by Jessi Gage
With hands on her shoulders, he set her away from him. The chill of separating from her bordered on pain. He refused to pay it heed.
“It will not work,” he said.
Her unfocused gaze came languidly back to attentiveness. “Hmm?” she said, touching her lips as though she could scarcely believe what they’d shared. An act, surely.
“I will not be seduced.” He released her and took a step back.
Her body swayed forward, as if seeking to restore contact with his. He would not allow himself to be fooled.
“I know where you lived in your Highlands,” he said. “What you did to survive. Your sister told me, hoping it would discourage me from—” He stopped.
He’d kept Seona in the chamber adjoining his, but he’d made no other attempt to inform her of his intentions. He’d not shared with her the fact she was promised to him by Danu in a sacred vision. He had determined not to burden her with such news while she hated him. Instead, he had resigned himself to slowly winning her trust and her heart. Knowing of her past did not dissuade him. Even if he did not love her the way he’d anticipated, he would still take her as his queen and bring new life into the world with her. This was Danu’s plan. Seona’s history with other men did not change the fact.
Seona frowned and sat back on her heels. Clearly, her body was fully mended. She showed no sign of pain or injury. The miracle of her life helped him keep a firm hold on his anger. He would be gentle with her.
“What I mean,” he began more calmly, “Is that I know you were a prostitute. I say this not to insult you, but to inform you that your skill at seduction will not work on me.”
She blinked wide eyes that held not an ounce of deceit. “Was I? How fascinating!” She spoke with unfocused eyes, as if to herself.
“You do not remember,” he said, surprised. Or was she pretending this too, like she pretended her newfound affection toward him? Anya had told many tales over the dinner table of bending the truth to her purposes and using her wits to accomplish her will. She’d admitted, in general terms, to bending men to her will as well, and Magnus had understood what she’d left unsaid—that she had used her body to do so. She had also mentioned that she’d learned such things from Seona.
Seona looked away and said, “My memory—seems to elude me just now.” Her brows drew together in an expression of frustration.
Concern drew him closer to the bed. Perhaps she was telling the truth. Perhaps this was a lingering effect of her fall. Studying her closely for subtle signs of injury, he said to Cadeyrn, “Find my physician.”
Just then, Daly entered with Ruben, one of the servant lads who attended the women in the Fiona Blath. They carried a hipbath between them. Julian, a servant in Glendall, brought a bucket of steaming water, and Alexander came in with two.
“I sent a lad to fetch Giles already, Sire,” Daly said as the lads poured the water. “I shall find out how soon he can arrive.”
Seona clapped her hands. “A bath! Oh, how heavenly!” Seeming to forget her consternation, she stepped gracefully from the bed and tested the shallow water with her fingers. No, not tested. Played with. She patted the water and splashed it lightly against the wall of the basin. Favoring Daly with a smile, she said, “How delightful! I forgot how wonderful water is. The sound it makes. The way it sparkles.” She laughed and beamed at Magnus. Then she dragged Ruben into a tight embrace. “My thanks. What a lovely treat you’ve brought me!”
With a panicked gaze Ruben sought Daly, who stared at the spectacle of a grateful, affectionate Seona. The head of household would not understand her words, since it was Magnus who held the translation stone, but judging by the shock on his face, he must be thinking the same thing as Magnus.
This was not the same Seona. The Seona who had enjoyed many baths in her time at Glendall, attended by Anya since she would not tolerate the presence of the servant lads. The Seona who refused to speak to anyone except her sister. The Seona who hated wolfkind one and all.
She released Ruben and wrapped Julian in her arms. Julian was quite a few years older than Ruben and of a height with her. Beneath his mop of black curls so like those of his brother, Riggs, his cheeks colored. “Pardon, my lady, but there’s more water to bring up.” He backed away from Seona and all but ran from the chamber with Ruben close behind.
“Precious,” Seona said. “How I’ve missed the children.”
“Daly,” Magnus said. “Quickly. Summon Giles again. Tell him it’s urgent.” The royal physician would discover what ailed her. Magnus would have to wait to interview her about her alliance with Bilkes until he knew she was healthy and of sound mind.
Unfortunately, not knowing when Hyrk might strike again, time was of the essence.
* * * *
Duff watched with amusement as an unladylike snort issued from the captive Seona. She reminded him greatly of her sister, Anya, whom Duff knew well, though she would not recognize him as Duff, Fae Lord of Darkness. If, however, he were to don his disguise as a mortal tinker who led a caravan of misfits, Anya would grudgingly acknowledge him as a friend, no doubt uttering her usual greeting, a curt “Gravois.”
Danu’s moonstone had led him to Anya, and just in time. If he’d arrived a day later, she might have died from her injuries, having fallen into a crevasse in her native Highlands. He was quickly learning that Seona was like her prickly and tenacious sister in many ways.
Glaring at his shadow through the bars, from the flawlessly beautiful face of his immortal friend, Seona spat, “What kind of fool would take a hoor for a wife?”
From his time with Anya, he’d known both sisters had served in a “bawdy house.” But Seona had disappeared from her post. As Gravois, he had helped Anya search for her sister. In the course of their travels, they’d visited establishments of pleasure across the Highlands and Lowlands, but no sign of Seona had been found. He now knew why—because she’d been in Bantus’s dungeon.
In answering her, he chose his words carefully. “One who has much to gain from such a union. And one who can provide much in return.”
“What can you possibly have to gain?” The question lacked venom. He had piqued her interest. “I have naught to offer. Even if I had a single possession to my name before coming to this place, I would have no means of laying hands on it. I suspect I am—dead.” Her voice was small now. Frightened.
“Perhaps you should be,” he said, sympathy tightening his chest. “But if that were the case, you would not be here in this physical place speaking with me. For I am very much alive. And I am very much a man in want of what you can provide.”
She didn’t know it, but she held within her Danu’s power, or at least what remained of it after she had created her moonstone, which would still be more power than a mortal could fathom. She would have no idea how to wield such power. In fact, if he managed to free her, she could be a danger, not only to herself, but to others. She could destroy entire realms in a fit of rage or sorrow or even joy.
If Seona agreed to wed him, that power would be his every bit as much as it was hers. He could use it to control her, to teach her. Once she’d learned, they could wield it together.
How he longed to get his hands on that power!
Not only could he break free from this fucking curse, but he could also challenge the one who had cursed him. The Fae King Arawn. What remained of Danu’s power would make them equals. Duff would stand a chance at defeating him. Then he could rule the Fae.
Instead of ruling with twin fists of power and fear, he would lead his people with fairness and affection. He would surround himself with those few friends who had never abandoned him, despite his being cursed to dwell in darkness. His court would be a place of loyalty and love, and the Fae would be stronger for it.
Of course, there was the problem of Danu. She would probably want her power back. That is, if she’d survived whatever Hyrk had done to Seona’s mortal body. She was his friend, after all. He could not simply steal her power from her.
; But it was not he who had caused this switch. Whatever magic had done it, that was the source of the theft. Not him. He merely sought to help Seona manage the power she’d been unwittingly saddled with. And to help himself in the process, of course.
He would deal with Danu when the time came. For now, he had enough on his hands. If Anya had taught him anything, it was that a suspicious Scotswoman was hard to win over. But once won, she would make a formidable ally.
“What I can provide,” she said flatly, recalling him to their tête-à-tête. “You mean tupping. I can provide a warm cunny. Is that your game?”
Images and sensations from long ago accompanied her words. Danu’s lithe body beneath him, her lips parted around a moan of pleasure, ecstasy racing through him as he embraced the carnal dance.
They were memories. And desires for the future. Only it wasn’t his friend he wanted to take his pleasure with. It was this wary, defiant human locked in her body.
“Yes,” he said, because Seona would understand such desires and because it was the truth. Just not the whole truth. “I have been without a woman a long time.” Truth again. And again not the whole truth.
“If I agree, you’ll free me?”
“That is my intention, yes, love. But you should know my plan may not work.”
“If it doesna, you’ll no be gaining access to my body.”
“That goes without saying.”
He waited while she considered his offer. A minute passed. Then two.
“What are you?” she asked. “Are you some wretched troll with pustules on his cock?”
It was his turn to snort. Arawn, in his jealousy, had cursed Duff so that no being, mortal or immortal, could look on his perfect face and physique ever again. And this woman compared him to a troll. “Do I sound like a wretched troll, love?”
She made a noise like a harrumph. He’d heard Anya make that noise when she was not impressed with something he had said. It brought a smile to his lips. “How am I to ken what a troll sounds like?”
His smile broadened. “I am no troll, dear. I am Fae, what your people would call the fair folk.” He saw no reason to keep it from her. In fact, he suspected a little honesty would go a long way with this woman.
“Y—you are Fae?” Her voice trembled with awe. “Your kind are immortal. Tricksters. What would ye want with a mortal like me?”
“Aye, love. I am a trickster. An immortal. I will not pretend with you. I have reasons for wanting to wed you that go beyond the carnal. But make no mistake. I do want your body. I will have your body. I also swear to protect your body and provide for you for all time.” She had the power to provide for herself, but she didn’t know that yet. She would understand the assurances of safety and provision. He knew this because he’d known Anya and the kinds of things she had valued. “You will not regret becoming my wife. This I vow. And, you should know, love, my cock is quite free from pustules. In fact, once you become acquainted with it I think you’ll rather enjoy it.”
“Cocky bastard, you are, aye? Ye make a bonny speech, but ye ken I am a used up hoor. I am worthless.”
He hated that word with fierce passion. “You are not worthless. No one is worthless. Each life has value. Without exception.” If he accomplished nothing else by marrying her, he would prove to this woman her own worth.
“Very well,” she said wearily. “Broken, then. No one of sound mind should want me, never mind one of the fair folk. Your kind are credited with otherworldly beauty and great power, no? Do you nay have a fairy lass, lovely and magical, to take as your wife?”
“No Fae woman will have me. I am cursed, shamed at the whims of our king.” Most marriages among his people occurred as part of the eternal battle for position. Once, he’d been a prime target for both men and women aspiring to the king’s court. He’d taken liberal advantage of the fact. But ever since Arawn’s curse marked him as the lowest of the low, he’d had no status to offer. How quickly his pool of bedmates had dwindled then. Without his looks, without his position in Arawn’s court, he’d been called worthless for centuries by his fellow immortals.
So he’d found worth in the mortal realm. Danu’s moonstone had provided the means—the disguise of an eccentric tinker. No immortal would consider Bastien Gravois as anything other than a mortal meddler with an interest in outcasts rejected by their own. Like him. The disguise had given him a way out of the darkness right under Arawn’s nose, and the self-absorbed king had never even noticed.
“Cursed?” she asked.
“I am chained to the darkness. It imprisons me as surely as these bars imprison you. No being can lay eyes on me, for darkness is my infallible, eternal cloak.”
During a moment of silence, he thought she wouldn’t respond. Or that she would respond with mockery. But she said quite soberly, “Peas in a pod, we are, aye? What did you do to earn such a curse?” She did not mock him. She did not judge him. This more than anything else revealed that despite her trials, a streak of compassion colored her soul.
“I seduced the Fae king’s concubine. He did not take his cuckolding with grace.”
“Men never do. Does that mean you were once a courtier to the Fae king?”
“Yes. Long ago.”
“Before the darkness,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yes.”
Seona fell quiet. She would be considering his proposal. He gave her the time she needed, knowing full well she would agree. The possibility of freedom would outweigh her wariness.
“I suppose we’ll be tupping with the lantern off, then,” she said at long last.
He grinned. “If I have my way, love, we’ll honeymoon on the brilliant shores of Faerie.” With her power flowing through him, Arawn’s curse would be nothing but a few millennia of memories. “Now, tell me how you managed to slip away from King Magnus.” Someone had to have helped her. He would find out whom and then he would be one step closer to finding the missing Hyrk and freeing his bride-to-be.
Chapter 7
Danu took feminine pleasure in Magnus fixing himself at her side while he issued commands to men who came and went from the bedchamber. His concern—clearly the result of the fall Seona had taken—rolled off him in palpable waves. But even more pleasing than the concern of a king was the joy in her heart at the sight of the children.
She couldn’t take her eyes off them. Three, ranging in age from perhaps thirteen to nineteen, brought bucket after bucket of steaming water for her bath. Every thought that ran through their heads showed on their expressive faces as they stole glances at her and at Magnus. Large eyes and rosy cheeks gave away their curiosity as they divided their attention between their task and their audience—except for one blond-haired lad, who carefully avoided looking in her direction or Magnus’s.
These children were among the youngest wolfkind alive. Of all the luxury around her—the ornate furnishings, the warm room, the scent of perfume in the bathwater—being in the presence of these rare little ones was what she treasured most.
It grieved her to recall Hyrk’s gloating over the thinning numbers of her people, especially the females. She’d been tempted not to believe him, but the proof was in the one power remaining to her in captivity. The burst of sheer joy in her breast accompanying a new birth occurred with pitiful infrequency compared to the pang signifying a wolfkind death.
Now that she was here, not merely able to observe her people but to move among them as a fellow mortal, she longed to witness their numbers for herself. She wished to learn how they’d changed in the centuries she’d been imprisoned. She wanted to see their homes, their trades, their feasts and celebrations, their way of worshipping her.
That was not all she wanted. The heat of Magnus, so close to her side and yet not touching her, sent carnal craving spinning like a water spout within her. Broad shouldered and golden maned, he stood with feet planted like a warrior charged with protecting her. His sharp eyes missed nothing as he commanded his servants, guards, and one gray-haired man in armor, whom she s
uspected was his war chieftain.
Magnus should have appeared out of his element, a warrior king amidst enameled furnishings, lavish silks, and delicate fragrances. A man with his authority should direct his men from a room smelling of armor polish and lined with racks of weapons. But he appeared every bit at ease amidst this feminine luxury as in a war room.
She couldn’t help remembering the kiss they’d shared. The moment of bliss had been as thrilling as it was ill-advised. She hadn’t been able to help herself. It seemed Magnus had been unable to help himself as well, at least at first. Then something had made him draw back. I will not be seduced, he had said.
Words meant to discourage her had instead filled her with a sense of challenge. We shall see about that, she’d thought until he’d intrigued her by mentioning Seona’s past. The poor human had gone from being a prostitute in the human realm to an abused captive in this realm. Danu drew trails with her fingers in the heated water as she wondered again what had become of Seona’s soul. Might the woman be captive again, this time in Hyrk’s dungeon?
Duff! Duff would know. He’d been there with her. If only she could summon him. As a goddess, summoning a Fae was as simple as speaking his name with intent. Even her moonstone had been able to do it once she’d tossed it from Hyrk’s cell. Lacking power, she would not be able to summon him now, but if she could find her moonstone, she could do it. If she found her moonstone, she could restore herself to her deity, but that would accomplish nothing but putting her back in her cell. No. What she needed now was information. She must find her stone and use it to summon Duff. But first, she would treasure the gift the children had brought her and take her first bath in two thousand years.
Magnus left her side, ushering one of his knights toward the open door. She took the opportunity to shed the silk robe he had provided her to cover her torn sleeping gown. The slide of the smooth fabric over her equally smooth shoulders and arms brought her newly-revived carnal awareness to the fore.
As Magnus gestured and conversed with his knight, his powerful back bunched and flexed beneath the fine linen of his shirt. His thickly-muscled thighs pushed at the pleats of his kilt. All his shapes and movements wove a spell of desire around her. Her body, borrowed and foreign, began to respond. Tingles of need circled like faerieflies in her midsection. Her thighs pressed together, capturing at their apex a trickle of moisture.
