FREE SPIRIT

by JennaKay Francis

  And that thought was becoming increasingly hard to deal with. Somehow she had to get away, had to gain her freedom for the sake of the child. She would not bear a child into slavery, no matter how kind the master. Now would she hurt Drake and Kittellan in this manner. She was not showing and had not told Kittellan, would not, if possible. She had no idea what such news would do to Drake but she wasn’t going to take chances. Kittellan was deliriously happy, probably more so than he had ever been in his life, and she didn’t want to destroy that if it could be avoided.

  However, she wasn’t going to lie. If the time came when Kittellan asked, she would tell him the truth. In all, Diesa was content for now to let things stay as they were. Scanlon had found no reason to punish her since the crown incident and she had been careful to keep it that way. She endeavored to keep the house clean, to prepare his meals to his satisfaction and to always afford him the respect he was due as her master, no matter how much the position of servitude infuriated her.

  He in turn spoke to her with a gentler tone, had curtailed his biting sarcasm and had released her magic. That, in and of itself, was the primary explanation for Diesa’s generally improved state of mind. She’d never realized until having it bound how much her magic was a part of who she was. Having it bound was like having a thorn embedded in her foot. It was not deadly, but it was continuously annoying.

  And having her magic allowed her to notice the horseman on his way toward the cottage long before he got there. She was on the hillside above Scanlon’s property gathering mushrooms when she spotted him. Felt him was more like it, she thought, shuddering. He was riding casually, in no particular hurry. For some reason, Diesa quickly scanned the area around the cottage for Kittellan and Drake. She saw them pausing in their chores for a few moments of stolen passion. Fortunately, while they were in her line of vision, they were hidden from the elfin visitor’s view. Diesa wasn’t sure how she knew but she was positive the elf would be thoroughly repulsed, if not punishing, of the boys’ relationship.

  She sighed, picked up her basket and moved quickly toward the cottage, reaching it just moments before the visitor. "Kitt! Drake!" she whispered urgently as she strode past, startling them. "Stow your activities! Scanlon has company."

  "Who?" Kittellan asked, falling into step beside her, Drake’s hand in his.

  "How should I know?" Diesa snapped, then caught his look of surprise. "I’m sorry, Kitt. It’s just that he feels wrong. I don’t like him. And I don’t think he’ll like you and Drake, if you get my meaning."

  They unlocked fingers at once. The three of them went into the kitchen through the back just as Scanlon greeted the visitor at the front door. The trio listened quietly.

  "Ah, Scanlon," the elf cried. "I guessed I’d find you here when you didn’t show up in Kopen."

  "Actually, Marsden, I was in Kopen," Scanlon said dryly. "Weeks ago. Where were you?"

  The elf laughed. "Most likely chasing down one of my slaves. By the way, where are yours? My horse could use a rubdown and some feed. You did buy slaves, didn’t you?"

  "I did. Three."

  Diesa was surprised to hear the disgust in Scanlon’s voice, as if he now viewed the idea of owning slaves repulsive.

  "Three?" Marsden continued. "In case one didn’t work out, Scan?"

  "Two boys for my personal use. One girl per our wager." Scanlon raised his voice. "Kittellan!"

  Kittellan jumped, swallowed hard, and went into the living room. Diesa glanced at Drake, mouthed the word "wager," and shrugged her shoulders.

  "Kittellan, see to Marsden’s horse," Scanlon ordered. "Where are Diesa and Drake?"

  "In the kitchen, M’lord," Kittellan replied quietly.

  "I see." Scanlon’s voice was cold and tight, holding just a hint of uneasiness, and he barked out Drake’s name. The boy practically stumbled over his own feet to answer. "Drake, fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses. Inform Diesa that we will have a guest for dinner."

  "Aye, M’lord, at once," Drake replied and quickly returned to the kitchen, white and shaking.

  "We?" Marsden repeated from the living room. "Oh, dear Scan, don’t tell me you’ve taken on your slaves like family again! You know that never works out. How many have you freed that way over the years?"

  "Marsden, why don’t we go into the den to talk?" Scanlon suggested, his voice hard and cold. It was clearly obvious that he was not enjoying Marsden’s words or his company.

  Diesa looked at Drake in shock. He flashed her a hopeful grin, got the wine and glasses and hurried out. Diesa nearly leapt for joy. How many slaves had Scanlon freed? Hopefully, lots, and hopefully three more. She set to meal preparation with zeal, intent on preparing the best meal Scanlon had ever enjoyed.

  Later as she viewed the spread in the dining hall she was proud of herself. Roast duck, boiled potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, fresh greens and a creamy custard dessert of which Scanlon was particularly fond. She added another bottle of wine, a vase of wildflowers, and candles, then sent Drake to fetch the elves. She watched from a crack in the kitchen door as Scanlon and Marsden entered the dining hall. Scanlon’s eyebrows rose in surprise and Marsden inhaled deeply.

  "And who is responsible for this bounty, Scan?" he asked "One of your woman-boys?"

  Diesa gasped, her gaze darting to Drake. He was impassive, as if he had heard nothing. Kittellan, who had long since returned from the stables, uttered an oath.

  "No, Marsden," Scanlon replied, offering his guest a chair, his own face set and calm, "this would be the work of Diesa, the girl of which I spoke." He sat down. "She’s quite a remarkable cook. Drake, you may pour the wine."

  "And when do I get to see this mystery girl?" Marsden asked. "To find out who won."

  "That should be obvious," Scanlon retorted. "I see no lover clinging to your arm." He looked up at Drake. "You may join Diesa and Kittellan in your room for dinner. I will call for you when I need you."

  "Aye, M’lord." Drake bowed and hurried into the kitchen.

  His face was set although his eyes were wild with anger. Kittellan rose and embraced him gently. "What do we care what that pompous, self-important elf thinks of us? We’re happy and Scanlon accepts us willingly. That’s all we need."

  Diesa jumped as Scanlon’s voice came into her mind. ::Take food trays and go to your rooms at once.::

  ::Aye, M’lord,:: she returned, then looked at the boys. "Scanlon wants us in our rooms. Grab a plate. I’ve already dished."

  They did as she suggested and the three of them hurried down the hall to Kittellan and Drake’s room.

  "Why does he want us back here?" Drake asked. "We’ve never had to eat in our rooms before."

  "We’ve never had company before," Kittellan pointed out.

  "It’s like he doesn’t want us to hear something," Diesa mused. "First he takes Marsden into the den, then he sends us away. I wonder what’s going on?"

  "I don’t know but I don’t like him," Drake snapped.

  "Neither do I," Kittellan agreed, then grinned at Drake. "Woman-boy."

  Drake hurled a potato at him. Diesa shushed them both and reached out with her magic toward the dining hall, hoping Scanlon wouldn’t notice.

  "A wager’s a wager," Marsden said. "It’s true my end is pathetically lacking, but that doesn’t mean you won, Scanlon. I’ve not yet seen any proof. It just might be a draw."

  "And what of Botogar?" Scanlon asked casually. "How does he fare?"

  Marsden laughed wildly. "Botogar! Gods, Scan, he bought a Crayoven! And even she ran away! A Crayoven! And he couldn’t get her to love him. At least he conceded his defeat." Marsden’s laughter subsided. "And what of you, Scan? Have you won her heart? Does she love you or not?"

  "She—" Scanlon abruptly stopped and fired an angry jolt of magic at Diesa, then furiously bound her magic. ::My business is just that!:: he raged. ::Go to your room at once! I will deal with you later!::

  Diesa exhaled sharply. Kittellan and Drake were staring at her in confusion and conc
ern. She rose stiffly, shaking. "It was a game," she mumbled. "Just as I thought all along. A game."

  "What?" Kittellan rose. "What are you talking about?"

  "Scanlon." She lifted a disbelieving gaze on Kittellan. "He made a wager with Marsden and someone named Botogar. A wager that they could buy a slave and … and … make her love them." Tears leapt to Diesa’s eyes and she stumbled for the door.

  Kittellan caught her and held her in a tight embrace. "Come, Diesa. Calm down. No one’s won. Certainly not Scanlon. He’s the only one who’s lost his heart."

  Diesa cried even harder, clinging to Kittellan. "That’s just the problem, Kitt," she wailed. "I don’t think he is."

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Diesa saw Marsden leave several hours later and her stomach tied into a knot. She still saw the look on Kittellan’s face at her words regarding Scanlon, words she scarcely believed she had uttered. And yet she knew them to be true. She had done the one thing she had sworn she would not do. She had fallen in love with Scanlon. How it had happened was beyond her. With all of the time they’d spent bickering and all of the hate and rage she had leveled at him, she couldn’t see where she’d had time to fall in love.

  She pushed back from the window, pulled the shutters tight and sat down on her bed to wait. He had been furious at her eavesdropping and she had to admit he had a right to be. It was not a generally accepted use of magic. But how many times had he done the same thing? How many times had he read her thoughts? Probably more than she cared to know. Still, he was her master. She was his slave. That gave him the right, not her.

  As for the talk of the wager—it sent chills through her. How could he have done such a thing? What could he hope to gain by such callousness? By such a mean-spirited game? She shook her head in resignation and walked to the fireplace to gaze into the flames. What did it matter now anyway? He owned her. Completely.

  ::Diesa.:: His voice invaded her mind, cold and hard. ::I will speak with you now. Come to my room.::

  She drew a deep breath and turned. What else could he do to her? He had already taken her mind, her soul, her magic and her heart. What was left? She went to his room, defeated and resigned. He was standing near the fire, one hand resting lightly on the mantle. The firelight danced off his golden hair and Diesa remembered how soft it was. She met his gaze, her hands going into fists at her side.

  "M’lord," she whispered, trying to calm her pounding heart. "M’lord, please accept my apologies. I was dreadfully wrong to use my magic in the way that I did."

  "That you were," Scanlon agreed. "However, you truly outdid yourself with dinner. It was magnificent and I applaud your success on such short notice."

  "Thank you, M’lord," she murmured, confused.

  "That is not to say I am happy with your behavior tonight regarding your magic. Each time I have returned it to you, you have used it against me. Therefore, this time I shall keep it."

  "No!" Diesa cried. "Punish me any other way but not this! Please!"

  Scanlon regarded her wearily. "I have made my decision. You may go."

  He turned away as if he could no longer bear to look at her, turned away from her and dismissed her when he held everything that was Diesa de Tyronmen. He had done just what she’d feared most. He had taken her heart, soul and mind, and discarded them. Suddenly all of the anger, all of the injustices, all of the humiliation of the last two months caught up with her.

  With a shriek of rage she attacked him. He whirled with a cry of alarm just in time to catch her fist alongside his jaw. He reeled, caught off guard, and she struck again, her small hand slamming against his mouth, drawing blood. Those two blows were all that connected for she was swept up abruptly and painfully in a web of elfin magic.

  She screamed in agony, noticing the pallor that swept across Scanlon’s face. He reacted swiftly, releasing her from the excruciating pain. She fell to the floor, gasping and trembling. Scanlon stood as if riveted to the spot, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. Too weary and wracked with pain to speak she reached out to him with her mind.

  ::I hope the wager was rich, because, Scanlon, you won,:: she sent, then drifted into blackness.

  * * *

  The next morning Diesa found herself in her own bed, Kittellan ministering to her. She moaned and rolled over onto her back.

  "Oh, gods, Diesa," Kittellan murmured. "When will you learn?" He placed a cool cloth on her forehead.

  "Where is he?" Diesa whispered. "Gone to collect his winnings?"

  "Hush!" Kittellan warned. "He’s here."

  "And I will speak to Diesa alone," Scanlon put in from the open door.

  "Aye, M’lord." Kittellan brushed Diesa’s hair from her forehead, rose, and left.

  Diesa cringed as Scanlon closed the door and sat down in the chair Kittellan had vacated. He looked at her for a long moment, then reached out with a trembling hand. Diesa withdrew and Scanlon quickly pulled back.

  "Diesa, I …" He stopped, seeming unable to find his words. He took a deep breath. "Diesa, I owe you an apology and an explanation. By now you may have figured out my position. If not, I will tell you. I am the elfin crown prince. As such, my father has me protected against physical attack by an elfin web. It is the concession I made when I left the palace to live here without royal guards. I have no control over the web’s activation. It simply ensnares anyone who dares to attack me physically. You had a taste of it before, the day you attacked me at the inn. I know its strength, Diesa. I broke the Spell as quickly as I could, but you have suffered because of it and me. I am sorry."

  Diesa stared at him, stunned. Apologizing? Scanlon? She winced and looked away. She couldn’t bear to see him look the way he did now with compassion and sympathy softening the gray eyes. It tore at her heart, the heart he so thoroughly possessed. The heart he’d won.

  "That’s twice now you’ve said that." Scanlon spoke quietly. "What do you mean?"

  "You’re intelligent, M’lord. What do you think?" Diesa turned to face him. "You once said you sought to earn my love. I don’t know that you’ve earned it, but you’ve won it, nonetheless."

  Scanlon sighed. "I never wanted to win it, Diesa. If you believe nothing else, believe that." He rose. "I am leaving in a few moments. I have pressing business to attend to. I will be gone for two weeks. Kittellan will accompany me but Drake will be here to help you. You may come and go freely but I will have the property warded." He looked down at her. "You are a strikingly beautiful woman, Diesa, and I don’t want a repeat of that other incident. I will see you in a few weeks." He hesitated, then suddenly bent and brushed his lips across hers.

  Diesa gasped and watched him leave the room. She wanted to call him back, to mumble her own heartfelt apologies and to feel his touch once more. Yet she remained still, conscious of the pounding of her heart and her shallow breathing. And then her thoughts went to Kittellan. He would be leaving as well and she at least wanted to say good-bye. She leapt from her bed, ignoring her pain and fatigue, and hurried down the hall toward the kitchen and the back door to find him standing there holding tightly to Drake.

  He looked up, smiled and beckoned her nearer, including her in the embrace. At last he stepped back, although he did not release his grip on either of them.

  "You two take care of each other," he said, his voice tight and close to tears. "I love you both and I’ll miss you both. And stay away from the wine. It does funny things to your head."

  They smiled and promised. Kittellan kissed Diesa on the forehead, Drake on the lips, gave them both a long, last look, then turned sharply and left. Diesa and Drake went hand in hand to the window and watched until Scanlon and Kittellan rode out of sight. Diesa sighed, her heart aching with loneliness, though she was unsure just who it was she would miss the most.

  "Two weeks, Drake," she said. "What’ll we do?"

  He looked at her with a grin. "Pretend we’re free, Diesa, pretend we’re free."

  "Careful, Drake," she said. "That was what Kittellan w
anted to do the night—"

  "Ah!" he interrupted. "So it was the euphoria of freedom, not the wine. You lied."

  Diesa laughed. "I didn’t."

  "Well, you did something or you wouldn’t have a babe inside," Drake said with a smile.

  She gaped at him. "You know?"

  "Of course. My life has not been so sheltered as Kittellan’s. I’ve been around a bit more—enough to know when a woman is having child sickness. What I don’t know is why you haven’t yet told Kittellan."

  "Because of you!" Diesa cried.

  "Me? I’m thrilled! You’ve given Kitt something I certainly never could."

  "Gods, Drake, you astound me!" She gave him a fierce hug and a kiss. "I love you." She pushed back and looked at him. "You know, for being in the grips of slavery, life isn’t all that bad."

  "This from someone who tried to kill herself?"

  Diesa shrugged. "I was wrong. We all learn lessons in life."

  "Remember that," Drake said. "In life, not death."

  She grimaced. "You’re starting to sound like Kitt."

  "Yes, and when we’re old and gray we’ll probably look the same too." He frowned at her. "Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?"

  She giggled and spun around the living room, her arms flung wide. "I can do what I want. I’m free. And this is my house. And you—you are…my slightly overprotective older brother."

  "Then shouldn’t you be listening to me?"

  Diesa laughed and caught him up in her dance. "That’s the great thing about it," she cried. "I can choose not to. I’m free!"

  The first week went by quickly. Diesa was ecstatically happy. She and Drake experimented in the kitchen, creating new dishes, some horrible, some delicious. They took long easy walks about Scanlon’s property. They did some riding into the forests where Diesa melted into the memory of her home long gone. He taught her some swordplay, she taught him how to pick sage mushrooms. She showed him the bedroom with the jewels, though not the silver rings. They had long discussions regarding the crown and its importance to Scanlon, though they could not find it anywhere. Though they knew he was a prince, they knew not of which kingdom. They argued over it, conjectured and supposed, but to no agreement. Nor could they fathom why he lived here in such simplicity instead of at a palace. In all, it was a wonderful week.