by C. A. Szarek
Jorrin cleared his throat. “I’m surprised Roduch’s here. He hasn’t left the castle in days.”
Leargan nodded thanks and took a long drink. “I guilted him a little. Told him he owed it to the lads.” The big knight was in charge of training the younger men-at-arms with the sword, as well as his special lessons with Leargan’s squire, Brodic. “He’s patient with them.”
“Alasdair doesn’t relish the task in his absence.”
“Aye,” Leargan said, but didn’t look at his friend.
“Has she said anything yet?”
“Not that Roduch shared with me. She’ll talk when she’s ready. She’s taking short visits from the ladies, that’s something.”
“I agree. Leargan, are you all right?”
“Aye. Why?” He swung his head around and met the duke’s sapphire eyes.
Jorrin quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you knocked on your arse before, that’s why,” the duke said, tone half-amused, half-concerned.
Leargan fought the urge to squirm. “I wasn’t aware watching me was a part of training.”
“Just marry her, Leargan,” Jorrin said. “It’s been a sevenday. King Nathal said no more than three…and he’ll be here with Ansley’s father.”
“I remember what the scroll says.” He scowled.
The duke crossed his arms over his broad chest, gaze appraising. “You’re not known as a cruel man.”
Leargan cocked his head to the side, holding his breath.
“Yet, you’ve been stalking about the castle for the better part of this sevenday, barking orders and making maids cry. Even Brodic has been staying out of your way.”
The better part of this sevenday.
After he’d kissed Ansley in the corridor. Behaved like a lustful beast.
He looked into Lord Aldern’s eyes and knew better than uttering a denial. Jorrin’s magic would have called him a liar even if the duke did not. “I know…” Leargan said instead, grimacing.
“So, tell her about the scroll, or ask her to marry you, even demand it.”
“Aye, because demanding anything of a Senior King’s Rider would get me far.”
The duke smirked. “Well, I suppose you have a point there.”
“I don’t want a marriage without love,” Leargan admitted, looking away. “Your fault, of course.”
“My fault?” Jorrin asked.
When he met Lord Aldern’s gaze again, his breath exited on a whoosh. Kindness made up his friend’s expression. “Well…you and Lord Dagget and your lovely wives. Yet, I’m trapped, ordered to marry. I’ve never disobeyed the king before.”
“Are you planning to?”
Leargan didn’t sense judgment or censure in the question. “No.” He paused. “I don’t know.”
“King Nathal is nothing, if not sensible. Can you explain things to him? I don’t know her father, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want his daughter to be unhappy.”
Jorrin’s tone was reasonable, but something flared within Leargan.
“Are you saying I can’t make her happy?” he barked. Leargan flushed. He was addressing his lord and had no right to speak to him in such a manner. He wouldn’t blame Jorrin if he knocked him on his arse.
The duke laughed. “No, not at all.”
Calm yourself and stop jumping to conclusions. He took a breath.
“Do you want her?”
“That is about the only thing not in question,” Leargan murmured.
Jorrin shook his head, chuckling again. “At least that won’t be lacking in your marriage then,” he teased, but there was knowledge and acceptance in his eyes.
Leargan grinned.
Silence descended, but it was companionable.
“I ambushed her…shamed her…I’ve been avoiding her ever since.” He winced.
Why did you say that?
“Tell me what happened,” Lord Aldern ordered.
Bollocks.
The look on the duke’s face didn’t bode well. Leargan had chosen his words poorly.
The story tumbled out, Jorrin visibly relaxing more and more with every sentence. “I wouldn’t call that shaming her. She didn’t smack you or scream for you to get away from her?”
“No. Quite the opposite. That’s why I am so ashamed of myself. Jorrin, I would have taken her, right there, in the corridor…she’s not a common whore.”
“No, she’s not. She’s the woman that’ll be your wife. Though the time and place may have been a bit off, wanting her is not wrong. She has feelings for you, as well.”
He shot the duke a look. “What? Do you sense something?”
“Blessed Spirit, man. I don’t have to sense anything. Don’t you see how she looks at you? I saw it from day one. Tristan, too remarked.” Jorrin shook his head, one dark brow arched.
Leargan’s heart pounded. Ansley might feel something for him?
He’d said nothing to her since he’d kissed her in the corridor. He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“Don’t you think apologizing and walking away from her, never looking back, might have hurt her some? Even if she didn’t have feelings for you, I think it would’ve had a bite…”
“Ah, I…never thought of that.”
Jorrin winced. “I think you owe her an explanation…or an apology…for your apology.”
“If I hurt her, it was unintentional. She probably hates me now.”
“Let me tell you something about women.” The duke threw an arm around Leargan’s shoulders. “We often hurt them with our inability to think of them, so my wife reminds me all the time. Think about her perspective for a moment.”
Leargan had left her, as far as she knew, without another thought about her. Their encounter was most likely the first of that kind for her and he’d not even looked her way since.
He’d been too absorbed with himself to even check on Ansley. She’d have no idea he’d been able to think of little else than her lips against his. How she’d felt in his arms, her curves melded to his body. He’d never meant to hurt her.
And now Lord Aldern thought she had feelings for him?
It was too much.
“Oh, hell. Now she’ll never marry me.”
Jorrin chuckled. “You have about a fortnight to convince her.”
Leargan scowled and ignored the grin on the duke’s face.
****
Cera was easing her body to the edge of the bed just as Jorrin made it through the doorway of their bedchamber. He’d caught her getting up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, shaking his head.
“To the privy, unless you would prefer I soil our bed,” Cera said, smiling sweetly. She glared when he laughed.
“You know, love, I never would’ve described you as even-tempered before the baby, but—” Jorrin couldn’t finish his jibe, because a big fluffy pillow hit him square in the face, before tumbling to the floor. He retrieved it, going to his wife and kissing her.
“Help me up or get out of my way,” Cera ordered, a smile playing at her lips.
He pulled her into his arms, and she sighed against him.
“Wretch,” she whispered, her warm breath ticking his neck.
Jorrin chuckled again and held her to him, Cera’s arms slipping around his waist. “Just teasing, love.” He stroked her hair.
“You’re still a wretch,” Cera said, ignoring his grin. “I have to go, help me?”
“Of course.”
When she’d seen to her needs, he intended to help her back into their bed but she shook her head. “I want to sit by the fire, and I think you need to let Trik out before he has an accident,” Cera said, easing into the oversized chair near the hearth.
Jorrin opened the door so her bondmate could go out for the night. He didn’t lock the door, to stave off being woken in the middle of the night at the wolf’s return. Trikser was insistent about being by Cera’s side. But locked door or not, Trik somehow always managed to get back into their rooms.
“Did
you have a good day, love?” He pulled a chair next to hers and slid into it.
Cera sighed and nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as Jorrin scooted his chair closer. He threw his arm around her.
“I won’t lie. I’ll be happy when the baby arrives.”
“I know, love. I can’t carry him for you, but I feel what you do.” His wife’s love for him and their child, as well as her heavy exhaustion, washed over him through his empathic magic, when her beautiful gray eyes met his gaze. Jorrin swallowed back a yawn; his limbs suddenly weighed a ton.
“It makes me feel better that you can really feel us,” she said.
“I love you both.”
“We love you, too.” Cera flashed a smile that had Jorrin’s heart accelerating.
He rested a hand on her swollen stomach. His baby responded to his touch. Cera’s palm landed next to his, and she leaned up to brush her mouth against his.
Jorrin cupped her face and deepened the kiss, tracing his tongue at the seam of her lips until she opened for him.
She sighed into his mouth, and he tamped down his libido, as he tasted her for the first time all day. Cera was exhausted, but his body didn’t care. He wanted his wife.
They hadn’t made love in a few sevendays, but not because she didn’t want to. The further her pregnancy advanced, the more fatigued she was, so Jorrin didn’t push her. But they’d had fun being inventive with positions as her belly had grown.
Breeches already tightening, he broke the kiss before his blood started singing. Jorrin held her as close as he comfortably could, considering their seating arrangement.
“Did you see Avril today?” Cera asked.
“No. But Leargan said she’s willing to see you and the girls?”
Cera nodded. “Ansley mostly. She’s been visiting daily. I think Avril feels a connection with her since Ansley found her. Men make her leery, except Roduch.”
“Understandable. I really want to know who the bastard is, so I can hunt him down.”
“I agree, but we need to wait for her to be ready. If she talks to anyone, it’ll be Roduch.”
Jorrin sighed. Duke or not, he didn’t have the heart to order the battered girl to bare her secrets.
“I’m enjoying Ansley’s visit. I wish she could stay longer.” Cera snuggled into him.
The longing in her tone made his magic tingle, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her dark red hair. “You might get your wish.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes. “What’d you mean?”
Jorrin had intended to keep the scroll a secret but he told Cera everything. “Promise you’ll keep quiet? I mean it.”
“Of course.”
The whole story poured out, including what Leargan had told him regarding what had happened between him and Ansley.
Cera didn’t look surprised about them kissing. “Leargan is an even bigger idiot than I’d suspected,” his wife mused.
His laugh faded as she explained the depth of her friend’s feelings for their captain.
“Damn…” Jorrin said, shaking his head. “It’s worse than I thought. I told him he probably hurt her.”
“Looks like my empath husband is not so oblivious.” She arched an eyebrow, and one corner of her mouth shot up.
He chuckled. “Aye, but our captain is. What to do?”
“Nothing. They need to work it out, love,” Cera whispered, caressing his cheek.
“In a fortnight, I suppose.”
“Damn King Nathal’s plans…” She shook her head.
“I’ve told him to apologize.” Jorrin shrugged.
“That’s all we can do.”
His wife didn’t want to play matchmaker?
Well, it was for the better, but on the other hand, Jorrin was worried about Leargan. His captain could find happiness with Ansley, as he’d found with Cera.
Though he’d had to confront Cera and demand she admit her feelings for him.
He smiled. That day in the elf wizard, Hadrian’s barn was like yesterday. Jorrin couldn’t imagine his life without her.
Perhaps Ansley would have to do the same with Leargan. His magic told him there was something more to Leargan’s feelings than perhaps the captain even knew.
Ansley was a stunner. It wasn’t a surprise people mistook his wife and her Senior Rider friend, though she was an inch or two taller than Cera. Red hair and similar build—prior to her pregnancy, anyway. They were also the same age, almost to the day.
She’d had him grinning when Ansley had mentioned that her freckles were a distinct difference. Jorrin’s magic told him she was self-conscious about them, but freckles added to her charm.
Even though King Nathal was meddling, she was perfect for Leargan.
Was the king rushing it? They’d be better off if they could come to things on their own. Jorrin shook his head, chiding himself. Meddlesome as the king—or worse, a woman.
Cera was right. Leargan and Ansley needed to work it out on their own. Of course, he’d be there for his friend as much as he could.
Jorrin needed to be focused on Avril’s demons.
He’d have to act when the girl decided to let him in on her secrets. Although, he was rusty on all the laws he needed to be familiar with. He’d have to ask his wife if there was a specific way they needed to proceed.
Cera had been raised for running a Province; he was still learning.
Then again, the king was coming. Jorrin wouldn’t be opposed to letting King Nathal handle things.
He glanced down at his wife. “Cera?”
She’d fallen asleep, head on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck.
Smiling, Jorrin kissed her cheek when she muttered his name in her sleep.
Chapter Eight
Where the hell was his little bitch wife? It’d been a sevenday.
Tynan slammed his fist down on the wide arm of his ornately-carved mahogany chair.
Magda jumped, and he glared at the wench. Cooking was about the only thing his steward’s wife was any good at.
He’d only parted her thighs once, but she’d made such a fuss about it, he’d not bothered to try again. Harlan hadn’t found out, though one had to wonder why she’d not prattled to her husband.
After that, he’d wed Avril and sunk into her sweet little body, so he didn’t need Magda anyway.
The harder Avril fought, the better he got off. Damn shame she’d consistently failed to take to his seed. When he got her back, he’d try again. Get a child on her after he punished her for running off.
“May I get you something, sire?” The tremor in her voice made him snarl and rethink mounting her again. He liked the timid ones.
Staring, he said nothing.
Magda’s whole frame shook. The side of her face was sucked in, as if she was biting her cheek. The contents of the basket of cleaning supplies on her arm rattled.
Although passed her prime, her body was slender. Gray had started at her temples, but most of the hair in her long plait remained black. She was probably five or six turns his junior, and her skin was still smooth. Her breasts remained high enough, and she had a nice curve to her hips from bearing Harlan’s get. Two…or three sons they had, only one not fully grown. Too bad they’d no daughters.
Her face was pretty, high cheekbones keeping her from being considered plain. Brown eyes. Not green, like his little wife.
His cock wasn’t even tempted.
Dammit.
He needed Avril. Now. His balls were bound to fall off from lack of use.
Tynan would beat her until her eyes rolled back into her head, before…no, after…burying himself inside her.
She had some nerve. Leaving him.
He owned her.
And he needed some coin. He was sorely missing her magic as much as his cock missed her sweet cunt.
He was expecting two visits this sevenday. Needed to know what his wife saw about them. Hosting was tiresome enough without knowing all the secrets he required.
Tynan
had enough in the coffers to be comfortable, but he didn’t like comfortable. He needed more.
“Lord Mont!” Harlan sauntered across his grand room, the poor excuse for a great hall.
For now. Only for now. He’d expand. Make it wider, larger. Higher ceilings. Carvings, maybe some art.
He’d already consulted a mage who could shape and expand wood. The man was working on an extravagant plan than would make his home a castle when the mage was done.
Too bad he wanted so much gold. Tynan would have to contemplate things. Make a way for the mage to disappear.
Damn Avril.
He needed her foresight so he could know the man’s weaknesses.
“What it is?” He forced boredom into his tone, stopping himself from leaning forward. No need for Harlan to know how eager he was to locate the little bitch.
Chest heaving as he struggled for breath, Harlan bowed after skidding to a stop, his shaggy salt and pepper hair flopping over his wide forehead. Tall and lanky, the man’s face was scarred from all the fighting he’d done as a youth. Nose healed over and over by weak magic, it was bulbous and angled, even more obvious at the center of his gaunt cheeks.
He wasn’t even fifty turns, but after working the fighting circuits that took him all over the continent to put food on his table, Harlan looked older than his turns. Haggard.
His gray tunic and black breeches were dusty, as if he’d come in from a hard ride.
He’d been Tynan’s cousin’s steward for only a few turns before the family’s unfortunate demise. Since Tynan had inherited the staff along with the holding, the Pelham family had stayed.
Blackmail had Harlan and his wife indentured to him now. With no end in sight, of course. He smiled slowly, steepling his hands.
“Mistress Avril is not with her family.” The apple of Harlan’s throat bobbed and he shot a look to his wife.
Magda busied herself by mending the tapestry she’d just cleaned, and Tynan ignored her furtive glances to her husband.
Tynan frowned, leaning forward. “You spoke to her father?”
“Yes, milord. He swore she’d not come home.”
“Did you search his premises?” Narrowing his eyes, he stared until his steward shifted on his feet.
