by Nancy Gideon
Carrying her shoes, Kendra dashed across the grounds, sticking to cold shadows where she couldn’t be seen. Her heart pounded, but not from the fear of discovery. Cale was her one safe avenue. He wouldn’t allow her honor to be damaged. He’d want that privilege for himself.
Her room was dark. She could hear Rosie breathing quietly from beneath the huddle of blankets, obviously not as concerned about her welfare as Brigit would have been. Her cousin wouldn’t have closed her eyes until she’d laid in to her about her behavior at the club. Behavior that had led to far worse consequences than her splitting headache.
Kendra grabbed up a change of clothes and slipped into the bathroom. A glimpse of her reflection shocked her. The feverish spots of color upon ghostly pallor, the misshapen hair, the puffy lips . . . She looked as though she’d enjoyed every perverse thing all would soon be imagining.
Cale Terriot wasn’t going to be satisfied with a few lusty kisses when he came to claim her, not once he’d paid the price to have her. That disturbing certainty hurried her into the shower to scrub every trace of his scent from her overly sensitive skin. Fixing her thoughts on him distracted from the underlying horror of what had happened, allowing her to push those terrifying moments into a far corner reserved for other nightmares in her past.
She would think only of Cale. Trepidation defied the heat of the water, leaving her cold and trembling. Missing the heat of his body against her.
“Did you hear what happened?” Rosie whispered with scandalized excitement as she scooted into the seat opposite Kendra with her bird-sized breakfast and green tea.
Kendra fixed her gaze on her own untouched plate of cold eggs. “What?”
“Michael Terriot was killed last night, right behind the club, while we were inside dancing. It’s all very hush-hush. We’re all expected at the funeral. You’ll want to do something with your makeup. You look positively ghastly.” A pause. “What time did you get in?”
“Late. I went out for a meal.”
Rosie perked up. “A meal? With who?” One look at Kendra’s expression had her gasping. “Oh my God! You left with Cale?”
Kendra shushed her. She could read front-page news all over her friend’s face.
Rosie leaned forward on her elbows. “So you’ve chosen?”
“Not officially. It’s not the right time, considering.”
Rosie nodded, for once showing a little astuteness. “You and Cale,” she mused. “I never would have guessed that.”
Kendra frowned. “Why not Cale?”
Rosie made an “it’s obvious” gesture of widespread hands. “He’s so intense and forceful and . . . scary, and you’re, well, you.”
A fragile, easily wilted flower. Afraid of her own shadow. She got it. Not exactly the type of female to catch the interest of a man like Cale.
Since . . . always.
What had he meant by that? She wished she had the clarity of mind to go over the nuances of what they’d said to each other before everything had gone to hell.
“When is he going to declare for you?”
“Soon.” Sooner than Rosie could ever imagine.
. . . if I’m alive.
Kendra pushed her plate away, unable to face the thought of food when her stomach was tight and trembling. Her future would be decided today. Cale was right. She didn’t like her options.
Michael Terriot was honored in the old way, from a time of superstition and fierce rivalry when the dead were burned instead of buried so their remains wouldn’t be disturbed and their rest interrupted. His wrapped body was elevated on a platform overlooking the water, and once the clan had gathered in silence, each of the Terriot princes approached individually and wedged a bundle of sticks beneath their fallen brother before taking their place at their father’s side.
From where she huddled against the cold whip of the wind with the other single females, Kendra’s attention focused upon her soon-to-be fallen prince. He betrayed nothing, his features firmly set behind the wrap of his dark glasses. Like the others, he was all in black, his head unbowed and bare and beginning to collect a faint dotting of snow. She couldn’t tell where he was looking and wondered if it was at her as he stood not beside Bram, as was his habit, but at the far end of the row of brothers. From the brief frown creasing Bram’s face, she guessed the isolating gesture was not at his command.
Wes’s mother, Martine, took her place behind Bram as his consort, and the mates of the four bonded princes curtsied deeply in front of their males before positioning themselves proudly at their backs. Prestigious pomp, but more than that: a signal to the clan that they’d been chosen and were defended by the crown. Michael’s sobbing mother stood off to the side, isolated in her grieving as if shunned now that she had no protector.
It was as though Brigit had given Kendra a push.
Before she could think better of it, Kendra acted quickly, striding across the open courtyard before any of the chaperones could catch her. She could hear gasps at her boldness but kept her gaze fixed upon the impenetrable lenses hiding Cale’s eyes as she approached without hesitation. He stood unmoving as she sank to the stones, waiting for him to either accept or disgrace her. There was no going back. She almost didn’t hear his soft words over the anxious shivering of her breaths. “Take my hand and my heart.”
Her gaze flashed up, but she could read nothing from his stoic facade. He’d reached out, palm up, and she slid hers across it. His grip was warm and strong as he lifted her up and guided her to that sheltered place at his back while the others openly stared in surprise. Especially Bram.
“I told you to wait,” he murmured.
“I didn’t want you to die.”
She could feel the intensity of his stare even though she couldn’t see it. His voice was carefully bland. “Before you could make this dramatic show of devotion or before I could give you the protection of my name?”
When her schooled expression gave him nothing, he carried her hand to his lips, brushing them lightly over her knuckles, the gesture and the touch warm, his words, not so much. “Well played.” Then he released her and turned forward.
Had her intentions been that calculating?
Speculative whispers died down when Bram strode forward, torch in hand, to speak for the soul of his lost son.
“This is Michael, a prince of the Terriot clan. Make him welcome among you.” He touched off the kindling, standing motionless until the pyre burned hot and bright, forcing his retreat. He paused only a moment as he passed in front of Cale, his gaze filled with questions.
Kendra stood still and straight as the first sickening scent of scorched flesh reached her. She focused on the solid set of Cale’s shoulders as the snap and crackle of the flames went on and on. She didn’t know whether he’d loved his brother, but she knew he mourned him, and that teethed upon her heart. Was he afraid of the repercussions to come? Of facing his family with what he’d done because of her? If there was one man who could successfully champion her cause, she was allied with him, for better or worse. He wouldn’t let anyone harm her.
Nor would he ever let her go.
She trembled at that truth, with its cold comfort.
When there was nothing left but cinders, Bram bent to scoop up a handful of hot ash, pressing it into a tight fist and releasing it to scatter on the air. Then he strode toward the main lodge. One by one, his sons did the same, Cale lingering a few seconds longer before letting his brother’s spirit fly. He never once looked to Kendra or signaled what he’d have her do. So she remained alone and uncertain as he followed his family up the steep stairs.
It was Martine who came to slip a supportive arm about her shoulders as the other women gathered around Michael’s mother. Her lovely face betrayed no sentiments as she said, “You’re one of us now, child.” One of the claimed and subjugated. “While they see to their business, let’s find you a place to stay.”
The place she and Cale would reside together as chosen mates.
Bram assumed
his seat before the fire, his posture rigid with ill-contained anger at the stoic son standing before him. His other progeny had taken seats as silent witnesses.
“Tell me, boy, how you made such monumentally bad decisions without first coming to me for judgment.”
“There wasn’t time. I acted as you would have, to protect what was mine by right.”
“By right? What right?”
“You favored the match between me and Kendra. She’d chosen me and had come willing to my bed, just as she stood with me in the circle. Was I supposed to share what’s mine, allow my property to be stolen and abused? My brother, with three of his friends, attacked and would have taken my female against her will, disrespecting me and my claim. I tried to stop him with reason. I tried to stop him by force. In the end, he left me no choice but to stop him permanently.”
“You seem to be no worse off for the encounter.”
“His friends ran before he was cold. He put a blade in my leg. My chosen bound the wound with the undergarments that they’d torn off her.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the pink panties darkly stained by his blood, tossing them down at his father’s feet. A murmur rippled through the brothers at such fortitude in a timid female.
“You valued this female above your brother?”
“To protect her, I’d take the life of any who threatened.”
Bram regarded him narrowly. “You’d take my life for her?”
“Without a second thought. She’s my mate, my princess. My queen. You’ll live on through our heirs as they rule, and no one gets in the way of that as long as I can take a breath.”
Momentarily taken aback by the ferocious candor, Bram gestured to the floor at his feet, his features tightening. Without hesitation, Cale went to his knees and prostrated himself, never moving, never flinching, as Bram rose. “So you would kill me and take my throne?”
“If I have to. I’d rather you give it to me. I can’t have a queen without a crown, and I’ll give her nothing less than what I’ve promised.”
“You make big promises, boy.”
“As you taught me.”
Bram’s foot pressed on the back of Cale’s neck. “I could end you right now for those treasonous words. You used to fear me, boy. Where’s that trembling now? This is your chance to beg for your life. It’s a chance you never gave your brother.”
“My life is yours. I’d only beg that you protect my female in my place after I’m gone.”
“And if I say no?”
Cale moved so fast, Bram never had a chance to register the threat as his ankle was gripped and twisted, dropping him to the floor. Astride his father’s chest with the knife he’d pulled from his boot resting at Bram’s throat, Cale used words that were cold and concise. “Then I’d have to kill you now.”
Some of his brothers had half-risen from their seats. The others stared in shock. It was Bram who broke the tension with his big, booming laugh. “You may well have my chair, boy, but not today. Get off me before I lose my sense of humor.”
Cale rocked back and helped his father stand. He returned the knife to its sheath, then steeled as Bram’s hand raised, but only to clasp behind the neck and draw him to his shoulder.
“You please me, boy, but you know I can’t let your action go answered.” Bram held him back to study his immobile features. “I think a dozen stripes would satisfy me.”
“I’ll accept whatever you decide.”
The punishment was brutal, and they all knew it. But it wasn’t death or banishment, so it could be endured.
“That would satisfy me, but what of your brothers? What will it take to appease their loss and prove you worthy of their trust? I think a Gauntlet is in order. Survive that and come take my punishment. Then all will be forgiven.”
seven
Kendra watched uneasily as their belongings were put away by two silent servants. The luxurious chalet was isolated from the others, deep within the firs. As in the main lodge, one entire wall was windows, except for a huge stone fireplace set in the middle. Low couches surrounded a thick fur rug. There was a wet bar but no kitchen. Their meals would be delivered so as not to disturb them. One glance at the bedroom told her everything.
The purpose for these rooms was to encourage conception.
The huge bed centered beneath a skylight was cloaked in silk and fluffy quilts that slid to the floor in an inviting tumble. Only a few steps away was a sunken tub surrounded by candles and scented soaps. Cale’s suits, shirts, and jackets—how could a man have so many?—were being hung in a massive walk-in closet next to scraps of lace and sheer fancy that she assumed would be her wardrobe. She smiled weakly as the pair completed their work and bowed before leaving her to her own company.
Kendra drew a tight breath and released it in a shaky gust.
Put the undeniably virile Cale Terriot in this setting ripe for sin, and what chance would she have of retaining her virtue?
A knock at the door made her jump nervously. Sylvia met Kendra’s puzzled greeting coolly, offering a small parcel. “I brought you some things from my mother. For Cale. You’ll need them later.”
Kendra peered into the tote. “What’s this for?”
“His back, if you want him to recover. Use the scrub immediately and the ointment after.”
“After what?”
“No one’s told you?” Her tone was both solicitous and condescending. “For his penalty, if he survives the trial.”
She’d started to turn back toward the door when Kendra seized her wrist. “What trial?”
“The Gauntlet.” She scowled down at Kendra’s tightening fingers. “Don’t you know anything about our laws? Perhaps you should have bothered to learn those things before you got him to throw his life away for you.”
“Tell me now.”
“They’ll drop him off in the forest with nothing but his bare hands to defend himself. He’ll have until dark to get back here. With every mile, he’ll meet the justice of one of his brothers. They can come at him with any weapon they choose, or they can let him pass unharmed. If he can defeat them or manage to evade them, he’ll have his father’s penalty to pay. You can watch that if you have the stomach for it. Perhaps he’ll still think you’re worth it once it’s over.”
Cale checked his watch. Noon. He had six hours to make the compound and ten potentially deadly obstacles to overcome.
He knew his brothers. They’d trained together since childhood. He knew how they fought, their strengths and weaknesses, but he couldn’t be sure if they’d greet him as friend or foe. This was their chance to strike with impunity. Some might try to kill him, others to earn his gratitude.
He’d done everything he could to erase his scent. His only plan was to get by as many as he could without contact, which meant avoiding aggressive shifts into his basic form. The transformation would give him added strength and speed but would make the others instantly aware of him. No sense in advertising. Those he was forced to confront, he would deal with when the time came. All focus was on survival. And he was damned good at surviving.
Despite the cold, he was dressed lightly, for ease of movement, in an olive-drab T-shirt with a black leather vest over it to provide some protection. Camo pants were tucked into sturdy boots that buckled almost to his knees, to guard his ankles. An unexpected twist, and it would be all over. His face, neck, and arms were marked with irregular stripings of black and green, and he’d rubbed a darkening compound through his hair to mute telltale flashes of Terriot red. Even the diamond stud had been reversed in his ear so the stone wouldn’t shine like a beacon, inviting a head shot. He was as ready as he was going to be.
Cale took a slow, deep breath and pressed a hard symbolic kiss to a fisted hand, whispering, “I’ll be with you soon, my queen,” before slipping on his wraparound sunglasses.
He kept low, a skimming silhouette, running at an easy pace. He’d almost cleared the first mile when he scented another close by. He slowed into a cautious lope. Cresting
a small incline, Cale drew up sharply.
His middle brother, Adam, stood in the gully below, startled by his abrupt appearance. He’d been bonded for almost eight years and doted on his family of five. A quick assessment judged him as no threat, but Cale had almost forgotten that his brothers could view this challenge as his chance to kill the competition.
Cale’s quick nod brought instant relief to the other’s face, and he continued on. One down, nine to go.
He covered the next mile without ever sensing anyone. Possibly Kip or his mated brother Lee had totally missed him or were actively hiding. One less worry until Cale paused near the edge of the tree line at the start of mile three.
The steep, deforested hillside had been logged, leaving nubs and no cover. He could circumvent the area and remain concealed, but that would eat up time he didn’t have. He measured the distance to the continuation of the woods far below. If it were Cale, he would be just out of sight with a bow or rifle, biding his time to take a percentage shot. He bounced lightly on his toes, the sweat beginning to cool on his skin, weighing his own speed against the accuracy of an unseen assailant.
He started down fast, zigzagging in a crouch to make himself less of a target. His attention was divided between dodging stumps and checking for movement in the tree line below, so he never saw what grabbed his foot until it was too late. Not a vine but a strategically placed wire.
Cale hit the ground hard and began the long roll down, striking his head to send earth and sky tumbling as he fell like Jack with his broken crown. Dizzy and disoriented, he wasn’t sure he’d come to a stop until he felt the pressure of a knee on his sternum and a cool blade against his throat.
Cale struggled to focus, blinking rapidly until Colin’s features appeared. “Good snare.”
“You taught me.”
“Nice of me.” He closed his eyes because his head was pounding so hard that it made his brother’s image pulse. He took quick stock, and aside from the monumental headache and sundry bruises, he seemed to be in one piece. As long as he kept his head both figuratively and literally. “Now what?”
