The Star Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Isadora’s arms crept around his neck. Her fingers played in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I love you, too,” she whispered, the words very soft and uncertain. When the sky did not fall upon them, she said the words again, more strongly. “I love you.”

  Wrapped in a thick blanket and settled in a nook of boulders that protected her from the wind, Sophie watched the sun set. Ariana, well and warmly bundled, napped nearby. Poor thing, she was growing up away from the only home she’d ever known, with soldiers all around her and a mother and father who were distracted by what was to come. Maybe she should’ve left her daughter in another’s care for this time, but when the opportunity had presented itself, she had been unable to part from her child. They were well protected here, safer than they could possibly be anywhere else. Still, it was no life for a child who was just barely one year old.

  Sophie smiled for Kane, when he turned from the soldiers who claimed his attention and looked her way, but she did not feel the smile in her heart.

  In matters of war, all was going very well. More of the emperor’s soldiers had deserted and joined Arik and his rebels. The latest word was that days ago the First Captain of the Circle of Bacwyr had left the palace under less than amicable circumstances. Perhaps he would not join with the rebels, but at least Arik and his men would not have to fight against the captain and his warriors.

  With the desertion of so many of the emperor’s troops, and the healing aspect of time, Sophie’s father, who had once been the Columbyanan Minister of Defense, was now trusted and even revered by the rebels. Even by Kane, who had been among the last to offer his trust.

  The problem was with the baby Sophie carried. She continued to feel the trouble in a way she could not describe. She did not have Juliet’s gift of sight, but instinctively she recognized that all was not well. The baby was shifting, dropping, becoming less active. If she was not very careful, the child would come too soon.

  She passed the time trying to picture what her daughter would look like. Would the new baby be like Ariana, perfectly beautiful, pink and round and fat? Or would she have the wrinkled and reddened look so many of the babies Sophie had seen so often possessed for their first few days and weeks? If the baby did indeed arrive early, would she be too small? Would she survive?

  Sophie was worried about more than the health and well-being of her daughter. Her own powers were increased substantially when she was carrying a baby. If the child came too soon, if this little girl was born before Sophie was reunited with Juliet and Isadora, would it mean there was no chance to end the curse before it took Kane’s life? She rubbed one hand against her belly. “Hold tight, baby girl,” she whispered. She still had not decided upon a name for this child. She was considering Lucinda, for her mother, but Kane was less sure, and she wanted him to have a say in naming this child, since he had not been present to assist in naming Ariana.

  Ferghus, Myl’s former spy, sauntered over to her very casually. Sophie sat up straighter and put on a smile for the ex-sentinel who had become one of Arik’s most trusted rebels. The handsome man hunkered down before Sophie. He did not return her smile.

  “How is your wound?” she asked.

  “Healing nicely, thanks to your assistance.”

  “It was a clean wound and would have healed very well without my help, I’m sure.” She had seen much worse in her time with Arik. Men had died before her eyes, and she’d buried friends. Her friends. Kane’s friends. Heaven above, she wanted this war to be over. She wanted a roof over her daughters’ heads at night, and a soft bed to share with her husband. She wanted a home.

  “I was very lucky that the emperor ordered a friend to kill me. Serian could not refuse the command, but he aimed carefully and made the wound a clean one, and then told the emperor I was dead.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I cannot imagine running a sword through a friend.”

  “Serian saved my life, and I will be forever grateful.”

  “I do not understand all the soldiers’ way of thinking,” Sophie said. “And I suppose I never will.” The man’s face was so taut, she could not believe he had joined her for casual conversation. “How can I be of assistance, Ferghus?”

  “I have come to you because I believe you will be honest with me in a way no soldier here will.”

  “I am always honest.”

  He nodded, as if he understood that very well. “We move closer to Arthes every day. Arik and his men are talking of taking the palace soon, and I believe they will be successful. I have many comrades there, still, but they are soldiers who can take care of themselves, when the time for fighting comes. But I worry about Empress Liane and her babies. Will they be harmed?”

  A flash of something unexpected in the hard man’s eyes touched Sophie. “You care for her.”

  “I do.” It was a reluctant, but heartfelt confession.

  She had no choice but to give the man an honest answer, since that was why he had come to her. “There are those here who would harm Liane simply for being empress. Not all, not most...but a few.”

  “How can I protect her?”

  “I don’t know, but I will think about the problem. Perhaps we can direct those who would punish Liane for her station to another part of the palace, when the time comes.” “They all respect you. Perhaps if you tell them—”

  “Not all the men here respect me. There are those who resent the fact that a woman has Arik’s ear.” And those were the most likely to harm Liane, she realized.

  Ferghus nodded, understanding too well. “If you go into the palace with us, and if you and I can get to Liane first...”

  Sophie shook her head, as deep inside an unexpected gentle clenching took her breath away. She would not have the baby tonight, but the delivery would be soon. This child would come too early, here in the wilderness, with Sophie’s sisters far away and her husband closer to death than she dared to face. “I will not be going into the palace with you,” she whispered.

  Ferghus studied her face closely and saw the pain. “My lady, what do you require?”

  Sophie nodded. “My husband, please,” she said as she settled back against the cold rock. “I require my husband.” The former sentinel rushed to collect Kane, and Sophie smiled weakly at her rounded tummy. “Ferghus called me my lady, can you imagine?” Sophie realized that she would be going no farther than this until the child was born. With the proper preparations, she could wait a while before delivering. A number of days, perhaps. Even a week or more. She could rest and meditate and say a simple spell to delay the coming of the child. But nothing could stop the inevitable.

  With the birth of this child, her magic would be so weakened that the end to the Fyne Curse at her hand would be all but impossible.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Isadora allowed him to train her for three days, and though she complained often, she did pay attention, and she did improve. He could still disarm her with a flick of his blade, but she now made the task more difficult. Improved as she was, she was still far from ready to face Sebestyen’s sentinels.

  For the first time, Lucan was surprisingly glad that the woman he loved had been born to magic. If swordplay did not help her survive her return to the palace, perhaps her witchcraft would.

  The camp where they had fought and trained and made love for three days was in a narrow valley, hidden from the road above by newly leafed trees and protected on one side with a rock wall and a shallow cave. The land had been touched by spring, with wildflowers and butterflies and the small critters that scurried about while keeping their distance. It was a beautiful place, and if he did not know what was to come, he would actually enjoy being here.

  If they survived, he would take Isadora to a similar place near his home, and they would camp there for many days, without worry, without pressures of the days to come. This place was not the refuge of the Circle, but was near the home where he had been born. There was a brook in a clearing much like this one where he had often played during his yearly t
rips home. He and his brothers had gone there often. They had sometimes pretended to be that which they were meant to be—soldiers—but they had also played at other things. On some mornings they had been dragons, and on that same afternoon they might have played at being seafaring marauders. In that place, on those rare occasions, he had been allowed to be a child. He wanted Isadora and the son she would give him to enjoy its peace and beauty as much as he had.

  She insisted that she would only bear daughters, but he wanted the son the seers had promised him, and he would allow no other woman to be that boy’s mother. As Prince of Swords he could command sons...and daughters, too, if they would be like their mother. Lucan smiled as he parried with Isadora and allowed his mind to wander. He had been treated as a Prince for most of his life and was accustomed to getting all that he desired—as the woman he loved was so quick to remind him. Even he could not command the miracle of life.

  Isadora was tiring, so Lucan disarmed her. As her short sword landed in the brush a few feet away, and he put his own sword aside. “That is enough for now.”

  Her breath coming with too much difficulty, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Can you not call the lesson to an end without flinging my weapon away? Must you continue to demonstrate that my skills are woefully inadequate?”

  “I wish you to remember that your skills are not those of a soldier when you return to the palace.”

  “I am unlikely to forget,” she said sharply.

  He scooped Isadora into his arms and held her close, and the expression on her face softened. “I would happily fetch Liane and her children for you when I retrieve the Star of Bacwyr.”

  “As you have so often offered to do in the past three days,” she said gently. “Again, I insist that I will not stay behind and allow you to do that which I have sworn to do myself, at no small risk to yourself. Getting out of the palace with a ring is a much simpler and safer task than escaping with the empress and two babies.”

  “And Mahri,” he added, since Isadora had mentioned the servant often in the past couple of days.

  “And Mahri,” she said.

  “I suppose we will also have to rescue anyone else who crosses your path.”

  “Only those who need rescuing.”

  He kissed her. It was the only way he could end an argument without giving in to her demands. In truth, Isadora’s need to take care of others was one of the traits he loved about her. Perhaps she was a witch, but she had shown him that not all women with witchcraft in their blood were evil. Isadora was anything but evil. She was good, and dedicated, and noble, as any proper warrior should be.

  He did not think of Isadora as a warrior as he laid her in the grass and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her dress to expose her neck and her chest and her breasts. She closed her eyes, and with the warm spring sun on her face she smiled.

  “This is not the body of a fighter,” he said as he lowered his head to take one nipple and then another into his mouth. The tips of those nipples peaked, and Isadora undulated gently to bring herself closer to him. “This is the body of a woman, a lover and a mother. It should be treasured and protected at all costs, not callously thrown into the midst of war.”

  “I have always been a fighter, Lucan,” Isadora said without opening her eyes.

  “But not always a lover.” He opened her gown to her waist. His shadow fell across her midsection.

  “No,” she whispered.

  The blue gown she had been wearing since before she’d been thrown into Level Thirteen was dirty and torn. She’d done her best to wash it, days ago, but the garment was beyond being saved by a simple laundering. It was certainly not a gown befitting the wife of the Prince of Swords. “When we get to Tryfyn, I will burn this rag of a gown and dress you in something more appropriate.”

  “I can only imagine what you consider appropriate,” she said in a lighthearted voice.

  “Fine fabrics, rich colors. Light and airy frocks for summer, the warmest furs and daintiest boots for winter.” He unfastened more buttons and kissed her pale belly. “And when we are alone, nothing at all.”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.” He undressed Isadora slowly, even though it was not necessary to do more than toss up her skirt. He wanted to see her naked in the sunlight. He wanted to witness every trembling of her flesh, every flush of color that rose to the surface of her sensitive skin. She was a woman of strength and angles, not rounded and soft all over as many females were. Her breasts were small, but swelled nicely beneath his hands. Her hips were narrow, but welcoming and slightly rounded from a tiny waist. Her legs were long and strong, enticingly shaped with a hint of muscle, but they trembled when he parted them and touched her intimately.

  “You have said you love me,” he whispered as he ran his hand up her thigh.

  “Many times,” she answered, her voice as soft as his own. “Do you wish to hear the words again? I love you. I love you.”

  “Those are not the words I wish to hear at this moment.”

  At that her eyes opened slowly. “What is it you wish to hear?”

  He leaned over her, bringing his face close to hers so he could read her eyes more clearly. As he looked into those dark eyes, he touched her damp folds in a way that made her arch and moan. “I have asked you to be my wife, Isadora. You have not yet said yes.”

  “Now is not the time, Lucan,” she said impatiently. “When we have done what must be done, then, perhaps—”

  “Perhaps?”

  “If you still want me, we will discuss—” He slipped one finger into her, and she arched against his hand.

  “No discussion is necessary. Say yes. That is all that is required of you at this time.”

  She pushed his vest off one shoulder, allowing her fine fingers to lightly trace his arm. “Why are you still dressed? The sun feels warm against my skin. You should share in that warmth. We should make love under the sun and forget all else.”

  “You’re changing the subject, love.”

  “Yes, I am,” she answered with impatience.

  He removed the vest and tossed it aside, and Isadora reached for his trousers. Before she could touch him, he moved down and away, his lips marking a trail from her breasts to her belly. “I am First Captain of the Circle of Bacwyr,” he grumbled, his lips against her soft flesh. “I am destined to be Prince of Swords. Since the age of nine, I have not had to ask more than once for what I desire. And yet you make me ask again and again for what we both know is meant to be.”

  “There is much to be done before I can even consider what you require, or what I require. Can’t we simply enjoy one another in the time we have, without looking so far into the future?”

  “I want a yes from you,” he said. “That is all.”

  “Then ask another question.”

  “This is the only question I have for you, love. Marry me.”

  She needed only this, for now. Love was undeniable, but everything else was yet to be decided. Liane and the babies, the curse, her sisters. Why could Lucan not be like every other man in the world and be content with the sex they shared so often and so well?

  He kissed her inner thigh, and she felt that caress all through her body. “I have decided what I want, love,” Lucan whispered, “and I always get what I want.”

  “I have always maintained that you are incredibly spoiled and badly in need of the lesson that what you wish for won’t always be given to you on command.”

  “I was never particularly good at lessons.”

  Before she could argue, he laid his mouth on her and flicked his tongue in a way that made her cry out and shift against him. “Can we finish this discussion later?”

  Lucan flicked his tongue again, and she waited for his agreement. “No,” he said. “I wish to finish it now.”

  Her body trembled for his. She had lived without sex for so long; how was it that she needed Lucan so badly? Love was a part of it yes, but there was more. This was a primal heat that she ha
d not expected to find within herself. It was crude and powerful and beautiful, with a magic all its own.

  But she was not alone in relishing the power. Lucan needed her, just as she needed him. She ran her hands across his broad shoulders and sat up to run her palms down his bare, muscled back. He was built like no other man she had ever seen, so perfectly shaped and strong. And he was hers in a way she had not imagined possible.

  “You have not finished undressing,” she said as her fingertips teased his hard flesh. “I cannot continue this discussion if you refuse to remove those trousers.”

  He rose up slightly. “Cannot or will not?”

  “Will not,” she confessed.

  “Fine.” He removed his boots and trousers so that he was as naked as she. She watched him undress, a satisfied smile on her face. He moved with masculine grace, even when he rushed through such a simple chore, and she found herself admiring not only the beauty of him, but the beauty of the way he moved.

  “See?” Lucan said as he rejoined her. “I am quite compliant when you voice your commands.”

  “Only when those commands suit you,” she answered as she slipped her leg between his and pressed her lips to his neck.

  Naked, lying entangled in the sunlight, they touched and kissed and argued. There was little heat in their debate, but much heat in the way they came together physically. Her entire body throbbed with need, and had since the moment Lucan had laid her in the grass, but she was not anxious to bring this encounter to an end.

  She loved the way he held her, caressed her, aroused her. She loved the fluttering deep in her body, and the answering call of his. She loved the way he responded to her touch.

  She loved him.

  Eventually, Lucan quit asking her to marry him. He quit talking and put his mouth to better use. Tomorrow, perhaps the next day, they would move back toward Arthes and the emperor’s palace, and after that, nothing in her life or his was certain. The only thing in her life that was certain was this moment.