Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  Avril shifted on the edge of the large bed. She forced her gaze away, making eye contact with the healer. “Thank you, Lord Dagget.” She fought for composure, ignoring the emotion in the knight’s gaze.

  I don’t even know him.

  “You’re very welcome.” His warm smile was infectious, and Avril smiled for the second time.

  “Well, Avril, is it? Nice to meet you. I’m Cera.”

  A very pregnant—but still striking—redhead stepped forward, a smile on her full lips. Her tan gown was plain, but she carried herself with elegance, despite her large tummy.

  The duchess.

  Beside her was a small woman with dark hair almost as long as she was tall. She wore a shimmery dark green gown with gold leaves embroidered on it. It was fancier than Lady Aldern’s.

  Who was she?

  There was a third woman, also a redhead, but a lighter shade than the duchess, her hair in a thick plait that fell to her waist. She wore brown breeches and a simple tunic covered by a hunter green jerkin.

  The Rider.

  Avril owed her thanks for finding her.

  When had they entered the room?

  She hadn’t even heard the door. Avril’s eyes darted around the room. The healer, the three ladies, two maids, plus her knight. Everyone was looking at her.

  Her head swam, and she gripped the bedding with her free hand until her knuckles whitened.

  Lord Dagget exchanged a look with Sir Roduch Avril didn’t miss, then the knight squeezed the hand that still rested in his.

  She took a breath. The small gesture calmed. The room stopped spinning.

  “Aimil-love, Cera, Ansley, give her some space,” the healer admonished gently, stepping toward the women. “She hasn’t even eaten yet.”

  “I apologize,” Lady Aldern said, smiling. “I was eager to meet you and see how you are this morning.”

  Avril scooted closer to Sir Roduch, wishing he was still on the bed so she could tuck herself into him, which was ridiculous, because none of the ladies meant her any harm.

  “I’m…I’m fine.” Manners, Avril. “Good morning, Lady Aldern? Mistress Fraser? Lady—” She inclined her head to each woman.

  Both redheads nodded, confirming Avril’s assumption.

  “Aimil,” the dark-haired girl said, smiling. “I’m Tristan’s wife.” She gestured to the healer, who reached for her hand.

  “I’m sure Avril and Roduch are hungry. They’ve had a long night. Let’s let them eat, and give Avril a chance to bathe,” Lord Dagget said.

  Avril’s knight’s shoulders loosened.

  She too relaxed a bit. Soon she would be alone with him again. She could get her bearings. And a bath would be heavenly.

  “Of course,” Lady Aldern said. “Meara?”

  “Yes, milady?” The girl hurried away from the tray of food and curtsied before the duchess.

  “Why don’t you head down to the stores and find a few things for Avril to wear.”

  Meara grinned, dimples visible, and nodded, her pigtails bobbing. “Yes, right away, milady.”

  Lady Aldern’s smile lit up her beautiful face. Lord Dagget and the Rider grinned. Lady Aimil had her hand to her mouth, as if she was hiding a smile. Even Sir Roduch looked amused.

  Avril studied the girl. She didn’t sense much magic, but as she concentrated, Meara’s aura flickered into view. Its pale pastels revealed the girl was pure of heart and content. Bubbly. No doubt she rarely went without a smile.

  Envy rolled over Avril.

  How could a young maid, whose duty was to serve people, be so happy?

  “What’s your favorite color?” Meara asked, looking straight at Avril.

  Gazing into the maid’s open sincere expression, Avril let go of her ill feelings. Meara was lovely.

  Perhaps we can be friends?

  Roduch chuckled, the ladies were grinning. Only Morag had tsked, but none of the others paid her any notice.

  Avril struggled for words, biting back a gulp. No one had ever asked her preferences before. Tynan had bought her three new dresses when they’d gotten married, but he’d picked them out.

  They’d been what he’d wanted her to wear. Dark colored, drab, and too old for her in style. She’d hated them every time she’d donned one. He’d even thrown out all the gowns she’d brought from home.

  She’d had the same three garments for four turns. Mended time and time again. Lady Cera had thrown out the gown Avril had worn the most.

  “Go on, lass, you can answer her,” Roduch said, amusement in his tone.

  Her eyes darted to his before meeting Meara’s light brown eyes. “Umm…I like blue. Light blue.”

  The maid nodded curtly and left the room whistling.

  “I’ll have to have a word with that one,” the headwoman muttered.

  “She’s fine, Morag,” Lady Cera said.

  Morag said nothing, but her brow furrowed. Then she bowed and slipped into the privy room with a bucket of fresh supplies.

  “Thank…thank you, Lady Aldern,” Avril said.

  “It’s nothing, but you’re welcome.” She smiled, resting a hand on her swollen belly.

  “I’ll be back to check on you later,” Lord Dagget said.

  Heat rushed her cheeks, but Avril nodded.

  Surreal.

  A lord had healed her. The Lady of Greenwald was getting her new clothes. What could they want from her in return? She couldn’t pay them.

  “Roduch will send someone to find me, should you need anything,” Lady Aldern said. “Morag has already ordered you a bath. You’re safe Avril.”

  No doubt everyone in the room knew all about her. Her stomach churned, appetite dissolving.

  “Don’t worry about anything right now,” he whispered, as if he could read her mind.

  The healer and his wife entwined their hands and took their leave.

  Mistress Fraser waited, smiling when Avril’s eyes rested on her.

  “I’ll be back later with Jorrin,” Lady Aldern said to Sir Roduch.

  Her knight nodded, rising to retrieve the tray of food.

  “It was nice to meet you, Avril.” With an awkward bow, the duchess excused herself, the Rider on her heels.

  She gasped. “Lady…Lady Aldern bowed…bowed to me.”

  Sir Roduch chuckled, returning to his seat and placing the tray of food between them. “You’ll find out rather quickly we do things a bit differently around here.”

  “Oh,” she said, but the steaming broth caught her attention, so she didn’t mull over his words.

  “Ah, good, you’re eating. Sir Roduch, give me or Meara a shout when you’re both through and we’ll get her all cleaned up,” the headwoman said, drying her hands on her apron as she exited the sizable privy room. “The tub is ready to go. I’ll have the lads bring hot water.”

  “Thank you, Morag.” Her knight inclined his head and the headwoman nodded before slipping from the rooms.

  Silence descended, but Avril could finally breathe again. She was comfortable with the knight. Being alone with him was natural. Like they’d been acquainted for turns.

  She watched his hands when he ripped fluffy bread open and spread butter all over it. He was warm and large and safe.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Her gaze shot to his face. One corner of his mouth lifted, and Avril chided herself to calm down.

  “Yes. Very.”

  Sir Roduch nodded and handed her a spoon for the broth. “I’m sure Lord Tristan ordered a light meal. Later we’ll get something more substantial than broth, if you wish. Some meat.”

  “It’s fine,” Avril said, closing her eyes as she savored the rich taste on her tongue. “It’s very good.”

  He laughed, and she looked up from her bowl, forgetting to take a bite of the sweet bread. The sound of his deep carefree chuckle was as appealing as he was.

  Avril grinned.

  Their gazes locked.

  His pale eyes blazed with the emotions she refused to name yet ag
ain, and Sir Roduch reached for her hand, pressing a kiss into her knuckles without looking away. “Avril,” he breathed.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t stop smiling, all right?”

  Her heart thundered. “I’ll try not to.”

  His chest heaved and the apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Good.” Her knight grabbed a hunk of bread and grinned.

  Avril stared.

  What had this man done to her?

  Chapter Five

  Leargan couldn’t get any decent sleep. Ansley Fraser was never far from his thoughts, and she haunted his dreams.

  Dreams as real as visions, where she writhed naked beneath him as he touched and tasted every inch of her tall, slender form.

  Over and over.

  If he closed his eyes, her phantom moans would drift into his mind.

  He should be concentrating on Avril’s situation, but Roduch had things under control. They could do nothing until the girl told all.

  Tristan urged that they not push her, and Jorrin and Roduch agreed.

  So now, they waited. She was safe, but they needed Avril to recognize that. She would. Eventually.

  Unfortunately, Leargan could use a distraction from Ansley. Waiting wasn’t satisfying.

  His fantasies had only worsened since meeting with Lord Aldern.

  “What’s so amusing?” Leargan had asked from his seat across from Jorrin’s desk in the lord’s ledger room the other day.

  “See for yourself. I’m not sure you’ll like it…but perhaps you will,” the half-elfin duke had said. One corner of his mouth shot up, his blue eyes dancing.

  His friend had leaned forward in his ornate chair, handing him the small scroll Ansley had delivered.

  King Nathal’s red wax seal was broken but visible.

  What does the missive have to do with me?

  Jorrin tapped his cheek with a long finger and then brushed a strand of his too-long coal black hair past a slender, tapered ear.

  Leargan glanced at him before looking at the scroll again, ignoring the duke’s eager amused expression. He read the words again and again, eyes more frantic with each pass. Repetition didn’t help his comprehension...or his denial.

  Sweat broke out on his brow, and he tugged at the tunic collar that lay nowhere near his neck.

  Swallowed hard.

  Jorrin,

  You are the recipient of this missive as a ruse more than anything.

  Young Ansley Fraser has been a daughter to me as much as my own little Mallyn. Her father, My Captain, Sir Murdoch Fraser, and I were raised together and I owe him my life many times over.

  Ansley has been a member of my Riders for several turns, and at the age of two and twenty, it is time for her to settle down. She is well past the age for marrying and both he and I agree that Leargan would be a good match.

  She is unaware of the reason she was sent to Greenwald.

  This perhaps is the best course for the time being, but I shall leave that up to you and, of course, Leargan.

  Knowing Leargan as I do, he may be resistant to my plans, and the order to marry. But I am sure Ansley’s fair countenance will be a sufficient persuader.

  Murdoch and I shall depart Terraquist in two or three sevendays to arrive in fair Greenwald for their wedding.

  Regards,

  Nathal

  He was supposed to marry her?

  Leargan stared at the words. When they didn’t change in any way, he looked at his duke. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.” He muttered a few choice words and shook his head.

  Jorrin chuckled. “You sound like Cera,” he said. “She, too, had an issue—however temporary—with the king’s plans.”

  Frowning, Leargan met his lord’s eyes. “You had the advantage of already being in love with her, and she with you.”

  “I’ll have to give you that one. Although, Mistress Ansley Fraser is no hardship on the eyes.” Jorrin’s gaze sharpened and Leargan forced himself to sit still.

  “He’s ordering me to marry her,” he said, flicking the word on the scroll. “So it doesn’t matter if she was a bearded troll.”

  The duke laughed long and hard. “Would it be so horrible? Ansley would fit right in. She already knows everyone, even Tristan. She’s very close to Cera and Aimil and seems very sweet. I realize you don’t love her, but do you think you could?”

  Had Leargan not seen Jorrin with Cera and Tristan with Aimil, he wouldn’t have acknowledged believing in romantic love. He’d never planned on love for himself; he was a knight, a warrior.

  He’d never had problems with getting a woman when he’d wanted one, but Ansley was different. Innocent, wellborn…his former captain’s daughter.

  “She is beautiful.” The admission slipped from his lips after several moments of silence.

  And she makes my heart do funny things.

  Lord Aldern shot him a look, but said nothing.

  “Somehow I don’t think she’d be any happier than I with King Nathal’s games. Although her father is in on the plan as well,” Leargan said.

  “Perhaps not. But you don’t have to tell her now. Even the king says so.”

  “Then when? After the wedding? Which is apparently only a few sevendays away,” Leargan said.

  Jorrin’s lips twitched as if the duke was fighting another smile. “Keep the scroll. It’s more yours than mine. Why not show it to her? Maybe she’ll just agree to marry you when she reads it.” He cocked his head to the side.

  “What would you do?”

  “Oh, no. The king says my part in this is a ruse.” Jorrin put his palms up. “Anyway, it was just a suggestion. Not my fault if you don’t like it.”

  Leargan scowled, then and now.

  Air rushing from his lungs yanked him from his memories. He stumbled.

  He’d run into someone in the corridor.

  At the muttered exclamation of surprise, he blindly reached to steady the other person.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  The Blessed Spirit is laughing at you, Leargan Tegran.

  Leargan fell into the blue-green orbs. He swallowed and shook himself. “Are you all right?” He screamed at himself to focus, sucking in a breath.

  His shoulder smarted, but with the jarring impact, Ansley had probably bruised her cheek. Leargan’s hand rested on her upper arm, and he stared there for a moment, before withdrawing it. He smiled at the blush that lit her cheeks. She was charming. The mix of innocence and toughness was intriguing.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t be opposed to having her as his wife. King Nathal had chosen well for him. But could Ansley even fathom it? The suggestion—or order, as it were—would be out of the blue to her. She thought she was in Greenwald simply to visit old friends.

  What the hell are you thinking?

  Obviously Ansley wasn’t the only one affected by their collision.

  Visions of her crimson cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes and naked body flitted through his mind.

  His damn dreams.

  The short period of only three days, since they’d been introduced on the road in the dark, did nothing to prevent his lust for her. Even the innocent touch on her arm made him want more.

  Pull her to him. Feel her lush curves against his chest. Kiss her. Touch her.

  He shifted his boots. Strong restraint kept him from tugging her into his arms right then and kissing the blush off her cheeks. Then he would capture her lips properly—

  “I’m fine. Are you?” Ansley’s soft voice pulled him from his desires.

  Leargan’s neck burned. “Aye.” He cleared his throat. “You hit my shoulder. Are you sure you’re all right?” He cupped her face, tilting her cheek up so he could examine it.

  His gaze slid to her lips and his throat went dry as Ansley’s tongue darted out.

  Pink. Wet.

  Every fiber in his being wanted to kiss her.

  He tore his eyes from her mouth and met hers.

  “I…I…I’m fine…
really.” She gently pushed his hand away.

  “Should we find Lord Dagget?”

  “No, no. I’m fine, Sir Tegran, honestly.”

  “Leargan.”

  “W-w-what?”

  “I believe I told you to call me Leargan,” he chided.

  Crimson on her cheeks went a deeper shade, and he thanked the Blessed Spirit right then and there for the sunshine coming in the wide corridor windows. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss the expression on her beautiful face.

  “Sorry, Sir Te—I mean, Leargan.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head?” he asked.

  She looked down, and his stomach roiled. He’d not meant the tease to hurt her feelings.

  Leargan guided her face back up. His apology evaporated on his tongue. He sank into teal eyes.

  He lowered his head, brushing his lips against the cheek that had slammed into his shoulder instead.

  Ansley’s eyes widened but she didn’t move away from him, so he gave in to his desire to kiss her.

  He drew her close, jumping when she wrapped her arms tentatively around his waist. He captured her lips, trembling at her softness. The gentle sweep of their mouths previewed how she tasted.

  More.

  Leargan needed more.

  He molded her to him. Full breasts flattened to his hard chest, her firm stomach against his abdominal muscles, her pelvis against his.

  His blood sang and his manhood stood at attention, straining against his breeches as desire stole his thoughts. Tracing her lips, he held back a moan when she finally let him in. As she timidly touched her tongue to his, Leargan plunged into her mouth, exploring her sweetness.

  Ansley mated her tongue to his and he groaned against her lips. The innocence in her kiss made his heart pound.

  Mine.

  She was meant for him. She just didn’t know it yet.

  Ansley tightened her grip around his waist as if otherwise unable to stay on her feet. Her whole body quivered.

  Leargan pulled her even closer, reveling in her softness. His erection twitched. No doubt she could feel it. “Ansley,” he whispered against her mouth. After cupping her face, he placed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  She looked dazed, her eyes heavy and cloudy.

  Moments passed and she said nothing, so he took her mouth again.

  Starting off slow and sweet like before wasn’t enough this time. Leargan kissed her harder.