Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

a disgruntled and hungover Sergeant Yachi in command at the Palace. He and his small compliment of half a dozen Guards clattered over the canal bridge in a tight bunch. At the far side, Rhiomard gave a crisp command and they wheeled about.

The Captain stood on the stirrups and snapped off a perfect salute in the direction of the Palace. A tall indistinct figure in blue waved a farewell from behind a window in the royal apartments. All the way out of the city, the Guards argued in muttered asides.

It was Her Majesty.

No, it wasn’t. It’s a routine patrol. Why would she do that?

His usual gruff self, Rhio refused to be drawn.

It was all very odd.

There was a new recruit, a slim lad who sat his horse awkwardly and in silence, but no one had the balls to remark upon it. Not only did the young man stick close to Rhiomard, but he handled a quarterstaff as if to the manner born and carried two knives in forearm sheaths. His dark eyes never left the Captain, but Rhio accepted the hero worship with his usual calm.

Three days out of Caracole, the youth removed his helmet to shake out a waterfall of coal black hair. When he belted his loose tunic to reveal tight high breasts and a slim waist, it became apparent that Lucky Rhio’s fortune still ran true. Only Corporal Kano appeared unsurprised.

By the fifth day, everyone knew the woman was sharing the Captain’s tent. Fraternization was an abuse of rank. A couple of the veterans became profoundly uneasy until the youngest Guard, who happened to be female, pointed out that Rhio’s woman wasn’t a Guard and never would be. There was something wild and fierce about her, too free for discipline. No one knew her name, or where she’d come from, and the information was not volunteered.

By the time the dark bulk of the mountains reared out of the plains in the far distance, the troop had grown accustomed to the woman’s unobtrusive presence. She rarely spoke, but she pulled her weight with the camp chores, rode long hours without complaint. Even more to the point, their imperturbable Captain was crazy about her. It was pretty funny, but as far as the Guards were concerned, what Lucky Rhio wanted, he got. Without precisely intending to, they fell every day into a tight formation, the Captain’s woman riding in the middle, protected on all sides.

Amae had never seen a village, only the desert and the big cities. She looked around with interest. Holdercroft on the Cressy Plains had a market square and a single rutted main street, with a wooden boardwalk. But the buildings were well kept and several had small gardens or flower baskets hanging from the eaves.

Rhio brought them to a rattling halt at a sprawling structure that appeared to be a tavern.

A tall shadow loomed in the doorway, the man ducking his head to avoid the lintel as he came out onto the boardwalk.

“Well, well,” he said. A slow grin. “By the Brother, Rhio, it’s good to see you.”

“I got your letter, John.” Rhio dismounted and met him halfway so they could indulge in the required hand shaking and back slapping.

John turned his head and Amae froze in the saddle.

Rhio touched her knee. “You’ll be safe here,” he said.

“Property of Pasha Imaran Indivar Imalani,” she whispered, her voice a thread. She slid to the ground. “How did you—?”

“A long story,” said John calmly. He arched an enquiring brow. “So you can read a slave tattoo?” He glanced at Rhio. “Not many in these parts who can do that.”

“Later.” Rhio slipped an arm around Amae’s waist. “Where’s Meg? Is she well?” His voice was warm with affection and concern.

Amae stiffened. Meg? Who was Meg?

John’s dark eyes softened. “Only a couple of months to go. She can barely waddle. Come on in, all of you.”

Go or stay.

He couldn’t put it off any longer.

In the private bathhouse attached to the tavern, Rhio lowered himself into the deep, steaming tub, watching as Amae bent to unfasten her sandals. So innately graceful, so proud and strong. She’d only just tasted true freedom. Who was he to fetter such a spirit?

But he was a soldier, a professional taker of calculated risks. He’d put his life on the line times without number. What was this but one more roll of the dice? He’d survive.

Right. Of course. No problem.

Amae turned, a bottle of something in one hand and all over again, the totality of her hit him like a fist in the guts, stealing his breath.

She sauntered closer, smiling at him through lowered lashes, enjoying her power over him, the little witch. Unable to help himself, his gaze zeroed in on the pouty lips of her sex, silky-soft and bare. Fuck, he was so lost.

“Your shoulder hurts, yes?”

She climbed in behind him and slapped a handful of something perfumed like distilled flowers on his skin.

“I’ll smell like a girl,” he rumbled, wrinkling his nose.

Her strong fingers probed the sore spot on his back, pressing unmercifully. Rhio gritted his teeth, waiting.

“Yes,” she teased. Sharp teeth nipped his earlobe. “A great big girl.”

Blessed relief flowed through aching muscles as the knot released. He dropped his head back to rest on her shoulder. “Gods, that’s better.”

One last time before he gambled the rest of his life.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

He arranged her on his lap, kissing her deep and slow, an endless melding of mouths that made his brain melt and his balls contract with longing.

“Rhio?”

“Mmm?” Which breast tasted sweeter? It would take him a lifetime to decide.

“What is Meg to you?”

Rhio froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Why do you care?”

A feminine growl. “Answer the question.”

“She is the wife of my friend John, soon to be the mother of his child. A beautiful woman, good and true. My friend also.”

Eyes darker than a desert night burned into his soul. “And?”

How did women do it? Rhio capitulated. “I thought I loved her once. Now I know