“Zella told me the story when I was still a young child--she never spoke of it again.”
Rhiannon digested that for several moments, suddenly seeing it not as a story, but as hurtful events to real people. Empathy swelled tightly inside of her. “It must have been painful for her--the memory of having to do such a thing when she was grieving for her daughter.”
When Daigon said nothing, she glanced at him. He shrugged. “Mayhap. She was not prone to expressing her feelings.”
She was cool and distant--like Daigon, Or perhaps vice versa would be more accurate? He had not grown up with affection. For that matter, neither had she, but she at least had a handful of memories from before. The witch, Zella, was the only parent Daigon had known.
“She still lives in that faraway land?” Rhiannon asked hesitantly.
“Nay. She was old when I was born. She died many years ago when I was still a youth.”
Rhiannon gaped at him in dismay, wishing she hadn’t asked. “I’m so sorry to have brought up painful memories. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
He shrugged, but it was impossible to tell from his expression whether the reminder bothered him or not, if he grieved still, how painful it might have been at the time. However lacking the woman might have been in motherly love, she had nurtured him from an infant--and he was not an unfeeling man. He must have loved her and it would have had to be hurtful to him to lose her. “How did you--I mean, did you live with someone else then?”
He grimaced. “Nay. I stayed at the cottage. I didn’t have a great deal of choice. Zella was a determined woman.”
“How so?”
“She placed a holding spell upon me. I could not leave until I grew strong enough to break the spell.”
Rhiannon was horrified and made no attempt to hide it. “But--how could you survive under such circumstances?”
“The spell was upon me--I could not leave. There were servants to attend my needs. And I did not say that others were prevented from coming to me. She--arranged a thorough education, an education befitting the king I was to be, but she also saw to it that the hotheadedness of youth did not lead to my downfall even though she could not stay with me to protect me from myself. The spell could only be broken by me, and only when I had become powerful enough to ensure a victory in my quest.”
“Oh,” Rhainnon responded, mulling over what she’d learned of him, trying to imagine the sort of life he’d had. It defied her imagination, but it sounded like it must have been terribly lonely.
Another thought occurred to Rhiannon presently, one that should not have and would not have if she had not been so keenly interested in Daigon personally. If he had been so confined, what sort of experience would he have had with women? She reddened at the thought and glanced at Daigon self-consciously.
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. The threat of a smile curled the corners of his lips. “She insured that I have a very thorough education, and she was a most practical woman.” He leaned close, whispering in her ear. “There were--women from the village.”
Embarrassment flamed in Rhiannon’s cheeks. “That was--most improper,” she said faintly. “And not something I particularly wished to know.” It had been, though, and she could tell when she risked a glance at him that he knew very well that she’d been dying to know. “I believe I’ll retire now,” she said stiffly, getting to her feet abruptly.
It wasn’t until she’d reached the king’s apartments that it occurred to her that Daigon’s upbringing had very likely deprived him of one thing, regardless of what he’d said. He might well have had a parade of prostitutes, and she didn’t doubt his experience in that way, but he would not have had any opportunity to form any sort of relationship. It seemed unlikely that he would have any idea of how to woo, or court, a woman when the only women he was familiar with were paid for their services.
No wonder he had been so angry when she had accused him of using magic to give him the illusion of willingness!
It was absurd that she found that thought so intriguing, but somehow it made her feel less inadequate in dealing with Daigon. Before, the fact that she had knowledge but no first hand experience in matters of the flesh had made her feel completely out of her depth beside Daigon’s superior age and experience. She had had the opportunity to engage in more than one flirtation, however, and as minute as that experience was, it had still given her some understanding of the mating dance. As with matters of the flesh, she knew much more from observation than actual experience, but she had certainly had plenty of opportunities to observe. She doubted very much that Daigon would have had such opportunities in the life that he had described.
It shouldn’t have made any difference to her at all, of course. She knew very well that Daigon could not have, in just a few short weeks, set aside his animosity toward her family sufficiently to look upon her as anything but an enemy. But she could not deny that she was intrigued by that one, tiny possibility of vulnerability in an otherwise impregnable fortress of a man.
She might also be entirely wrong. Just because she had put the thoughts together from what he had said did not make it so. He had, in truth, given her very little--far more than she’d known previously, but still not much.
It was possible, maybe even likely, that she had done precisely what she had accused him of--interpreting his behavior according to what she wanted to believe rather than looking for another explanation that might not be as palatable.
Pure imagination or not, the possibility of it being true was intriguing enough Rhiannon found it very difficult to resist the temptation to test her theory. After pacing near the open door to the balcony for several days, straining to hear what was being said by the men in the keep, and more specifically straining to hear one voice in particular, she finally nerved herself to venture out once more.
Oh so casually, she glanced down at the keep, but all pretense of subtlety abandoned her the moment she spied Daigon. He was bare to the waist and laboring in the sun. The sunlight gleaming off of his glistening torso was mesmerizing. The flexing and bunching of his muscles as he moved and lifted entranced her so deeply that she became transfixed and completely unaware of anything else, including the passing of time, until she finally became aware that Daigon had stopped what he was doing and was staring back at her.
Chapter Nine
Captain Martunae stepped back to appraise the wall they’d just finished repairing, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “Good as new,” he finally pronounced.
Daigon sent him a wry look. “Repairs are never ‘as good as new’. The wall is weak here.”
Captain Martunae shrugged. “I doubt we’ll be able to do any better shy of taking the wall down completely and starting from scratch and I’m thinking this probably isn’t the best of times to consider it. Ye might’ve done better with a bit o’ your magic, and saved us weeks of hard work to boot,” he said, grinning.
Daigon smiled grimly. He didn’t have to look around to know the men, the Aradan men in particular, were listening to the conversation. “I might have, but I see no reason to expend myself when there are plenty of able bodied men to do the job.”
Chuckling, Captain Martunae shook his head. “Ye don’t call that expending yerself? Ye’ve worked as hard on the wall as the lot of us.”
Daigon shrugged. “Laziness can make a man soft and vulnerable to his enemies. In any case, a good day’s work ensures a good night’s rest.”
“I can think of a more pleasant way to ensure that,” Captain Martunae said, grinning as he glanced upward at the balcony off the king’s apartments. He saw when he looked at Daigon again that his eyes had narrowed and his smile vanished abruptly. “A tankard of ale’d do it,” he added a little uneasily.
Daigon smiled thinly. “Alas, I’m not a drinking man.”
Clearing his throat, Captain Martunae instructed the men to hurry with clean up and report to the field for an hour’s practice before sunset.
When the men had moved away, Daigon turned towa
rd the well in the center of the keep. Hoisting a bucket up, he splashed the cool water over his head and chest to rinse off the worst of his labors. Sloughing the excess water from his body, he glanced toward the balcony once more.
She was still there, making no pretense this time to be looking at anything other than the keep, and more specifically, him. His fastidious soul was offended by the thought of approaching her in his current state, but his curiosity got the better of him. On impulse, he used a spell and joined her.
One moment the warlock was standing by the well, the next he wasn’t. Rhiannon glanced around to see where he’d disappeared to. When she discovered he was now standing less than an arm’s length away from her, leaning against the wall of the castle, her heart seized painfully and she let out a yelp of surprise. The fright, coupled with his knowing expression was enough to send her temper soaring. “Showing off your magic tricks to the men again?” she snapped irritably.
The comment effectively wiped the pleased expression from his face, replacing it with irritation of his own. “As it happens, that wasn’t my intention, but then I don’t consider it ‘showing off’.”
“What do you consider it then?”
His eyes narrowed. “Saving myself from the necessity of killing any of them. Dead men are far less productive and fearful men less likely to consider treachery. Taking the air again?” he changed the subject abruptly.
Rhiannon gaped at him in silence for several moments, wondering if the comment about treachery had been aimed at her. It would certainly not be the first time that he had pointed out that he expected such a thing of her. Swallowing her fright and anger with an effort, she turned away, strolling toward the far side of the balcony. “I was bored,” she hedged, refusing to look at him.
“What did you do with your time before?”
Rhiannon glanced at him in surprise, but she saw only curiosity in his expression, not judgment. She shrugged, smiling wryly. “I was bored then, too,” she confessed. “It can be very tedious to spend the whole of every day with nothing but my needle and a gaggle of chattering females. I preferred to stay as far from my uncle as possible, though.”
“Did you?”
Rhiannon studied him for several moments. “It may come as a great surprise to you, but I am not and have never been terribly fond of Uncle Gerard.”
“But blood is still thicker than water, yes?”
The impulse arose to tell him there was no blood bond between them. She curbed it, feeling a coldness sweep over her the moment she realized how close she’d come to confessing it. She looked away, chastising herself for being a complete fool. When had it become so important to her that Daigon not see her as his enemy? She wasn’t certain, but she feared it was a dangerous state. She knew little more about him now than she had before, not enough to know how he would react to that information.
The men he’d sent to search for her uncle had been gone for weeks without word, but even as ignorant as she was in matters of war, Rhiannon could see that Daigon was preparing to defend what he’d taken. He expected her uncle to try to regain his hold upon Aradan. Very likely, he saw her as his trump card.
He would certainly not be pleased to find himself holding a joker.
Instead of answering him directly, she simply stared off toward the distant horizon, watching as it slowly changed colors. “When I was a little girl, I used to wonder what my life would be like if I’d been born to another family,” she said musingly. “In those days, we had fairs at least twice a year, and everyone would come from miles around to visit and I would envy the families I saw. I knew they were poor, and often hungry. I knew their lives were hard, but they always seemed so happy when I saw them, so excited by all the sights. And I would think ‘they are serfs, but they are still more free than I will ever be’.”
“You were wrong.”
She glanced at him. “Yes, but the point is no one ever really knows what another person’s life is. They are on the outside looking in. They may see only the best moments, or the worst, and they judge from that and a glimpse is not enough to make a judgment.”
“Meaning I have misjudged you?”
Rhiannon sent him a look from beneath her lashes.
Frowning, he moved away from her and stood watching the men below.
Rhiannon debated with herself for several moments and finally joined him. The men, she saw, were setting up for archery practice. “Tell me what you know of these men,” Daigon said.
Rhiannon glanced at him in surprise. “You probably know them far better than I,” she responded.
He lifted his dark brows and a touch of irritation surfaced. He must know she had little contact with the common soldiers--very little with the knights if it came to that. He had worked alongside them for weeks, practiced war with them--fought against them. What could she possibly add that he would not already have discovered for himself?
She looked away, staring down at the keep below them. “Many are mercenaries, though most were hired by my uncle three summers past when war seemed likely with Caracco. Captain Bryon seemed to have few complaints of them, nor the people, so I would be inclined to say that they are good men and trustworthy. The others are of Aradan and have families here.”
“And their loyalties?”
Rhiannon glanced at him again. “The mercenaries are hired--their loyalty lies with whoever pays them. The others, like Captain Bryon--they are loyal to Aradan and fight to protect their families.”
“Not Gerard?”
She frowned. “He was not a beloved King if that is what you are asking.”
He fell silent, watching the men practice. “You have some knowledge of archery, do you not?”
Rhiannon glanced at him and saw that he was studying the mark on the palm of his hand. She could hardly claim that as proof of her accuracy, even if she’d wanted to. She’d been aiming for his heart and they both knew it. “I can usually hit what I shoot at,” she said.
He nodded. “But you are not up to a contest.”
Obviously there was no question in his mind that her abilities were extremely limited or there would have been a questioning note to the comment. Rhiannon suspected that she was being played, but the comment pricked her anyway. “I have not the strength for distance shots,” she said tartly, “but my accuracy at short range is good.”
“Good enough that you would consider wagering on it?”
Something tightened in her belly at the expression on his face. “I have nothing to wager,” she responded a little breathlessly.
“The question is, are you certain enough of your skill to wager?”
Rhiannon wrestled with the cowardly urge to say she wasn’t and the unwise impulse, she feared, to say that she was. The teasing light in his eyes was enough to push her toward the latter impulse. “Yes, but....”
He grinned. Before she had quite grasped his intention, he caught her and pulled her tightly against his chest. The feel of his body pressed tightly against hers, his heat and scent wafted over her, leaving dizziness in its wake. She gasped as the sensation engulfed her completely and she felt as if she were falling into a chasm.
She became aware of sound first, confused by the nearest of the voices of the men, the smells of the keep. When she opened her eyes, she discovered that she was standing in the keep. Disoriented, she simply stared, unmoving, at the men who were gaping at her. Finally, when it occurred to her that the hard surface she was plastered against was moving, she lifted her head.
The warlock, Daigon was looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Disconcerted to discover that she was still wrapped tightly around him, especially since she didn’t remember hugging herself to him to start with, she let go of him and stepped back.
“Are you all right?”
“How did I get here?” The words were scarcely out of her mouth before she realized exactly how she’d gotten from the balcony above them to the practice yard and she sent Daigon an accusing look.
His lips twisted
wryly. “I see you’ve remembered. Are you still up for the contest? Or are you going to beg off now?”
She sent him a resentful glare, well aware that he’d deliberately asked loudly enough for everyone to hear. She had not, precisely, agreed to the contest and he knew it, but she saw from the expressions of those around her that if she said no they would think her a poor sport. She shouldn’t have cared, but she did. It was bad enough that they thought so poorly of her uncle. She didn’t want that low opinion reflected upon her. “I was only a little dizzy,” she said pointedly. “I am fine now.”
Triumph gleamed in his eyes. A smile tugged at one corner of his lips, but her expression obviously gave him pause for the smile never entirely materialized. He looked away. “A bow for the princess. She has challenged me to a contest of skills.”
Rhiannon gave him a look. “I did no such thing!” she whispered irritably. “And what is more, I have no idea what the wager is and I will not go one step more until I am certain it is something I am willing to agree to!”
Daigon chuckled and leaned low. “It is not something you will miss having given it.”
Rhiannon blinked at him, feeling her jaw go slack and a dark tide of color rushing upward from her breasts to her forehead.
Her reaction obviously struck him as funny, for his chuckle became an all out laugh that startled her almost as much as the suggestion he’d made. Regardless, it warmed her, lightening her spirits. She saw that it had had a similar effect on the men around them and it occurred to her abruptly to wonder if that had not been at least a part of the reason Daigon had suggested the contest, to boost the morale of the men. They looked as if they’d been offered a rare treat.
“Princess Rhiannon has wagered one kiss, freely given, upon the outcome of the contest.”
The color that had only begun to fade returned with a vengeance as the men, after a stunned moment, laughed heartily at that announcement.
The Warlock Page 9
