I shook my head and moved further into the room, aiming my feet toward the dresser which had the decanter now filled with fresh wine. I pulled out the heavy crystal stopper and poured myself a heavier dose.
I stoppered the decanter, lifted the wine to my lips and took a sip (Valentine was right, Fleuridian wine really was superb), staring unseeing at the hydrangea blooms.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Apollo was a man. He’d have to get himself some.
But a prostitute?
And he’d put me in the bed he’d had her in?
“Good God,” I breathed, shaking my head and moving to the dressing table across the room.
I sat on the stool and stared at my reflection.
God had given me much even if he’d taken more away. But one of the few bounties that was mine to keep was my hair. It was auburn, had soft curls, some of them ringlets. It wasn’t kinky or coarse, it was thick but silky.
I’d always loved my hair.
God had also given me lovely skin, only a sprinkling of freckles across my nose that Pol wasn’t very fond of and asked (okay, demanded) I cover them up with foundation before we went out.
I did so he wouldn’t get angry, but I’d always thought they were cute.
So had my dad. He’d thought they were adorable. It was one of the few things he liked about me, or about anyone or, truth be told, anything.
What he hadn’t thought was adorable was me hooking up with a drug dealer.
He didn’t think that was adorable at all.
Mom either. Then again, Mom thought whatever Dad thought seeing as doing that was a lot less hassle.
I closed my eyes, shook my head, took a deep breath and opened them, taking another sip of wine.
I had nice enough features, I thought. I straight, slim nose. A decent jawline. Defined cheekbones. Dark brown eyes that had a lovely shape.
I was tall-ish, standing at five eight. I had ass. I had breasts. They weren’t well-above average but you couldn’t miss that they existed. I also had a slim waist, so my booty and breasts both were more pronounced.
My second favorite feature was my legs. I had good legs.
Not that you could see them in the clothes of this world, but still.
I didn’t look anything like the lush beauty who came to call for Apollo.
In other words, he didn’t fuck anyone who might remind him of his Ilsa.
I got that. I so did.
But…a prostitute?
Evidence was suggesting the Apollo of this world wasn’t all that hot either.
In fact, evidence was suggesting Apollo of this world was a self-indulgent jerk.
And I knew all about that.
Boy did I.
So I stared at myself, coming out of my pity party and beginning to think this was good.
This place was amazing, the clothes were great, the food was fabulous, the people seemed friendly. Sure, there wasn’t electricity or cars or movie theaters, but if I got my head out of my ass, I might find it was fun to explore a world like this.
Further, I was safe from Pol. He’d never get to me here.
And Apollo wanted nothing to do with me.
Eleven years ago, at twenty-two years old, working in an exclusive department store, I’d met Pol and made mistake after mistake after mistake that destroyed my life. I’d been seduced by his good looks, the wads of cash always in his pockets, his easy smile and his taking me on the town in his Corvette (which he traded up to a Porsche, then up to a Maserati and finally an Aston Martin—things were always good in the drug trade).
I’d wanted that life and I’d got it (minus the drug trade part, of course). I thought, it coming with all the outward lusciousness that was Pol, I’d have everything I ever wanted. A handsome, wealthy, powerful man and the life he could give me.
And I got nothing.
But now I had a second chance. A second chance to make a life all my own. It came in a bizarre way that I would never in my wildest dreams imagine would be real.
But I had it.
“So I’m going to take it,” I vowed to my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes stared back and me and they were determined.
And hopeful.
I liked that look on me. I hadn’t seen it in so long, I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen it.
But now I was seeing it.
So I was going to go for it.
Chapter Five
Making Me Feel Free
I’d lost control of the horse under me. He was pounding through the wildflowers behind the house, his movements jarring my ribs and that hurt.
But I wasn’t focusing on that. I figured he knew what he was doing. He was just taking me along for the ride.
No, I was focusing on the wind in my hair, the sun shining on my skin and the beauty all around me.
Pierre, who was teaching me how to ride, was running after us, shouting in French. But his voice was fading away as the horse and I galloped through the flowers.
It was two days after the prostitute had come to call.
Two glorious days.
And I was on a horse because it occurred to me that, seeing as they didn’t have cars here and I didn’t know how to ride, I should learn. So I’d spoken (okay, gestured) to the maids.
With a lot of smiles and laughter at my machinations, I finally got the message across and had been introduced to Pierre. I didn’t know what he did at the house but it didn’t matter. While I smiled and laughed at his gesticulations, he agreed to teach me how to ride. But I only understood this when he led me to the stables, showed me how to saddle a horse and then he showed me how to get on. It continued from there.
I also knew all the maids’ names. I further knew how to say horse in French (cheval). I’d remembered bonjour and merci, which I started using (making the staff smile happily and nod enthusiastically) and I learned bonne nuit. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was something.
Further, I’d taken a walk down the wildflower flanked lane, almost to the church, which was a lot further than it looked so I’d stopped and turned back. Nevertheless, if the view was something from my balcony, it was much better up close.
This meant I had slippers that fit me (six pairs and they were all awesome and fit like they were made for me—because they were!). I also had dresses that fit me (and they were even more amazing than the ones I’d been wearing).
And I’d taken the time to thoroughly peruse the shelves in the library. When I did, I found several books in English. Two were all poetry (which I’d tried but it wasn’t my gig). One was a gothic drama (which I was reading and it was pretty good).
But the most important book I found was a history of the Houses of Lunwyn.
This I read with great interest.
It didn’t have Apollo’s name in it so I was guessing it was dated. But it did have a rather long forward that gave a lot of history of Lunwyn (including dragons and elves!) as well as an explanation that a “House” in Lunwyn was a line of aristocracy. Some were richer than others, some held more land, some more power (power went hand in hand with money and land, by the way), but all of them had been around for centuries.
Reading it I learned the Ulfr House was very powerful, and according to the book, very respected. This wasn’t exactly a surprise (perhaps the respected part was, considering the head of it was a jerk). I could tell Apollo of this world had some serious cabbage and my guess was money in any world meant power.
Further, the day before, after my fittings, the maids had excitedly given me a newspaper that was in English. It was dated, but it shared the joyous news that the beloved Black Prince Noctorno of Hawkvale and ruler of Bellebryn, and his bride, Cora, the Gracious (kickass nickname) had successfully delivered upon “the Vale” another heir to the throne, Prince Hayden.
Good news for the Vale, as the birth of a child always was, but an heir to the throne meant a whole country got to celebrate (and they did, with festivities planned for a week).
And last, I was
having my second horseback riding lesson, and although not doing well with it, it was fun.
I knew I should pull back on the reins and call “whoa,” but I just couldn’t. It didn’t feel good on my ribs but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel good.
So instead, I held on, endured the pain, bent forward over the horse’s back, allowed the beauty all around me to fly by and let my mind go.
That was, I did this until I heard the beat of horse’s hooves behind me.
I turned to look and saw one of Apollo’s men racing after me.
In the last two days I’d seen all of Apollo’s men, though I hadn’t spoken a word to one of them (still, not to be rude, if they caught my eye, I smiled and they usually smiled back). I did this on purpose and took great pains in doing it. I was building happy mojo and a reminder of the other Ilsa, and mostly Apollo, might be a blow to that effort.
I wasn’t ready. We’d be “away” sometime probably soon, and since I’d be traveling with them, I’d have no choice but to do it then.
So I’d do it then.
But this one (dark hair and features that told me he could very well be related to Apollo) clearly thought I was in trouble and was coming to my rescue.
That was nice and all but the only thing I could think was, Crap.
I pulled back on the reins. The horse slowed but not fast enough. I knew this because suddenly the dude chasing me was right beside me.
I gasped aloud when he wasn’t beside me but on my horse with me.
Somehow, in the blink of an eye, he was seated behind me, his arm snaking across my belly to hold me to him. He pulled the reins from my hand and yanked back. I also felt his thighs squeeze the horse and it slowed to a stop.
Without delay, he swung off and once he had his feet on the ground, he reached up to me. His hands spanned my waist and he pulled me down with him. He was gentle but that didn’t mean I didn’t hit the ground with a thud that sent pain through my midsection, enough to make me wince.
I heard incoming hooves beating but I couldn’t turn to look because he was addressing me.
“Are you all right?”
I looked up at him.
A strong brow, much like Apollo’s and his hair was exactly the same as Apollo’s, though cut shorter (however, it was not short).
But his eyes were a rich chocolate brown.
Pol had a big family, this I knew, though I’d never met a one of them. They didn’t like drug dealers either, apparently. Then again, Pol had shown signs of going to the dark side early on in life. I knew this because, in a rare moment of honesty, he’d shared he had a juvie record and by the time I’d met him he’d long since been disowned.
This made our wedding a lonely affair that I’d lied to myself was just fine. I had him and he was all I needed (that was a lie too, then and more so much later).
Looking into the kind, intelligent eyes of the man with me, I wished I’d met some of Pol’s family.
They might have warned me.
Then again, I wouldn’t have listened.
“Fine. I just got my ribs jarred a little,” I answered, his head cocked and I quickly went on. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“My apologies, madam. I was too rough pulling you from the steed,” he replied. “You’d lost control and I didn’t want you on him by yourself with me on the ground. When a horse senses it has control, it can take advantage.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t you who hurt me. It’s…before I got here, to this world, I mean, I…” I trailed off when his eyes dropped to the fading bruise on my cheekbone.
I heard some “whoas” around me and knew we were being joined by several someones but again he spoke so I couldn’t look.
“Of course, Apollo had told us.”
Great.
“It’s okay,” I assured him as I felt others joining us.
“It is not. And it’s also not a good idea for you to be on the back of a horse in your state. Especially if you don’t know how to ride, precisely due to what just happened. You could have been injured worse.”
“You need to use your legs.”
This was another voice and I looked to my left to see burnished-haired hot romance novel guy who spoke with the prostitute and the boy I’d noticed around the last couple of days. Though, he wasn’t exactly a boy, more like a boy-man. I was guessing he was sixteen or seventeen years old. He had dark blond hair and dark blue eyes and I knew he’d grow up to be a looker because he already was one.
“And your mouth,” the voice went on, that voice coming from the boy-man.
“My mouth?” I asked.
One side of his lips twitched up. “To say, ‘whoa,’” he instructed then continued. “It’d also be a good idea to use your reins.”
I pressed my lips together but didn’t succeed in suppressing my smile before I replied, “I’ll remember that next time.”
“Her ribs are injured,” the man who saved me informed the burnished-haired man.
“Then why is she on a horse?” the burnished-haired man asked him then his annoyed gaze slid to me. “Especially if she doesn’t know how to ride one.”
Jeez.
“This is a good question,” the man who saved me noted and I looked to him.
“I’ve never ridden a horse. Never even been around one, really, until yesterday,” I explained and his eyes widened in immediate shock.
“You jest,” the burnished-haired man drew my attention and he, too, looked shocked.
“We don’t have horses where I’m from. I mean, we do,” I said the last quickly because their shock had turned to what appeared to be alarmed astonishment. “But only rich people have them. Or, if you love horses enough, you sacrifice other things so you can keep them or pay to ride them.”
“The poor walk?” the boy-man asked in disgusted disbelief.
“Well, no,” I answered. “Pretty much everyone has cars.”
The boy-man blinked. The other two narrowed their gazes on me in puzzlement.
I lifted my hands and curled my fingers around a non-existent steering wheel, shifting them side-to-side like I was steering. “Automobiles. With four wheels and an engine. It goes on its own power. It doesn’t need a horse.”
The three of them watched my hands then they lifted their eyes to stare at me.
“You have to see it to understand it,” I muttered, dropping my hands.
The dark-haired one turned to the burnished-haired one and announced, “We cannot be away if madam has injured ribs and doesn’t know how to ride a horse.”
Uh-oh.
This wasn’t good. I was thinking Apollo wouldn’t like that.
So I cried quickly, “Oh no!” I took a step deeper into our huddle and lifted a hand. “Don’t let me delay our departure.”
The dark-haired guy looked down at me. “You winced solely being pulled off the back of a horse,” he reminded me.
I shook my head but said, “Yeah, I did. But I’m good. Really. It’s okay.”
“It is not,” he returned.
“Our progress would be slowed if she rides injured, especially if she can’t handle her own steed,” the burnished-haired guy said and I looked to him.
“I’ll keep up,” I promised.
His blue eyes moved to me. “And break your neck?”
“I’ll try to keep up without doing that,” I offered.
He stared at me a moment then looked at his comrade. “I’ll speak with Derrik. She’ll need lessons and time for her injury to heal. We’ll send word to Apollo we’ll be delayed for two weeks.”
Oh boy.
“Really,” I stated hurriedly. “I’m fine. I can practice horse riding while on our, um…journey.”
This gained me the dark-haired man’s eyes. “On day one, after our ride you’ll be nothing but aches and pains. The next morning, your body will protest at your simplest movement. You cannot take that while injured.”
“How about I give it a try,” I suggested, not wanting to delay becau
se I really didn’t think Apollo would like it. Sure, he wouldn’t get word we’d be late for two months but then he’d have two whole weeks to stew on it and that probably wasn’t a good thing.
I came out of these thoughts when I noticed no one was speaking. They were all staring at me again.
Finally, the dark-haired man offered his big, calloused hand. “I’m Achilles of the House of Ulfr. Cousin to Apollo.”
Yep. I was right. Family.
I took his hand and murmured, “Achilles.”
“I am Draven of the House of Sinclair,” the burnished-haired guy said and I let Achilles go to take Draven’s hand.
“Hey,” I said and his eyes lit with humor.
“I’m Aleksander, of the House of Lazarus,” the boy-man said, grinning at me and offering his hand. I took it and he finished, “Alek.”
“Nice to meet you, Alek,” I said on a squeeze and let him go.
“You’ll walk back, not ride,” Achilles decreed and my gaze went back to him. “We’ll talk tomorrow to see how you feel. And when you’re well enough, Hans will instruct you on riding. He’s our most talented horseman.”
“Really, that’s not—” I started but he moved closer to me. Not by a lot, it wasn’t an aggressive move, it was one designed to get my attention.
And it got my attention.
But the serious look in his eye, a look accompanied by not a small amount of kindness was what really got my attention.
“I have known those who life has taught to keep themselves isolated,” he stated quietly. “It is always folly and never ends well. No matter what experiences we have, we must keep ourselves open to having more. Don’t you agree?”
I pulled in a breath and nodded, because he was right.
“The men are anxious to meet you and it would serve you well to meet them,” he informed me. “We act as your guard as a duty and we very much understand duty. But we do that duty out of allegiance to Apollo and the House of Ulfr.” He held my eyes but dipped his face an inch closer to me and his voice got lower when he concluded, “If the men were to meet you, madam, and you were to allow them to get to know you, I have no doubt they would act as your guard for much different reasons.”
“The Ilsa of your world,” I whispered, totally getting him.
Broken Dove Page 6
