Rogue's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  She resisted the urge to tug it straight or brush the sandy dirt from it.

  “Alasdair.” His name fell from her mouth in a cracked whisper. The first thing out of her mouth should’ve been that she carried his child, but when Elissa was enveloped by his heat, she forgot she was filthy. Forgot her whole body ached.

  When she felt his lips on her gritty forehead, tears leaked from her eyes. She melted into his chest, wrapping her arms around him.

  He squeezed her back. Alasdair chanted, “Lass, lass, lass,” right above her ear, his warm breath shifting her stringy hair.

  Somehow, she wished he’d say her name.

  “Alasdair…” There was so much she wanted to say. Nothing would cooperate.

  “Don’t cry. I’m—we’re—here, my lady. There’s no more danger.” He didn’t wipe her tears away as he had in the past, but his gaze didn’t waver from her face. “Are you hurt?”

  Elissa shook her head. “Did you see him?”

  “See who?”

  “The half-elfin man?” She quickly launched into her captor’s appearance and what she knew of his identity, as well as explaining to her knight of his companions.

  Alasdair listened intently but kept repeating she had nothing to worry about. The men who’d had her were dead.

  She didn’t correct him that it was only one, nor did she ask questions. Fatigue had her melting into his comforting embrace. Elissa couldn’t even muster the strength to tell him about the bracelet or Dimithian.

  “Let’s get you to Lord Cam.”

  “Lord…Cam?” Her heart plummeted to her knees.

  “Your betrothed is anxious to see you, lass.”

  Elissa swallowed as a new bout of tears threatened and her throat closed up. The man she loved scrambled to his feet with her in his arms, against his hard body. He strode out of the cave, but he didn’t have to go far.

  To give her to another.

  The Duke of Dalunas sheathed his sword when he saw them, his face a mask of concern. “Elissa!” He rushed toward them, and before she could blink, she was transferred to Lord Cam’s arms.

  “I can walk,” she whispered.

  “Nonsense,” Lord Cam said, about as stern as she’d ever heard him. His lips brushed hers and Elissa tried not to wince.

  Their gazes locked and she stared into his crystal blue eyes.

  They’re the wrong color blue.

  “Elissa, are you hurt?”

  “Nay, my lord. Sir Alasdair rescued me.”

  The duke looked at her knight. Something passed over his expression, but what, she couldn’t name. “For that, I’ll be forever grateful. He brought you back to me.”

  Alasdair gave a curt nod and muttered something about duty.

  Elissa blinked to clear her vision but the tears wouldn’t stop. Her magic didn’t push back for once; she was too tired.

  The only thing she was to him was a duty, like it’d always been.

  Foolish lass.

  The hope she’d felt after Drayton had told her she was with child dissolved. She’d felt deep down that Alasdair would find her, come back her as promised by the tree all those days ago.

  She’d entertained stupid ideas of being his wife and raising his child at his side. He’d demanded her hand before, because he’d taken her innocence. He didn’t want her. Still. The presence of his child would make no difference.

  He’d given her to Lord Cam without hesitation.

  “Elissa?” Lord Cam whispered. Her name was a question, but she wouldn’t explain even if she could.

  Not to him.

  She shook her head and nestled closer to the duke, sliding her shaking arms around his neck.

  He hiked her higher, held her tighter. But so gently, mixed emotions churned her stomach. “I’m so glad I have you back.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Mischief circled them, whining.

  Elissa thought-sent to her bondmate that she was all right. At least on the outside.

  “Is he well?” Lord Cam asked.

  “Aye, my lord. Anxious to leave from here, as am I.”

  A smile played at the duke’s full mouth and Elissa forced one in return, albeit the tiniest curve of her lips.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  Home?

  She whimpered and his step paused.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Aye. I’d like a bath.”

  Lord Cam nodded. “Of course. We’ll go to Castle Rowan for the night, we’re close. We’ll consult the king. You can soak all you want. We’ll depart for Dalunas tomorrow. There will be no pressure. Everything’ll be at your pace, Elissa.”

  Her name didn’t roll off his tongue with a Terraquist brogue. Somehow the southern lilt didn’t sound right. She swallowed again and begged the tears to cease.

  The arms that held her were warm. The chest she was against was firm, muscled and protective. The blue eyes that regarded her were kind, caring.

  Too bad it was all wrong.

  Elissa bit down on the sob threatening to escape.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Watching her be carried away in the Duke of Dalunas’ arms was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Stupidest, too.

  If Alasdair was having a hard time listening to his head, he was totally ignoring his heart.

  No other choice.

  Lord Cam was what she wanted. She’d made it clear the day she’d been taken. When he’d kissed her by the tree.

  So, he was doing the right thing. Letting her go, like she’d asked.

  The way she’d clung to him in the cave hadn’t meant anything. He’d just been the first to her side.

  The noise of the tavern grated on his senses, and he flexed his fingers around the tankard of ale that was probably warm by now. Then again, he didn’t give a shite what the temperature of his drink was, because he’d lost count of how many he’d tossed back.

  The ride home had been a blur, and he’d not even made it to Castle Aldern, let alone his rooms. Hadn’t said a word when he’d broken off from the group, either. Leargan had looked his way, but thank the Blessed Spirit his captain had let him go.

  Another bite out of his pride; Lord Cam had his own men, as well as two mages. They didn’t need anyone from Greenwald to accompany them to Dalunas.

  Now that everyone but the tracker was dead, there wasn’t a real worry the party would be followed to the far southeastern Province.

  She’s safe with the duke.

  Leargan and their brothers would brief Lord Jorrin and regroup. Lucan and Dallon, along with Kale and Bowen, had stayed in Terraquist. They were still scouring for the tracker, with the help of the king’s twin mages. No doubt they’d continue until they found him.

  Elissa had told them he was half-elfin, and she’d been able to give a decent physical description. Unfortunately, so far they hadn’t any clues to where he’d gone.

  Alasdair owed him a thank you for killing the mage who’d stolen her.

  He’d watched her cry in Lord Cam’s arms when she’d spoken of the evil elemental confessing to the deaths of her family and that he’d ordered the lasses and their families killed. She hadn’t said so, but his gut told him she felt guilty for their demise. He’d ached to be the one to hold her. Dry her tears. Tell her nothing was her fault.

  She hadn’t looked his way once.

  When the duke had released her to comfort her upset bondmate, Alasdair hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away. Even after all she’d been through, with tears on her cheeks and rumpled dirty clothing, she was gorgeous. Elissa had sat in the dirt and wrapped her arms around the wolf.

  Lord Cam had hovered, and finally coaxed her to her feet and into a thick mantel. Alasdair had given up watching when the duke had gathered her into his arms on the back of his horse. She’d snuggled into him and closed her eyes.

  Snow had started to fall, making them look like the perfect couple on the back of the huge w
hite warhorse. As if they were out for an afternoon ride.

  The bite in the winter air hadn’t stung as much as seeing that.

  She hadn’t even said goodbye.

  Emotion clogged in his throat and he put the wooden mug to his lips. Threw back the warm ale, wincing as it slid down his throat. Cursed himself to hell and back. “I should’ve said goodbye.”

  “Pardon?” The barmaid wiping the counter in front of him leaned close, brandishing a low bodice and barely covered breasts. Blonde ringlets framed her face, and her eyes were hazel, her smile sweet.

  The hue of her hair and eyes made him ache.

  “Nothing, lass. I’ll have another.”

  “Coming right up!” She whirled around, wiggling her hips and winking over her shoulder as she filled a new tankard with frothy cold ale. She put it down in front of him with another wink. “When you’re done with that, we could go—”

  Alasdair gestured and slid her some coins. More than enough for his ale. “Thank you, lass, but nay. Not interested.”

  Her smile fell, but she nodded, taking the gold and moving on to the next man who’d hollered for a drink. The big lad snagged her hand and reached to touch her face. She stroked his arm and grinned. If the bar hadn’t been between them, no doubt she would’ve been on his lap.

  Alasdair shook his head.

  Burying himself between a willing lass’ thighs was exactly what he should do. He didn’t want anyone but Elissa. Wouldn’t risk another incident like the one with Betha. He might never rut a woman again.

  “Been looking for you.” Leargan’s voice sounded behind him.

  Alasdair didn’t answer.

  “This is the third tavern.”

  Still didn’t answer, even when his captain slid onto the barstool beside him.

  A different lass rushed over, offering Leargan a drink. He waved her off.

  Alasdair could feel his stare.

  “Since when do you spend time in Lower Greenwald, anyway?”

  He shrugged.

  “Alas—”

  “You might as well go home, Leargan. Leave me be.”

  “Nay.” The word was hard. When they made eye-contact, his captain arched a dark eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Alasdair grunted. Sipped his new cold ale, cradling the stein with both hands. “What’s not wrong with me?”

  Leargan said nothing for a few breaths. Then his warm calloused hand landed on Alasdair’s forearm. “Then fix it.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. His hair, loose because he’d not bothered with it, danced around his shoulders, tickled his neck.

  Loud laughter and boisterous conversation surrounded them, but Alasdair had never felt worse. “I can’t.”

  The captain’s sigh made him meet Leargan’s dark gaze. “Are you willing to let her go because you’re a stubborn fool?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then go get her. Before it’s too late. Before they wed.”

  “She doesn’t want me. I already asked her to marry me instead.”

  Leargan reared back, eyes wide, mouth half-agape. “What?”

  “I asked for her hand. She declined.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Alasdair stood from the stool, ignoring how his eyes swam and his head spun from those endless tankards of ale. “I’m not letting her go because it’s what I want, all right?”

  “Alas—”

  “Leargan. Listen to what I’m saying. She rejected me. She chose Lord Cam. The knight lost to the duke. It’s only natural.” He whirled away from the bar, even though he had nowhere to go. Alasdair just wanted away. Wanted to go somewhere he could mourn in silence. Alone.

  Leargan’s hand shot out. Landed on his wrist and squeezed. “Ansley rejected me.”

  “That was different.”

  “How so?”

  “Her words were untrue. She was protecting herself.”

  His captain snorted. “Exactly.” Leargan released him, crossing his arms over his broad chest and leaning back on the stool. His gaze was sharp, and he wore a smirk.

  “What?”

  “You’re right, Alas.”

  “I’m right?”

  “Ansley was protecting herself, because she thought I didn’t love her. Same as Lady Elissa.”

  “Well, I don’t lo—” Alasdair’s head spun. He couldn’t assure Leargan of a…lie? His knees wobbled. He listed to one side, then grabbed the bar with both hands. Planted his arse on the barstool he’d just abandoned so he wouldn’t slide to the dirty planked floor.

  I love her.

  His mouth went dry, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

  Leargan’s chuckle made him glare. “Light dawns, does it?”

  Normally, Alasdair would fire back a quick retort, but he had none. His brain and tongue worked in tandem to fail him. He blinked. Swallowed hard—twice.

  “Everyone knows how you feel about her. Just once glance, Alas; it’s obvious. Considering I’ve never seen you like this over a lass, well, that’s the amazing thing,” Leargan said with a gentle edge. Like he wasn’t really calling him the idiot he was.

  “I—”

  “What’s more,” his friend continued as if he hadn’t tried, “is that she looks at you the same way.”

  “Nay. She picked Lord Cam.” His denial was quick and even. Composure settled back over him, despite the ale and the revelation. He’d never felt like this before. And he wasn’t going to ever again.

  Too bad it doesn’t matter.

  Leargan gave him a long look. “You hurt her. I don’t know how, but I can guess.”

  Alasdair wasn’t about to confirm or explain. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. She rode off into the sunset with her duke. They’ll live happily ever after. Have a hoard of fair-haired lassies and laddies.”

  “Alasdair the Bard.” One corner of his captain’s mouth shot up. Then he sobered. “What about you?”

  “What about me? Life goes on. There’re other lasses. I was a fool to think I could change my ways.” He cursed his almost wistful tone. Emotion caught in his throat and he had to look away.

  Leargan’s hand squeezing his forearm again brought Alasdair’s gaze back. His longtime friend’s expression was too serious for a rundown tavern in Lower Greenwald. “You’ve made up your mind?”

  His heart rejected his curt nod. It fought back, making his body tense, shoulders tight, and his stomach roil. All contradictions of how relaxed he should be from so much ale.

  Something flashed in Leargan’s eyes, but he didn’t voice his obvious disagreement.

  Alasdair wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Reassurance or denial. Both would’ve been lies. He simply wanted something he couldn’t have. Wasn’t the first time in his thirty-one turns; wouldn’t be the last.

  “Getting gutted by a poisoned-tipped sword hurts less than a broken heart,” Leargan whispered.

  Alasdair didn’t—couldn’t—refute that. “I’m ready to go home.” Other words played at the tip of his tongue. Nothing he wanted to say to his captain, though.

  “All right.”

  He stood, not waiting for Leargan as he turned, wading through male and female bodies to reach the door. Ignored the lass or two that bid him to stay, blowing kisses and rubbing breasts on his biceps, tugging on his hands.

  Aye, heartache seared him from the inside out, but it couldn’t last forever.

  Could it?

  * * * *

  “Lord Aldern wants to see you.”

  “Me?” Alasdair looked up from the sword he was sharpening in the armory. Normally it was a squire’s duty, but he’d just needed away from everyone. Couldn’t stand to be around even his brothers.

  Leargan nodded. The captain stepped into the dim room, the door open wide behind him.

  Alasdair squinted against the bright winter sunlight behind his brother. He blinked as Lucan’s globes dimmed and then returned to their former radiance when Leargan shut
the door. “What about?”

  “I generally don’t question my duke.” His dark eyes belied him, dancing with amusement. Lips twitched as if the captain was fighting a smile.

  He wanted to snap, “What the hell’s funny?” Alasdair sighed and ignored his longtime friend, making another pass over his blade with the stone.

  “Lucan can do that with magic, you know. Or Brodic would’ve done it for you with the stone.”

  He grunted. “It’s my sword, I wanted to do it.”

  “Alasdair.” Leargan leaned against the armory wall, between two racks. One held men-at-arms swords, and the other, battle axes.

  “What?”

  “How’re you doing?”

  Pausing, Alasdair tried to avoid his captain’s gaze. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Leargan arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “If you don’t watch out, I’ll test the sharpness of my blade on you.”

  His brother pushed off the wall chuckling. “I was serious.”

  “So was I.” He smiled. A little.

  “We’re all concerned about you.”

  Alasdair sighed. “Just…leave it. All right?” Pain threatened to cripple him all over again, and he shoved it away, like he had every moment of every day for the last month and a half. She’d been gone for the six longest sevendays of his life.

  How could he move on if everyone kept nagging him? His brothers were worse than a group of chattering lasses.

  They hadn’t caught her half-elfin captor, either. That grated on many a temper, including Lucan’s. The young knighted mage was taking it personally. The lad had taken the Dimithian from the cave, too. He studied it non-stop, as if the so-called myth could help.

  It was his captain’s turn to sigh. “For now.” He took a breath. “The duke’s in his ledger room waiting for you.”

  He stood from the long bench and stretched. His lower back gave a protest. Alasdair had lost track of how long he’d been in the armory. “I can’t imagine what Lord Jorrin could want with me.”

  Leargan’s face was a mask of innocence he didn’t buy for a second. The captain shrugged. “He didn’t say. Just bid me to summon you.”