by Jean Johnson
The older man slugged Wolfer in his rock-hard stomach, drawing his knife with his other hand, while Wolfer’s brothers surged forward to pry them apart. Wolfer bared his teeth with a feral snarl and grabbed Donnock’s wrist, snapping it and forcing the knife to drop to the planks underfoot. Anyone who scared his Alys had to answer to him and his righteous vengeance in his beloved’s name.
Determined sibling arms pried them apart. Donnock, bleeding from mouth and nose, his eyes puffy and blackening already, snarled at him, almost like a wolf himself. “You piece of trakk! I’m going to cut out your heart and feed it to a grodak, you—!”
Wolfer lunged out of Saber’s and Trevan’s arms and got in a powerhouse of a left cross, just as the other man jerked forward out of Koranen’s and Morganen’s grip, unwittingly meeting the blow. It whipped the older mage around and dropped him like a rock, knocking him out. Wolfer immediately shook out his throbbing knuckles and straightened his tunic, feeling proud of his warrior prowess in this blatantly successful protection of his Alys. The sailors who had been carrying the man’s trunk and the other, more normal bundles eyed him askance, giving him, his brothers, and the man stretched out on the planks a wide berth on the broad, wooden dock. His brothers looked at Wolfer’s victim and winced.
“Great,” Saber muttered, running one hand through his dark gold locks, then gesturing roughly at the man crumpled on the weather-beaten boards that formed their one functional quay. He continued in Mandarite to keep the debate hidden from the trader-sailors edging warily around them. “Now what are we going to do with him?”
“Morganen, enspell him so that he sleeps long enough to reach the mainland—and then spellbind him so that he cannot ever come here again,” Wolfer ordered the youngest of them.
“That’s going too far, Wolfer!” Saber snapped, losing his temper. “We could have just kept him down here on the beach and sent him on his way with the tide tomorrow! Even if Alys is afraid of him, leaving him on the beach wouldn’t . . .” He broke off and looked down at the youngest of them, who was kneeling next to the unconscious man and chanting over him. “What are you doing, Morg?”
Morganen didn’t stop until the first spell was complete. Just as the older man was starting to rouse with a groan, he slumped unconscious again under a final syllable and a pass of the youngest brother’s hand. “Wolfer is right, Saber. It’s too risky to allow him even onto the beach.
“If Broger has been lying to us about Father’s brother Daron being dead all this time, then it makes Donnock’s visit and insistence on seeing the castle very suspicious in my mind as well. And there is his comment about feeding Wolfer’s heart to a grodak, which I remind you is one of the monsters our unknown assailant has sent to us a couple times in the past three years,” he added dryly, flexing his fingers in a new incantation. “I will add a spell to make him forget he ever came here and a spell to make him go elsewhere and perform some other task, to make sure his mind does not naturally wear off the forgetfulness spell all that quickly . . . though how long he will stay forgetful and away from here even with the extra spells compelling his mind, I cannot say.”
“Wait—you think Broger and his brother here might have had something to do with our troubles these past three years?” Koranen asked his twin.
Saber mulled it over. “Alys said Daron died only two months into our exile. Not long after that, we started being plagued with teleported beasts.”
“It could be just coincidence,” Trevan pointed out. Then shook his head. “But my instincts aren’t telling me that.”
“We have no proof,” Koranen reminded them, as Morganen began the second, longer, and more complex chant, geas-binding the man so that, no matter how he tried, he would circumvent his own efforts to get back to Nightfall Isle.
Morganen, being one of the supporters of sending their uncle-in-law far away—and one of the few who knew the truth of Alys’ story—wasn’t paying much attention to what they were doing, leaving them to handle the discussion on their own. Then again, Kor knew his twin held many secrets, even from him. Wolfer’s suggestion was a good one, however, and he had the power and the knowledge to keep Donnock of Devries from ever returning to Nightfall.
“And no way to prove it, stuck on this island as we are,” Saber concurred with his seventh-born sibling.
“Evanor says Alys turned white the moment he mentioned Donnock’s name,” Wolfer pointed out. And then he paled, too. “Jinga . . .” He breathed the god’s name, golden eyes widening. “She couldn’t possibly be involved in this, too! Not her!”
“Wolfer!” his twin called out, but the moment the horrible thought crossed his mind, Wolfer took off, first sprinting on two feet, then impatiently switching to four hooves in his fastest form. The sailors carrying their cargo across the flagstone road between dock and jungle cursed, dodging the brown stallion as Wolfer raced for the hills in a clatter of hooves.
Saber says they have enspelled Donnock so he cannot visit again, probably by a geas, and ordered the sailors to put him back on their ship,” Evanor related. “Apparently he’s unconscious at the moment, thanks to Wolfer’s unpredictable temper.”
Alys relaxed. Slightly. Bending over her sewing again, she avoided looking at the other two. She knew that both of her uncles would react badly to Donnock being enspelled and geas-bound to keep himself away from the island. Once they figured out what had been done to her uncle, things would go rapidly downhill. Pushing it out of her mind, she focused on her sewing chore, desperately clinging to the moment while that moment was still peaceful, not terrifying.
War was coming to the island, whether the brothers wanted it or not . . . and it was in part her fault.
She had all of one sleeve stitched up when the sewing hall door banged open, startling her into a yelp of fear and a jerk that jabbed the needle into her finger. It was only Wolfer, though. Tears in her eyes, Alys pulled the needle from her flesh and stuck her finger in her mouth.
Wolfer saw her nursing her finger from where he stood in the doorway and cursed himself silently. “Forgive me—I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry I frightened you, Alys.”
Alys glared at him over her hand, mumbling past her throbbing, pricked finger. “An well you foulb be! Tha hur, Wuffer!”
The other two in the room eyed the pair of them in curiosity; Evanor and Kelly didn’t appear to exist anymore, even though they weren’t more than a couple yards away in the longish sewing chamber. Completely ignoring the most domestic of his brothers and their sister-in-law, Wolfer strode to where Alys sat on a stool. It had been placed just out of direct reach of the sunlight in one of the window alcoves, taking advantage of both the light for her sewing and the cooling breeze coming in through the window without placing her in direct line of the midsummer heat. He dropped to one knee, held out his hands to touch her, and hesitated.
He couldn’t believe, now that he faced her, that she, gentle, sweet Alys, could ever have anything to do with the troubles that had plagued him and his brothers since their arrival on Nightfall. No, I know she’s innocent; her uncle may not be . . . but Alys is. I have no doubt in my heart of that. Looking into her soft gray eyes—currently narrowed at him in a halfhearted, pouting glower—he knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t ever harm him or his brothers. Not willingly. Not deliberately.
Reaching for her injured hand, he pulled the finger out of her mouth. A brief inspection showed it had stopped bleeding, though there was still a little red dot where the needle had gone in. Lifting it to his mouth, he kissed it gently. “Alys . . . will you marry me?”
Forgotten but still present, Kelly felt her jaw drop. Her mouth slowly curved up in delight. A glance at Evanor showed his own blond brows had risen, with a mixture of delight and an amused, resigned, “it was inevitable!” look on his face as well. They shared identically astounded, pleased grins, as the blushing, curly haired recipient struggled to reply.
Alys stammered. “Wolfer—I—you—ah—you—I—”
Wolfer kissed her
finger again, this time on its tip, not the side where the needle had pricked her. He kissed each of the other fingertips one by one between words. “I believe . . . that you are . . . my Destiny, Alys.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Marry me.” He kissed her wrist. “Marry me.” He lifted and kissed the knuckles of her other hand. “Marry me.” And turned it over and kissed her other palm. Each deep-voiced request vibrated straight from the depths of his soul. “Marry me.”
“Oh, Wolfer . . .” She gently freed her hands and cupped his face. He burrowed his cheeks in her palms, enjoying the feel of her flesh. Alys lifted his head, making him lift his eyes and look at her. Fear warred for a moment within her. She reminded herself to trust in Morganen’s advice to her over the past few years, and drew in a deep breath. “Wolfer . . . you must know I would never willingly do anything to hurt you . . .”
“I know,” he murmured into her palms, turning his head and kissing them again, oblivious to their delighted, avidly witnessing audience. “I know.”
That made her feel worse for a moment, plagued with guilt. “Not willingly, Wolfer—never, ever if I could have helped it.” She lifted his smooth-shaven jaw again. “I’ve always loved you.”
His golden eyes widened, then darkened with growing heat. “Marry me, Alys.”
She closed her gray eyes, bowing her head. “I am afraid of so many things, Wolfer . . .”
“Shh,” he admonished her, shifting closer and enfolding her in his large, muscular arms. “I will not let anything harm you; not from this moment on—you will marry me, won’t you?” he added in prompting, since technically she hadn’t said either yes or no. “I’m not going to let you go until you say yes. Everywhere you go, I will go, too. Even into the refreshing room if need be . . .”
“Yes, I will marry you!” she half-sobbed, half-laughed, clinging to him.
Wolfer groaned and gathered her closer. “Jinga, how I love you! I always have; I just didn’t really know it until now.” She burrowed in closer, half sliding off her stool in the effort to get closer to him . . . and Wolfer winced from a sharp prick of pain in his leg. “Ow!”
Alys pulled back slightly, concern in her gray eyes. “What is it?”
Wincing, he gently released her, one hand going to his thigh. “I think your needle bit me!”
That made her smile, and she wiped at her emotion-damp eyes. “Well, you deserved it, making it bite me first with your noisy, door-banging entrance!”
Plucking the needle free and rubbing his thigh, Wolfer mock-glared at her. “Don’t you dare turn into another termagant like my sister-in-law.”
“Hey!” Kelly protested, breaking up the illusion of privacy between them. When they both glanced at her, she mock-frowned at them. “I resemble that remark!”
It took all three of the non-Earth humans a few moments to get the joke buried in her retort, but when they did, Evanor groaned, Wolfer grinned, and Alys winced then smiled.
Kelly sighed and shook her head, looking over at Evanor. “Looks like we’ll have to set this stuff aside and see what we can come up with in matching wedding clothes.”
Evanor agreed. “I believe we have some gray silk somewhere that would look flattering on both.”
Wolfer raised his brows at that. “Wedding clothes? Do you know how long it will take you to sew us some wedding clothes? I plan on walking the eight altars with her tomorrow night, as soon as the traders have gone!”
“Absolutely not—in fact, I forbid it!” Kelly added flatly, cutting her hand through the air over her own sewing. “As Queen of Nightfall, I insist on a two-week waiting period for all marriages.”
“Two weeks?” Alys repeated, dismayed.
Kelly gave her a pointed look. “You do want enough time to come up with a suitable wedding gift for him, don’t you?”
Alys looked between the other woman and Wolfer, unsure what to do or say.
Wolfer narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then grinned a wolfish grin. “Two weeks is fine by me.”
“It is?” Alys asked him, confused.
“Of course. Two weeks is enough time for me to get you gently accustomed to the eventual physical expression of our love,” he informed her gently.
Eventual physical expression of . . . Alys raised one dark blond brow, eyeing him in puzzlement, until she finally figured out what he was trying to say. “You think I’m afraid of . . . of copulating with you? Wolfer, that’s the last thing I’m afraid of with you!”
She blushed furiously as she said it, but she did say it, and did it with that boldness that occasionally peeked out from deep within her soul. Wolfer eyed her, then glanced at his sister-in-law. “I thought you said she had almost . . . that she wouldn’t be interested . . .”
“I didn’t say or suggest in any way that she wouldn’t be interested,” Kelly asserted. “I simply suggested—and rather strongly—that you take things slow and easy, so you don’t frighten her with your lust.”
Alys blushed a decided shade of red. So did Wolfer, but his was more of a flush of anger than a blush of embarrassment. He jabbed a finger at her. “I should have given your husband a gag for your wedding gift!”
“And maybe I should get you a muzzle!” Kelly shot back mock-sweetly, since it was said through clenched teeth, hands on her hips, even still seated as she was.
Alys scowled at her. “Don’t talk to my Wolfer that way!”
Wolfer blinked and eyed his brave, defending bride-to-be. He felt a rising delight that she would defend him so fiercely.
She lifted her chin and continued firmly, “That’s my job.”
Kelly gasped with laughter, switching moods abruptly. “Oh, I have so missed having a woman around this place!”
Alys giggled, too. The two men in the room frowned and eyed each other, seeking to see if either Evanor or Wolfer understood what the two women meant. It was a complete mystery to both men, though. Shaking his head, Wolfer tossed Alys’ lapful of sewing at the bench seat by the window and pulled her up from her stool. “Do not mock me. Either of you.”
He swept Alys up in his arms, making her draw in a quick breath and wrap her arms around his neck. Kelly stood also, frowning at them.
“Just where do you think you’re going with her?” his sister-in-law demanded as he started for the door.
Wolfer paused. And gave a wolfish smile. “Where do you think we’re going, and for what purpose?”
“I had to wait for my wedding night,” Kelly pointed out. She looked at Evanor for support. “Don’t your people wait until your wedding night?”
He shook his blond head as Wolfer continued out of the sewing hall, a blushing Alys clinging to him. “Of course not,” Evanor enlightened her. “So long as the proper precautions are taken against unwanted conception and that both parties are over the age of sixteen and are fully and freely consenting adults, there is no impediment to making love. One simply has to be very respectful of another person’s right to say no, in Katan.”
“But then why did I have to wait?” Kelly demanded, frowning at both men.
“You making love with Saber was associated irrevocably with Disaster,” Evanor pointed out in his smooth, silken tenor, returning to his cutting work. Looking inescapably masculine, as all of the brothers did, even in the middle of what many in her own universe would have called “sissy” work. “We all chose to have you two wait until the timing was convenient for us to handle the advent of the Prophesied Disaster, which was fated to come right on the heels of . . . well, you know. Not just for planning a proper feast, presents, and wedding clothes.”
“Well, then I should get to have twice as much fun—or more—for having to wait for so long!” she asserted.
Evanor grinned. “Would you like me to pass that remark along to your husband?”
Kelly considered that for a full three seconds. Then nodded regally. “Yes, please. And ask him to look for more gray silk, if you would be so kind. I’m not certain if what we have on hand is going to be enough. Waiting
or not for their own wedding night, you and I are going to have them properly attired for the ceremony, two weeks from now.”
NINE
Alys could feel Wolfer’s heart pounding in his chest. It thumped against her arm where it was caught against his body; he felt snug and warm and, blessed Kata, she was touching him. It wasn’t far at all from the sewing hall to his chambers, both being in the western wing. Taking the southern of the two branches, he carried her to his sitting room door and tried to get both of them inside with an awkward nudge at the handle.
His efforts made her take pity on him and reach for it herself, since his arms were so wonderfully occupied at the moment, holding her so carefully, so closely. A thump of his boot heel shut the door firmly behind him, and then they were alone. More or less.
Wolfer drew in a breath where he stood . . . but not to speak to the woman in his arms. “Evanor.”
As Alys arched a brow, the family communicator responded in his ears. “Yes, Wolfer?”
“Two things. One, refrain from relaying any messages save dire emergency—and I mean it had better be a life-or-death emergency—for the next . . . three hours,” Wolfer calculated. “And two, stop eavesdropping right now.”
“I hear nothing, I say nothing . . . and I’d better not hear from either of you, too, for three hours,” his brother responded. And fell politely silent.
“I think we’re alone now,” Wolfer managed to say, drawing in a deep breath of hope and satisfaction. He found himself enjoying the feel of her flesh pressing against his with the motion, as well as the feminine scent of her, flowery from soaps and slightly musky from sweat. He breathed deeply again just to keep enjoying it.
Alys blushed, then gathered her courage and peered around his sitting room. It was a masculine room, with the minimum in embroidery, coordinated colors, and excessive cushions. In fact, most of the cushioning on the furniture was done in leather, not in cloth. But it was still only the outer sitting room. “This doesn’t look like your bedchamber.”
