“How long do you expect me to wait?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know. Until I’m ready.” Until I’m sure.
“Until you want me so badly you can’t keep your hands from my body,” he teased.
“Until I’m ready,” she said more sharply, realizing that she might never want Jahn, not in the way of which he spoke. But if she decided to make a new life as a sentinel’s wife, sex would be part of the bargain. Eventually. They would have to move forward with caution, to make sure she didn’t turn her new husband into a statue of glass if he moved too fast, if he frightened or pushed her. Would this odd calm continue? Would the warmth which currently filled her keep the icy destruction at bay?
“We should move slowly,” he said.
“Yes.” Relief was evident in her voice.
“We have been man and wife, of sorts, for several days now,” he said. “I have been very patient and will continue to be, but perhaps we could start things off with a kiss.” He moved gently toward her.
“You want me to kiss you?” Her words were not quite a screech.
“Only if you would like to do so,” he said. He stopped where he was, waiting for her to come to him, waiting for her to lay her lips on his. “I suspect you are a woman sweeter given freely than taken or coerced. You have married a patient man, Ana. I will not seduce you. I will not cajole you. Come to me in your own way, in your own time, and soon enough we will learn if we are well suited or not.” He smiled in that charming way he had. “I suspect we will find ourselves very well suited, but I will not rush you.”
For that patience alone, she could kiss him!
When Tomas had moved toward her on that horrible night, he had done so with force and anger, and her curse had arisen against her will. At this moment, with Jahn so close and yet not at all threatening, she felt no chill at all. Instead, she felt quite warm and content. How strange. No, not strange at all. Angry as she had been with this man who had claimed her, she’d never felt endangered. In fact, Jahn had done all he could to make her feel safe and protected. He had kind eyes, she admitted to herself.
“I don’t suppose one kiss will matter much,” she said. After all, she had shared short, sweet kisses with suitors before. This would be no different.
Jahn waited for her to move nearer, leaving the next step entirely in her hands. She scooted toward him and reached up to cup his head in her hand. He was a large man, and she was made more aware of that fact since they were so very close, closer than they had been before. Her hand seemed so small against the back of his head; he seemed to dwarf her when he was so near. Everything about him—his neck, his hands, his shoulders—was massive.
And still, she was not afraid.
She drew his mouth to hers, intent on giving him a quick, passionless first kiss.
The moment their mouths touched, she realized this would be like no other kiss. She felt the touch to her very core. It shook her, in ways she had never before been shaken. Heavens, he was so warm and wonderful and gentle, and inside she was aroused with turmoil. She did not suffer the rush of cold that preceded her deadly gift, but was washed with an infusion of heat and pleasure. She had never felt so blissfully connected to anyone. She had never before felt so much a part of something more than herself. Her mouth moved, his lips parted, and the heat they generated was remarkable.
She did not want the kiss to end. Her hands settled on his shoulders, and she shifted her body so they were closer together. His arms wrapped around her, and instead of being afraid, she welcomed those arms. She was sheltered here, not abused. She was a part of this embrace, not trapped within it. This was a proper kiss, unlike anything she had ever known.
Perhaps she fell into Jahn because without him she was truly alone in the world. Were they like two soldiers, as he’d suggested, taking on the world side by side? Could she approach marriage as if it were a pact between two strangers who needed one another? Reasons didn’t matter as the heat the kiss generated grew deeper and hotter.
It was Jahn who abruptly ended the kiss, and as he drew away from her, she noted the dazed look in his eyes. The intensity of the kiss had surprised him, too. There was a touch of pain in his voice as he said, “If you wish this marriage to remain unconsummated, the kiss must end. Now.”
Interesting as the kiss had been, she did not wish to rush headlong into a situation she did not entirely understand. In spite of her odd sensations of connection and safety, Jahn was still, in essence, a stranger, and she could not shake the certainty that part of her attraction to him was tied to the fact that with his help she was running away from what she’d done to Tomas. He was a part of her escape; he was a large part of the reason she felt safe tonight.
This common marriage was not entirely done until they shared a bed. Taking that step, giving herself to him, would mean the possibility of babies, it would mean a forever marriage. There would be no walking away from him once that deed was done. Now, when she could still taste him on her lips, she did not want to walk away. Tomorrow that might change.
“Your beard tickles,” she said.
“Does it?” Jahn ran a hand across the offending facial hair.
“A little.” Morgana squirmed. She should not waste precious time on unimportant details, not when her mind was spinning so. She gathered up all of her courage to ask, “Why did you choose me?” She did not move away from him, as she should, but remained close. She liked being so near. “Truly, Jahn, why me? Just because you overheard my father make his silly vow, that didn’t mean you had to walk into the room and take advantage of the situation. Any unwed girl in Arthes would surely be glad to have you, and she’d likely be less trouble, too.” Morgana was well aware that she was not the easiest woman in Columbyana to live with. She could be demanding, and Jahn knew that too well, having witnessed her refusal of the emperor’s offer and all that came with it. “Why me?”
“You’re strong,” he said. “I like that in a woman. Some men prefer a mouse who will dance to their tune, but I want a wife with backbone and stamina.” He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. “It does not hurt matters at all that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She smiled. “And have you seen many?”
“Yes, I have. None holds a candle to you, Ana.”
It was nice that he thought she was beautiful, but she was more impressed by his admiration of her strength. Beauty was not forever; strength was bone deep.
“You have your own beauty, you know,” she said. “Though I am anxious to see you without the beard. It’s rather scraggly and scratchy, and it does tickle. You will shave it, won’t you?”
“I suppose I might,” he said warily. “One day.”
She touched the beard with her fingertips. “You also have your own strength, and an abundance of gentleness, as well. I am glad for both.”
Jahn frowned and backed away from her a little. “I did not expect you to be so accepting so soon,” he said.
“Neither did I.”
“What happened?” he asked gruffly.
Morgana stared into what remained of the fire. She wanted to tell Jahn what had led her to this point without telling too much. “On the First Night of the Spring Festival, I spied upon a bonfire where women from the village danced and laughed and flirted outrageously with the men who danced after them. For a moment, I was horribly envious.” There were those at home who would be shocked to hear that she had been out and about on that night when Tomas had been murdered, but Jahn would never go back there and tell. This moment was just for them. What an odd thought that was! “Those women would not be bartered to the highest bidder; they were not chosen for their social standing or their family lands or the blood in their veins. They could choose a husband for the color of his hair or the brightness of his smile, if they wished.”
“Hardly valid reasons . . .”
“But the point is, they could choose.” She touched Jahn’s face again, then pulled her hand away. It would not be wise
to move too quickly. “Though I was surprised and a teeny bit dismayed when I first heard that Blane had already delivered my refusal to the emperor, I find I am not sorry that option has been removed. In fact, I’m not at all sorry. I’m glad it’s done.”
“You might be sorry tomorrow,” Jahn said ominously. “An emperor and a palace are a lot to give up. As empress you would have jewels and so many gowns you could not count them all. You would have servants to see to your every need, fine chefs and ladies’ maids. Is that not a tremendous sacrifice?”
“Not for the freedom to pick a man for myself.”
“And will you pick me?” he asked, oddly solemn.
Morgana gave him a tired smile. Suddenly she felt sleep coming on, and she knew she would find good dreams and much-needed rest when she laid her head down once more. Jahn had said no harm would come to her while she was in his care, and she believed him. “Perhaps I will.” Her smile widened. “Then again, perhaps not.”
Chapter Four
THE room Blane had arranged was barely suitable for a beggar, much less a lady like Morgana. Jahn felt a moment’s guilt as he led her through the tavern—where no one recognized him in his disguise—and up the stairs to their new home. In the beginning he had planned to end the charade as soon as they reached Arthes, but along the way he’d changed his mind. He wasn’t ready to give up whatever this was that they’d found. He wanted more.
Morgana surprised him by accepting the situation. He’d expected to be forced to carry her kicking and screaming up the stairs, then have to endure hours of indignant screeching before she finally pleaded with him to take her to the emperor and the pampered life she deserved. She was a spoiled, haughty girl who needed a lesson in the harshness of life, and this room he was forcing her to call home was rough, even by his standards.
Actually, it was no longer true that he thought her entirely spoiled and in need of a harsh lesson. He told himself that on occasion, to justify housing her in this rough place, but to be honest, she intrigued him. There was more to this woman than met the eye, and he was not ready to let her go. Not yet.
She did sigh as she glanced about the small room, which was awash in sunlight which shone through the uncovered window. The mattress was uncovered, too, though there were stained—but clean—sheets folded and lying upon a nearby table. In one corner there was a small, lopsided table which might be suitable for dining, and one unsteady chair. A wooden chest with no lid had been placed at the foot of the bed, storage for a sentinel’s meager belongings. Blane had done his job well in creating the fantasy. The chest held a couple of ordinary weapons and a change of clothing, as well as implements for shaving and sharpening the blades.
There had been a time when Jahn would’ve considered the room more than adequate. He’d become spoiled himself, he supposed.
He’d make Morgana stay here only a day or two, and then either she’d beg to be taken to the palace to vie for the position of empress, or he’d give up and reveal himself to her. True, she had mentioned going to the emperor last night, but her sudden capitulation had been too easy, the result of a moment of fear rather than a true realization. One way or another, she would discover his true identity and she’d be relieved, or furious, or amused. He never knew what to expect from her. He had certainly not expected the kiss.
The kiss had been a mistake. He could not—would not—definitely should not—indulge in a physical relationship with Lady Morgana, no matter how tempting she might be. Not that she was likely to offer herself to him, even though she did seem oddly accepting of their “marriage.” He would tell her the truth of who he was—one way or another—long before she decided to make this marriage of theirs the real thing.
As if she ever would.
“The room could use some work,” she said as she walked to the window and looked down on the street. This was not the best part of the city, which was why there were, and would continue to be, four sentinels posted in the tavern below. Morgana would never know that she was being protected, but his most trusted soldiers would watch over her while she was a resident in this less-than-fine room.
Jahn thought of how she might react when she discovered his true identity, and he played the possibilities in his mind. He could imagine too well having Blane lead Morgana into an empty ballroom where he would be waiting for her, wearing his imperial robes and a heavy crown. He imagined her smile, her evident relief, in realizing that she was not married to a sentinel who had no ambitions beyond surviving from one day to the next and having an obedient wife to give him children. Perhaps she would laugh at her gullibility and his cleverness. Perhaps she would be so overjoyed that this inadequate room was not her home that she’d throw herself into his arms and claim another kiss.
What fantasy that was. Knowing Morgana as he did, Jahn suspected that when he revealed himself, she’d demand to be taken straight home. She would be furious.
“Don’t be making too many changes,” Jahn said roughly as he tossed his leather bag, which contained shaving implements he had not used on the journey as well as a single dirty shirt, onto the bed. “I like my room just as it is.”
“It’s my room now, too,” Morgana argued. “Surely a few adjustments, perhaps a thorough cleaning and a bit of decorating . . .”
“We do not yet know that this will be your home, as the marriage has not yet been made eternal. Lie with me as a wife, and you can make all the changes you’d like.” He smiled, knowing she would refuse his generous offer.
Morgana studied the room once more, with narrowed eyes. “I suppose it will do, for now.” She gazed for a long moment at the single bed. “Where will you sleep?”
Jahn pointed to the bed she gazed upon. “Right there, as always. As you can see, it cants a bit to the right, but after sleeping on the road it’s a welcome relief to settle my old bones on that mattress.”
She pursed her lips for a moment, then asked, “Where will I sleep?”
Once again, Jahn pointed to the bed, “Beside me, unless you’d prefer the floor.” He fully expected Morgana would choose the hard floor over sharing his bed, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. He wouldn’t know for certain until nightfall, which was several hours away. “Well, I must go to the palace and report my return to Arthes.”
Morgana’s spine straightened and her face paled a little. “When will you be back?”
“I don’t know,” Jahn said, shrugging his shoulders. “A sentinel’s life is uncertain. I serve at the emperor’s pleasure.”
Morgana made an unkind scoffing noise which originated in her throat. “The blasted emperor. He has other sentinels. Why does he need you so soon after your return?”
Jahn smiled. “I’m his favorite.”
“Don’t jest,” she snapped. “I don’t want to stay here by myself. I’m alone in a strange city, in a small, dirty room. Not so far below this room rough men are drinking and laughing. If you leave, who will protect me?”
Jahn removed a small dagger from his vest. “Here you are, love. Protection.”
She paled again, and refused to take the weapon from him.
“No one will bother you, trust me on that,” he said seriously. “You are safe here; I give you my word. I would not leave you here alone if I did not know that to be true.”
“But . . .”
“Stay in this room, and I will return as soon as I can.”
She wrinkled her nose, but seemed to accept the order and the promise.
“Blasted emperor,” she said again. “It’s quite obvious that I need you more than he does. What kind of emperor is he, anyway? A poor one, if you ask me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Morgana pursed her lips. “Arik fought for his throne. He earned it with blood and chivalry. Emperor Jahn simply walked into the palace and took his seat. He fought for nothing.”
Jahn was taken aback. Was this what people thought of him? Did others think him worthless and undeserving? “He was a soldier in the war against Ciro.�
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“As were many others,” Morgana replied. “What did he do that was so special that he was made emperor, except to have the luck to call an old, incompetent emperor father?”
“Many people think he’s a fine man.”
Morgana snorted and wrinkled her nose.
“We will continue this discussion later.” Jahn left the room, closing the door solidly behind him. He waited in the hallway until he heard the latch fall into place. Morgana was locked inside.
He bounded down the stairs, strangely content even though Morgana had just called him a poor emperor. One of the sentinels on guard, the lanky Sorayo, met his emperor at the foot of the stairs. Jahn barely slowed down. “When she leaves, follow her. Do not allow her to see you, but keep her safe.”
“You seem certain that she will leave,” the sentinel said as he trailed Jahn to the door.
Jahn smiled. “Of course she will. I told her not to.”
DANYA wondered how much the deputy minister of magic had heard before he’d bloodied Ennis’s nose and issued his ultimatum. If he knew that this potential empress was not an innocent maid, if he knew that she had given birth to a child who had not lived, then he did not reveal his knowledge in his words or his actions.
Of course, he uttered few words, and his actions consisted of staying away from her and riding straight toward Arthes and the palace.
Danya wanted to be situated in that palace as soon as possible. She wanted to make herself at home, study the palace and its residents, and make herself a part of life there so that the emperor would choose her when the time came. She would be pretty and agreeable. She would be the perfect empress.
And she would never go home. She would never again sit across the table from the man who had stolen her innocence and broken her heart.
When they stopped at midday, Danya handed her horse over to a sentinel who would care for it while she rested, and she walked toward a narrow stream which ran nearby. Her steps were slow and easy as she stretched her limbs and reacquainted herself with solid ground. She liked to ride, truly she did, but she had never been in the saddle for such long hours.
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