Rogue's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  “It can be.” His tone called her the liar she was, even if he was too polite to do so aloud. “I’m sure King Nathal wouldn’t have tasked you with the decision if he didn’t think you capable.”

  “Lord Cam is a wonderful man,” she repeated, because she didn’t know what else to say. Elissa wasn’t capable of choosing, because she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t want her. A man who wasn’t on her list of choices anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

  Lord Jorrin nodded, as if he didn’t know what to say about her repetition, either. He took a breath. “If you’re sure about this, I’ll have Gamel draw up the contract and send our resident Senior Rider to inform the king.”

  King Nathal had posted Senior Riders at all the major holdings in the Provinces for about the last turn. It was at the suggestion of Sir Leargan, and the goal was to keep communication open and prevent tragedy such as what had happened to Lady Cera’s family.

  As Elissa understood it, the king’s messengers rotated out every six months. The current Rider in Greenwald was a stunning blonde lass named Jinala. She was bonded to the biggest bobcat Elissa had ever seen. The Senior Rider went by Jin and got cross with anyone who dared use her full given name. She was petite and full of fire. Elissa had liked her from the moment they’d met.

  “I’m sure.” She nodded and clenched her hands so tight her nails bit into her palms.

  “Very well.” Lord Jorrin’s tone said it was anything but.

  “Why don’t you want this for me?” she blurted. Elissa touched her cheek when the duke aimed the full force of his gaze at her.

  “Because you don’t want it.”

  “I do.”

  Lord Jorrin cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “As you wish, my lady.” He grabbed his pen, dipped it in the inkwell and started to jot something on the parchment in front of him. “Cera says you and Mischief should only need a few more lessons. She says your bond is surprisingly strong for one so new. Soon you’ll be free to go. I’ll have you escorted to Dalunas.”

  Elissa swallowed as mixed emotions churned her stomach. She didn’t want to think about leaving Greenwald. Going to live with—and marry—Lord Cam.

  She scrambled to her feet and curtseyed to the half-elfin duke. “Thank you, my lord. Everyone has been wonderful to me and I’ve enjoyed my stay.” She needed to meet Lady Cera in the duchess solar for her lesson.

  Her bondmate had been sent there to wait for her. Mischief had begrudgingly agreed. He’d wanted to be with her for her assignation with the duke. Even after such a short time, it was odd to have him missing from her side. No doubt he’d felt her nerves even if he couldn’t understand them.

  Again, the duke looked as if he’d say something, but thought better of it. He offered a slight smile and nod. “Good day, Lady Elissa.”

  “Good day.” She inclined her head and turned to go, before she could give in to temptation to spill the truth and reject Lord Cam’s suit. But she’d given her word and she’d see it through.

  Alasdair had made himself plain with his third and final rejection.

  Too bad it’d left her heartbroken.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Three sevendays later, Lord Cam answered her missive with enthusiasm.

  “Of course he did,” Elissa whispered. She swallowed and read the letter again—she’d lost count of how many times and yet it hadn’t made her feel any better. ‘You won’t regret it,’ and ‘I cannot wait to call you wife,’ jumped out at her. Her stomach roiled.

  She’d written him with shaky hands the very morning she’d left Lord Jorrin’s ledger room after telling him what she’d decided. She didn’t even remember what she’d jotted to her future husband, she just remembered the letters didn’t look like her own hand when she’d finished.

  At evening meal that night, the duke had announced her betrothal to everyone in the great hall. Congratulations, hugs, and clapping had just about killed her. Elissa couldn’t look at Alasdair—who’d been true to his word about being replaced. Sir Bowen had sat at her side on the dais, then and now, as her new chaperone. She should’ve considered it a blessing her knight had been so far away.

  Every day of the agonizing last three sevendays he’d done the same. She’d barely been able to lay eyes on him at all.

  Mischief whimpered and shot to her side from the hearth. He put his head on her lap without invitation, but she buried her fingers in the soft fur between his ears. Her bondmate was her saving grace right now. If it wasn’t for him…well, she would’ve been mired in more despair than what currently weighed her down.

  He didn’t understand the heartache she was feeling, but in his primal innocence, he loved her. Constantly reinforced that love, wrapping her in comforting thoughts.

  Elissa needed it to make it through.

  Three long sevendays since she’d given herself to Alasdair, and had her heart crushed…

  She was sick of crying. Sick of hugging her pillow and thinking of him. Wishing she could smell him on the bed linens that had been changed out several times.

  Elissa had told Jonah, her monthly had started unexpectedly—to explain the blood on the sheets the morning after. Of course, she’d never be questioned, but she didn’t need castle staff gossiping, either. She’d played off her reservations, even mentioning that she’d been planning to see Lord Tristan straightway for unbearable feminine cramping. She’d grabbed her middle for good measure. Truth was, her body had ached, but it had nothing to do with menstruation.

  Thank the Blessed Spirit the lass’s expression had softened with sympathy. The maid had confided that she, too, got bad pains every month.

  Since then, she’d stayed in her room as much as she could—but she couldn’t avoid meals, her new chaperone or her bond lessons with the duchess.

  Sir Bowen, the handsome knight with sandy hair and a dimple in one cheek. He was witty, funny and very nice to her, but Elissa hadn’t felt like talking. He seemed to understand, which just made her feel guilty, instead of comforted.

  She didn’t feel pressure when they were together, she just missed Alasdair so much she felt as if she was dying. All the time. Then she would get angry at herself—because where was the strength she’d always prided herself on?

  Elissa constantly asked herself if she was really so weak.

  The knock on the door made her jump. Mischief whined and reared back, but she smoothed his hackles and soothed him mentally, as Lady Cera had taught her.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. It’s not your fault,” she told her bondmate.

  Mischief swished his tail once when they made eye-contact. He sent her reassurance and love. Her wolf might not comprehend all her words, but he did her emotions… her wallowing.

  “Issa?” A female voice on the other side of the door made her perk up.

  She couldn’t holler for the Duchess of Greenwald to enter her suite—it wouldn’t be proper. Elissa hurried to the door. She bowed to Lady Cera. “My lady?”

  “Oh, stop. Say it with me. Cera. Cera. Cera.” She spaced out her name, but her expression was amused, not annoyed.

  Heat shot into her face. “Cera,” she whispered.

  The duchess smiled. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cera took her hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. May I come in?”

  “You didn’t embarrass me,” Elissa muttered. She scooted back in the room so Cera could enter.

  “I just assumed by now, after all the shared meals and the bondmate training, that you and I were friends.”

  She was able to smile genuinely when she met the lady’s gray eyes. “We are, of course.”

  Cera looked around the room with interest, then plopped down on the end of the bed, as if she was a young lass instead of a lady with the power to run a Province. She was clad in tan hide breeches that looked soft to the touch, and an ivory tunic. Her mass of dark red curls was loose down her back. “Good.”

  Elissa wandered over to the bed, in lieu of pacing or impo
litely demanding why Cera had come to her rooms.

  Mischief greeted the duchess with enthusiasm, jumping on the bed, and licking her face. Cera laughed and scratched him behind the ear.

  Silence fell.

  Elissa shifted back and forth in her ladies’ slippers while the Duchess of Greenwald couldn’t look more relaxed on her bed. Mischief had moved, he lay beside her.

  “How are you, Issa?”

  She startled.

  “Something wrong?” Cera arched an auburn eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “Nay.” Elissa clutched her hands in front of her, then threw them behind her back.

  “Hmm, are you sure? You look nervous. Have a seat. Relax. This is your place, after all.”

  “As you wish.” She gave half-bow and dragged the chair she’d been sitting in moment before away from the desk. Swinging it around, Elissa took a seat across from the duchess. “Did you…need something…from me?”

  Cera shook her head. Her curls danced. “Not particularly. Just wanted to chat.”

  “Ah. We could go to the solar.”

  “Here is fine.”

  “All…right.”

  “Are you ready to depart for Dalunas?” Cera asked, as if Elissa hadn’t struggled to speak a moment before.

  She sat taller. “I am. Senior Rider Jin brought me Lord Cam’s message. All is well, and he awaits me.”

  The duchess looked down, then stroked her hand along Mischief’s back. “Is that what you want?” The question was nonchalant, but when Cera looked up, Elissa was pinned by her gray gaze.

  It took everything she was made of to not glance away. “Aye. Of course.” She tried to make her lips curve up.

  Mouth. Smile. Now. But Elissa couldn’t. She swallowed and tried with all her might not to shift in the chair.

  The duchess didn’t move, nor did she pause in her caresses of Mischief’s silver fur. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.” She sat taller.

  Cera harrumphed.

  Elissa’s heart sank.

  Please, Blessed Spirit, don’t mention Alasdair.

  The duchess straightened on the bed, pulling her hand away from Elissa’s wolfling. Mischief uttered a protest in his throat and stretched, bumping into her, pleading for more attention.

  They both admonished him at the same time and then locked eyes. The laugh bubbled up from nowhere, and Cera laughed, too. Elissa blew out a breath and relaxed into the back of the carved chair. The tension snapped, just like that. Thank you, Mischief.

  Her bondmate sent her a quizzical thought, and she grinned. She’d accidently thought-sent.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t scold him. He’s all yours now.” Cera flashed a lopsided smile.

  “It’s perfectly fine, you were his…mother…for longer than I’ve been.”

  The duchess looked at the wolfling and he wagged his tail. Her smile slid into a grin. “I was, wasn’t I? Well, I’m glad he has you now.”

  “So am I. I’m more grateful for him than I can put into words.”

  Cera nodded and slid to her feet. “You don’t have to put it into words. I see it when you two are together. I’m glad he rejected all the bondmates I offered before you arrived.”

  “He was meant to be mine.” Elissa sent him love and warmth, which he returned. Her body relaxed even more.

  “I agree.” Cera paused. “Well, I just wanted to check on you. From what Jorrin told me, you should pack your things. I think your party will pull out of here in a day or two.”

  “Aye, thank you, my—Cera.”

  Her mock-glare evaporated when Elissa said her given name. The duchess grinned again and inclined her head. “Dalunas is a hard ride, but with Alasdair leading the charge, you’ll be fine.”

  “A-a-a-lasdair?” Elissa stumbled over his name and braced herself on the chair arms, her feeling of contentment due to her bondmate’s love dying as if it’d never been born.

  Cera raised an auburn eyebrow. “Aye,” she said slowly, but her gaze was keen all over again. “He insisted upon it, though he’s not really leading the party. Leargan is going. Along with Lucan, for magical protection.”

  He…wants to see me off? Why?

  Her stomach turned inside and out. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Exquisite torture…to have him see her off. She’d walk away from the man she couldn’t seem to stop loving, only to marry one she couldn’t seem to start.

  “Is something wrong, Issa?”

  “Nay, my lady.” Elissa shook her head, but her denial was automatic. The room started to spin. She flexed her fingers on the chair and begged it to stop.

  “Are you sure?”

  She was coming to hate that phrase. Elissa shook herself and tried to release her death grip. “I’m well.”

  The look that crossed the duchess’ face called her a liar.

  Mischief whined, and Cera shot him a look before meeting Elissa’s eyes again. “You can talk to me, you know. Friends and all that.”

  Blessed Spirit, I want to.

  Her bottom lip wobbled and she bit it so she wouldn’t release the hovering whimper. “I know. Thank you.”

  Cera stared a moment longer. “There’s nothing you want to tell me? Something you need get off your chest?”

  She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Nay, but again, I thank you for the offer.” Silence fell, so she rose from the chair to distract them both. “I’m feeling a bit woozy, so I think I shall lie down.”

  “Do you need Tristan?” the duchess asked.

  “Nay. Just a lie-down shall fix me up. Then…I have to start packing. I’ll see you at evening meal in the great hall.” Elissa intentionally let her gaze sweep the room so she could avoid Cera’s too-knowing eyes.

  “All right. If you need something, please call. I won’t send you off if you’re under the weather. Tristan will examine you. If you need to rest more after that, we’ll postpone things a day or two. Or a sevenday. Whatever might be needed.” She brooked no argument, so Elissa just nodded.

  The duchess left then and she barred the door as soon as it was closed. She collapsed on the huge bed next to her bondmate, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his soft fur.

  Mischief whined and nuzzled her.

  Elissa cried until her mouth and throat were so dry her body begged her to call to the water.

  Damn Sir Alasdair Kearney.

  * * * *

  “Marry me.”

  Her heart catapulted against her ribs. Elissa faced the warm fire, spreading her hands before it. She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d utter the word that wanted to break the seal of her lips. Aye. With all her heart—her body, her soul—she wanted to shout she would marry him.

  The man I love.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said instead, still unable to turn toward him. “Please leave my rooms.”

  Why did he wait three sevendays to ask, anyway? If he truly meant it, if he truly wanted her, he would’ve come back to her much sooner, instead of ignoring her for the last three sevendays.

  Not the night before she was leaving to be delivered to the man she’d marry.

  He hadn’t said a word after dinner, either. Of course, Sir Bowen had sat beside her on the dais, but after their meal, her new chaperone had taken her to the personal guard’s table.

  She’d spoken to most of the knights of the guard, met the wives of the married ones, and sat talking to lovely Lyde, wife of Sir Niall, second-in-command to Sir Leargan. She’d also chatted with Daicy, who was married to Sir Merrick, Meara, who was married to Sir Laith, Sir Padraig’s wife, Briella, and of course, Avril.

  The lasses were as much of a group amongst themselves as the knights. Sisters.

  It’d been a wonderful, lighthearted evening. She’d even danced a few times with different partners.

  Elissa didn’t need Alasdair shattering what little joy she’d mustered. He’d burst through her door much like the night they’d made love.

  She needed him to leav
e. Now.

  “Elissa.”

  Her heart stuttered.

  “Lass, look at me.”

  “Nay,” she whispered, but against her will, her body pivoted. Her gaze darted to his handsome face, then she lowered her lashes. She couldn’t look at him…risk seeing those blue eyes with feeling in them.

  It hurt. Everything…hurt.

  “Elissa.”

  Her name on his lips for the second time had her wringing her hands in front of her so she could keep her gaze low.

  “I do mean it, lass. Marry me. Not Lord Cam. Me.”

  She shook her head. Crushed her eyes shut at his sincerity. “Nay. I can’t. I gave my word to the duke.”

  “But you don’t love him.”

  Elissa squared her shoulders. “What I feel for my betrothed is none of your concern, Sir Alasdair.”

  He winced and she tried to ignore the guilt that roiled her gut.

  “My decision has been made. I won’t marry you because you say you mean it, when in reality, I’m nothing but an obligation to you.”

  “It’s true I took your innocence and have a duty to—”

  “See? You even say it yourself. Obviously you’ve been wrestling with the decision over the last three sevendays. No worries, Sir Alasdair. I release you from any obligation to me. I’m marrying the Duke of Dalunas.”

  “And what of your wedding night? When your husband realizes he is not the first man between your legs?”

  Elissa jolted. He’d been crude, but her belly warmed and memories of them entwined assaulted her. “None of your concern.”

  “You told me you love me.”

  Shock washed her blood to her toes. She blinked. Felt as if she’d been slapped. Her magic tingled. How dare he? “I lied.”

  Alasdair narrowed his eyes. If the next words out of his mouth were a confession of like feelings, Elissa didn’t know what she’d do. She sucked back a whimper.

  “You did not.”

  “Didn’t what?” she croaked.

  “Lie.”

  “I did. I don’t love you.” She had to lock her jaw to keep from taking it back. “It was as you said. I confused lust with tender feelings. I know better now.”