The horse bucked and jumped right off the road.
The laughter was loud and long as Orion struggled with his young, butter-colored stallion. That gave Desdra an idea, and she moved through the column, smacking any horse rump she came close to. Stefan was spared because he was her ally, and Dirk backed away when he saw what she was doing, but it made for utter hilarity as they plodded along the road toward Portbury Castle. Or not so much hilarity for those wrestling with startled warhorses, but Desdra and Stefan got a good laugh out of it.
Until Jareth came up behind her and snatched her right off her palfrey.
Before Desdra realized it, she was across Jareth’s thighs, her backside completely exposed, and he brought a gloved hand down on the general area of her buttocks. She was wearing suchheavy clothing, however, that it made more noise than it actually hurt, but Desdra howled.
“Fiend!” she yelled. He smacked her again, listening to the laughter of the men around him. “Vile creature! Put me down this instant!”
“Why?” Jareth said, grinning. “You thought it was very humorous to spank horses. Why is it not humorous to spank you?”
He whacked her again, not hard, but enough to make a loud sound, and she crowed with displeasure. Jareth laughed, especially when Stefan managed to make it up beside him and spank her himself. They had a fine time laughing at Desdra, sprawled across Jareth’s thighs with nowhere to go.
But this was how their relationship had developed.
And he loved every minute of it.
“Apologize,” he told her steadily. “Apologize for smacking my horse and for causing mayhem. Do it and I may be merciful.”
Desdra refused. She was hanging by his left leg, and as he lectured her and demanded apologies, she carefully pushed aside the mail coat and began to pull his breeches out of his boot. The boots were snug, so it took a bit of doing, but she managed to get the bottom of his breeches out of the boot, exposing the flesh of his leg. As hard as she could, she pinched him, and the man nearly sent her flying.
“Yow!” he boomed, pushing her pinching fingers away. “That bloody well hurt!”
More laughter in the group. The antics were hilarious. She wouldn’t back down and neither would he. But Jareth sought to punish her, albeit good-naturedly, and began to spin his horse around in circles as she screamed.
Of course, he had hold of her so she wouldn’t fall off. In all things, he would keep her safe, even when he was trying to scare her. Somehow, the jokes, the repartee, the bonding was underhis skin as if it had always been there. Moments like this were moments he’d never shared with anyone else, but there was no possible way he could tell her that. Or even express it.
But he was having the time of his life, unexpectedly so.
As he bounced Desdra around, he realized that she was trying to slither off. She was pulling on his saddle cinch, trying to gain leverage so she could fall headfirst to the ground. He stopped the horse and grasped the back of her bodice, pulling her upright, or at least somewhat upright. The moment he did so, she grabbed him around the throat with both hands and started squeezing. Not hard enough to actually do any damage, but more as an outlet for what he’d just done to her.
“No mercy,” she grunted, shaking him back and forth as much as she could. “Do you hear me? No mercy for you. Apologize for calling me a wench!”
He put up his hands in surrender as she pretended to choke him. “Mea culpa,” he said, eyes twinkling. “My apologies, lass.”
“Tell me that you did not mean it.”
“I did not mean it.”
“I am not convinced!”
“I swear, I did not mean it. Have pity, my lady.”
She stopped squeezing, stopped shaking, and gazed into his eyes. They were incredibly close to one another, probably more than they should be, but they both just sat there and grinned at one another. God, it was wonderful. The warmth, the friendship, all of it wonderful. Jareth had the urge to kiss her, an urge he’d had frequently over the past few days, but as always, he refrained. He was afraid to. Afraid of what would happen.
Afraid he’d lose his soul to this fiery slip of a woman.
But that was his last coherent thought before chaos descended.
Jareth heard the noise before he ever felt the blow. A high-pitched sound, and he knew exactly what it was. Putting a big,gloved hand on Desdra’s head, he suddenly shoved her down just as an arrow slammed into his left shoulder, right where she had been sitting. The blow from the projectile was a heavy one and knocked him sideways. He was still holding on to Desdra, however, and she fell with him. He hit the ground first with her on top of him, cushioning the fall.
Arrows were flying everywhere.
The Six, along with Hugh, were spurred into action. Stefan and Aidric were the closest to Jareth, and they leapt from their horses to drag him to safety while Hugh, Britt, Dirk, and Orion headed toward the source of the projectiles—only to run headlong into a small group of outlaws just inside the tree line. As Aidric and Stefan dragged Jareth into the safety of the trees, with Desdra helping them as much as she could, they could hear the sounds of battle.
“Go,” Jareth said, irritable and in pain. “Go and help the others. I will hold for now.”
They weren’t listening. They were both inspecting the arrow, noting that the tip was protruding from the other side of Jareth’s body. They could feel it through his mail.
