Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  “What do you mean?” She met his gaze against her will, and she sank into his dark eyes.

  “Lie to your father and tell him you have no desire to marry me. If he asks, lie about us making love. Then in a few months when your belly rounds, try the lie again and see what he says. Knowing your father’s temper, he’ll lead an army here to skin my hide. But you’d better tell him it was you who refused me. No matter what, I’ll still want you. Even if you think it’s forced at your father’s hand, I still want you.”

  Ansley’s hand instinctively covered her womb. “I’m not carrying your child.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.” The confidence in her tone was forced.

  They both knew it was too soon to tell.

  “You will remain in Greenwald until you know for sure. I have that much of a right.”

  Anger boiled up and she glared. How dare he order her around like one of his men? “I won’t marry you, even if I am having your child.”

  “If you are having my child, you will marry me.” Leargan looked her up and down.

  She flushed, anger battling desire for him. “I will not.” Ansley crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “We’ll see what your father or the king has to say about that.” Leargan’s eyes narrowed and he mirrored her stance.

  “I have no intention of telling either of them.”

  “Deny everything for as long as you can. They’ll be here soon enough.”

  “I’m not afraid to tell my father, or the king, for that matter, how I really feel.” Ansley scowled.

  “Of that I have no doubt. I promise, if you carry my child, you will marry me.”

  “I. Will. Not.”

  “Fine. When my child is born, you’ll give it to me.”

  Ansley gasped. “You are a cruel bastard. I can’t believe I gave myself to you. Get out of my rooms.”

  “What’s cruel about it? That’s how it’s commonly done, is it not? Bastard children are raised by their father. Especially he has more standing. I’m a knight.”

  She plastered her hand to her lower stomach and crushed her eyes shut. He was right. If she was pregnant, their child would be a bastard. Born out of wedlock.

  He had position. Once a King’s Knight, now he was the Captain of a Province personal guard. Ansley didn’t have a legal shot if he pressed the issue. Denying he was the father would do no good; a healer could confirm the blood tie.

  “If I can’t have you, I will have my child,” Leargan barked.

  Ansley dragged her hands down her cheeks, growling.

  Ali echoed with a growl of her own. Ansley was tempted to let her pounce. Her bond wouldn’t need much encouragement.

  “Get out. I don’t want to see you ever again, Sir Leargan Tegran.”

  Emotions she couldn’t name flickered across his expression before his face tightened. Jaw clenched, full mouth a hard line, his eyes narrowed.

  “I hate you,” Ansley whispered.

  He said nothing, but nodded curtly. Just turned on his heel like a soldier about to march in formation. Heading for the door, Leargan didn’t even look over his shoulder as he left. Every step tore another chunk from her heart.

  By the time he shut the door without a sound, Ansley’s chest was flayed open, her heart lying shattered on the floor.

  Tears poured down her cheeks, and she collapsed to her knees. Sobs wracked her body as she sank to the floor.

  Ali rushed to her, and Ansley threw her arms around her wolf, burying her face in the soft black mane.

  She didn’t know Leargan at all.

  He’d threatened to take their child away if she wouldn’t marry him.

  How could he be so cruel?

  She’d never see such hardness in his eyes.

  His smiling, laughing face danced into her mind, and she fell apart all over again, squeezing Ali tight.

  Her wolf whined.

  “Sorry,” Ansley dragged herself off the floor and crawled onto her bed.

  Ali jumped up and burrowed against her. Her bondmate whimpered, licking her hands when Ansley buried her face in the pillow that still smelled like him.

  Fool. Idiot.

  Everything had been too good to be true.

  The only man she’d ever loved didn’t want her. He’d only been interested in her because the king had ordered it.

  Ansley couldn’t regret making love with Leargan, not really. She loved him, and what’d happened between them had been wonderful.

  More than wonderful…it’d been perfect and so right. Even more so, if they’d actually made a child, even by accident.

  She wanted Leargan’s child, damn him.

  Damn honor, duty and obligation.

  Damn Leargan, and damn love, because it led to no good.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Leargan looked down into the stein, swirling the ale around. The rest of the day had been a blur. He’d never made it back to the training grounds. Instead, he’d gone to the armory to hide out, under the guise of inventorying weapons.

  Jorrin had asked him to find out how many swords they needed over a month ago. He’d put it off, busy with other duties.

  He could’ve sent one of the guard to handle things, but he was glad he hadn’t. Now, at least, he could present the half-elfin duke with adequate numbers.

  Brodic had come to find him, but he’d wanted to be alone, so he’d sent the lad on his way. Told him to tell Jorrin of his task. Refused the request of assistance. His squire’s gray eyes had held concern, but he didn’t ask any questions. He never would.

  Leargan was relieved he’d held his tongue and not snapped at the lad who so obviously idolized him. They’d been together a long time. The affection his squire had for him was mutual.

  What exactly had come out of his mouth in Ansley’s rooms?

  Regret settled over him. And pain. How could he hurt so much? A gaping hole resided in his chest as sure as if he’d been run through.

  Closing his eyes, he cursed himself to hell and back, but all he could see was Ansley.

  Misty, teal eyes full of pain and accusation. And the tears. Each one coursing down her cheeks had killed him a little more.

  He’d intentionally hurt her with the words that had flown out of his mouth.

  I am a bastard.

  Take her child away from her? He’d never do such a thing. Family meant too much to him. He’d lost his parents before age five. If it wasn’t for King Nathal taking him back to Terraquist after the battle that had split Ascova into two Provinces, he’d have been nothing more than street trash. If he’d survived.

  A family of his own was supposed to be different. Would be different. Cherished. Loved. Always. He’d raise their children with her.

  If there was a child. The idea didn’t scare him. It made his heart pound and his stomach flip, but he wanted a child with Ansley.

  Leargan hadn’t been careful with her. He’d given her his seed more times than he could count. It hadn’t mattered. Because she was his.

  Or was yours.

  “Dammit.” Leargan downed the contents of the large stein in one gulp.

  After slamming the thick mug on the table, he poured himself another, his head already spinning. He wasn’t a heavy drinker but he welcomed oblivion.

  His chest was tight, breathing still hurt.

  Getting sloshed wasn’t working.

  He was alone in the great hall because of the late hour, and the large room was dim. Only a few candles still lit, and the fire in the large hearth waning.

  Leargan had shooed the last servant away what seemed hours ago, promising to bank the fire. Company wasn’t welcome, even from any of his brothers. It was easier to wallow without an audience.

  Neither Jorrin nor Tristan had checked on him at any point either, but that was all right. He’d deal with the inevitable questions later. No doubt their wives would find out what had happened.

  He scowled as a door opened to his left. Not the main entrance of the great
hall, but a door that led to the kitchens.

  Sighing when he recognized the old steward, Leargan fought to remember the man’s name through his alcohol muddled mind.

  Nothing.

  Other than he’d come out of retirement to train Gamel, the very young head steward from Lady’s Cera’s uncle’s household in Tarvis.

  Gamel’s father was the head steward of Castle Lenore, so he’d been raised for the trade, but needed some guidance. Very bright, but barely eighteen. Also newly betrothed to Lady Cera’s handmaiden, Neomi.

  Thinking of another happy couple made his temples ache. Leargan dragged his hand down his face and tried to look invisible. He didn’t want company from the old steward any more than anyone else.

  “Captain,” the elderly man inclined his head as he came closer to the table.

  Leargan groaned. Obviously the man hadn’t seen the black cloud over his head.

  Manners, you do have manners.

  “Hello, Steward.” Leargan lifted his cup as the man took a seat. “Care for a drink?”

  The older man smiled, shaking his head. His long white hair shifted about his shoulders. “No, thank you. I overindulged when I was a young man, so now I stay away from the stuff.”

  Straightening his shoulders, Leargan nodded.

  The steward had to be close to eighty turns old, if not more. The man deserved respect, though Leargan had a feeling he’d just offered him a subtle admonition. His gaze met pale blue eyes and he forced a smile.

  “Keir, Captain,” the elderly man said softly, offering a large wrinkled hand.

  Leargan gave a firm shake that was returned with the same vigor.

  The steward was strong, despite his age. His presence was calming, and Leargan released a breath he’d not realized he’d been holding.

  His brown tunic was filled out by still-broad shoulders. Keir was tall and slim, but his frame suggested he’d been full of muscle when he was younger. Soldier sized more than the build of a castle steward. Face wrinkled, but his skin had a nice bronze tone, as if he spent a great deal of time outside.

  The pale eyes regarding Leargan could see right through him. He squirmed, clearing his throat. “Hello, Keir.” The man smiled and Leargan relaxed, chiding himself to sit still. “What’s keeping you from your bed this late evening?”

  “Ah, I find the older I get, the less I’m able to sleep. I often walk the castle corridors until sleep decides to claim me. What has you out of yours?” Keir took a seat across from him. He studied Leargan.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Why the hell had he said that? He didn’t know this man.

  Keir’s smile was sad.

  Silence descended, and the old steward’s gaze bore into him.

  “You know, lad, I can tell you all about loss. The Blessed Spirit claimed the love of my life three turns ago. In a way, I’m glad she didn’t have to endure the devastation of our family. Varthan killed my son and grandson.” He paused, his blue eyes misty, and cleared his throat. “I’ve served the Ryhans as my father, and his father before him. I couldn’t refuse Lady Cera when she had need of me. I’ve spent my life in these halls. Shared good times as well as bad, but Castle Ryhan—Castle Aldern now—has always been filled with love.”

  What am I supposed to say?

  Leargan averted his gaze and sipped ale, ignoring how his heart sped up.

  “Lad, my point is, no matter what happened, life is too short to leave things in shambles. Mend things, and don’t lose her.”

  Was he that transparent that the old steward, who’d never said more than two words to him, could see his disaster with Ansley?

  Leargan bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say, so he snapped it shut, still avoiding the elderly steward’s gaze.

  A strong, comforting grip on his forearm brought his face around. “I’m not trying to pry, lad. It’s just, when you’re as old as I am, you don’t want to see a good man make avoidable mistakes.”

  “Thank you.” Leargan forced words out of his mouth.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The quiet offer made him swallow against a sudden lump in his throat.

  Did he? How could he tell a complete stranger the love of his life hated him?

  Leargan gasped.

  “Lad?” Keir’s soft concerned voice made him jump.

  Their gazes collided.

  “I love her.”

  The old steward patted his arm and smiled. “Aye.”

  “Blessed Spirit, I love her,” Leargan whispered.

  Of course he loved her.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

  He was an idiot.

  Keir’s chuckle pulled him from his chaotic thoughts. “Sometimes these things are apparent to those around us before light dawns on our own heads.”

  Leargan stared. No doubt the old man hit the nail on the head. He was too stunned to be embarrassed.

  “Tell her you love her, Captain.”

  Pain threatened to double him over.

  He loved Ansley.

  The revelation would get him nowhere. She still hated him. “She’s refused me.”

  “I thought you were betrothed?” Keir’s pale eyebrows drew tight.

  “We were,” Leargan said, his voice cracking.

  Keir sighed. “Not an easy thing to tear asunder. Speak to her, lad. Bare your heart. Something more difficult than fighting a whole army on your own, but necessary.”

  Leargan bit back the denial that hovered on his tongue.

  Since when was he afraid of anything?

  “I believe the Blessed Spirit gives us one,” the old steward said.

  “One?”

  “One soul to match ours. One soul, one person meant for each of us. If you’ve found yours, you can’t let her go, Captain.”

  “Aye,” Leargan breathed. He didn’t have the guts to ask how he could get her back.

  The elderly man’s pale gaze drew him in, and he leaned forward.

  “Tell her you love her, lad, and all will right itself.”

  No it won’t.

  He’d already told her he wanted to marry her. She’d all but called him a liar.

  “I have to go,” Leargan muttered, popping to his feet. His head spun and he had to clutch the back of his chair to stay upright.

  Damn ale.

  “All right.”

  “Thank you, Keir.”

  The old steward nodded. “Will you be able to make it back to your quarters?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll bank the fire.”

  “Thank you. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  Leargan nodded and turned to go, his heart thundering.

  Ansley.

  Keir’s words bounced around in his mind.

  How could one simple phrase fix anything?

  Was it really over? Was she gone from his arms for good?

  “Captain?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Aye?”

  “Though the subject matter pains, it was nice talking to you.”

  Managing a genuine smile, he bowed to the elderly man. “The feeling is mutual.”

  Keir’s warm smile was all the answer he got.

  Though his own chambers were on the opposite side of the vast castle in the soldier’s wing, Leargan found himself outside her guest suite.

  He stared at the polished dark wood, his gut clenching.

  She had to want him. She had to marry him…love him.

  Did Ansley love him? Why hadn’t she said?

  Why would she?

  “You threatened her in the worst way possible,” Leargan whispered. He cursed himself to hell and back. His head spun, and it had little to do with ingesting alcohol.

  Raising his hand, he made a fist, and then faltered. She had nothing more to say to him tonight. Disturbing her would be for naught. It wasn’t like he could rush into her roo
ms and declare his love for her.

  Ansley wouldn’t believe that any more than she’d believed his honest desire to marry her.

  Leargan shook his head, laying his palm flat on her door and sucking in a breath.

  She was probably curled on her bed bawling.

  It was his fault.

  All he wanted to do was hold her, but she’d never allow it.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Sir Leargan?” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  His head spun, or maybe sloshed. Floated?

  A hand shook his shoulder, and Leargan winced, temples throbbing.

  “Sir Leargan?” This time the voice was more insistent.

  “I’m awake!” he roared, regretting it immediately as his brain protested. Leargan cracked one eye open and saw a familiar pair of worried gray ones.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” Brodic’s fair eyebrows were drawn tight. The lad leaned in, wringing his hands.

  “Brodic, I’m not dead. Back up.”

  “It speaks. I suppose that means he’s all right,” Jorrin said from somewhere in his room.

  “Aye, he said he’s not dead. That’s something,” Tristan answered.

  Two deep chuckles greeted his aching ears.

  Leargan cringed as he started and failed at his first attempt to sit up. He batted away Brodic’s helpful hands. “I’m glad I could entertain you, my lords.”

  They both laughed again.

  He forced his stomach muscles to respond, jolting upright. The room spun. His head screamed a protest, and he fell against his thick wooden headboard. Leargan made tight fists of his ivory bed linens, but it didn’t help.

  His temples pulsed and he blinked to clear his vision, but his squire appeared in triplicate before his eyes. Leargan groaned and covered his face with both hands.

  “Ale hangovers are nasty little things, wouldn’t you say, Tristan?” Jorrin asked.

  “Aye, that they are, Jorrin.”

  Leargan growled. “Now they’re discussing me as if I’m not even in the room,” he muttered, making eye contact with Brodic.

  His squire shifted from foot to foot, saying nothing.

  “Why don’t you fetch bread, Brodic,” Jorrin said before Leargan could reassure them all he was fine.