Pathfinder's Way(87)

"Shea, wait. You can't let them do this," Paul desperately pleaded as he backed away.

Shea forced herself to watch as Paul's begging abruptly ended with a sword thrust to the stomach.

"Goodbye, Paul," she said softly.

It was over as quickly as the executions of Indra and her men. In the end, Cale was the only one left standing.

Fallon turned his horse and gestured for the men holding Cale to march  in front of him. They forced Cale to move, with him pleading and  screaming the entire time. Fallon and the rest of his men followed the  slow procession out of camp to the top of one of the nearby rolling  hills.

As they crested it, Shea saw a crowd waiting for them. All of the clan  leaders were present, watching grimly as Cale was led towards them.

Brightly colored rugs covered the grass. Cale was forced onto them while  the two men escorting him bound his hands behind his back and then did  the same with his feet.

Cale's pleas had fallen silent and his ragged breathing was the only sound.

The men laid him flat and then rolled him up in two of the rugs. They  wrapped several lengths of rope around the struggling form and stepped  back once he was properly secured.

Shea couldn't figure out what they intended or why Cale hadn't been killed back at the tents.

Seeing her confusion, Darius spoke quietly, "Since Cale is a member of  the warlord's family and the same blood runs in his veins, it would be  considered treason to spill it with steel. Instead, they roll him in  rugs to protect his skin. They'll pile rocks on top of him until he  suffocates or is crushed. This way the sanctity of the blood is  protected but those he put in harm's way will be avenged."

Shea watched as they began piling large stones on the form. Two men worked in tandem to complete their work.

"It is a brutal and long way to go," Darius said almost as an  afterthought. "I think I'd prefer to meet my end by the sword instead."

"I second that," Caden said.

Shea's gaze went to the back of Fallon's head. She could tell nothing  about his emotional state from here. Was he glad to be rid of the  traitor? Did he mourn for his brother? Did he feel nothing?         

     



 

She touched his back lightly. There was a barely perceptible flinch. Invisible to any of the onlookers.

Grief then.

It couldn't be easy to know your own flesh and blood had taken part in  repeated attempts on your life. Having to watch as someone you grew up  with be slowly crushed and suffocated must be agonizing.

Shea slowly slid her arms around his waist, ready to withdraw if he  indicated she wasn't welcome. When he didn't move to reject her, she  hugged him and slid forward pressing her front to his back and then laid  her cheek against his shoulder, offering comfort in the only way she  could in this moment.

So gently, she could almost believe she imagined it, he touched the top  of her hand in a brief caress before lacing his fingers with hers.

Together they waited as the body struggled less and less until it  finally went still. The men continued to stack the rocks until long  after all movement had stopped.

"That should be enough," Fallon said.

The men nodded and began to reverse the process, removing the stones one  at a time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they uncovered  the rug and cut the rope off before unwrapping it. The body rolled out,  its limbs flopping as if boneless.

Shea knew even before they checked the pulse Cale had drawn his last breath.

"He's dead, my lord."

Fallon nodded. "Bury him in the rug. He is no longer Trateri and will not be released from this world in our way."

The same two men gave him respectful nods and reached for the shovels lying next to the rugs.

One by one the onlookers drifted back down the hill, leaving only Fallon, his two friends and Shea behind to watch.

"Caden can give you a ride back to our tent," Fallon told her.

Her arms tightened, and she didn't hesitate. "I'll remain." The ‘with you' was added silently.

Together they waited as the men completed their task, one shovel full of  dirt at a time. Finally, the body was buried and Caden, Darius and the  other two departed.

Fallon dismounted and approached the grave. He knelt and bent his head, touching the freshly turned dirt before him.

His goodbyes, if he said any, were silent. After a long moment he stood,  grief etched in the way he held his body. Shea knew that had it been  any but her there in that moment he would have kept even that hidden.

The sorrow made him seem more like a man, with a man's emotions, instead of the lofty warlord that all held in high esteem.

Shea's heart hurt for him even as she rejoiced that the danger Cale  presented to the Highlands was ended. There were still the maps to  consider, but the immediate threat had been eliminated. All that held  her tied to the Trateri now were her own attachments.

Fallon mounted and they rode back to camp in silence. Once they reached  Fallon's tent, he helped her dismount before saying, "There should be a  bath ready for you inside. I have a few things to take care of before I  join you for the night."

He was gone before Shea could respond. She was left addressing thin air as he walked away.

She shut her mouth with a click and glanced at the two men standing guard on either side of the entrance.

Back to reality.

Shea sighed and headed inside. The inevitable confrontation she knew was coming would be easier once she was clean and fed.

The warm water beckoned. Shea stripped.

She caught her breath as her arm twinged when she tried to raise it  above her head, the skin pulling uncomfortably. It was painful getting  her shirt off and the same with her pants.

Only when she was standing naked in front of the tub full of warm water,  steam wafting off it, did she realize there was a problem. There was no  way she could submerge her arm and leg. Not with the depth of the cuts.  The one on her arm would probably be fine. It was shallow enough that  it would sting like acid was being poured into it, but the wound on her  leg was deep and would probably need stitches.

She settled for stepping inside and scooping the water up to let it  slide down her skin. Grabbing a sponge lying next to the tub on a stool,  she soaped it up and then lathered it on, wiping away the dirt and  blood before rinsing it off.

Once clean, she grabbed one of the fluffy white towels that had been left on another stool and dried off before dressing again.

Fallon walked in just as she was sitting down to eat the food that had  been laid out for them. She paused in the act of filling her plate.

He came directly to her, advancing into her space and leaning down. He  cupped her head in one hand, threading his fingers in her hair, bending  her face back and taking her lips in a kiss that set flame to her  senses.

He poured all of the stress, heartache and fury of the past day into that kiss until it fairly singed her lips.

Her hands dropped what they were holding and came up to grab his shirt  and pull him down hard, meeting his intensity with her own.         

     



 

The kiss built and built until the firestorm of passion boiled over and  they were clutching at each other. He picked her up and set her on the  table, stepping forward and parting her legs with his hips. Almost  feverishly he grasped her shirt and eased it over her head, being  careful of her wound. She let him, before doing the same to his.

Her pants followed and suddenly his lips were trailing down her neck to  pause and nip at the skin on her breasts. They continued their journey,  pausing to explore the dip of her stomach until finding their  destination at her center.

She cried out and arched as he settled down to play, licking and nipping with a single minded purpose.

"Fallon, please," she begged.

He ignored her, sucking hard. Just as her body clenched preparing for  the avalanche of a climax, he stood, taking away the sensation and  leaving her panting with need.

"Damn it," she swore.

He chuckled and pulled her up, sealing her lips with his. She could  taste herself on him before he cupped her bottom and guided his cock to  her entrance.

Slowly, unbearably slowly, he sank in. Shea dug her nails into his back and tried to urge him faster.

He grabbed her arms, being careful of her wound. "I set the pace. Not you."

"You're going to kill me," she told him.

The change in pace from fast and urgent to slow and unhurried was driving her mad.

"What a sweet death it would be," he teased.

She gave a small scream and struggled to move, trying to fuck herself on  him. He pinned her, tilting her back and making it impossible to move  without risking falling.

She stilled and looked up at him. He looked back, tenderly, fiercely, with just a hint of wicked playfulness behind it all.

He was enjoying this. He was enjoying sending her into a frothing fury of need. The bastard.

Only when he was sure she knew just who was master in this moment, did  he begin to move. At first slow thrusts that had her gasping for air.  After only a couple, he adjusted his angle until he began bumping a spot  inside her that sent every muscle in her body clenching with need.