Destined for a King

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Her only reply was her hand slipping lower, a firm caress that sent more blood racing south. She reached the waistband of his breeks and hesitated. She’d never done anything so brazen in her life, he was certain, but gods don’t let her stop now. He reared up and yanked the shirttails from his breeks and sent the garment sailing over his head.

  She gasped, and the color on her cheeks deepened. He knew what she was seeing—a mass of muscle and hair traced through with the thin veins of scars. Her fingers reached out and touched a ridge that cleaved from his shoulder to his upper arm, and he knew she must be recalling their shared dream.

  He lowered his body over hers. “Do not think on it.” He nuzzled her bodice aside and found her nipple. “Now is not the time to think,” he whispered around the bud. “Just feel.”

  “Feel.” The word floated to his ear on a desire-drenched rasp.

  And then she took him at his word, her hands flattening over the planes of his chest and back. Moving, seeking, exploring. Her nails scraped his skin. Gods, once she’d gained a bit of experience…Once he’d shown her what he liked…But at the moment, he couldn’t imagine liking anything more than awakening a maiden—this maiden—to the power that lay within her. The power to bring even a king to his knees.

  Her hand drifted lower, across his belly, teasing, tempting. Agony.

  With his fingers, he tore at the laces on his breeks. “You’re like to drive me mad.”

  “I am?” He could hear the widening, sensual smile in her voice. The intrigue. The need.

  “You are.” He grasped her wrist, and moved her hand lower. “Touch me.”

  Her fingers traced his length, lightly. Too lightly. He gritted his teeth. Gods.

  “More. Don’t be afraid of it. It’s only flesh and blood.”

  “Your flesh and blood.” But she slid her hand lower, and her fingers curled about his cock, gripping, testing the girth.

  He surged against her hand. He couldn’t help himself. And a groan emerged from the back of his throat.

  She flattened her palm, pressing, her fingers questing lower still, to the base, and her nails teased at his bollocks. Mindlessly, he moved against her, until she gripped him once more, but that was far worse. His breath hissed through his teeth.

  “Is this right?”

  “More than right.” He could barely get the words out. “Too right.”

  He should let her finish him. In that way he’d pose no danger to taking her before his time. But he also needed to touch her, to taste her. His hand slipped along her thigh until his fingers found the edge of her skirt. The skin of her inner thigh lay smooth and soft beneath his palm. Her breath quickened as he worked his way upward.

  When his fingers parted her, she sighed.

  “If there’s anything you don’t like, you must tell me.” Gods only knew how he got the words out, for her hand was still busy on his cock.

  Her hand stilled. “I…I hardly know.”

  “You’ll know when it happens. I swear before the Three, if you tell me to stop, I will.” With his fingertip, he traced the seam between her legs. Dampness and warmth slipped out to greet his touch. Gods, so eager, and yet he’d find the strength to keep his vow if she asked it of him.

  Her thighs fell open to accommodate his touch, and he pressed more firmly, seeking the bud at the top of her cleft. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he let himself imagine watching her face as he filled her again and again and again, until her body gripped him in ripples of ecstasy. By all Three Gods he wanted to be inside her when that happened.

  And she wasn’t telling him to stop.

  His finger circled the knot of flesh. She gasped and sighed with the movement.

  “Is that what you feel when I touch you?” Her fingers curled tighter about his cock, and the ache in his bollocks tightened with it.

  “I can only imagine. Tell me what it feels like.”

  “It’s like you’re twisting me tighter and tighter until I can’t stand anymore.” At her words, he paused and searched her face for any sign of discomfort, but her eyes remained closed, her lips parted, her breath coming in shallow puffs.

  She canted her hips. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Your willing servant, my lady.”

  And so he teased and tested, watching her response, driving her higher, drawing the most delicious cries from her lips, until her entire body tensed. Her back arched, a shudder passed through, and she keened, oh, she keened. He pushed her through the climax, drawing out the pleasure with lighter touches, until her body fell limp beneath him.

  Now was the time to stop. He ought to ease away from her now, and slake his desire with his hands. It wouldn’t take much. The memory of her cries still echoed through his brain. He could pleasure himself to the memory of that sound until the end of his days.

  But her arms reached up and she clung to him, her lips seeking his. He gave in to the temptation to kiss her, gently, to ease her back to earth, but his lady was demanding. One kiss wasn’t enough, and soon it wasn’t enough for him, either. But he must pull away before he buried himself inside her.

  When he tore his lips from hers, her eyes fluttered open. “I haven’t asked you to stop.”

  Holy Mother. “I should, before it’s too late.”

  “It is already too late, and I cannot take all the pleasure for myself and not give any back. The dream was shared.”

  Shared, indeed. In more ways than she realized. Not only the nightmare they’d just lived. She’d been part of his dreams ever since he’d discovered his Stone.

  But by the Faceless One, how did she know? He reached up and brushed a stray tendril of her hair back from her face. “I would have spared you.”

  “You didn’t know. How could you?” She raised her lips to his and pressed. A gentle pressure. It shouldn’t have fired him.

  Shouldn’t have, but something burned inside him, and it was more than simple lust. Against his chest, his Stone seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat, rapid and urgent. Her hands slid down his back, mapping planes and muscle, smooth skin and scars.

  “That could have just as easily been you,” she murmured against his mouth.

  Her touch roamed still farther, dipping beneath his breeks until she gripped his backside. A shudder passed through him. His control balanced on the edge of a knife.

  “But it wasn’t,” he grated in a last-ditch effort to stop. “I wish it had been. I sent him onto that field. He went there for me.”

  “For love of you. You can’t stop now.” She kissed him again, this time with more force. By the Three Gods, she was seducing him. It made no sense, but his mind was beyond puzzling that out.

  He angled his head and took over the kiss, deepening it, his tongue dancing with hers, arousing her once more. With her hands, she peeled back his breeks, and her body relaxed beneath his. Surrender. She was giving herself to him.

  Somehow he kicked himself free of the rest of his garments. Her skirts lay bunched between them, and he pushed them up and out of the way. And all the while he kissed her with a passion whose origin he could not fathom. His Stone dangled on its chain to hang between their bodies.

  Taking himself in hand, he found her entrance. Moist heat greeted him, and his cock throbbed with a desire to be fully sheathed. He pressed forward a fingerbreadth, met resistance. In and in and in and again in, until her warmth surrounded him.

  She went rigid beneath him. He pushed onto his elbows to look upon her. Her white skin stood in stark contrast to the cloud of dark hair spread over the pillow. She kept her gray eyes closed and her teeth sank into her lower lip.

  Damn. He clenched his jaw and fought the red haze of lust that threatened to take over his mind. To erase everything except the need to possess. Her body gripped his in such incredible tightness, he wanted to conquer the paradise she offered and conquer it now. To pound at her blindly and claim his pleasure.

  The only thing holding him back was the notion that
he’d cause her hurt. No.

  He ran the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stop?” By all Three Gods, he would, even now.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “No.”

  “Easy, then.” He would control himself. He would, even though his body shook with the urgency for release.

  Slowly, he began to withdraw.

  Her thighs tightened about his haunches. “I said no. Don’t stop.”

  He held in a chuckle. “It is the way of it. I move.” He pushed into her heat, and she gasped. “You move with me.” He pulled back, grasping her hips and applying pressure as he thrust once more. “Together.”

  “Together,” she echoed on the next surge.

  “Yes.” Gods, yes.

  A swivel of his hips, and her hands drifted to his backside. Clutched as surely as he clasped her flank, as surely as her internal muscles held him fast. Within and without. Keeping him where he belonged.

  And then she was smooth as silk and hotter than a forge. At last, he could give himself over to need. He thrust, and she flowed with him, pushing higher and higher, until the world about him seemed to shatter and he found what he’d sought.

  The sweet onrush of oblivion.

  Paradise. Calista.

  Chapter 12

  The soft moonlight penetrating the high windows slipped toward the paleness of dawn. Calista lay in the darkness, combing her fingers through Torch’s hair while the shades of gray in the chamber gradually gave way to color. Soft, those dark strands, possibly the softest thing about him. Her hands now knew from experience.

  However long they’d lain there, Torch was not asleep, either. The slight tension of his body betrayed his wakefulness. She’d known one moment of complete relaxation in him and that came the instant after he’d spent himself inside her. She’d given him that one tiny instant of peace, a rarity in a life like his. She’d gladly borne his weight after he collapsed onto her.

  If, for that one moment, he’d been able to erase the images…Gods, the images. They’d come flooding back, as soon as her brain had cleared from spent passion. They must haunt him all the more, and the dream had been so real.

  Was it real? She’d never experienced anything like it. She had, for all intents and purposes, inhabited another body. The body of Griffin’s sister. Torch’s sister. Which meant she’d seen more than just the events of the dream. She’d had access to an entire lifetime of memories of another person.

  Somewhere she found her voice. “What happened?”

  “That was a loss of control. I never meant…” The strength of Torch’s voice proved he was just as awake as she. “It’s a common thing after battle. After you see so much…death.”

  “No, I meant the dream.” She would not begrudge him her maidenhood. Not when he’d told her she could stop him at any time. Not when she’d insisted and reveled in the giving of herself. “I was…I was inside another person.”

  “So was I.” That might well have been a joking reference to her, only he’d replied in such utter seriousness. “I was in my brother. I was my brother. Until…”

  Dear gods. The hollowness that formed inside her made her tighten her hold. “I know. I saw.”

  “I need to know. Were…were you…” Caution laced his tone, as if he already suspected she now possessed more information than she ought.

  “Your sister. It was as if I inhabited Jerrah’s body.”

  Abruptly, he pulled out of her embrace. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and the rising sun limned the muscled planes of his back in golden light. It highlighted every beautiful masculine contour, the furrow down the center enhanced with shadow. He bent his head and pushed both hands through his hair. “So you know.”

  “I know who you claim to be. Who your sister believes you to be.” She made her reply carefully, sensing the growing tension in him. If she stated his sister’s beliefs aloud, it might make them seem all too real. And Calista wasn’t yet certain she could believe. Not without more proof. And who was to say the entire dream wasn’t some trick of the Stone’s? “Has…Have you ever had such a dream?”

  “Never.” A single word and harsh, as if he could read her thoughts. Her doubts. “I was desperate for information, but I never once expected…”

  So much despondency twisted her heart. The emotion tearing at his voice should confirm he wasn’t behind the dream. He might know more about his Stone than she did, but he hadn’t controlled what it showed. The Stone had. Because he wouldn’t have put himself through such anguish to prove a point.

  “How do you know it really happened? The battle, I mean. Your brother.”

  “Because I was there.” He whipped his head about to glare at her. “The Stone has brought me visions in the past, but never anything this vivid. I held a sword in my hand, but not my sword. My voice gave the orders. I killed the enemy. I felt the steel pass through my body.” He clenched a fist and pounded it on the mattress with a dull thump. “I felt the cold burn, the agony.” Thump. “I felt the life leaving me.” Thump. “It might have been me.” Thump. “It should have been me.”

  She stared at pale scars that lined his back, almost expecting to find a new one to the left, just off the furrow that marked his spine, the length and width of the blade that had killed his brother. Yes, it had been that real to her as well. She might not know the pain of a mortal wound, but she’d lived his sister’s shock and horror.

  Pushing herself into a sitting position, she leaned across the mattress and laid her head on his shoulder, her hands clasped about his waist. The skin beneath her cheek was warm and vital, pulsing with life and anger and the desire for vengeance.

  “As much as I am sorry for your brother, I am glad it wasn’t you.” Every last word bubbled up from her heart, and she hoped he believed she meant them.

  He placed calloused palms over her hands, pressing the knot of their entangled fingers against his belly. “You know that it could be me one day. It is the nature of what I do.”

  He’d no doubt meant the words lightly enough, but a note of gravity underlay them.

  “There is no safety in this world.” A swift arrow can fell even an eagle. Apparently the saying was King Magnus’s favorite, and no wonder. If Torch’s claim were true, it made perfect sense. “From the moment we’re born, we’ve set our feet on the path toward death. Some of us reach that end sooner than others. A woman might die just as well in childbed.”

  His grip on her hands tightened. “I need you to know I did not plan for this outcome. I swore to leave you untouched, and I did not keep my word. My failure and mine alone. My intent always was to wed you first. We have no choice in the matter now.”

  She knew. Well she knew. Her own mention of childbed brought the possibility to her mind. An heir. A king’s heir. “You know Magnus will contest this.”

  “I knew he’d contest me from the beginning. And he does not yet know the full extent of what I will take from him.” Will take. As if the deeds were already accomplished. His utter confidence drew her to press her lips to his shoulder. But Griffin had possessed the same assurance before the onset of the battle. “Did you think he’d lie by and allow me to take this keep unopposed?”

  “No.” Jerrah’s scream at the sight of her brother’s deathblow echoed through Calista’s mind. She’d likely hear more of such horrors, and soon. Witness them herself. And she’d have the wounds of the survivors to contend with as well. “You’ll bring the full brunt of Magnus’s power down on us, and we’re hardly prepared for such an assault.”

  “We will prepare as we can and weather the storm as we must.”

  How she wanted to believe it was that easy. But she also did not get a chance to protest, for a scratch sounded at the door.

  “My lord.” A male voice came muffled through solid oak. “Are you awake?”

  Calista barely had time to duck beneath the covers before Torch replied. “Come.”

  Kestrel strode into the chamber, his vivid blue eyes
taking in the scene. But if he noted his lord’s nakedness, the disarray of the bed, or the female form peering over the edge of the blankets, none of it registered in his tone when he spoke. “A messenger, my lord. He came with the dawn.”

  The mattress shifted beneath Calista as Torch reached into the discarded clothes on the floor for his breeks. He pulled them on and sat straighter. Stiff. Steeling himself. As real as the dream had been, it still might have been a figment of both their imaginations. A glamour created by his Stone to dazzle both of them. To lead them into taking a step from which neither of them might turn back.

  But this messenger was living proof.

  “What news?” Torch asked, voice steady and strong. He might as well have said, Deliver me the worst, and get it over with so I might face my grief with courage.

  “He brought this and insisted you alone read it.” Over the edge of the blankets, Calista spied Kestrel’s hand gripping a piece of parchment.

  Torch took the parchment and broke the seal.

  “What is it?” Kestrel asked after a moment. Calista could not see Torch’s expression, but she imagined he must have paled to raise such a note of alarm in his commander’s voice.

  “Magnus has taken my sister,” Torch replied slowly. “He’s holding her captive.”

  “Jerrah?” The name emerged on a croak, and Kestrel’s healthy complexion turned white as chalk.

  “Swift, you mean,” Torch reminded him sharply. Though Calista had learned his sister’s right name, it wouldn’t be prudent to bandy such information about in a keep whose loyalty had yet to be ensured.

  “And what of Griffin?”

  “He is in no position to help us.”

  Kestrel’s jaw went rigid, as if he were grinding his teeth. “How in the name of the Three Gods did Magnus lay hands on her?”

  “The message does not say, but the Ironfist has clearly had word of all our plans. He’s holding Swift in view of an exchange. My sister for his intended bride. And whatever harm we’ve done to Calista Thorne will be visited upon my sister three times over.”