Adrian

by Heather Grothaus

  “Precisely. And neither do I believe he’d leave us in peace, nae matter the reward he was given.”

  Adrian found himself walking up the path toward the upper part of the cavern alongside this man who was revealing himself to be surprisingly intuitive. His mind worked laboriously on the riddle of this strange place, this strange people.

  “Which is why you went straightaway for your plans of war. You already knew that if Felsteppe returned and was not given what he asked for, he would attempt to occupy Wyldonna by force, giving you recourse for retaliation.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Aye. If Maisie would have trusted me, you wouldna be involved at all. But she did a foolish thing in leaving and seeks to justify it.”

  Adrian frowned. “But I thought the tale of the Painted Man was a foretelling. You mean she wasn’t meant to seek me out and bring me back?”

  “It’s less a foretelling than a warning,” Malcolm explained. “Maisie is gambling with her life and yours. There’s naught that can be done about it now. It’s already been set in motion.”

  “Beware the Painted Man, who trades the death of the queen?”

  Malcolm nodded again as the two men walked toward the opening in the mountain, and the weak light of day beyond. The sky was so much lighter than when he’d arrived on the island.

  “I still don’t understand,” Adrian said, stopping and turning to face the king, “why she would take it upon herself to unseat you, to be so blatantly disobedient to your commands. She seems to care for you very much.”

  “Aye, that she likely does,” Malcolm mused quietly, looking down at his boots. “She’s all I have left, Maisie. She and I are the last.” He looked up but avoided Adrian’s gaze, turning his eyes instead out to sea. “She’s trying to make up for her mistake. But I fear she’ll pay with her life, and that I canna forgive her.”

  Adrian, too, turned to gaze out through the mist. “The mistake of overthrowing your rule.”

  “Nay. The mistake she made at Midsummer.” Malcolm puffed on his pipe for a moment. “When she first left Wyldonna.”

  Adrian blinked and turned his head to regard the king. “She left the island last summer? Before she came to find me?”

  “Aye. She followed a duvenet man to the Outland,” Malcolm said somberly.

  Adrian’s blood froze. Maisie had left Wyldonna in pursuit of a man.

  He tried to speak calmly. “Was she in love with him?”

  “I doona know if she was when she left,” Malcolm said. “She’d said she was done waiting to expire on Wyldonna. There was naught here for her—no future, no hope of a family. I do know she cursed his name upon her return, only weeks after she’d left.”

  Adrian didn’t know what to say. There was no doubt that Maisie had been a virgin when Adrian first claimed her body. Had she been in love with the duvenet and he’d refused her?

  Perhaps a broken heart was to blame for the mistakes made by the queen of Wyldonna.

  The idea of it made Adrian’s stomach clench painfully. The way she’d physically loved him, with such wanton abandon; had it been nothing more than a balm to her wounded pride? A way to gain revenge on the man she’d wanted but who had rebuffed her affections?

  “Something troubling you, lad?” Malcolm asked lightly.

  Adrian gritted his teeth. “I’m just curious: You said her leaving at Midsummer was the mistake for which she is seeking to atone. Why would she have to atone for wanting a future? Where did she go when she left Wyldonna with . . . with that man?”

  “An Outland city called Hamburg,” Malcolm said, and he turned and looked at Adrian at last. “Where she first met Glayer Felsteppe.”

  Chapter 17

  Maisie sat on the stone threshold of the castle’s front entrance, gazing into the tree line, watching, listening. The mist was so bright today—a sign that spring hovered just beyond the horizon now. The days had grown incrementally brighter in the weeks before Ostara, when true day would dawn, and each sunrise and sunset thereafter would be observed and celebrated until the season turned slowly toward fall—and darkness—again.

  Last Midsummer, Maisie had sworn that she would never again be witness to the darkening of Wyldonna. But she had been wrong. It was this year that was to be her last on the island.

  She drew a deep breath and held it for a long moment before releasing it in a rush. Frightened. She was frightened. And she had been naught but frightened for months now, the first time in her life she could ever remember being so. Some days it was intense enough that she felt as though she were being slowly strangled. First she was frightened in the Outland, when she found that adaptation was not as easy as she’d thought it would be. Then she was frightened of the people she’d met, was forced to depend on for her survival. Once they’d seen her abilities, they’d sought to use her, intimidate her into cooperating with their plans. They’d frightened her all the way back to Wyldonna.

  And then they had followed her.

  Maisie was properly chastised now. In trying to escape the ancient laws of the island, she had only succeeded in bringing her fate about more quickly. So although she had finally accepted the inevitable, she was still frightened.

  The only place she found any reprieve from her fear was in Adrian Hailsworth’s arms. He was a good man, and a brilliant one. He would go on to do great things to the benefit of many, Maisie was certain.

  She hoped he would return to the castle soon, so she could forget her fate for a little while. She’d done all she could do, both to ruin and then rectify things. All that was left was to wait, and to gather whatever comfort she could.

  She heard the rustling in the underbrush before she saw him emerge from the wood. He was without his shirt again—a wise choice when going among the folk—and Maisie appreciated the sight of his lean, muscled body as he approached her. Even the way he moved affected her; the swagger of his shoulders, the swing of his tattooed arms, the long stride of his legs, all caused a clenching sensation in her middle. Her excitement at his approach was lessened somewhat, though, when he drew near enough for her to see the anger chiseled into his handsome face.

  She opened her mouth to greet him, but his pointing finger precluded any thought she’d had of civilized conversation.

  “You have done naught but lie to me since the moment we met,” he accused.

  She drew a steadying breath. “That’s nae true.”

  He came to a stop two paces before her, forcing her to tilt her chin to look up sharply at him. In other circumstances, perhaps she would have risen to her feet in order to escape such a submissive pose, but she found that she didn’t mind, really, looking up at Adrian Hailsworth. She was finished with escapes.

  “You lied to me about the treasure.”

  “I didna.”

  “You lied to me about your reason for bringing me to the island.”

  “Nay. I only delayed telling you a portion of it.”

  He placed his hands on his hips, and Maisie couldn’t help but let her eyes fall to the front of his chausses. She knew what he was going to say—he’d spent the morning with Malcolm, after all. He was angry that she’d failed to mention meeting Felsteppe last year, probably justifiably so. She should have told him, especially once their . . . relationship had changed, deepened. But each time she thought to, she couldn’t bear the thought of the disapproval she would see in his eyes at her foolishness. She’d never meant to deceive him, only to avoid his scorn and disgust at how stupid she’d been.

  “You didn’t tell me you left Wyldonna this past summer,” he accused.

  There it was, then. Good. But that simple accusation was not enough to satisfy him, apparently.

  “To be with that man,” he finished.

  Maisie frowned and looked up at him again, startled by his words.

  “Don’t look at me as if you’ve no idea what I’m referring to,” he ground out. “More lies will only make it worse.”

  “I know exactly what you’re referring to,” she said. “Are you
implying that I sought a relationship with Glayer Felsteppe?”

  Now it was Adrian’s turn to frown. “No. God, no. Although I do have some questions about how he came to be drawn into this in the first place. What I want to know is why you did not tell me that you fled Wyldonna to be with a man you were in love with—the duvenet. And then, when he refused you, you used me as a balm for your wounded pride.”

  Maisie’s heart seemed to warm and swell in her breast, but she kept her expression neutral. “I wasna in love with Jagger when I followed him to the Outland.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said darkly.

  Maisie huffed a breath of laughter. “Why on earth nae?” “Because you are Wyldonna royalty. You left the only family and home you had to follow this man, this . . . Jagger.” Adrian spat out the name as if it was a foul taste on his tongue.

  Now Maisie slowly gained her feet. Standing on the stone threshold brought their gazes level with each other. “Adrian, are you jealous?”

  He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, causing Maisie to gasp, but not with fear. Quite the opposite of fear, actually.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didna want to show you how much of a fool I truly am,” she answered honestly, bending her bound arms at the elbows to place her hands on the hot skin of his waist. She had to touch him.

  “Why would you be the fool when he refused you? No man who would do so is in possession of respectable intellect.”

  Maisie wondered if any would see should she make love to Adrian in the castle yard.

  “He didna refuse me, although he certainly would have, had I proposed such intimacy with him,” she said, her eyes roving the hills and valley of his upper lip. “Adrian, Jagger prefers the friendly company of a man.”

  His head drew away slightly, his frown lessening. “Why would you follow him then, if he was of such . . . devious appetites?”

  “Because he had a place in the Outland. I knew him. I thought he could keep me safe, see me settled,” she said, leaning her bodice against his chest, her toes now her only contact with the earth. “Were you jealous because you thought I was in love with him? Because you thought I wanted to make love with another man before you?”

  Adrian growled deep in his throat. “Yes,” he hissed. “I was mad with jealousy. I still am,” he said in a warning tone.

  Maisie leaned forward and kissed his lips gently. “The only man I want to make love with—have ever wanted to make love with—is you. And that is the truth, if ever I’ve spoken it. If you’ll only take me inside, I shall prove it to you.”

  He released her to sweep his arm beneath her legs and then turned to maneuver her through the narrow doorway. In moments they were dashing through the hall, Maisie running her fingers through Adrian’s curling hair as she kissed his neck.

  “Good day, Reid,” Adrian said brusquely over the top of Maisie’s head.

  “And to you, Man,” Maisie heard the giant’s polite if confused reply. “Is there aught I can be of assistance to you?”

  “Thank you, but I believe I can manage,” Adrian said. And then threw over his shoulder, “Cairn sends his regards.”

  Maisie giggled against Adrian’s skin and held him tighter. He was so perfect here, now. So perfect, and he was hers, if only for the little time she had left.

  It took the use of all Adrian’s will to slow in his lovemaking once he had Maisie Lindsey on the bed in her chamber. He wanted to take her quickly and roughly, but the idea that she had ever desired another man—regardless of how untrue that idea turned out to be—motivated him to imprint himself on the queen of Wyldonna. He wanted to bring her such pleasure that she would never desire anyone but him, would never think of another man in her bed.

  For the rest of her life, perhaps.

  And so he forced himself to linger over her body, to savor the smells and tastes of her creamy skin, until they were both panting with impatience. Then, and only then, did he join with her, pacing himself, increasing his insistence until she cried out with her release at last and Adrian quickly followed her.

  She lay in his arms afterward, lazily tracing the designs on his skin. And although he didn’t wish to disturb the intimate peace their lovemaking had created, they had only this day before Ostara dawned on the morrow, and Adrian needed all the information he could gain, even if Maisie herself thought it unimportant.

  “Tell me about Hamburg,” Adrian requested in the quiet.

  Maisie’s hand stilled, and then she lay her palm flat on his stomach and gave a little clearing of her throat.

  “Jagger was employed there. By a deserter elf who was at one time a mercenary but had since taken up the occupation of innkeeper, using his business as a shield to protect the illegal goods and people he smuggled on the river there.

  “When we arrived—only days after the solstice—the elf was to play host to a convening of soldiers at his inn. Jagger had asked permission for me to stay there, and even though the elfin man had left Wyldonna when I was yet a girl, he welcomed me. Despite everything, he seemed very kind.”

  Adrian’s mind whirred and clicked. Last summer, a meeting of mercenaries on the river in Hamburg . . .

  “It was the Queen’s Inn, was it not?” Adrian asked against her hair, curling and fragrant under his chin. “The elfin innkeeper’s name was Hamish.”

  Maisie tilted her face up, surprised. “Aye. How did you know?”

  “My friend, the Spaniard—Valentine—he, too, was a friend to Hamish. He and the woman who is now his wife were at the Queen’s Inn that night as well. Nearly captured.”

  Maisie stilled. “He was at the inn? I knew he was close—but I thought Prague. I had nae idea. . . .”

  “Maisie, was it you who told Glayer Felsteppe that Valentine was traveling with an Englishwoman?”

  “Aye,” she said. “Jagger told Felsteppe that I could be of help to him in locating the men he sought. There was a large bounty offered and Jagger said he’d split the reward evenly with me, help me to settle myself in the city. So I . . . looked. I could feel the presence of the man—your friend. His connection with Felsteppe.”

  Adrian was quiet for a long moment. “By some miracle, Felsteppe didn’t discover them that night,” he said at last. “Did he then press you to . . . help him search further?”

  “He did,” Maisie said quietly, lying her head back on his chest. “Although he didna use such gentle terms. He would have used me for a slave. Likely worse. I grew afraid. And my fear of the Outland and its cruel people was larger than my childish desire to be free of Wyldonna.”

  Adrian didn’t have to ask for further clarification of what Glayer Felsteppe likely had in mind for the naked beauty at his side.

  “So you returned.”

  “Aye. I doona know that he bribed Jagger, or tortured him, but he somehow forced him to reveal where I had fled, and how to reach me here. He wanted me to finish the job I had started in Hamburg. I could scarce believe he had found me when he arrived in the winter. I thought, when the Autumn equinox had passed without threat . . .” She let the sentence trail away. “I had to then tell Malcolm everything. What I had done in the Outland. How I brought Wyldonna’s destruction to our very door.”

  Adrian at last felt as though he understood Maisie Lindsey’s plight. “And so you felt that if you looked for Valentine again and delivered him or another of us to Felsteppe, he would leave the island in peace and your brother would not make war.”

  She nodded. “I see how naïve I was. It wasna real to me before—offering up an innocent man to a devil like Felsteppe. But when I met you—when I saw what had been done to you because of him . . .” Her words trailed away again, and her hand slid across his stomach to clutch at his ribs, pull him closer.

  After a moment, she continued. “I know he will never stop until you and your friends are dead. And I willna allow anyone else to pay further for my foolishness. Nae you, nae the folk, nae Malcolm. It is my crime. I alone shall bear the
punishment.”

  Adrian frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You ken my meaning,” she said. “You’ve read the book. There is nae treasure to give Felsteppe. If you surrender to him, you will be killed. If you doona, Wyldonna will go to war, and who knows how many of the folk will lose their lives. I’ll trade myself... for them all,” she finished quietly.

  “No one wants that,” Adrian argued, feeling a tightening in his chest. Something like panic perhaps, but he refused to let it take complete hold of him. “Not your brother, not the folk—certainly not me. Maisie, what shall Felsteppe force you to do once he has you under his control? You know about the abbey now.”

  “I am nae so innocent as I was when I first left Wyldonna,” she said with a rueful tinge in her voice. “I set word among the piece bloods before I came to Melk. Some are against me, certainly, but many are still loyal to their roots, loyal to Wyldonna. Either way, they all know the threat Glayer Felsteppe has made upon us. The world has hopefully become a more dangerous place for that evil bastard.”

  “That’s not a plan,” Adrian said with a frown.

  “We have what we have, Adrian,” she said, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him once more. “I wouldna change anything I’ve done now. It’s brought you to me, and glad I am of that. More glad than anything that’s ever happened to me in my life.”

  Adrian leaned up from the bolsters behind his head and kissed her mouth. “I’ll not give you up so easily,” he said, hearing the roughness of his voice, the bluster that only he knew was an attempt to conceal the seed of fear that had been planted in his heart. “Neither will Malcolm. I saw the machines he and the folk have constructed. We worked on a plan of defense for the island when Felsteppe comes. It’s a good plan, Maisie. Let us rise now and return to the mountain together. Make peace with your brother before the morrow.”

  “I’ve a better plan for the moment,” she said, sliding her body up along his until she was lying atop him. She leaned down and kissed his mouth slowly, pulling at his lips until he stirred beneath her. “I think you’ll prefer it.”