Destined for a King

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Magnus was no more your choice, echoed a persistent voice in her head.

  No, her father had negotiated that betrothal. Magnus wanted a young bride capable of giving him sons, and her father wanted a better position among the king’s men. All along, she’d been nothing but a pawn.

  With Torch, you still have a choice. A choice, yes, to accept him or not, but if she did not choose him, she was left with Magnus. And gods, how Torch could convince. But she didn’t have to make the decision yet.

  She set her hands on his chest and pushed away, ducking her head from the continued questing of his mouth.

  “What is it?” His embrace loosened, but he didn’t release her. His hands clasped easily at her waist. His fingers bumped along the crisscross of lacing on each side of her bodice. “You were going all lovely and soft just now.”

  “I shouldn’t do this.”

  That roguish grin of his returned. “Of course you should.” In harmony with his expression, his tone was light and playful. “You can’t convince me you weren’t enjoying yourself. Not with that becoming flush on your cheeks. I’d wager you’re the color of your family’s roses.”

  By all the gods, this impish side of him was impossible to resist. It demanded a response just as surely as his kisses did. It coaxed her to play along with him, to return jibe for jibe. Only this time he wasn’t needling her. He was paying her a compliment in his way. “Yes, but—”

  “Come, now. Try again. This lesson isn’t finished.” He leaned in, but rather than press his lips to her again, he dipped his head farther, and his teeth tugged at her earlobe. His fingers skimmed her sides, once again bouncing along the laces of her gown.

  She could feel him fiddling at her waist, the way his teeth and tongue worried at her neck. Tempting, those laces, tempting him to undo them, the way he was tempting her to let him. And when he nipped and licked and caressed with his mouth, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and permit him every last liberty. And revel in every sensation he aroused, every moan and sigh he elicited.

  The bed loomed just beyond her field of vision, its presence palpable. If he carried this lesson far enough, he’d have her on it. On her back. Beneath him. Her heart skittered at the notion, for he made her want that. Made her want the joining of their bodies. Made her want to cast aside all her father’s ambitions and choose the bastard outlaw.

  “By all the gods, what is this?” Her mother’s sharp admonition sent an awful jolt through Calista. She’d been so caught up in Torch, she hadn’t even heard the door open. Or had she neglected to close it, and her mother simply walked in? She didn’t remember, so confused were her thoughts.

  She spun out of his embrace, hot color rising to her cheeks.

  “My lady.” If anything, Torch sounded amused, damn the man. Amused and ready to spout off some roguish witticism to make her blush further. Make her melt and want to return the spar, if she was honest. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “Did you need something, Mother?” she asked crisply, as if she’d been caught at nothing more daring than rearranging the stillroom.

  “It seems I require a word with you in private.” Her voice dry and cracked as autumn leaves, she jerked her head toward the corridor.

  If she meant by that gesture that Torch should vacate the chamber, he chose to ignore it. “I find myself weakened from my recent exertions.”

  At that word, Calista’s cheeks burned even hotter. Good gods, he made it sound as if they’d been engaging in a vigorous round of bed sport. No, just leading up to it.

  He stepped to the bed and stretched his body across the mattress. “I will gladly excuse you ladies to conduct your conversation in great privacy.”

  The rogue. He was enjoying her discomfiture. Her mother’s thoughts seemed to reflect her own, for she cast him a narrow look. “Come along, then, Calista.”

  With surprising force, her mother wrapped her fingers about Calista’s upper arm and dragged her into the corridor. The upper story was deserted for now, although a servant might happen along at any time. Hardly the spot for a private conversation, but apparently Mother was too overset to notice.

  “What did you think you were doing in there?” she spat. “Give the slightest encouragement to a man like that, and he’ll have you on your back before you can even think to scream.”

  “It…He wasn’t like that, Mother.” For the life of her, Calista couldn’t have said why she was defending Torch. A man like that, indeed. But Mother was only judging by his reputation. She couldn’t have known how long they’d been kissing when she walked in. “He wouldn’t have forced me.”

  “He was doing an excellent job of seducing you, then,” her mother seethed. “And that’s not any better. The result is the same. You ruined and a bastard in your belly.”

  Yes, and he’d maintained he wanted an heir. Only an heir required legitimacy. “He claimed on his arrival he desired marriage.” She wasn’t even certain why she bothered to raise his point.

  “And why should you desire a union with a nameless, landless bastard when you have an offer from the king himself? Not only that, this man is our enemy. He has stolen the keep from your father.”

  “He’s shown us a great deal of mercy nonetheless. More than his reputation would warrant.”

  “He has his reasons, you can be certain of that. I cannot trust him. And you, my dear, you should be very careful not to trust him, either. He’ll ruin you for good and all. In fact, if he’s healed well enough to be in mind of seduction, he’s well enough to vacate your chambers.”

  Chapter 9

  Torch stretched out on Calista’s bed and relived the last several moments. Quite pleasant and heading toward an even more pleasant ending, until her mother came in. His cock ached with unfulfilled desire, but he tamped that down. The next time he managed to get Calista alone, he’d seduce her, and once he’d done that, she’d have to marry him. No choice there.

  And another victory gained over Magnus. The man was an idiot for not marrying the girl straightaway. He’d left things open for Torch to step in and steal his bride. And Torch was going to reap every last benefit. A legitimate heir and a truly responsive woman to warm his bed for the rest of his years. Gods grant they be long.

  As long as he got another chance alone with her. Her mother was no doubt berating her for allowing such a situation to arise. Reminding Calista what she was tossing aside for the pleasure of giving herself to a landless bastard. Even if Amara Thorne knew his true identity, he had no doubt she’d not believe a word of his story.

  But he had some time, at least. His brother had bought him this opportunity, and he was going to make it pay off, no matter what. First Blackbriar Keep and a marriage to a suitable bride, then one by one he’d win the rest of the Strongholds under Magnus until he had enough force to take the throne back.

  The door opened, but unfortunately his visitor did not prove to be Calista returning. Kestrel strode into the room. “Your brother’s sent a messenger.”

  Torch shifted himself into a sitting position. “What news?”

  “The Ironfist’s army has mustered at Landsdowne Crossing. Griffin intends to engage our enemy as soon as may be.”

  Landsdowne Crossing, thirty leagues and more from Blackbriar, but the terrain would allow a straight enough march on the keep once the outcome of the battle was decided. Only the wide river to ford, a few more minor crossings, and some low hills barred the way, but the road was good. And naturally, the information itself was at least several days old. “That gives us a sennight at best before we find Magnus at our gates.”

  Kestrel nodded, a short jerk of his head. “Your reckoning agrees with mine.”

  “The question is, will our gates hold up?”

  “About as well as they held for us.”

  Torch had suspected as much. A sennight was barely enough to complete the trebuchets. He’d need a year and more to build up this place properly with a second curtain wall, but he might use the trenches they’d begun to
dig for the foundations to advantage. “Does Griffin give you any idea of numbers?”

  “He doesn’t think he’s facing the entire muster.”

  Less than ten thousand, then, but surely more men than Torch could put in the field within seven days. “Griffin knows what to do.”

  Engage the enemy. Harry them on their march to Blackbriar. Somehow arrive with his much-needed forces ahead of the Usurper.

  “The question is, what will you do?” Kestrel rarely challenged Torch’s plans, but he was doing so now. And rightly enough.

  “I will face my enemy and pray that right prevails. And hope that once word gets out of my true name, Magnus Ironfist will find he has fewer loyal vassals than he believed.”

  Kestrel flattened his lips and turned to leave.

  “Hold. I’ve one more thing to ask of you.”

  The commander raised a single dark brow. “Sir?”

  “You will allow Amara Thorne to visit her husband for as long as Belwin is imprisoned.”

  The second brow joined the first. “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Naturally, you will keep her under surveillance and not allow the two close enough to whisper or have any other contact. If anything, though, I need to offer that woman a distraction.”

  “As you wish.”

  After Kestrel left, Torch allowed his fingers to drift to his Scrying Stone. What he wouldn’t give for a glimpse of Griffin now and a hint as to whether the battle had gone well or ill. The Stone warmed beneath his touch, and he let his thoughts drift in hopes of a vision or some form of news.

  But he couldn’t keep Calista completely from his mind. The Stone had burned her the other day. It had burned him as well, and that had only happened on one other occasion. Always it had warmed in response to him, but never to the point of pain.

  Wolf’s people believed that when a man found his destined bride, his Stone would increase in power. Was that what the heat had been about? And if he wanted a vision, would her proximity help the Stone see?

  He could try, as long as her mother kept her nose out.

  As if on cue Calista returned to the chamber. Her mother hovered in the corridor just beyond until Kestrel drew her away.

  “Since you find yourself fit to take up training once more,” she said, “I see no choice but to declare you healed of your injuries.”

  He kept his fingers on his Stone and watched her from beneath his eyelids. “So you’d like me to order your father’s release, is that it?”

  “Among other things. As you fare, so fares my lord father, and if you are well, and restored, so should he be.”

  “In the morning, I will order it.” He could accord her that much of a concession. He might not be completely restored to his former health, but it would come in time. He only needed to see that he didn’t become a sluggard and he’d regain his former swiftness with his blade.

  “You will also have to find yourself some new quarters. I see no reason why I need to watch over you now that you’re up and about.”

  He might have guessed that was coming, after what her mother had walked in on. Damn it, and he could have hoped for more time alone with Calista. He might still contrive that. No matter what, he would take her to wife, whether he contracted with her father or saw to the matter himself. Through seduction. “I will grant you that on one condition.”

  She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “Condition?”

  Clever girl not to trust him. “Close the door, and I will tell you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How naïve must you think me.”

  He let himself grin. “Naïve enough that you didn’t recognize a proper kiss when I gave you one. But if it will convince you to obey, I will swear not to kiss you or touch you in any inappropriate manner.”

  “And I’m supposed to take you at your word?”

  “Yes.” His reply emerged on a harsher tone than he intended, but damn it all, he tired of the endless struggle against Magnus’s lies. For the Ironfist had painted him as a ruthless rapist, a maimer, and a marauder. A heartless burner of villages. A bastard who possessed not the slightest shred of honor. Just once he’d like for someone to believe in him as if he was an honorable cavalier.

  Not just someone. Calista. A strange shiver passed down his spine at the thought. Her opinion of him mattered more than anything.

  “Yes,” he repeated more softly. “I need you to try something for me.”

  “All right.” She turned to the door and closed it behind her.

  “Come here,” he said quietly.

  “You just said…”

  “Come here, and I’ll explain.” He pulled out the Stone on its chain.

  She eyed it with apprehension, no doubt remembering the last time she’d come into contact with it. “What would you have me do?”

  “Do you know the history of the Scrying Stones?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t, either, actually,” he said with a grin. “Not all of it. I only know what Wolf told me of them. Among the Avestari, each young man sets out on a quest when he reaches his fifteenth summer to see if he can find a Stone of his own.”

  She eyed the chain, and he knew what she was seeing. Something that looked like a perfectly ordinary rock. Nothing to recommend it. No value at all, except to the possessor who knew how to use it. “I shouldn’t think it so difficult. I can find any number of pebbles like that out in the garden.”

  “It isn’t so simple. The Avestari believe there is a particular Stone for every man, but only one. Not everyone is fortunate enough to find his. My Stone may look ordinary. Someone else’s might be a precious gemstone.”

  “And how does one go about finding such a thing? How did you find yours, for that matter?”

  “It’s part of the quest. The Avestari have means of summoning their Stone, and if they’re lucky they find theirs. I came across mine by accident.”

  “And you knew what it was.”

  “It happened that Wolf was with me and recognized what I’d found when I stumbled across it. I put my hand down at random, and the Stone heated beneath my palm. In fact, it burned me, much the same way it burned you.”

  “And what does it mean that it burned me as well?”

  “That is another piece of their lore. When a Horselord finds the woman destined to be his, the powers of his Stone increase.”

  “The Avestari steal their brides.” She folded her arms. She’d come this close to spluttering. “I suppose you’ve learned that from them.”

  He crossed to her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re stealing me, aren’t you? From my intended.”

  “From Magnus?” How could she possibly be thinking of him after that kiss they’d shared? “Do you…” Gods, why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he just take possession the way he’d planned? He’d stormed the gate and taken the keep. He’d always figured he could storm her gate the same way, only his onslaught with her would be charm and seduction. “Did you agree to that betrothal because you have feelings for the man?”

  He could barely credit the question. How anyone could have feelings for that coldhearted usurper…

  “How could I?” Her eyes widened. “I told you I’ve never even met him.”

  Thank all the gods. There was one obstacle out of the way, and a huge one. A political union he could deal with. He’d have to convince her father more than her, perhaps, but he still might forge ahead and seduce her in the meantime. “Do you even know what sort of man he is?”

  “I know very little of him, beyond his age, of course.” There was another thing he couldn’t fathom—why a comely young maid such as Calista might agree to attach herself to a man old enough to be her father. The advantage for Magnus, on the other hand, was perfectly plain. The man needed an heir, and a young wife was just the person to provide him with such. “My father arranged our union.”

  “For political gain.”

  “For power,” she replied simply enough, as if t
he answer were obvious. And it was rather obvious. Blackbriar was a small keep and easily taken, as Torch and his men had proven. Thorne needed to surround himself with powerful alliances in order to hold his lands. “And a tie to the king himself is the most powerful alliance he could possibly make.”

  “A tie to the king,” he echoed, before coming to his senses. If he wasn’t careful, he’d reveal his true identity to her, and he wasn’t quite ready for that yet. He would have to convince her father of the truth, though. If Thorne wished an alliance with the king, he’d have to break the betrothal to Magnus, thus incurring the man’s wrath, certainly, and arousing his considerable power. But that storm must be weathered. And the keep was no longer Thorne’s.

  “If it were up to you,” Torch asked, “would you have made the same agreement?”

  “No one asked for my opinion.” The tinge of bitterness twining through her reply was clear. “My father presented the bargain as a fait accompli.”

  “I’m asking your opinion now. Would you make the same choice for yourself if it were up to you to decide?”

  She considered him for a long moment before replying. “You cannot trick me into believing you are truly giving me a choice in the matter. I heard you plainly the first day. You intend to marry me. You never planned to get down on your knees and ask for my hand.”

  “But I will get down on my knees in front of the altar and swear to protect you from whatever comes.” He’d never made any statement as adamantly.

  “Whatever comes will be your doing. By simply taking Blackbriar, you are calling Magnus to fall on us with all his strength.”

  “A storm I plan on weathering, with a little help.” He clenched his fist about his Stone. “And I need your assistance as well, if you’ll lend it to me.”

  “Once more, I do not see any choice in the matter. I must do whatever is in my power to protect my home and its people.”