Nestor, go load the wagon. I’ll drive it to the lake, myself.” He stomped from the room, his shoulders hunched and fists clenched.
“His days are numbered here,” Peleus remarked. “Lord Petros won’t stand for such behavior.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll load rancid meat on that wagon,” Nestor said. “I saw what Lord Petros did to those guards yester eve and I’ve no desire to follow them to an early grave.”
“Throw a few pieces atop the pile so Pavli will smell it. I’m with you. I’ll not do anything to set the Revenants on my ass!” Peleus asserted.
* * * * *
Khamsin was asleep on his settee when Lucien returned. His footsteps were heavy, lethargic, but he walked past his beckoning bed and went to stand over her. He smiled, for she presented such a sweet picture of naiveté and beauty. Her hands were clasped together and pressed beneath her cheek. Her knees were drawn up, her pale hair flowing over her left hip in wayward curls. She was sleeping so soundly he hated to wake her so he laid his hand lightly on her head and closed his eyes, willing her into a deeper sleep that would allow him to pick her up and carry her to his bed undisturbed. When he thought her under as far as he’d sent her, he bent over, and scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bed. Gently he laid her down, stripped off his shirt and britches, and then stretched out beside her.
He lay there for a moment, thinking. Khammie was too innocent yet for her to wake and find a naked man lying close to her. As much as Lucien hated the underwear he was wearing, he had to admit to himself that it did serve a purpose now and again. He cradled Khamsin in his arms and allowed the lulling effects of the rising sun to put him to sleep.
It was the heat of something heavy draped over her waist that woke Khamsin a few hours later. She felt weighted down, unable to move and when she lowered her hand to the weight pressing against her, she realized it was a man’s hairy arm. For the space of a moment, she froze like a deer in a bright light but then memory crept back to her and she realized whose arm it had to be. Carefully, she turned over and found herself almost nose to nose with Lucien.
She stared into his face and was fascinated by his sheer male beauty. His dark hair was tousled attractively around the slight oval of his features. Long, sweeping eyelashes any woman would kill to possess fanned his high cheekbones. Full lips, a slight cleft in his chin, tiny groove lines to either side of his mouth where she knew dimples appeared when he smiled, and a nose that was the perfect size for his face added to the attractiveness. A mole on his right cheek caught her attention and she thought it made him look vulnerable and more human.
Her gaze moved lower to take in the chiseled muscles that bulged on his biceps and chest, and striated his abdomen. His chest was matted with curly hair that stretched from manly breast to manly breast then down a smooth line to below the deep indention of his belly button. The wicked scars—very white against his darker complexion—were half-hidden beneath the arm she had removed from atop her. His hand looked so strong with long, tapered fingers and very short nails that were clipped short and were clean. Dark hair grew on the back of his hand and she found that endearing, catching herself before she reached out to touch it. Looking down, she saw his long, muscular legs were likewise pelted with just the right proportion of fine dark hairs.
She lay there and watched him sleep for quite some time but nature’s call finally invaded and she scooted carefully from the bed. Going into the bathing chamber, she realized the candle she had placed in the dark room had gone out and she couldn’t find the toilet. There was no window in the bathing chamber so she had to fumble her way until she found the porcelain stool. Sighing, she hiked up her gown and sat down, bracing her chin on the heel of her hand
“His days are numbered here,” Peleus remarked. “Lord Petros won’t stand for such behavior.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll load rancid meat on that wagon,” Nestor said. “I saw what Lord Petros did to those guards yester eve and I’ve no desire to follow them to an early grave.”
“Throw a few pieces atop the pile so Pavli will smell it. I’m with you. I’ll not do anything to set the Revenants on my ass!” Peleus asserted.
* * * * *
Khamsin was asleep on his settee when Lucien returned. His footsteps were heavy, lethargic, but he walked past his beckoning bed and went to stand over her. He smiled, for she presented such a sweet picture of naiveté and beauty. Her hands were clasped together and pressed beneath her cheek. Her knees were drawn up, her pale hair flowing over her left hip in wayward curls. She was sleeping so soundly he hated to wake her so he laid his hand lightly on her head and closed his eyes, willing her into a deeper sleep that would allow him to pick her up and carry her to his bed undisturbed. When he thought her under as far as he’d sent her, he bent over, and scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bed. Gently he laid her down, stripped off his shirt and britches, and then stretched out beside her.
He lay there for a moment, thinking. Khammie was too innocent yet for her to wake and find a naked man lying close to her. As much as Lucien hated the underwear he was wearing, he had to admit to himself that it did serve a purpose now and again. He cradled Khamsin in his arms and allowed the lulling effects of the rising sun to put him to sleep.
It was the heat of something heavy draped over her waist that woke Khamsin a few hours later. She felt weighted down, unable to move and when she lowered her hand to the weight pressing against her, she realized it was a man’s hairy arm. For the space of a moment, she froze like a deer in a bright light but then memory crept back to her and she realized whose arm it had to be. Carefully, she turned over and found herself almost nose to nose with Lucien.
She stared into his face and was fascinated by his sheer male beauty. His dark hair was tousled attractively around the slight oval of his features. Long, sweeping eyelashes any woman would kill to possess fanned his high cheekbones. Full lips, a slight cleft in his chin, tiny groove lines to either side of his mouth where she knew dimples appeared when he smiled, and a nose that was the perfect size for his face added to the attractiveness. A mole on his right cheek caught her attention and she thought it made him look vulnerable and more human.
Her gaze moved lower to take in the chiseled muscles that bulged on his biceps and chest, and striated his abdomen. His chest was matted with curly hair that stretched from manly breast to manly breast then down a smooth line to below the deep indention of his belly button. The wicked scars—very white against his darker complexion—were half-hidden beneath the arm she had removed from atop her. His hand looked so strong with long, tapered fingers and very short nails that were clipped short and were clean. Dark hair grew on the back of his hand and she found that endearing, catching herself before she reached out to touch it. Looking down, she saw his long, muscular legs were likewise pelted with just the right proportion of fine dark hairs.
She lay there and watched him sleep for quite some time but nature’s call finally invaded and she scooted carefully from the bed. Going into the bathing chamber, she realized the candle she had placed in the dark room had gone out and she couldn’t find the toilet. There was no window in the bathing chamber so she had to fumble her way until she found the porcelain stool. Sighing, she hiked up her gown and sat down, bracing her chin on the heel of her hand
Similar Books
