Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  Braedan grinned. “I can see where you get your upstart nature. It’s an inborn trait.”

  “Perhaps.” Silence hovered around them. He’s so close. She put a hand on his chest. “Perhaps you shouldn’t leave tonight.”

  “No?” He picked up her hand and put his lips against the red rope burns on her wrists. “Don’t you think you’ll be safe enough with a chambermaid in your bed and extra guards at the door?”

  She closed her eyes. He put one hand in her hair, and she lifted her chin. He kissed her neck. He smells like the sea. Like fresh air. “Perhaps if you are so concerned for my safety, you should guard me yourself.”

  One finger of his other hand stroked her skin along the edge of her dressing gown, inching it open. “Perhaps I should sleep between you and your maid to guard you both.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t be an ass.”

  He laughed and kissed her neck again. His breath warmed her skin. She pressed herself against him. “You’ve been through a lot tonight. I don’t want to take advantage,” he said, low, against her ear.

  She put her arms around his neck. His arms tightened around her waist. She tingled from his touch as much as from the oiska. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. “What makes you think I’m not taking advantage of you?”

  “I want to prove myself to you. I want you to know I’ll be faithful to you.”

  She put her mouth against his neck. He inhaled, sharp, as her mouth moved up to his ear. “I promise you, after a night with me, you’ll not want another woman,” she whispered.

  His voice wavered when he spoke. “A promise like that . . . How can I refuse?”

  Her mouth found his. The way he kisses— His hands slid up her sides, and his mouth trailed down her neck to her shoulders. “Please tell me you know how to use that tongue for more than just arguing with me,” she said.

  He laughed. “I think I might.”

  She laced her fingers with his and led him to the bedchamber. He shut the door. She started to unbutton his doublet as he trailed two fingers along the edge of her dressing gown down to the top of her breasts. His touch sent prickles down her neck. He untied the robe and pushed it off her shoulders, his mouth following the silk as it exposed her skin. “Igraine,” he whispered. His hands slid into her robe and tightened against her back. She expected the rough skin of a man used to holding a sword, but his hands were smooth and soft and his grip firm and insistent. He put his mouth next to her ear, and she shivered and closed her eyes. “I don’t expect this. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I never do anything I don’t want to do.” She tilted her head up and met his eyes. She pushed off his doublet, took his silk undertunic off, and ran her hands along his chest. She dropped her robe and pressed herself against him. “I want this.”

  His mouth was on hers, and she lost the will to speak again.

  When they lay spent next to each other, he pulled her close against him, pressing up against her back. “Did I find all the places you wanted kissed?”

  By the spirits, yes. “You may have missed a small spot behind my left ankle,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I’ll get that next time.” He kissed her ear and nuzzled against her neck. “You were no maiden, my lady.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No. I like a woman who knows what she wants.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “You certainly know what you want.”

  She smiled at the sensations of his fingers tracing idle shapes on her thigh and his mouth nibbling at her shoulder. He makes me shiver. I shouldn’t feel this way about him. He stole this throne. But what he does to me . . . She rolled over, lifted his hand, and toyed with his fingers in the moonlight that streamed through the broken window. The cool night air raised gooseflesh on her skin, but she shunned blankets. She wanted to see him. “Virginity is a silly notion, isn’t it? A man’s worth is counted by how many women he beds, but a woman’s worth is decided by some little barrier between her legs. There’s no way to prove if she lost it to a man or a horse.”

  He snickered. “A horse?”

  “I’ve been riding since I was three. My maidenhead was gone long before I lost my virginity.”

  He watched her mingle his fingers with hers. “Have there been a lot of horses?”

  She laughed. “Three before you. I’m sure you lost count years ago.”

  He was quiet for some time, his mouth resting on her shoulder. “I did. I should have been pickier. Kinder. A string of maids and whores and a few sayas and camp women—that’s all I have to show.” He sighed. “I’ve been selfish. And foolish. I drank too much when I was younger, and it made me cruel. I fear most of those women got little pleasure from me.”

  She pulled his arm tighter around her middle. “You aren’t the man in the rumors. Did exile change you?”

  “Perhaps. Living that way—the men called me king, but it meant little. We all used the same waste ditch. I suppose it did tame me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “At first it was just me and Cormac. He was a mealy-mouthed commoner that my father hated, so he saddled me with him. We had no money. We begged the indulgence of farms and inns and did odd jobs and survived. I smelled like a pig. I learned to live with deprivation.”

  “Then your uncle found you?”

  “Eventually. Logan found me first. He and his men saw what happened in Kiern. They deserted and tracked me down. They swore fealty to me on a field outside of a broken down village. Just like that I had a small army. They’re all still with me—Logan, Ewan, Malcolm, Aiden. Those first twenty men are the core group, the most loyal men I have. I wrote my uncle, and he started sending money. He tried to send men, but I sent them back. I didn’t want confused loyalties. I built my own army.”

  She wrapped one leg around his. His legs were lithe and muscular and smooth against hers. “And somewhere along the way, you grew up.”

  “I hope so. I want to be a good leader. I don’t want to be the man my father was, but I don’t want to be the man my uncle wants me to be, either.”

  “Who does he want you to be, then?”

  “Someone merciless. Ruthless.”

  She wove her fingers into his hair. “That’s not you. I thought it was, but you’re not your uncle. Or your father. You’re Braedan, and you can make this throne what you wish.” She kissed him. “I wouldn’t be in your bed if I didn’t believe you’d be a good king.”

  He said nothing for some time, his expression serious and thoughtful. “I can be. With you next to me.” He traced her lips. “I love your lips. I’ve wanted to taste these lips from the first night I saw you.” He kissed her neck and belly and worked his way down.

  “And yet you still bedded my maid.”

  His lips paused at the top of her leg. “That was not what you thought it was.”

  “Oh?”

  He lifted his face back to hers. “My uncle bedded her. I found her crying in the corridor. She didn’t want to go back to her room. She feared facing you. I don’t know why—she confessed that you are the kindest mistress she’s ever served. I think she didn’t want to disappoint you. I let her sleep in my bed, and I slept in the antechamber.”

  Igraine sat up. “You took the blame for your uncle? Why?”

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Because I like it when you’re angry with me.”

  She hit him with a pillow. “You ass.”

  He laughed.

  “You mean you let me scold you just because it tightens your groin?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  She hit him again; he took the pillow and put it behind his head. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner?”

  “Would you have believed me? Or would you have thought I only said it to get you into bed?”

  She picked up another pillow, but he tackled her and kissed her. She slapped his shoulder even as she surrendered to the kiss. “You great ass.” She bit his earlobe.

  He bit her shoulder in return. “I love your
accent.”

  She grinned. “You want me to curse you with an Eiryan accent, then? You like my lilt, is it? Aye, and you’re an evil, foul, prick, son of a sheep, m’lord.” She shivered as his kisses grew more insistent.

  He gave her a kiss that awakened desire again. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t think I could ever want another woman.”

  Igraine shivered. “Nor would I want another man.” Decorum and propriety disappeared, and passion was all that mattered.

  ***

  Braedan propped his head on one hand and watched Igraine brush her hair. The early light streaming in through the broken window hovered around her as a halo. “That sight might be enough to turn me into an early riser.”

  She turned and smiled. “Good morning, love.” She put down her brush and sat next to him. Her dressing gown fell open to reveal her legs. She leaned down to kiss him, her lips lingering on his a moment longer than he expected. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Better than I have in months. What sleep I got, that is.” He stroked her hair. “Regrets?”

  “None. You?”

  “No.” He sat up. Can I be worthy of a woman like this? “Is this how it will always be? You’ll be up for hours before I’m awake, running the country and making councilors flee with tails between their legs until I smooth things over?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He pulled her into another kiss. “Come back to bed.”

  “I have duties. So do you.”

  “I’d rather stay in bed.” He brushed her hair back from her neck. “The cut—it’s already healing.”

  “I’ve always healed quickly.” She showed him her wrists. “The rope burns are nearly gone.”

  He kissed her wrists and buried his face in her hair. “Do you think our sons will have this copper hair? And your green eyes? Or your temper?”

  “My brothers don’t. All three have brown hair and blue eyes, and none of them have my temper.” She smiled. “I’ll not be a broodmare, my lord. You may as well sire a son first if you want one. I’ll not spend my life carrying children in the hopes that I might give you a son. And I’ll not stop taking the herbs until we’re wed. I’ll not be with child until I have your name.”

  The way she talks to me—my father would never have tolerated this. He grinned. “As long as we’re bargaining, give me two sons. One for the throne and one for the ducal seat. Fair?”

  She laughed. “All right. Unless I convince you to change the inheritance laws and give your daughters an equal chance.”

  Daughters just like her. Could I be so lucky? “One argument at a time.” Her lilt aroused him. He untied her dressing gown and slipped one hand inside. She didn’t push it away. “Half an hour. I’ll make it worthwhile.”

  “Such a high opinion of yourself,” she said, but her voice wavered. “Perhaps I should school you a bit, then?”

  He grinned. “Please do.”

  “Braedan.” The whisper was silk over steel. “If you’ll swear to keep to me always, I’ll not leave you. Not for Eirya, not for another man. I’ll never leave your bed.”

  “I swear it. I do.” He pulled her down to the bed with him. How could I want another woman?

  They were talking quietly of Taurin politics, when Logan knocked on Igraine’s bedchamber door. “Highness?”

  Braedan pulled her close. “Don’t answer. I don’t want to be king just yet.”

  She kissed him. “You are king, love. And he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.” She stood and pulled on her dressing gown. “One moment, Logan.”

  “Is the king with you, my lady?”

  She smiled at Braedan. “He is.”

  “He should hear this as well.”

  Braedan frowned and pulled on breeches. “Do you think they found Matthias?”

  “So quickly?”

  He put a hand on her arm. “Wear your hair this way.” He pulled it over her shoulder to cover a mark he’d left on her neck, and her face turned red. It satisfied him that, despite her boldness, she was discomforted by their passion.

  They left her bedchamber to find Logan and Cormac in her study, both of them wearing grim expressions. Igraine sat down behind her desk, and Braedan took a seat across from her. “Well?” Braedan asked.

  “There’s been an attack, majesty,” Logan said. “On Lord Guinness. He was on his way to his house this morning to inspect it. We had the extra guards around him as you requested, and he had his own guards, but they were assassins.”

  Igraine gasped and put a hand over her mouth. “Gods—Duncan—”

  Braedan thought the earth might as well have dropped from beneath his feet. He let out a long breath. “Dead?”

  “Yes, your majesty. And his guards, and several of our guards as well.”

  Igraine put her face in her hands and sobbed. Braedan stood and put his hands on her shoulders. Guinness, dead. This will surely mean war if Igraine was right about his relationship to Cedric.

  Cormac cleared his throat. His face was pale and his hands shook, but he spoke clearly. “Most of the assassins escaped. Those we killed had no marks to identify them.”

  “What would lead someone to do this?” Braedan asked. “Do we have any idea?”

  “None, your majesty, but—” Logan hesitated.

  “Tell me.”

  “The men who survived can’t agree on the number of assassins,” Logan explained. “I wouldn’t think anything of that, except that one of them says one of the men among the assassins disappeared. The man who saw him said he stabbed Guinness, then vanished.”

  A cold chill ran down Braedan’s back. He’s returned. The man had told him not to marry Igraine—he had said Braedan’s desire would be his downfall. Now, he was trying to ensure that his words came true. “Thank you, Logan.” He waved them away.

  Braedan knelt next to Igraine as she wept into her hands. He turned her to face him and took her hands in his. “I am so sorry, Igraine. I swear I will do everything I can to find out who did this and bring down the king’s justice on his head.”

  She sat very still, very quiet, tears spilling onto his hands where he gripped hers. “Go. I wish to be alone.”

  “Igraine—”

  “I don’t want to say something I will regret. Please, leave before I do.”

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “If you hadn’t taken this throne, Duncan might be alive.”

  That truth twisted his stomach. I can’t deny that. “I am going to sort this business out as much as I can, and then I have to go north. I will leave Logan and Cormac to work with you to find out what happened. I will trust that you can try to smooth things over with your father.”

  Her tears stopped. “Duncan was my father’s best friend. This will require more than a smoothing over. Do you trust me to deal with my father over this? Without you here?”

  “Yes. I do. If you will be my queen, you will need to govern when I am absent.”

  “You give me the power of a queen already? Even without a formal alliance?”

  He nodded. “I trust you. I love you.”

  The room was still, silent. She fixed her gaze on his. “Thank you, Braedan. I will not disappoint you.”

  “Igraine.” He stopped and let out a breath. “I am sorry for this. I will do whatever I can to make amends. I swear to you.”

  She nodded. “I meant everything last night. But now, I need to think. I need time.”

  “Can I come see you later?”

  “I will come to you. When I’m ready.”

  He nodded again. He stood and kissed her forehead before he left the room. As the guard closed her door, Braedan heard Igraine’s sobs break free, and a lump formed in his throat. I have to rid myself of the dark man.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We began as two. We end as one.

  — Queen Brenna’s diary

  Mairead’s lungs ached. She tried to catch her breath as she fought the hands that pinned her. His legs between hers, he stared down at her with a
confident gleam in his eye that said he knew he’d bested her. “Give up, my lady. You’re as good as taken.”

  She gritted her teeth. I won’t let you beat me. She mustered strength, shifted her weight, and kneed him in his side. The force of the blow knocked him off-balance. One hand let go of her wrist, and she brought her elbow across her body to slam it into his forearm. He yelped and released the other wrist.

  She squirmed free and stood. He lunged for her. When he grabbed her wrist, she slammed the heel of her other hand into his ribs. He choked out another yelp. She gripped her hands together, elbowed him in the ribs, kneed him in the stomach, and pushed him over.

  Connor held his hands up in surrender. “All right, you win. Damn it, Mairead. I need those ribs.”

  She wiped her forehead. “So that was better?”

  “Yes. I’d say you’re getting much better.” He rolled to his side, one hand clutching his ribs.

  She stepped closer. “Did it really hurt so much?”

  He snatched her leg and pulled her down. The air rushed from her body again. Before she could react, he straddled her, his knees holding her legs together. One arm held her down across the chest, and he held a dagger at her throat. He hovered above her with a wicked grin, his face just inches from hers. “No quarter. No mercy.”

  The flat of the blade felt cool against her skin, but she knew how sharp he kept his daggers, and she wouldn’t risk moving more than a swallow. His arm pressed her shoulders tight against the ground. “No mercy,” she said with effort.

  “How would you get out of this?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t move.”

  He loosened his arm enough for her to draw a breath. “If he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. But if he doesn’t, he has to loosen his grip somewhere. It’s probably going to be his arm. What would you do?”