Broken Dove

by Kristen Ashley

  “My lord, did you hear me?” Jeremiah, his secretary, called.

  Apollo lifted his head and transferred his scowl to the man.

  Jeremiah caught it and nervously lifted a finger to push his half-spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

  “As I said, decline all invitations and my calendar is to be kept clear for the foreseeable future,” Apollo stated.

  Jeremiah, nor anyone but rulers, a few select generals and trusted soldiers, knew that any day, at any time, darkness could descend, sweeping across the land, black magic and dragons at war, lives at stake, men taking up arms, no one safe.

  This being the whole bloody reason he had no time to sit in his study waiting for some woman from another world to enjoy the new one she found herself in.

  Jeremiah’s eyes got wide. “But, there are hunts and gales you attend every year.”

  “I won’t be attending them this year,” Apollo returned.

  “But—”

  “Send my apologies,” Apollo ordered. “And Achilles will be arriving imminently. He’ll look after my affairs while I’m away. As soon as the party I’m awaiting arrives, I’ll be leaving for Bellebryn.”

  “But—”

  Apollo interrupted him by raising his hand as he heard running feet outside the door.

  He trained his eyes to the door seconds before it was thrown open.

  His young servant Nathaniel ran in and came to a swaying halt, snowflakes in his sandy-blond hair, his boy’s short cloak still on.

  “You said to say the minute I saw riders and I saw a rider, sir. It’s Derrik returned,” he announced.

  Bloody hell.

  Finally.

  “Go to Torment, saddle him and bring him to the front. Then get warm,” Apollo commanded and looked at Jeremiah. “Leave me.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes got wide. “But sir, we have hours of—”

  Apollo stood, leaned into both his fists in his desk and rumbled, “Leave me.”

  Jeremiah nodded, quickly gathered the large stacks of papers he had in his lap, and the ones on the edge of Apollo’s desk, and also the ones in the chair he’d pulled close. He shoved them in the gaping, battered case, grabbed it and hurried out.

  Nathaniel was already gone.

  Jeremiah closed the door behind him.

  Apollo moved to the window that had a view to the front of the house and looked out, seeing Derrik on his horse galloping into view up the pine lined lane as he did so.

  He took a breath in through his nose. This did not calm his temper so he took in another one. This, too, failed, so he stopped trying.

  When Derrik halted at the steps in front of the house, Apollo turned away from the window and moved to his desk. He stopped beside it and leaned his thigh against its edge. He then crossed his arms on his chest and his boots at the ankle.

  He stared at the door and as he did so, he didn’t bother himself with taking deep breaths to remain calm.

  Moments later, it opened without a knock and Derrik came through, his cloak and hair dusted with snow, the former swirling around him.

  He was taking off his gloves but doing this with his eyes to Apollo.

  “Close the door,” Apollo ordered.

  Derrik kicked it closed with a boot, took two strides into the room and stopped, gaze still locked with Apollo’s.

  “You’re late,” Apollo uttered a vast understatement.

  Derrik said nothing.

  “By two bloody months,” Apollo went on.

  Derrik still said nothing.

  “War is pending,” Apollo reminded him.

  Derrik remained silent.

  Apollo held on to the frayed threads of his control and invited, “Would you like to explain why you’re late?”

  Derrik finally spoke. “I believe that was explained in our missives.”

  “Indeed,” Apollo bit out.

  Games. Fayres. And Ilsa of the other world wanting to eat some fish cooked in a thick crust of salt, this descending, for some mad reason, into a two day cooking war where she tried to best a local chef in the preparation of seafood.

  She won, Remi had reported with apparent jubilation, with some dish which included salmon wrapped in pastry dough.

  At the reminder, Apollo clenched his teeth.

  He unclenched them to ask, “Is she at The Swan?”

  “She is,” Derrik answered and Apollo didn’t understand the emphasis on she.

  He also didn’t care.

  He pushed from the desk, dropped his arms and murmured, “Then I’m away to The Swan.”

  “If you don’t want her, I’ll have her.”

  At Derrik’s words, Apollo stopped dead and pierced his friend with his eyes.

  “Pardon?” he whispered.

  He wanted to believe he didn’t understand his friend.

  But he had a feeling he understood his friend.

  He watched as Derrik planted his feet apart and his fists to his hips.

  Oh yes.

  He understood his friend.

  “If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” he repeated.

  By the gods, he had to jest.

  “Are you talking about my wife?” Apollo asked low.

  “She’s not your wife,” Derrik returned.

  “She’s my wife,” Apollo bit out.

  “She’s not your bloody wife,” Derrik clipped.

  “Gods, man!” Apollo exploded, coming to the end of his patience and swinging out a hand. “You know she is just as she isn’t.”

  “No, Lo. I just know she isn’t,” Derrik returned.

  Apollo felt his eyes narrow. “Are you deranged?”

  “Not in the slightest. She told me you told her that you didn’t want her. If that’s the case, I’ll take her. We’ll be away this eve. We’ll go to the Vale, Fleuridia, somewhere you don’t know where we are but also somewhere far away from you so you’ll never see her with me.”

  Suddenly, Apollo’s palms itched, his skin prickled and through this he warned, “I suggest you stop talking.”

  Derrik shook his head.

  “I won’t. You left her alone, forlorn and frightened. She will not be alone, she’ll not be frightened and she’ll never be forlorn. Not with me,” Derrik stated.

  Apollo held his friend’s eyes—his closest friend—and a sick feeling snaked up his throat.

  Because of this, his voice was deadly quiet when he asked, “In saying this, are you saying that you held feelings for Ilsa?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Derrik spit out. “In saying this, I’m telling you I have feelings for Maddie.”

  Apollo’s head jerked. “Who the bloody hell is Maddie?”

  “She’s our Ilsa,” Derrik replied.

  Apollo crossed his arms on his chest and inquired, “Our Ilsa?”

  “Me and the men. Maddie is our Ilsa. We called her madam out of respect and because it was too difficult to call her Ilsa remembering the one before her. Through that, she became Maddie.”

  This intimacy, this shared history, no matter how recent, struck Apollo in his gut and the poison again started to rise in his throat.

  He didn’t have time for this discussion or these feelings. He needed to end both right now, get to Ilsa, speak with her, get her to Karsvall and get on his way.

  “You speak of my wife so you knew my response before you made your pronouncement,” he declared. “You’ll not take her. She isn’t yours to have. She’s mine.”

  “She isn’t. She’s Maddie. And she’s free to do what she wishes with whom she wishes it,” Derrik returned.

  His meaning clear, it was another blow and more poison choked him.

  “Careful, brother,” Apollo whispered.

  “I understand you,” Derrik told him, his voice gentling. “I understand what you’re feeling.”

  “You have no bloody idea,” Apollo gritted.

  “I do,” Derrik retorted.

  “Then, if you did, you’d know, your closest friend, a brother of the horse if not of blood,
walking into your study, telling you he’d take the woman who’s the spitting image of your dead wife to the Vale, to Fleuridia, to his bed, is beyond the pale. You could take her to the stars, you would still lie awake at night knowing I was lying awake at night tormented in the knowledge that she was pressed to your side. And you’d do that knowing in your gut that was the worst betrayal imaginable.”

  Apollo watched Derrik flinch but he didn’t back down.

  He bit off, “You can’t not want her and still have her, Lo.”

  “I can do whatever I gods damn want, Rik,” Apollo returned. “I paid for her to be here. She’s my wife. I’ll see to her and I’ll protect her.”

  “How? By doing the same thing that toad of a husband of hers did to her in the other world?” Derrik shot back. “But abusing her through neglect rather than with your fists?”

  His vision darkened and Apollo strode forward. Derrik prepared as he did so, bracing, ready for a confrontation.

  He didn’t get one.

  Apollo moved by him and threw open the door.

  He turned in it and leveled his gaze on his friend.

  “Think on this,” he ordered.

  “I have, for four months,” Derrik replied.

  “Then think longer,” Apollo ground out, slammed the door and stormed down the hall.

  * * * * *

  He paced the secluded room he’d demanded for this meeting, its fire warm in the grate, but Apollo didn’t feel warm.

  I’m sorry.

  He heard her whispered words, her voice had been sleepy but those words were heartfelt.

  And he felt her soft body burrowing into his.

  I’m sorry.

  He stopped pacing and closed his eyes.

  But when he did, he saw her eyes, scared, confused and holding pain, peering deep into his.

  You’re not a hallucination.

  He opened his eyes and muttered to himself, “Where the bloody hell is she?”

  He was at The Swan.

  He’d managed to drive Torment, his roan, through the snow and into the town with his mind consumed with finding reasons not to murder his closest friend.

  But he’d been at the inn for twenty minutes, waiting for her, and thus he was having difficulty controlling his thoughts.

  Thoughts he’d kept tightly leashed since that morning he slid away from her somnolent body and understood he’d made a colossal mistake.

  Not saving her from her husband, that was not his mistake. But he could have arranged that without seeing her.

  No, his mistake was seeing her.

  Touching her.

  Hearing her.

  Smelling her.

  Understanding instantly that she was not his Ilsa.

  But the Ilsa she was was dangerous.

  Something he now knew categorically considering his conversation with Derrik.

  Therefore, when he should have been planning for an attack, he was making other plans.

  And those plans included him negotiating the purchase of a chalet, a large one, a luxurious one, but one miles away from any of his estates.

  And he’d already opened an account and deposited enough money in it that she could live and do so with every desire met but without her ever having the need to come to him and ask for a thing.

  And live far away and well taken care of she would do, after they dealt with whatever was coming.

  Unfortunately, until that time, for her safety she needed to be at Karsvall, with his men and with the witch who was watching over all of them.

  And also with his children.

  He’d explained all about Ilsa carefully to Christophe and Élan, and watched closely after he did so.

  His daughter had been a year and a half when her mother had died. She was now six. She didn’t remember her mother, though she was excited about meeting Ilsa, as she was excited about everything under the sun.

  It didn’t take much with his Élan. The flight of a sparrow could brighten her day.

  Where she got that, he had no idea. It wasn’t from him.

  It also wasn’t from her mother.

  His Ilsa was quick to smile, droll with words, and so gods damned smart, it was, at times, alarming.

  But she was not a dreamer. She did not anticipate excitement around every corner. She did not rush out to meet life, like her daughter.

  Christophe, on the other hand, had been four when Ilsa was lost to him. He was now eight, almost nine.

  He remembered her. Those memories were elusive due to his age but he’d carried a locket with his mother’s tiny portrait in it since he’d found it on Apollo’s dresser when he was five.

  He was never without it.

  He was also not excited to meet Ilsa. He tried to hide it from his father and sister.

  But he failed.

  This concerned Apollo but he intended to have a word with Achilles about it.

  Achilles would keep an eye on things.

  On this thought, the door opened and Ilsa moved into the room.

  Apollo clenched his teeth and braced inwardly at the sight of her.

  She looked exactly like his wife. She sounded like her. She even smelled like her.

  But she didn’t move like her. Not her gait. Not a tilt of her head. Not a movement of her hands.

  Nothing.

  Her eyes came to him and those eyes were not his beauty’s eyes.

  His Ilsa had lived a life full of abundance and serenity. When she was a child, she broke her toe, but that was the biggest difficulty she faced until she faced the difficulty that ended her days on this earth. They met young, fell in love young and married young. They had a marriage full of promise and passion, laughter and contentment. His Ilsa had a good life from her first breath, but not to the last one.

  No, six months she suffered from her illness. Actually longer, though they didn’t catch it at first.

  Then she took her last breath and that breath, as had the ones before it for months, had been pained.

  But this Ilsa, what lurked behind her eyes was so deep he could mine it for centuries and never get to the bottom of it.

  He also didn’t know, if he made that effort, if he would find riches…or despair.

  What he knew, what he’d come to understand in their brief time together, and what he must guard against was the overwhelming desire he felt to find a shovel and start digging.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said, taking him from his contemplations and he knew by her expression she might not know his exact thoughts, but she suspected they were of her twin.

  She was right as well as wrong.

  There was also pain in her eyes, perhaps for her, perhaps for him, maybe even both. Further, there was sorrow, and that was probably for him.

  But she also looked angry.

  And that was a surprise.

  “I didn’t know you would be here so fast,” she carried on. “I had something to eat, some wine and a bath. If I’d have known, I would have delayed the bath.”

  He most assuredly did not need her talking about having a bath. It brought thoughts of her pressing close to him when she was in his arms in his bed in Fleuridia and when she did that, she’d been fully clothed in her world’s garments. Thoughts of that, and worse, thoughts of her naked, were thoughts he did not need.

  Therefore to end them, he stated, “I should have given you some time to refresh yourself. But now we’re both here, we should proceed.”

  She nodded, took a step into the room and began talking.

  And when she did, Apollo couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “You’re right. We should proceed so we can move on. And I’d like to start by thanking you for the guard and the clothes and, well…everything.”

  “It’s my duty to—” he started but she spoke over him.

  “And I’ll ask that you allow me to keep them when I leave.”

  He blinked. Slowly.

  She carried on.

  “I’ll also ask for a loan.
A small one and I’ll leave it up to you how much it is because you’ll know better than me how much it should be to get me to where I need to go so I can do what I need to do. But it’ll need to be enough to get me back to the Vale, maybe Fleuridia, and help me to get set up.”

  She lifted a hand and quickly continued.

  “I want to assure you that it’s pretty obvious in your world you’ve got a wad, or about seven of them, of cash, but still, I’m not taking advantage. I’ll keep track, and when I have a job, I’ll start to pay you back.”

  “When you have a job?” Apollo repeated her words in a question because he was not sure of every word she’d said, but he thought he was sure of her meaning.

  He just couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  “A job in Fleuridia or the Vale,” he stated.

  “Yes. It’s pretty here but it’s also pretty cold and, uh…well, kind of close to you,” she replied.

  Apollo said nothing.

  But he felt a number of things and none of them were good.

  “I’d actually like to be on my way tonight,” she informed him. “Is that too much of a rush for you? To get me a loan, I mean. That is, if you agree to the loan. If you don’t, I understand. I’ll ask Achilles. Or Derrik.”

  He had something to say to that.

  “You’ll not be seeing Derrik for some time,” Apollo declared and watched her head give a small jerk.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “You and Derrik will not be in each other’s company for some time,” he stated.

  “Um…I…well, I know. As I said, I’m going, like, tonight. And I’m not good at good-byes so if I could ask one more thing of you and that is for you to tell all the guys I said adieu and thank them”—she put her hand to her chest— “from the bottom of my heart for being so cool, I’d appreciate it.” Her head twitched again and she clarified. “I mean, I won’t see Derrik again unless I have to ask him for money. After that, I probably won’t see him at all.”

  She said this and she didn’t like saying it. There were many ways she was surprising him but that message was clear.

  She would miss the men, and specifically Derrik.

  Apollo felt his skin start to prickle again.

  “You won’t see him again not because you’re leaving to go somewhere to get set up.” he said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “You won’t see him again because I’m not allowing it.”