by Jessi Gage
She frowned. It should not be so. Her love for her people had always been maternal in nature. They were her creation. Her charges. Some immortals chose to ignore differences in station and take moral lovers. She had always looked with disdain on those fools. Not only could such an arrangement cause harm to the mortal, but history proved no good ever came from such affairs.
This mortal body, however, did not care about possible consequences. It did not understand that she was a goddess infinitely high above the mortals surrounding her. It simply wanted, and the wanting churned like a storm with a charge built up over two thousand years.
Between the steam rising from the hipbath and the heat in her belly, she began to perspire. A brush of her hand over her brow brought away dirt and dried blood. Her aches and pains had disappeared, but the evidence of the fall remained in streaks of grime on her skin. She felt gritty and needy, and all the while, the water released its scented heat, beckoning her to step inside and enjoy it.
Without wasting another moment, she lifted the torn undergarment over her head.
At the door, Magnus spoke with his head of household. Daly stood just outside the chamber, only the sleeve of his blue livery visible. “Where has Alexander gone?” he asked. “Seona will have her bath while we wait for Giles.”
The garment cleared her face and pulled free from her tangled hair.
Magnus gestured toward where she stood by the bath and glanced her way just as the silk fluttered from her fingertips to the floor. He’d been about to return his attention to Daly, who was saying something about fetching one of the lads, but instead, his gaze raked over her naked form. “Never mind,” said Magnus. “I’ll see to her bathing.” Without another word, he closed the door on his servant.
It was just the two of them in the chamber now. The only sound came from the crackling of the fire next to the bath. And the rush of breath in her ears. And the pounding of blood through her veins.
Magnus faced her, tall and regal and fully clothed in a crimson kilt and a golden-hued shirt that paled in comparison to the whisky-rich glow of his irises. His gaze darkened to the color of hardened tree sap, making each drop of perspiration chill on her skin.
Never before had nakedness made her feel so—exposed. The sensation should have been unpleasant, especially in this strange body, but the pebbling of her flesh and the tightening of her nipples created a delicious tingling within her.
“How honored I am to have a king assist me in my bath,” she found herself saying in a voice that carried deep, silken notes of craving. Even though there were a dozen reasons not to initiate more touching between them, she extended her hand, shamelessly expecting service like the goddess she was.
Magnus stalked toward her, stopping close enough for her to breathe in his scent of winter forest and black tea. Circling her like a predator, he took her hand in a firm grasp.
Sure and warm, his hold anchored her as she lifted one foot and then the other to step into the copper basin. Creamy heat enveloped her calves and licked over the tops of her knees. The warm floor of the hipbath welcomed her as she sank into the water up to her neck.
Heavens, it’s been so long! A moan parted her lips at the grand sensation.
Magnus released her hand and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Her eyes must have been starving for the sight of manly flesh, because her gaze caressed the tanned, muscled lines of his arms. Up and down. She looked and looked. And lusted.
I am not in my goddess form, she reasoned. In this mortal body, my passion would pose no risk to him.
Magnus plucked a pitcher from a dressing table. “I meant what I said earlier.” His hardened voice pushed at her haze of desire, but it did not quell the temptation to flirt with him. “I will not be lulled into letting my guard down with you. You’ll not get what you’re after.” He dunked the pitcher and motioned for her to lean forward.
She complied, quite liking taking orders from this man. “What is it you think I’m after?” Warm water sluiced her head like a halo of comfort.
“It is no secret.” Lathered fingers went to work gently massaging her scalp. Between Magnus’s touch and his deep voice, she found herself slipping into relaxation. “You’ve made your desire plain from the moment I brought you out of Saroc. You long to return to your human realm. You so despise me and my people that you risked death today.” His voice tightened at the end, his words clipped and precise.
Seona wanted to return to her human realm. Seona had not tolerated the presence of this majestic man. But these things were not true of her. In fact, quite the opposite. She wished to remain here and learn the secrets of what had transpired today. She wished to restore herself to her deity and then to her people, to be their goddess once more. She wished to destroy Hyrk. More than anything, she wished to explore these long-dormant feelings with her king.
The pain of rejection cloaked Magnus, and still, he was gentle with her, washing her neck with careful strokes. She did not like him being in pain. She was annoyed with Seona for the way she had treated him. The woman must have been daft or blind not to see what a fine companion Magnus would make for even the loftiest of mortals.
Seona was in pain too, said her heart. Perhaps she is still in pain if she is locked in the place where I should be.
Danu wished for a solution to Seona’s suffering if, in fact, the woman still suffered. She wished for a solution to Magnus’s pain. She could not help Seona at the present. But Magnus was another story. He was here and warm and hurting, and she could provide comfort.
“Perhaps I have changed my mind,” she said.
His hands paused in their washing. She turned to look at him, finding weariness and resignation written in fine lines around his eyes.
“You do not believe me.” She turned to kneel in the water, putting her face to face with the squatting king who bathed her like a servant. Her upper body chilled as droplets made crystalline rivers over her breasts. She touched his face. “You have known little comfort of late,” she surmised. “I would like to give you comfort.”
He cocked a doubtful eyebrow. He still didn’t believe.
Mortals provided skepticism freely and faith sparingly, especially those who had known much sorrow.
“Will you not accept comfort from me when you so clearly need it?” she said, taking his face in her hands. His beard cushioned her palms with masculine warmth.
He relaxed into her hold but only for a moment. Straightening away from her touch, he said, “In the last months I have learned to question everything. Nothing is the way it seems. Not my allies, not my counselors, not my friends. Not even you. Your newfound acceptance of me, despite what I wish—” He smiled sadly. “Is not what it seems.” Cupping her shoulders, he turned her back into the bath.
With a huff of frustration, she plopped back down. Her desire sifted away, leaving a nugget of regret. She regretted that she would have no answer to her carnal need. She regretted that she couldn’t reveal to Magnus who she truly was. She regretted that Magnus would not accept the solace she offered. She regretted that he was so scarred by how Seona had treated him that she could not inquire about the insults he had just mentioned. His allies, counselors, and friends had all betrayed him. How alone he must feel! Here she was longing to share his burdens, but he had no trust left to give.
The tangled situation was enough to make her body tense up.
“There it is,” Magnus said. “How you really feel. You cannot bear my touch.”
“No!” She whirled to face him. “You misunderstand.”
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Daly’s muffled voice. “Sire, Giles has arrived. Shall I show him in now?”
Magnus stood and dried his hands on a folded linen. “Not quite yet, Daly.” He strode to the door. When he stepped outside and closed it behind him, all opportunity to ease his pain disappeared.
Chapter 8
“Good afternoon, Giles.” Magnus greeted his personal physician outside the Orange Blossom chamber.
&nb
sp; Under the watch of Daly and two guards, he clasped wrists with the man who had seen to his health since he was a babe in his mother’s arms. Giles’s fingers gripped with less strength than Magnus remembered from their last meeting, but the light in his blue eyes shone as brightly as ever. “Thank you for coming. How is Esmerelda?”
Being separated from Seona put him on edge, but his keen ears told him she hadn’t moved from the bath. At the first sign of her doing so, he would sweep back in. He would not be fooled by her docile act. She would not lull him into allowing her to escape Glendall a second time.
“She is well. She is well.” Giles said with a nod of his head. “Danu bless you for asking. How may I serve you, Your Majesty? Daly said something about lady Seona taking a fall.”
Quietly, lest Seona overhear, he relayed what he and Riggs had witnessed. “It was a miracle, Giles,” he finished. “I would swear it before Danu’s altar. Her wounds were healed before our eyes, but her mind—I’m afraid she is not the same. I will not take the outward appearance of her good health for granted. You must determine if she carries injuries beyond what the eye can see, and if so, tell me how to mend them.”
Giles nodded while he listened, his cloud-gray eyebrows sinking ever lower. It pleased Magnus that his physician seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, but then, of course he would. Giles had seen every sort of injury and ailment and had trained a dozen apprentices in their identification and treatment.
Magnus reentered the room with Giles on his heels. Seona peered over the edge of the bath, her expression open and curious. He would swear there was not an ounce of guile in her, but he had learned better than to trust appearances.
“Lady Seona, you remember Giles, my royal physician,” he said by way of introduction, then he braced for her resistance.
But she did not resist as she had every other time Giles had visited since her rescue. Instead, her mouth tipped in a polite smile. “Greetings, Physician Giles,” she said in a formal but cordial tone. “I suppose you should like me out of the bath.” She rose from the water, exhibiting her form as any proud wolfkind woman would under the circumstances. Rivulets sluiced over her hairless breasts, around the hourglass shape of her waist and hips, into the triangle of dewy curls at the juncture of her thighs, down her slender legs. Regally, she held out her hand for a linen.
Magnus nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to provide one. But instead of handing it off to her, he could not help but step near and drape it around her shoulders.
With a sideways glance and a pinch of color in her cheeks, she accepted his offering, clutching the linen before her. She also accepted his hand to steady her as she stepped from the bath.
Like twin caterpillars, Giles’s eyebrows shot up. He had seen Seona before, having treated all the women rescued from Saroc, but he had never seen her like this—agreeable and in the same room as Magnus. “Lady Seona, it is good to see you again.” He bowed at the waist.
Magnus reminded himself to translate. Seona did not wear the translation stone. He did. Therefore she could only communicate with him. “Giles says it is good to see you again, my lady.”
She blinked at him. “Of course he did. There is nothing wrong with my hearing.”
He stared at her. She had understood Giles. How could that be? Had she somehow learned their tongue while in Saroc and hid it from him all this time?
If Giles was shocked at Seona speaking their language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he began flipping latches on his case with gnarled but steady hands. “Take your time drying yourself while I set up my table.”
Snapping sounds issued from the case as the physician unfolded the legs and lifted the lid to reveal his tidy rows of physician’s tools. All the while, he kept his gaze averted out of respect for Seona’s privacy.
Still unsettled by Seona’s ability to communicate with Giles, Magnus did not show the same respect. Nor did she seem to expect it. Bare feet leaving pools on the hearth, she took her time rubbing the linen over her body. Stretching gracefully and bending lithely, she glided the linen over her skin until it was dry as lily petals.
When she finished, she let the linen fall to the hearth.
Legions of Larnian warriors could not force his gaze from her shamelessly displayed form. She was smaller than the typical wolfkind female, almost juvenile in size. But from the hair covering her nether lips to her full breasts to the knowing look in her eyes as she held his gaze, she was all woman.
Her lips appeared soft as she smiled sweetly at him, and he realized he’d thought they were hard and thin. Really, it had always been her expression that was hard and thin when he’d been near. When she was relaxed, her face radiated gentle, regal beauty.
“Have you a dressing gown for me?” she said, a twinkle in her eye.
“Hm. Should be one around here somewhere,” he said, backing toward the armoire so he did not lose out on a single moment of looking upon her like this. “Daly and the lads would be much swifter at dressing you. I’m afraid you shall have to settle for the bumbling aid of a novice servant.” By Danu, what had gotten into him? He was flirting with her. With Seona. If Anya found out, she’d no doubt attempt to “snatch his cods and have them for supper.”
Even more remarkable was the fact Seona did not appear put off by his flirting. To the contrary, her gaze darkened with interest. Tendrils of dark walnut wove a tapestry of damp hair over her shoulder. She gathered the tendrils and squeezed. Droplets pattered to the stone at her feet. “Something tells me you are not a novice at all things where bedchambers are concerned.” Flinging her hair behind her, she pursed her lips in a coy smile.
He nearly swallowed his tongue and forgot what he’d been doing. Ah. The armoire. Barely glancing within, he chose a lavender dressing gown and robe and brought them to Seona.
Still smiling, she stretched her arms up and over her head, allowing Magnus to sheath her in the silken gown. After the hem fluttered to her toes, she extended one arm for the sleeve of the robe.
He accommodated her, first sliding a sleeve up one arm then holding the other while she shrugged into the garment. Serving her like this made his midsection warm pleasantly. If only her acceptance of him were genuine!
“The settee should do,” Giles said, giving Magnus a start—he’d forgotten they were not alone. The physician had his table open and ready in front of the settee. “Have a seat, if you would, dear lady. When you are quite ready.”
Seona obliged, stepping lightly to where Giles waited.
Magnus couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had she always been so graceful in her movements? Despite her occupying the room adjoining his, he had rarely enjoyed access to her. Between Anya’s protectiveness and Seona’s refusal to admit anyone save her sister, he had only laid eyes on her a handful of times, never when she was up and about. She had lived beside him for two moons but she was a stranger. A lovely, intriguing stranger.
Now that she seemed amenable to his presence, he intended to spend more time with her. Much more. He would use her newfound tolerance of him to his advantage so he could discover whatever new plot she had devised. Perhaps he could even soften her, make her see what a good mate he would be. Then she would forget her attempts to escape. She would see that no future she could create for herself would ever be as fulfilling as one at his side as his queen and the mother of his heir.
But her health came first.
After taking her seat, Seona grasped both of Giles’s hands. “Thank you for coming to ensure my wellbeing. I shall assist you in any way you wish.”
Over his half-moon spectacles, Giles blinked at her.
Magnus held in a chuckle.
When Giles began his examination, Magnus moved a small distance away. He did not want to distract either physician or patient. Aside from a few brisk touches, which Seona accepted with grace, Giles kept his investigation to questions.
“What is the last thing you remember before waking upon the king’s mount?” the physician as
ked, peering over his spectacles.
Seona’s gaze darted to Magnus. Several long moments passed before she answered, “Nothing relevant to this time and place. All of my memories are from...far away.”
Interesting. It seemed Seona intended to avoid questioning about her involvement with Bilkes. Clever lady, pretending not to remember the events leading up to her fall. A smile tugged at his lips. The resemblance between Seona and Anya had never been more apparent. It seemed both sisters were skilled at manipulation.
“No memories of Glendall?” Giles pressed. “Your time in this chamber? Our previous meetings?”
“No.”
Magnus stifled a sniff of humor. How far would she take this charade?
Apparently, he had not stifled his reaction in full. Giles regarded him over his spectacles, and he did not appear amused. Returning his attention to Seona, he said, “Do you remember Saroc, lady? Your time in the dungeon there?”
The question was a blow to his gut and wiped away all trace of amusement. He remembered Saroc. He remembered the soul-twisting agony that had driven him to his knees when he’d found a dozen human women living in deplorable conditions, when he’d learned the horrors they’d suffered. With great effort, he shoved the memory of that day aside and focused on Seona in the here and now.
She cocked her head, reminding him of a curious bird. “No. I have no recollection of that.” Her gaze seemed to turn inward. “It must have been horrible.”
Magnus had the distinct impression she was imagining the horrors the other women had suffered, as if she had heard of Bantus’s atrocities rather than experienced them as one of his victims.
Her manner was so utterly without guile and so unexpected, considering the shell of a woman she’d been upon her rescue, that Magnus questioned his initial supposition. What if she wasn’t pretending? What if she truly could not remember?
