Lady Tesmer's movements made her lord growl with pleasure and grin at her. She smiled back, then took his lips in her own and kissed him every bit as aggressively as minstrels always insisted conquering lords forced kisses from captive wenches.
When their lips parted again, both of them had to gasp for breath, but Irrance Tesmer couldn't keep a widening grin off his face. His lady moved under him again, making him groan with delight and setting him to moving, too. Rocking, slamming into her.
As that surging rhythm built, he gasped, "Let me… let me say this my way, Tel. The Hammerhands are dead; the father, or vanished; the daughter, and their warcaptains are enraged at that. Too furious with Lyrose to have anything to do with us but loose arrows our way if we dispute with them or bar them passage; they're bent only on besieging Lyraunt and taking it. They carve up dead Lyrose warriors and send the flesh into Lyraunt tied to flaming arrows, and they slaughter Lyrose horses and roast them under the Lyraunt walls. Word is that House Lyrose is now reduced to just mother and daughter. Magrandar and his last and most worthless son, Pelmard, are both dead."
Telclara Tesmer frowned. "So how then are the men of Tesmer caught up in this? It would seem to me that until Hammerhand exterminates Lyrose or dies in the trying, they have no time for us."
"True," her husband admitted, looking away from her fierce gaze for a moment, "but I… I am weak. I could not resist."
"Resist what?" Lady Tesmer could not quite quell a sharp edge from creeping into her words.
"Sending our best bowmen to watch the siege from afar, and slay the best of their warcaptains and boldswords-just a handful I've marked, mind-with well-placed arrows."
"Their best officers."
"Yes," he murmured, bowing his head as if expecting a storm of her fury to explode in his face.
Two strong hands caught hold of his ears and dragged his face down to meet hers. She kissed him hard-and bucked under him, harder, until he exploded with a roar of release.
"Gods above and below, Ranee, but I'm proud of you!" she panted, eyes shining. "Just the right thing to do! Keeping our blazon out of sight and no arrayed Tesmer force for Hammerhand to glare at, yes?"
"Yes!" he panted happily. "Exactly thus, yes!"
She twisted and arched under him then, moaning and biting her lip, and her hands tightened like claws on his shoulders. Irrance Tesmer found himself gripped firmly in many places at once, and froze just as he was, sweating happily as he grew the beginnings of a fierce grin.
Under him, his lady growled low in her throat, like an angry hunting cat, her fingernails raking him. It was a sound of pure pleasure, loud and long.
He flinched not under her clawings, but kept still and silent, holding her until they both calmed back to gentleness-which was when she interrupted her own slowing pants to say smilingly, "So now tell me what you're keeping back from me. What darker thing haven't you said yet?"
Her lord stared at her, then shook his head and laughed ruefully. "You're beyond the Falcon, Tel, you are! How did you…"
"I've been reading your face and voice quite well for more than a score of years now, Irrance Tesmer," his lady replied meaningfully. "Now give, Ranee."
"I just did," he jested, then met her mock-angry gaze with a raised finger and the graver words, "Earlier this night, and I tell you true now, some of our bowmen watched the Hammerhands howling at the walls of Lyraunt Castle-and as we put arrows into a few Hammerhand backs, lorn flew out of Lyraunt and commenced to savage the Hammerhold knights."
"Malraun," Lady Tesmer said quietly. "Sending them at the last to try to salvage something while his spell-might and attention remain elsewhere."
Her lord nodded. "I saw it in that wise, too. It stands as proof of the danger you warned against, yes. Yet, Tel, I still hunger to be Lord of Ironthorn; I think I always will, until I am."
"Ah, but Lord of Ironthorn now, just in time for Malraun to arrive and blast and burn you, me, and all this vale? Or Lord of Ironthorn in some year to come when there is no more Malraun lording it across too much of Falconfar? I still say we must very soon be ready to flee into the Raurklor-all Tesmer folk, our warriors with us-if need be. Try not to get caught up in any wider fighting yet, so we can stand ready for anything."
Irrance Tesmer nodded. "You have always been the shrewder of we two, and any man can see the wisdom of being ready for anything. Yet tell me, if you would, the thinking that led you to this counsel."
Staring gravely up into her husband's eyes, Lady Telclara Tesmer murmured, "I see the Master's hand in this, but I've not yet seen what he desires. When he tells us, then we'll know if ruling Ironthorn is a stride ahead from us-or if our lives are going to be turned toward something else altogether."
Lord Tesmer nodded slowly.
"We've trusted him these many seasons," his wife added, "and are still alive and reigning over gem-mines that many a Stormar lord or Galathan velduke drools to have. We must trust him now."
"Do you trust any of our children?"
Lady Telclara Tesmer snorted. "Of course not." A look of disgust passed over her face, and she said, "We forge what tools we must, at the Master's command. Now love me again; I'd much rather not think of them."
Her lord grunted heartfelt agreement and lowered his head to her breasts again.
She chuckled and twisted under him, trying to buck him off. Mock-struggling, yes, but with surprising speed and strength. Lord Tesmer had to move in great haste to catch her wrists, then use all his strength to hold her down.
When their eyes met again, his were once more ablaze with delight.
"Hand me the flask. Making love to you is hot work, sister."
"Warmer than you anticipated?" Talyss Tesmer purred, stretching to let the moonlight trace her every sleek curve.
She was sitting up on their cloaks, settled into the curve of a tree-bough as sleekly at ease as if she'd been lounging on a grand chair in one of the great rooms of Imtowers. Looking down her shapely length, from lambent eyes to long, long legs, Belard Tesmer licked his lips all over again.
They were here, in this shady and spell-guarded hollow far out in the Raurklor, to scheme. Nigh the tiny, tinkling headsprings of the Imrush, in a dell half-cloaked with overhanging tree boughs, surrounded by the invisible fires of the strongest ward-magics they both carried. Wards to keep prowling beasts at bay as they honed their plots over wine-and, it had turned out, a little love-making. Coupling with each other for sheer pleasure despite being brother and sister.
"Relieving my burning itch," Talyss had termed it.
The wine and their excitement had spurred it, but it was more than sheer release. Both of them had been hungry for it, and more than hungry, feeling the lack of skin on skin. Neither dared trust any non-kin-or anyone else of the blood Tesmer, for that matter-enough to play the bareskinned bedmate, no matter where or when.
Now sated, it was time to relax, sip wine, and discuss what to do.
In a single smooth, graceful movement, Talyss Tesmer took up the flask and conveyed it to her younger brother's waiting hand. Her movement was swift, but seemed languid, not hurried. Her movements always seemed languid.
The youngest and most vicious of the three Tesmer daughters, she was less than a year older than dark-haired, handsome, sardonic Belard, scourge of young lasses everywhere he rode-and their mothers, too.
She smiled now at that thought, still aglow; he'd been every bit as good as his reputation, and much, much better than she'd expected. It seemed there was one Tesmer, at least, who knew how to use his tongue for more than mere foe-lashing.