“Pardon, my lord,” he said shakily and pulled back on his reins, dropping back to ride with the knights that followed at Daigon’s heels.
“There is a problem?”
Captain Martunae glanced at the man who’d spoken to him, and then at those around them, but shook his head. It would be far better, he thought, if they didn’t know Daigon spoke with the dead. They’d been unnerved enough when they’d seen the army of specters he’d raised, but those, at least, had been mere puppets and he wasn’t sure the men realized that it actually had been an army of the dead, and not merely an illusion. “Wake up Lars and Angus before they fall off their horses.”
Daigon frowned at the distracting murmur of voices behind him, summoning his grandmother to him once more. You know something I do not? He demanded.
You are puzzled. You have not ferreted out the reason? Or has that female so bewitched you you can not think?
Daigon’s lips tightened. If you have solved the riddle, then speak.
The simplest answer is usually the correct one.
Which is?
There is no blood bond between the girl and your enemy.
Daigon’s heart seemed to jolt to a halt in his chest. She is not the daughter of Nordain?
If she were, a link to her would give you a strong link to her blood kin, would it not?
Daigon considered that for several moments, wondering why he hadn’t realized it before. Was it because she had so successfully distracted him? Does she know?
You will have to find your own answer to that, but I can not see that it is of any importance. The only thing that is of importance is that she is a distraction you can not afford and of no value to your efforts.
Anger surged through him at the direction of her thoughts. Beware, old woman! Grandmother or no, I will not allow your interference in my affairs.
A prolonged silence greeted that thought. But you do not object to my help, or my advice, so long as it coincides with your wishes?
I did not ask for either! I have spent many years learning my own way and depending only upon myself. I can damned well manage without your help, or your interference, Zella!
The Wizard Climaus will join forces with your enemy. You may need me more than you think.
Impatience surged through him. You have so little faith in my abilities?
It is more a matter of the faith I have in his than a lack of faith in yours. He is a very real threat, mistake not!
My thanks for the warning then, Zella. I still can not see why he would make Gerard’s battle his own.
He does not. He had only to learn that you were my grandson. His weakness is that he doubts you are a worthy adversary.
The voice fell silent then, leaving him with only his own thoughts for company as he guided his men through the predawn darkness and came at last to the crest of a hill that overlooked the castle guarding his northern boundary.
Captain Martunae nudged his horse until it came abreast of Daigon’s mount. “Do ye think they’ve heard the old king is making a fuss?”
Daigon smiled grimly. “Word has a way of traveling on swift wings--especially if the news is bad.”
The captain frowned. “I should approach the keep first, just to be certain their loyalties have not shifted since the last time we were here.”
Daigon shook his head. “We will approach as if we expect to be welcomed, with banners flying. If there is treachery afoot, I will know it long before we reach the walls.”
Chapter Twelve
Time weighed heavily on Rhiannon’s hands with little besides her thoughts for company. On one level, she was anxious for Daigon’s return. On another, anxious of when he would return. Naturally enough, he had told her nothing about his plans, but it had been no great difficulty to learn that he had gone to visit each of the keeps that guarded Aradan’s borders, to make certain of their loyalty and make plans to repel the army Gerard was building.
She should not have worried for the safety of a man who was her enemy, but she did, because she could no longer think of him as her enemy, however he might feel about her.
He was a powerful warlock and a skilled warrior. That should have been reassurance enough to keep her from biting her nails and standing watch for his return on the balcony for much of each day.
He was not immortal, however, and she could not convince herself that he would not run afoul of the vanguard of Gerard’s army, or even men who were supposed to be loyal to him. Regardless of what had been said, and left unsaid, there was a chance that those holding the keeps, having heard that Gerard meant to return, might decide to curry favor with the returning king by turning on the man they had so recently given fealty to.
The moment those thoughts would enter her mind, she would immediately begin to envision Daigon and the handful of knights he had taken with him lying dead or dying in some field or ditch or wood and a coldness would sweep through her. Pain would follow closely on the heels of that horrible image, for she couldn’t bear to think of Daigon’s bright eyes dimmed or his great body cold and still with death.
The vow Daigon had made caused her almost as much turmoil. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d meant it. What she couldn’t decide was whether she was more anxious to receive him or more unnerved by the prospect. She could not think of that vow without remembering the kiss they had shared the night he left and the distress she’d felt afterwards that he had not fulfilled the promise of pleasure her body had craved. And each time she remembered, she felt the same, as if it had been no more than moments before that they had shared the intimacy of their mouths instead of days.
Despite that, her knowledge of such things was limited to what she’d seen and heard, not experienced. She worried that he would not be pleased with her, that she would fail in some way because of her ignorance.
Contrarily, she worried that it would take no more than his possession to deprive her of her own will altogether and what she would do when he tired of her and cast her off.
When she was not mooning dreamily over Daigon’s kisses and caresses, she was worrying herself sick over imagining Daigon wounded or killed. And when neither of those anxieties plagued her, she was agonizing over the situation and wondering if there was any way to divert Gerard from his plans.
It seemed unlikely that anything she might say or do could sway him, even if she had some means of speaking with him, but she couldn’t help but worry the thoughts over in her mind, looking for a way out of the tangle that would not include so much bloodshed.
Of all the things she fretted over, she supposed that that was probably the most useless. She had not been able to sway her uncle when she had been in ‘favor’. He had disclaimed her, abandoned her to what might well have been her death. There could be no doubt in her mind that he cared less than nothing for her, which left her nothing to barter with.
Or did it? Gerard had wanted to use her to gain power in Midae. He was raising an army already. Was it possible that she might convince him to target Midae instead for its riches?
She supposed there was at least a slight possibility of it, particularly since King Linea was old and less a threat than Daigon.
But then, if Gerard had managed to secure the services of the Wizard Climaus, he would not be so fearful of Daigon. Without the wizard the chance of convincing him to conquer Midae were probably good--with the wizard, probably not nearly as good. And it was the wizard she was most worried about.
In any case, she supposed the question was moot. Gerard would be on her doorstep before any opportunity arose for her to speak to him. Daigon was not likely to allow her to go to her uncle to beg for peace. He would not trust her even if he was interested in bargaining for peace.
Before she’d managed to go completely mad from all the things that were worrying her, Daigon returned, eliminating most of her anxieties, but she knew the moment she met his gaze that something had changed between them.
* * * *
It wasn’t merely happenstance that
Rhiannon was on the balcony, gazing off to the south of Aradan when Daigon and his men crested the rise at the far end of the field. Since he had left the keep, she had spent many hours gazing into the distance, thinking, waiting, wanting to believe that something had happened between her and Daigon the night they kissed that went beyond the needs of the flesh.
She could no longer deny to herself that she had changed. More accurately, she supposed, she had experienced enlightenment. In the days since he had left, she had finally had to admit that she did not just desire Daigon. She cared for him. She had ceased to see him as her enemy, ceased to fear him, and come to admire and respect him. When coupled with everything else she had come to feel about him, it was useless to try to tell herself she didn’t love him, madly, deeply.
She had spied the party even before the watchers, who had immediately sounded the horn signifying that riders had been spotted. Breathless moments passed while she watched the dark shapes resolve themselves into a small party of mounted riders. She recognized Daigon at the forefront even before she recognized the banner they flew.
Doubt assailed her as they crossed the field, however.
What if what had transpired between them had meant nothing at all to him? What if he had felt nothing but desire? She wanted him to desire her, but that was not enough when compared to the way she felt about him.
That fear spawned a wave of fearful indecision and she retreated inside. She’d been pacing the room anxiously for several minutes before it occurred to her to check her appearance in the looking glass over the dressing table.
She was not happy with what she saw. The color of her gown was flattering, her hair still neatly arranged, but there were dark circles beneath her eyes from many restless nights and strain, as well, from the anxiety. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to bring color to them, but she was dismayed at the results. Deciding that the spots of color, her pallor, and the dark circles combined made her look more like she’d been beaten than anything else, she moved to the wash stand and splashed cool water over her face.
Should she go down, she wondered?
She was not his wife, not even his woman--and she certainly wasn’t the chatelaine of the keep any longer. Greeting him on the steps like a welcoming hostess probably wasn’t the best of ideas.
She glanced at the door to the balcony as she dried her face, partly because she could hear the sounds that told her the troop was entering the gates, and partly in debate of whether to walk out again or not.
But what if he hadn’t missed her as she had missed him? What if he ignored her? Did she really want to be seen by all the castle folk, leaning out over the balcony like a common woman?
Unhappy with her thoughts, she finally decided to compromise. She would only go out onto the balcony a little ways and take a peek. If she saw that he had glanced up to look for her then she could allow him to see that she was glad that he had returned. If he didn’t look around for her, then she would only have to retreat a few steps and very likely no one--most importantly Daigon--would have noticed her at all and she would not have to feel like a complete fool.
Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest as she stepped through the door, she felt almost faint. Nerving herself, she glanced down at the grounds near the stables to see if the men had dismounted while she had wrangled with herself. To her disappointment, she saw that the men had already dismounted and disappeared. The stable hands were leading their mounts inside.
Sighing in regret, she moved to the edge of the balcony and looked down to see if Daigon had entered the castle yet. Almost as if he sensed her presence, Daigon paused on the steps and lifted his head to look up at the balcony. For a handful of heartbeats their gazes met. There was no welcome in his expression or his eyes, however.
To say that Rhiannon was disappointed would have been an understatement. Guilt instantly swamped her at that look, although she had no idea at all of what she might have done or what she was being accused of. Fear, naturally enough, followed guilt in quick succession.
She tried to dismiss both as she retreated inside the apartments once more and glanced around a little frantically, as if there was actually some possibility of hiding.
She took herself to task when it dawned upon her that she’d actually been contemplating flight. She hadn’t done anything. There was no reason for her to feel any guilt aside from the look Daigon had given her and she might easily be reading far more into it than there was.
Uneasy still, she finally moved to the couch and settled with her needlework in her lap. She simply stared at it though, without making any pretense of actually working on it since she was shaking so badly she was fairly certain she couldn’t do so without butchering her fingers with the needle and bleeding all over the tapestry she’d been working on for months.
She jumped, dropping her needlework to the floor when Daigon strode through the doors to the apartments like a wind storm. It would almost have been less of a jolt if he had simply appeared as he habitually did. She found the deviation most unnerving.
He looked exhausted, she saw when she had recovered enough to steal a glimpse in his direction, and achingly handsome despite the soils of his travels and the day’s growth of beard on his face. She rather thought it surprisingly appealing, for he was an extremely fastidious man and she’d never seen him other than neat and clean as if he had only just stepped from his dressing room.
Anxiously, she watched as he paced the room restlessly, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind, however, that didn’t ring of domesticity and she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of assuming a role she had not been invited to take upon herself. ‘You are back!’ rang even worse in her mind as it sounded vacuous and inane. “There was trouble?” she finally asked, hoping to get some hint of what was bothering him, for it was obvious something was, whether she’d misinterpreted the look he’d given her or not as the source of disturbance.
He glanced at her coolly. “Nay.”
Irritation surfaced. He might at least aid her attempt to converse, she thought with some dudgeon. What was she to do with a single word response?
She cleared her throat and decided she was more uncomfortable with the silence than the possibility of setting his back up by mouthing the sort of domesticity she’d previously rejected. “You look exhausted,” she observed.
He lifted one black brow at her.
Rhiannon reddened and set her needlework aside. Before she could formulate another question, however, the door to the apartments opened and servants began to troop in with the bathing tub and accoutrements of a bath. She watched uneasily as they set the tub up and began to fill it.
As anxious as she’d been previously to take up where they’d left off at his departure, she didn’t currently feel up to it and she knew better than to think she had any chance of fending him off if he decided to pursue the matter.
“I will leave you to your bath,” she said, getting to her feet abruptly.
“Sit!”
Rhiannon sat before she even had time to consider whether she meant to obey the order or not. The uneasiness returned, but anger matched it. Picking up her needlework once more, she began to stab her needle into the fabric jerkily, paying little attention to what she was doing. A splash of water dragged her from her mental rant some time later and it was only with a tremendous effort that she quelled the instinctive urge to look up.
The splashing continued for some time. Tiny beads of perspiration broke from Rhiannon’s pores at the images running through her mind, but she resolutely refused to glance toward the tub.
“Wash my back.”
The demand brought Rhiannon’s head up with a jerk of surprise. She met his gaze for several moments, considering what her chances were of simply jumping to her feet, making a dash for the other room, and bolting the door. Not good, she finally decided, and worse than that, the door would not prevent him from coming after her.
Slamming her needlework onto the couch, Rhiannon go
t to her feet stiffly and stalked toward the tub, extending her hand for the cloth he held out to her. It was a shame, she thought as she settled on her knees on the floor behind him, that she wasn’t manacled still, with real manacles. She could have used the chain to choke the life out of him.
The anger behind the thought dissipated almost the moment the idea popped into her head. Why, she wondered, was she so angry? He hadn’t done or said anything to provoke her anger except that he had not behaved as she had expected.
She was disappointed, because she had thought he might care for her, at least a little, and she would see some sign of it upon his return, something in his eyes to show her that he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him even if he had not gone so far as to profess some feeling for her. She was also anxious, fearful because it seemed to her that the reverse was true. He not only did not display any affection for her, he had distanced himself from her since she had seen him last. That might mean that he had learned something that had caused the change, and it might not. She was allowing her imagination to upset her.
Thrusting the thoughts off, she lifted the dark tendrils of hair from his back and pushed the wet mass over one shoulder. There was some relief that she saw no sign of new injury as she began to scrub his back. She could not pretend she had not worried about him only because she was disappointed that he didn’t seem to return her affections.
“A thought plagues me,” Daigon said pensively when she had begun to rub the soapy cloth in small circles over his shoulders.
Rhiannon hesitated, but she was almost more relieved that he seemed inclined to address what was bothering him than she was unnerved to be summoned so close before he did so. “What teases you?” she asked finally.
“I can not see Gerard.”
Rhiannon registered absolute blankness at the remark. “I don’t understand.”
“When he had stolen the treasure, I had no difficulty summoning the vision. The link was strong, the vision sharp and clear.”
The Warlock Page 12
