side. “Oog. Next time, the wolf can have the damned horse.”

 

 

It’s easy enough to follow the trail of abused underbrush back to the clearing where we’d left my gelding when his stallion spooked. Maple looks up from his grazing as Varian limps up to him to investigate the contents of the saddlebags, giving him a casual whuffle before returning to the more important business of cropping grass. I turn my attention to the picnic basket, which seems to be intact although the provisions have been ransacked by the wildlife.

“Fifteen copper and a silver half-crown,” Varian announces. “If we can find our way to Goldshire, that might buy us dinner and a bed, although neither will be very good.”

I take the half-crown from him and examine it in the dying light before tucking it into my bodice. “You might be surprised, my lord. Now, can you mount Maple and take the basket?”

One arm snakes around my waist and pulls me in for a fierce kiss. “If I can mount you, I can get on the damned horse,” he says roughly, but his eyes are laughing.

He knows better than to argue with me, at least, and when he is settled in Maple’s saddle I hand him the basket and take the reins. The game trail we followed in is easy enough to follow out, and the faint scent of woodsmoke on the breeze gives me a direction to strike off in when the trail forks. It’s not long before the trail becomes a path, and within an hour I am leading the horse along a packed dirt road. The lamplighter is just starting to make his rounds as we come into Goldshire, and I toss Varian a faintly triumphant look over my shoulder but say nothing.

The Lion’s Pride Inn is well-lit, and I tie Maple to a hitching post before extending a hand to help my stubborn husband down. He declines however, handing me the basket and gingerly dismounting on his own while I fish the half-crown out.

“Well, my lady, shall we try our luck?”

“Better let me do the talking.”

He grimaces. “I try to do that whenever possible anyway. After you, Tari.”

I curtsy to his half-bow and push open the door to the inn. The usual scents of beer and meat, smoke and sweat wash over me along with the dull roar of happy patrons. We get a few whistles, but no one cries out in recognition of their half-naked, battered king. Somewhere during the pursuit of Duskwind, the tie came loose from his hair and he looks like a wild man whereas I merely look like a peasant. The innkeeper is a middle-aged man, balding, and he doesn’t bat an eye at Varian’s appearance.

“Can I help you?”

“I would like a room for the night for myself and my husband,” I say crisply. “A private one, if you please, as well as a hot bath and a hot dinner to be served in the room. Oh, and someone to tend to my horse; the bay gelding with the sweet temper.”

“Let’s see your coin, then.”

I hold the half-crown up so that the portrait is clearly visible and upright.

“You must be jesting, miss-”

“It’s mistress, if you please.”

“Very well. You must be joking, mistress…?” He trails off, waiting for me to supply my name.

Inwardly, I grin. “Foxton.”

“Foxton. Not a common name around here.” He eyes me warily. “Where are you from?”

“Durnholde, in Lordaeron,” I say sweetly. “Although my brother is originally from Alterac Valley.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widen slightly, and he takes a second look at my glowering husband. “Might I see that coin again, Mistress Foxton?” he asks with admirable calm.

“Of course, Innkeeper…?”

“Farley.” He takes the coin and inspects the face on it, comparing it to Varian’s glowering visage. “…Your Majesties?” he whispers in disbelief.

“Horse spooked,” Varian mutters, embarrassed.

I grope for his hand and pull it forward so that Inkeeper Farley can see both Varian’s signet and my engagement ring. Silently, he hands the coin back.

“Let’s see then, Mistress Foxton. That was a stall and feed for your horse, my best room, a hot bath, and a hot dinner. We’ve got mutton and a side of beef if you’ve a preference…?”

“Either one so long as it’s hot,” Varian says. “Fresh bread if you have it, and some cheese.”

“Wine or ale, my…good sir?”

“Neither.”

“Very good. If you’ll follow me, please?”

 

===============

 

After enough beef to fill a starving wolf, a long soak, and a longer cuddle, my bruised husband falls asleep holding me like a child clutching a favorite toy. I lay awake for a while, fingers combing gently through his wild hair, before falling asleep myself.

We both come awake at the same time, just before a rooster crows somewhere.

“Bin mog g’thazag cha, Tari,” Varian mumbles, still half asleep.

I laugh and kiss his forehead. “Good morning to you, too, Varian.”

He stretches and winces. “And today we get to ride gloriously into Stormwind like a pair of vagabonds.”

“Maybe,” I say, smiling at the patter of light feet in the hall outside. When there is a knock at the door, I am not surprised.

“Mistress Foxton? Me Da says he sent a man off with your horse and a letter, and me Ma wants to know what your pleasure is for breakfast.” The piping voice could be either male or female.

“Hot corn-cakes with butter, and eggs scrambled with cheese on toasted bread, but not for an hour, and another hot bath ready around the same time, and tell your Da thank you,” I call back through the door.

Varian rubs his eyes as the child runs off. “May as well get this over with,” he grumps.

“You’ll feel better when you’ve warmed up.” I kiss him lightly and take his hands in mine, gently pulling him towards the door.

A stick of firewood substitutes for the sword he usually practices with in the morning, but his hair practically blinds him. After a few minutes I beckon him over and use the leather thong from my braid to tie his hair back. Some of the inn’s servants look a bit startled, but no one says anything. The bath has been prepared when we return to our rented room, and Varian disappears behind the screen to wash while I apply myself to my breakfast. While he eats, it is my turn to wash and I do so quickly, putting my dirty clothes back on with some distaste. As Varian is putting the last of the eggs out of their misery, the child’s footsteps come pattering up the hall again.

“Mistress Foxton? Me Da says you’ve a carriage waiting ‘round back where no one will see.”

“Thank your father for us,” Varian calls.

There is a quiet gasp from the other side of the door. “Yessir!”

The footsteps patter away, and I laugh. “Shall we go, my lord husband?”

He offers me his arm, every inch the battered half-naked gentleman, and I take it. “Indeed we shall, my lady wife.”

Innkeeper Farley is waiting by the carriage.

“I hope you don’t mind, your Majesties, that I took the liberty of sending my man to the castle.”

Varian unleashes the full force of his charming smile. “I wasn’t looking forward to walking all the way back, that’s for certain. My thanks, Farley.” He pauses. “Your wife scrambles a delicious egg, by the way. I would appreciate it if you would pass that along.”

“I’ll do that, your Majesty.”

“Good man,” Varian says once we are rattling our way out of Goldshire. “Keeps his head. Discreet. Clever. What would you suggest as a reward?”

I grin at him. “What would you have paid to keep from having to walk through Stormwind like a mountain man?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Well played, my lady. Well played.”