“I can hardly believe I did that with so many to witness it. I thought of Amma telling me not to give people permission to treat me poorly. And after so many insults . . . I just reacted.”
Kipp’s brows rise. “Did any seem surprised? If they did, they mustn’t know you well, Aedre.”
My jaw drops in mock anger. “I’ve not once slapped a man before.”
Kipp chuckles. “’Tis not what I’ve heard.”
“Och, that was not a slap. ’Twas a punch. And Agnar deserved it.”
Vanni kisses the hand of the white-haired but still somewhat attractive woman he’d been dancing with before coming toward us.
“He is not a man for you, Aedre.”
I realize I’ve been caught staring again.
“Of course he is not. Vanni will be leaving soon.”
“Vanni,” he mutters. And for the first time I wonder how Kipp will react to learning the king who cast him aside as a babe treated Vanni as a son. I can’t imagine it will please him.
“You would like him, I believe. If you give him a chance. He reminds me of you.”
The sound Kipp makes is not a pleasant one.
“I am nothing like the Curia Commander.”
In many ways not. And yet, they share a deep sense of honor and loyalty. Of commitment to the causes they support. Still, it is clear they’ll never be friends, at least not tonight, so when Vanni approaches us, I suggest we take our leave.
“There is no need,” Kipp interrupts. “I will see Lady Aedre home.”
Vanni says nothing but looks to me instead.
“Nay, you will not. This feast is for you, you stubborn goat. I will be well taken care of.”
Kipp does not back down. “I am afraid of as much.”
“Ugh.” I shove away from him and start toward the door. Thankfully, Vanni follows me. I would take my leave from Lord Bailor, but he is currently dancing with his wife. Instead, I find the steward.
“Please give Lord Bailor our thanks for such a wonderful feast.”
The steward grins. “And many thanks for the entertainment, Lady Aedre.”
I once assisted the steward’s wife when she fell ill with standard healing practices, and he has not stopped thanking me ever since. In truth, I’d been terrified as it was the very first time I treated someone without Amma by my side.
“They will be talking about that slap for some time,” I comment to Vanni as we walk toward the entrance.
“I should think so.”
Something has changed in his tone. Looking up, I see that my companion, who has been so pleasant and cheerful all eve—with the exception of the Father Beald incident, of course—is much more serious now. Nay, not serious but thoughtful.
And I think, as a Garra, I know what that look is about. My core clenches as I consider our ride back to the village, of Vanni’s hand clenched around my waist. Of his whispered words in my ear. I know not how this eve will end, but I do know the feast was just the very beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vanni
“I would not have you take me home just yet.”
If I thought the ride to Anbarth Castle difficult, this ride has been pure hell. I could never have predicted the events of the evening, all of which have made it nearly unbearable to have Aedre so close to me.
With the future so uncertain for my country, my king, I know at least one thing for sure.
I’ve fallen for this beautiful, feisty healer who has as much courage as the men I lead. I crave her touch. Her gaze. Her words. Every time Aedre looks at me, I want to pull her to me and claim her as my own.
But I have no such claim. Nor will I ever.
And now this, when I’ve tried so very hard to be respectful. A gentleman.
I know what I should do—say no. Take her back to her father. To her grandmother. To safety. And yet, I find myself saying, “Where would you have us go, if not home?”
“The rocks? ’Tis nearly a full moon.”
Indeed, which makes it easy to ride without the benefit of a lantern. But the moonlight, along with the sound of water striking against the cliffs we pass, creates a near magical atmosphere, one which will make it harder yet to stay away from her.
The loveliest faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy.
My trainer, Albertus, had many sayings. Matteo and I often asked him where he’d acquired them. In answer to our questions, he would only reply, “From life.”
“Vanni?”
Lulled into distant memories of the past, I tighten my arm around Aedre.
“Tell me your thoughts,” she says quietly.
She truly is an expert at reading moods. At least my moods.
“I thought of Albertus. And of Matteo.”
“You’ve not said much about him.”
Because talking about the Prince of Meria would be akin to admitting he is gone, forever. Which, of course, he is. Along with so many others.
“A highly skilled swordsman, he is . . .”
Was. No longer is.
“He was quick to temper at times, but otherwise he was very much like his father. Kind. Loyal. The blood of kings ran through him, and no one could deny it. He would have made a fine leader.”
“You must have lost so many people you knew that day.”
My fist clenches over the reins.
“I should have been with them, but Galfrid insisted both Ren and I stay behind to prepare for a possible counter-attack. One that is still likely coming.”
“Ren?”
The slope gives way to flatter ground as we approach the village.
“He is second commander. Also a member of the Curia.”
“And you think Edingham will still attack?”
If only I knew for certain.
“If they do not, certainly Queen Cettina is planning something. We attempted to send over two hundred men to her shores. It matters not that her Borderers gave us just cause.”
“I’ve heard the queen harbors problems of her own.”
“You are well-informed.”
I make a fateful turn, tugging on Dex’s reins just slightly.
“The return of her sister and brother-in-law will not prevent a counter-attack, I don’t believe. As much as I wish she were distracted by them. I fear dark days ahead if . . .”
I hate that Aedre is involved in this. But there’s no denying her close relationship with Kipp, even though, after this eve, I am reassured it is not a romantic one.
Why should that matter?
It should not. But it does.
“If Kipp does not return with you.”
In answer, I guide Dex to a hitching post and dismount. Reaching up, I take Aedre’s hand, neither of us commenting further on our destination. Tying off Dex, glad for the post given there are no trees nearby, I pat him on the neck and turn toward the water.
Aedre falls in step with me, and though I itch to give her my hand once more, she navigates the rocks easily without me. Finally, we arrive at our rock. Unable to resist any longer, I take her hand with the intention of helping her to arrange her gown beneath her.
Instead, I pull her toward me, giving in to the temptation that has taunted me from the very moment she walked into the courtyard at the inn this eve. I kiss her with all of the need and longing that has built up inside me, barely waiting for her mouth to open before I plunge inside.
Our tongues tangle, her reactions are anything but timid, as if she, too, has been waiting for this from the start. I’m the one who pulls away.
“I vowed to protect you. Even from me.”
Aedre is not playing this game.
“I don’t want protection from you, Vanni.”
Pressing myself against her, I try to make her understand.
“You may not want it, but you need it. I will be leaving—”
She presses her finger to my lips.
“I’d know some measure of pleasure from a man I . . .”
“. . . desire,” she finishes.
Desire.
It is enough, I suppose.
“I am not so innocent to believe there is just one way for a man and woman to find pleasure.”
Of course she isn’t. But having no experience with a woman who is both a virgin and a Garra, I’ve no notion of how to proceed without offending her.
Waves crash along the cliffs in the distance, the water’s edge not reaching us this far back.
“This is no bedchamber. And I’m no despoiler of virgins, Aedre.”
Especially not you.
“Kiss me, Vanni.”
I would do that, and so much more. Kiss her. Be inside her.
Love her.
He wars with his sense of honor, but I’ve no more patience for it. So I pull Vanni’s head toward mine. When our lips meet this time, I know they won’t part anytime soon. His tongue tangles with mine, and all at once, Vanni’s hands are everywhere. As gulls cry above us, the gentle protector becomes something more.
A warrior.
Intent on winning . . . me. But Vanni does not realize his battle is already won. I’m so enjoying every nip and lick of his lips that it’s only when the breeze reaches my bare thigh that I realize he’s managed to pull up the hem of my skirts.
The very intimate touch should be shocking to me. Instead, I only feel excitement and a rush of warmth between my legs. And then, before I can form a coherent thought, his hand is there.
Cupping me.
When Vanni’s groan reverberates through our kiss, I press against him, emboldened by the knowledge that I too am bringing him pleasure. It drives me to kiss him harder, faster.
And then his fingers enter me, slowly at first. His fingers match the rhythm of our kiss perfectly, Vanni every bit as much of an expert at this as he is at combat.
Every thrust is an answer to my years and years of questions. Why are so many afraid of me, my grandmother, my ancestors? Why does Father Beald threaten me so? Why does the very idea of healing hearts and exploring love scare so many?
This is why. We feel more keenly than others, and even for those not so in tune with the healing arts of love surely must understand this as the most incredible feeling in the world.
I whimper against his onslaught, my body clenching in response. Tighter and tighter as his palm rests against me. Presses while his fingers continue to tantalize.
Unable to withstand the intensity any longer, I give over to it. Separated from my body, if only for a moment, I cry out and pull away, even as I press into his hand. Vanni watches me, I realize.
That watching is my undoing.
Exploding into him, I struggle to breathe.
The corners of his mouth tug upward, his sweet smile at odds with what he’s so deftly done to me. When he lowers his hand and rearranges my dress, letting it fall to the ground, so many thoughts flit through my mind. Many of which I dare not utter aloud, for I have learned to trust my intuition, and I know no other man can do to me what Vanni has done just now.
“How do you feel?” he asks softly.
As if I can answer such a question simply.
He cups my face in his hands.
“I would give you that, and more, were I able, Aedre.”
Why are you not able?
The question lingers on my lips. I do not voice it aloud, however, as I already know the answer. I may have captured a very small piece of Vanni’s heart, but the whole of it belongs to the king.
His father’s mentor.
The man who raised him.
And who could possibly compete with a king?
Certainly not I.
Still pulsing from his ministrations, his hands now gentle where they were powerful and commanding just a moment ago, I struggle to get out the words.
But I do, nonetheless.
“And I would take it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vanni
“Grab your opponent’s arm and strike with your pommel or guard. Be sure to trap their forearm with your second arm, like this.”
Agnar is a more patient student than I expected.
As it has been for the past several days, a crowd has gathered to watch our practice. The fishermen have left the inn’s courtyard already, off to sea, but enough men remain to give us an audience. But I ignore them as I instruct the Voyager and my squire both.
“Slip the blade against their forearm.” Agnar does so to Christopher.
“Use your second hand,” a voice booms behind me, “to hold the blade while striking. Or slicing.”
Kipp.
A most unexpected guest for our training. Aedre had said he would send for me today, but I hadn’t expected him to appear here at the inn, especially not so early . . .
Galfrid’s son is full of surprises.
Agnar doesn’t hesitate to do just as Kipp suggested, which tells me all I need to know of Kipp in terms of how the others see him. Voyagers are not quick to follow orders.
“Can you trip or kick your opponent while holding the blade?”
I look at Kipp, who nods. “Aye. You can, and should, do whatever is necessary to win.”
“See if you can practice that maneuver with my squire,” I suggest.
Agnar grins at Christopher in a way that makes me wonder if leaving the lad with him is ill-advised. He will quickly learn the men of Murwood fight differently than Southerners.
“I’d not expected you here.”
Kipp, still leery of me, says nothing. Instead, he walks toward the door of the inn. He pauses before it, looking at me, but at my nod, we head inside.
At this hour, few patrons frequent the hall. By midday, it will be filled with fishermen and those who earn a living along the quay. My men and I are the only visitors, Sailor’s Inn more like a tavern most days than a lodging for travelers.
“Two ales?” the innkeeper calls to us. “Welcome home, Master Kipp.”
While Kipp greets the man, I lower myself into a chair at the table my men and I have sat at each day for meals. The day is warm, the inn’s shutters wide open, giving me a view of the docks.
What Murwood lacks in color—in d’Almerita bright reds and oranges are everywhere even during winter months—it makes up for in fresh sea air and a grit that I can admire. There are fewer luxuries here, but I’ve never had much need for anything.
Until now.
As Kipp talks to the innkeeper, who pours our drinks, I think of last eve. Of Aedre. Of her expression when she came apart in my hands. And of her words.
I would take it.
When I said I wished to give her more, I meant it. For the first time in my life, I find myself yearning for something other than a peaceful Meria.
“A meeting,” Kipp says, slamming a tankard in the middle of the table. “For Aedre.”
The message is clear: if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have accepted this meeting. There’s a stubborn edge to this man, and for the first time I let myself acknowledge this might not happen. He might not come.
You must try.
Though the only other people in the hall are the innkeeper, two servants, and two older men sitting clear across the room, I lower my voice, getting straight to the point.
“I know Aedre told you of the shipwreck. Two hundred men perished, including the prince.”
“Two hundred men to attack Edingham?”
His tone reeks of disapproval.
“After Saitford was attacked in the middle of the night. A Borderer set fire to the village, claiming nearly half of those who lived there. Women and children included.”
When Kipp recoils at that, my hopes are buoyed a bit.
“Could the king not have appealed to Queen Cettina?”
The way he says “the king” leaves no doubt: Kipp hates his father. I cannot blame him for it, but Galfrid wishes to atone for his mistake . . . and the only way he can is if Kipp grants him an audience.
“Their last negotiat
ion left the very man responsible for the attack in charge of the Marches in Edingham.”
A buffer on both sides of the river had been agreed to, anger at the Highlanders for having left Meria lingering even so many years later often boiling to a bubble. Or sometimes spilling over the pot.
Kipp makes a sound of disgust. “You mean Death Mountains?”
A term I dislike.
“Calling them so incites the Borderers to the very kind of violence that saw so many innocent people die in Saitford.”
“Yet your king’s solution to the violence is more violence?”
“He makes decisions with the Curia’s input. If you disagree with them, blame me as well as Galfrid.”
Kipp shrugs. “Very well. Then you are equally culpable.”
“Unlike you, we do not have the luxury to be so separated from our enemy that they can be ignored.”
Though not impossible to cross, the Loigh Mountain are a natural barrier between Murwood and both nations. Murwood is easily reached by sea, of course. Yet they remain stubbornly independent from the rest of the Isle.
“We can debate the merits of the attack, but I can assure you, Master Aldwine, the character of the king’s nephew is not in question. None who know him think he will be anything but a disaster, both for the Kingdom of Meria and for those who are close to us. The king will never name him as heir.”
From Aldwine’s expression, it’s obvious he knows his cousin’s reputation well.
“Lord Hinton will take the throne by force?”
“He will not need to. The church sees his survival as a sign from God of his divine right to rule. In truth, it’s naught but a sign of his weakness. Hinton was on the vessel but disembarked before it sailed. They say he had no stomach for it after a night of drinking.”
If Aldwine was disgusted before, he is more so now.
“The Prima is a fool, his followers even more so for their blind allegiance to him. I’ve no qualms with the church’s teachings, but Father Silvester has led too many astray.”
I drink, not disagreeing with him. But many in Meria would do so. Unfortunately, some find it difficult to separate the flawed leadership of the church from the religion they practice.
The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1) Page 12
