by Jaide Fox
What did that mean?
Suddenly, he nipped then quickly sucked at the peak of her breast and it jolted her from her thoughts. Her hands came up to cup his head and her back arched as he nibbled a little harder at her nipples and she rocked her hips against him. Needing something, but unsure what, she groaned and the sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room.
She felt him stiffen and groaned again. Her legs clung to his hips as she sought that elusive something she was seeking, but to her horror, she realized that he was not trying to help her seek what she needed, but was slowly disentangling himself from her clasp!
“W-W-What?” Isabeau moaned with a gasp and her heavily lidded eyes blinked open to stare up at the man, who was looking disheveled from her touch and his hair was kinked and knotted from her grasp.
Her eyes met his and she saw the sudden and fierce anger there. It shocked her into stillness and she watched as he stalked off quickly towards the door, opened it then slammed it closed with a bang. The sound of the lock was loud in the silence and she gulped, wondering what had happened.
Lifting a hand, she rubbed it over her face and attempted to awaken herself from the stupor in which she had been hovering. Slowly raising herself so that she rested on her elbows, she looked down at herself and blushed. Her legs were spread, her breasts were bare and her nipples were red and peaked. She looked like a whore.
Only moments ago, she had yelled at him for placing her in a room that was so close to his, for she did not want his staff to actively seek gossip, and now she had practically handed it to them. Having opened herself up to him to this extent, he would only expect more and more until there truly was something to gossip about!
* * * *
What on earth was happening to her?
What had she been thinking to allow him to touch her so intimately and to actively enjoy it? She felt almost as though she had leapt out of her body and become someone else for the moment.
Isabeau had never allowed any man to touch her in that way and yet, to start believing that there was some deep well of emotion behind it...was she merely being delusional? Somehow hoping to convince herself that the intimacy she was sharing with him was right and true, because there was something deeper than animal lust behind it?
A part of her, the part that was ashamed, wanted to believe that it was just that. But her common sense told her that life was never so simple. What they had shared...well, it was so...She huffed, irritated at herself for not being able to understand her own feelings. But it was so primal. So earthy.
Was that right or wrong?
Isabeau did not know.
For the majority of time, she hated him. In the last two days, she had spent more time despising and cursing his hide than she had admiring it! So to be bombarded with powerful emotions that were to the contrary had come as a great shock. When had she stopped wanting to escape him and started wanting to kiss him?
Was this a new development?
A frisson of fear crawled along the slender line of her neck as she wondered what had come over her. Had the loss of the ring suddenly transformed her into something completely different? Was it the ring that had kept her grounded?
At that moment, she wished for the ring with all of her being.
Even at this moment, when she was continuing to react to his now-absent touch, from the amazing passion he had inspired in her, she could feel the dull thump as her soul sought the power in the minerals of the onyx stone. She knew it was a conduit for her to use her gifts, but she disliked the term magic. If Wolfe wished to call it that, then that was his choice, but she could not call it such a name.
Perhaps, it was magic.
Perhaps, he was correct and she was wrong, but to her, it was her talent, her gift. And if the onyx tapped into that, then that was how it worked. She refused to believe herself a witch. For witch's controlled and manipulated magic and usually not in a good way. She had only ever used her powers for her own safety and wellbeing.
Witches existed, of that she did know, but they were never, ever caught. They were far too clever for that. Before she had even known that the women in her line had the ability to channel power through the stone, she had known about witches. While her mama had kept her in the dark about Isabeau's own power, she had told her about the different talents that were about in the world.
From those that could read minds, to those who could turn common stones into gold. They were no bedtime stories, but the truth. And Isabeau had always known that.
While other debutantes may have scorned the existence of such power, this knowledge had been interwoven into the very fabric of her life. Even though she had not realized that her family had powers of their own, she had known that others yielded them and with ease.
The women who had been classed as witches were a part of these others and those who had died because of being branded by that epithet had only been healers. There had been no magic involved when they attempted to cure the sick.
It was still dangerous to even jokingly call someone such a horrid name as that of a witch. The atrocities of the past, of the ducking stool and the women who had died at the stake, because of their knowledge of the natural world, were still too close to be forgotten.
Well, it had been for her family. Isabeau could easily remember the time, when she had been studying the natural properties of local flora. Herbs that could be used to heal as well as to adorn dishes. Plants that could be used to soothe as well as be aesthetically pleasing. Her mother had come upon her in the library and had asked to see what she was studying.
Her mama had looked somber as she had stroked the coverlet and had said, “Women who have had this knowledge and had the ability to cure the sick and heal the poor were killed for it, as little as eighty years ago, my love. Knowledge is power, but with it, it can bring danger.”
“But why, mama?” Isabeau had asked, her voice filled with confusion and incomprehension.
“Because they were believed to be witches, my sweet. Anyone who opens themselves up to the community, opens themselves to scrutiny. A woman with the knowledge of the plants and herbs of our country can easily make an error. She is not infallible. One wrong amount of a certain herb and a person can die. Or become even more ill. Where once that woman was celebrated and adored by the village, she was quickly shunned and cast as a witch.
“The majority of the peasants in this country are poorly educated and have little understanding, but they have a large voice and their lack of understanding has a lot to answer for.
“A witch is...I hate to use the word, but she is evil. The magic she brandishes can do harm and cause pain and suffering. They are cunning and sly and bad-natured. A healer is the opposite. She gives of herself to prevent pain. To stop suffering. She is good. Whilst one yields magic as her weapon, the other uses her knowledge for the common good. And while the latter is amazing in itself, there is no spiritual assistance required. Whereas a witch, she uses sorcery and incantations to do her bidding. Can you understand the difference, little one?”
Isabeau had nodded with a puckered frown on her small face.
At this moment in time, Isabeau had enough riding on her shoulders without the curse of being branded a witch by her captor adding to those troubles! She was not evil and never, ever wished pain upon anyone. Even Wolfe! She might curse at him and damn him for taking her hostage, but she didn't wish him to suffer! That totally went against her nature.
She didn't honestly know what she was. But she knew that she was not, not, a witch!
Her mama had handed her the ring but little else by way of information about the Hart power. Of other powers, she knew plenty, but not of her own. What she could have possibly discovered amongst their belongings had been lost in the fire. She had been cast out unintentionally and the ring had been her sole source of knowledge. The little she had gleaned was not enough in the confusing world in which she found herself.
Deciding that her thoughts were only adding to her confusion, she
determined not to think any more about what she was. About what her mother or grandmother was. It only raised more questions.
Shaking, almost as though she were suffering from tansy-root poisoning, she started to cover her breasts with the chemise. He'd torn her dress, damn him and it was the only one she actually had with her, so she had to make the best of the almost see-through and dirty chemise.
If there was one thing about her situation, it was that she hated being dirty. Of not having access to hot, clean water with which to bathe. Of not being able to change into clean and pleasant smelling clothes and having her dresses washed and pressed. Of having a wardrobe full of undergarments that were soft against her skin.
Perhaps it was a very materialistic argument, but when you roamed the country in an attempt to stay alive, sometimes the most basic of things became important.
Looking around the room he'd given her, it was so like that of her mother's, she felt tears gather in her throat. She believed Wolfe, when he said that it had once been his own mother's suite, but it still hurt. She was sprawled on a four poster bed, with carved and worked posts that depicted...something, she wasn't sure what. Squinting at them, she realized they were flowers. Of all varieties. They were like long pillars filled with bouquets of mahogany blooms.
The posts supported a heavy cream and rose pink damask canopy and the bed was covered in a matching duvet. The foot of the bed was open and looked on to a chaise longue in the matching, yet reverse coloring of the bed. This time it was rose on cream rather than the other way around. This heavy piece of furniture sat to the left of the bed.
To the right was a heavy, walnut dressing table, which had a three screen mirror at the edge of it. The seat was a softly upholstered stool that matched the chaise longue and the table was laden down with bottles and potions that reminded her of all the little tincture her mother had had.
In the center of the ceiling was a crystal chandelier that literally dripped with gleaming shards of glass.
It was the room of a very spoiled woman.
A part of her wondered if like her mama, who had been spoiled by her husband because of his love for her, if Wolfe's had shared the same treatment. Something about the somberness of the castle, as ridiculous as it sounded, told her that there had been nothing but misery experienced in this bedroom. That happiness had not reigned here for a very, very long time.
Was that why he was unhappy? So focused on...only the Lord knew what!
He had yet to tell her why she was here, why he had been following her around the country and trying to capture her. Why he had been the unknown specter at her heels as she tried to escape death.
He had revealed very little. Nothing in fact. Had merely confused her even further and she felt that now. Felt frustrated by her lack of understanding. But then, she had never not felt that way. There had always been a question in her head and she was tired of it not being answered, dammit!
When she had lost her parents, she had lost every semblance of security and her entire world, which had been constructed on solid foundations, had suddenly started to fall and break apart.
For as long as she could remember, she had thought it to be herself--as her parent's and thus the last remaining Hart--who had been sought. But what if it was the ring?
She frowned as she realized that the trespasser had only wanted her if she had been a maiden. He had wanted the ring for this Jaegar person.
Wolfe currently had the ring in his own possession. Was thatwhat they had been seeking? Was the item her mother had told her to keep at all costs, the reason for the danger she was currently in?
Isabeau rubbed her eyes with her fingers as she tried to process her thoughts. Why would her mother have given her something that would endanger her? Why?
Had her parents been killed for the ring?
She shook her head wildly at the thought. No. It couldn't be for that.
The more she thought on it, the more it started to make sense though. Even though she didn't want it to, wanted it to make no sense whatsoever, it was impossible to deny the few facts that she had at her fingertips.
The most damning was the fact that that man had been willing to part her finger from her person for the ring.
He hadn't wanted her unconditionally. But the ring.
Why though?
She had always assumed that it was something that only the matriarchal line had been able to use as a conduit. Perhaps not.
If the ring was, in truth, the one that Wolfe had spoken of as part of a legend, it would make sense that people sought it.
Perhaps, she licked her lips, her mother had not known of the legend that Wolfe had told her about. Perhaps, having worn the ring for all of her adult life and like Isabeau, never having taken it off, it had been seen by someone who had known of the legend. Someone who had been willing to kill to possess it.
Clenching her eyes, she tried to hide from the truth. But how could she? For so long, she had been running. Constantly, perpetually, fleeing a fate that she wanted to avoid at all costs. Behind that though was the fact that as she had run, she'd been confused and lost as to the reasons why. Now, she knew.
What had he said?
Something about the ring being able to balance the light and the dark.
What did that mean?
Did he consider Isabeau the light and himself the dark?
She had to be involved in this situation. Wolfe had taken her as well as the ring. He could have been the one to slice off her finger. In the woods, when he had first captured her and had pinned her to the ground, he could have easily subdued her and had one of his men cut off her finger. Wolfe could have left her bleeding on the ground. Let her die and simply taken the ring, had he wanted to.
The fact that he hadn't, actually gave her some confidence in him.
He could easily have disposed of her, yet he hadn't.
At the same time, why hadn't he?
What purpose did she have in this game?
God, there were so many questions and so few answers. It was so unbearably infuriating, she felt as though she could explode from the sheer number that were rattling around her brain.
All of her pre-conceptions had been blasted away and she found that she felt rather stupid. Dumb. And she certainly did not appreciate that!
To the contrary! It angered her all the more.
She felt anger towards her mother and that was something she had never felt before. Having always believed her parents to be innocent parties, these last two days had totally decimated that belief.
Her memories had enabled her to recall the distress in her mother's voice, when she had handed Isabeau the ring. Something that told Isabeau, her mama had known she would not be alive for very long.
In the same breath, her mama had handed her the reason for the unnatural end to her life!
Why had she done that?
Was the legacy to be protected and at all costs?
Even her daughter's life meant naught in the face of the ring's power?
A part of her resented the fact that only now, years later, she had come to realize all of this. Had she known before, then she would have thrown the damned ring in a lake or in a river! Anything to free herself from it.
While she had earlier told Wolfe that the onyx allowed her to 'access' her gift, she was slowly coming to see it as a curse. A curse that had prematurely taken her parents from her and the life that she should have had.
