Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

“Truly, Mistress Ansley. It will be all right. Better. It’ll be as it should be.”

  Ansley’s stare burned. Like she was trying to make sense of Avril’s assurance.

  “Trust me.”

  Puzzlement settled over the redhead’s expression, but Ansley nodded; said nothing even though her lips parted.

  The sound of scraping nails made Avril glance over her shoulder.

  Ali, Mistress Ansley’s large black she-wolf made her way across the solar, heading straight for them.

  Avril reminded herself her friend’s bondmate would never harm her and forced herself to sit still.

  Ali gave her a onceover that had her stomach jumping as she stopped between them. She bumped Ansley’s hands with her large head, sitting on her hindquarters with a slight wag of her tail.

  Her friend smiled and obeyed, burying her hands in the wolf’s thick dark fur. Ansley’s still-visible aura shifted, the multifaceted pale colors of love weaving in.

  Avril could see the magic of their bond, appearing as a thick gold rope as well as the wolf’s much less complicated aura, which was also made up of pastel colors. “She looks soft.”

  Ansley looked up. “She is. You can touch her. She likes affection.”

  Avril reached out, praying her hand wouldn’t shake, and rested her fingers on the wolf’s back.

  Ali looked at her, but Avril averted her gaze.

  Eye contact with a wolf meant an assertion of dominance. She swallowed back a gasp.

  “Avril, it’s all right. She likes that you’re petting her.”

  Slowly, she turned back toward the animal that weighed more than she did. Avril smiled and stroked Ali’s head.

  The big she-wolf leaned into her hand.

  “See? She likes you.”

  Avril grinned. “Good. I’ve never seen a wolf up close, before coming here. The first time I saw Trikser I screamed and jumped into Roduch’s arms. We were walking down the corridor on the way to the great hall.”

  Ansley laughed, but the sadness didn’t leave her teal eyes. “I bet it was disconcerting. Minding your own business and there’s a wild animal not five feet down the hallway.”

  Giggling, Avril nodded. “Yes. Then I saw Ali and Isair. Of course, Roduch explained things to me, but it was still a shock. Three wolves in a castle.”

  “Cera tells me Morag will never accept it.”

  “I like Headwoman Morag,” Avril said.

  “Aye, as do I. But she’s too conservative for Cera’s tastes.”

  “And always will be,” Lady Cera said, sauntering into the room with her son in her arms.

  Avril grinned. She loved holding little Lord Fallon.

  “You don’t even know of whom I speak,” Ansley said, smiling. For the first time, her aura brightened. A happy peach color came to the forefront. She was happy to see Lady Cera and her baby.

  Aimil slid from behind Lady Cera into the doorway, grinning. “Morag,” she said at the same time the duchess did.

  The four of them shared a laugh.

  Fallon must not have liked their joke, because he let out a wail, but his mother propped him higher on her shoulder and rubbed his back. The little one quieted, and Avril couldn’t help but stare.

  Sadness and regret washed over her and she suppressed a frown. Avril wanted a child. She wasn’t sorry she’d never had Tynan’s children…he would have treated them as badly as he had her, but she would have loved any child she’d bore.

  With her knight…she had a second chance.

  But was he throwing his chance at fatherhood away if he stayed with her?

  Tynan had shoved his seed into her over and over during the course of their four turn marriage. Never had she conceived.

  Was there something wrong with her?

  Could she even have children?

  Roduch’s blond hair and pale blue eyes floated into her mind. She was dark…he was light. What would their child look like? Her heart galloped.

  “Avril?” Lady Cera took a seat as Lady Aimil took Lord Fallon into her arms and rocked him by the hearth. A warm, inviting fire burned brightly.

  “I’m fine, my lady.”

  The duchess smiled. “Good. I’d worried a bit. Today’s a big day. Don’t fret. You won’t even see him, all right?”

  “I know, my lady. I’m not frightened.” Avril nodded for effect, her breath exiting on a whoosh.

  Those words were true.

  She wasn’t afraid of Tynan Mont and it was glorious.

  Lady Cera and Mistress Ansley looked at each other. Some sort of non-verbal communication passed between them, but Ansley averted her gaze, busying herself with her bondmate. Her aura throbbed, turning bright white again. She was hurting. Badly.

  Avril’s heart ached. She wished she could reveal the vision, but would it help Ansley or make her doubt the truth?

  Things would work out as they were supposed to. Her visions were never wrong.

  Ansley was sweet and genuine. But, what could’ve happened? And why did the duchess look vexed with her? Concern was in Lady Cera’s expression, too, but the color of her aura confirmed she was frustrated with her friend when Avril concentrated enough to make it visible. The duchess had more magic than Ansley, so the color scheme glowed brighter.

  Lord Fallon let out a wail loud enough to break glass, and their collective gazes shot to Lady Aimil struggling to rock him. “See, Cera? I told you he doesn’t like me.”

  Chuckling as she rose to her feet, Lady Cera shook her head and retrieved her son from her friend. “Aimil, he likes you just fine. He’s just fussy this morning. Fed and changed and he still gave me a hard time. Until Jorrin held him and calmed him. Temporarily, obviously.”

  The duke had time for babies? Lord Jorrin was a good man. He loved his wife and child.

  Avril wanted nothing more in her own life. A husband who loved her, cared for her. Did she have that chance with her knight?

  Was she crazy to contemplate marriage again?

  “I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t be any good at this.” Lady Aimil rubbed her rounded tummy and took a seat not far from them.

  “Now you’re just being silly,” Ansley said, leaning forward and squeezing Lady Aimil’s hand.

  “You’ll be a fine mama,” Lady Cera said, rocking her baby as she walked around the room. She didn’t take a seat until Lord Fallon burrowed into her breast and closed his vivid blue eyes. His mother rubbed his back.

  Lady Cera’s gray gaze bored into Avril. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, my lady. I’m honestly relieved.”

  “You won’t have to testify in front of him at the trial,” the duchess said. “Jorrin told me your statement was documented when you told him, and witnessed by Tristan and Leargan. If King Nathal has further questions, he’ll speak to you in private.”

  Heart thundering, Avril forced a nod.

  Talk to the king?

  She’d need Roduch by her side.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Lady Cera’s smile was warm. “King Nathal’s a great man. He might be huge…bigger than Roduch, but he’d never hurt you. And he will make that bastard pay. I promise.”

  Neither Mistress Ansley, nor Lady Aimil looked surprised at the Lady of Greenwald’s harsh language.

  “Will he put up a fight, I wonder?” Ansley worried her bottom lip.

  “It’s nothing they can’t handle,” Lady Cera said. “And Lucan’s going, so I’m not worried about them.”

  “They are strong knights,” Avril whispered.

  “Only men,” Ansley said sharply, looking out the window as she scratched her bondmate between the ears. “Fallible.”

  “Ansley.” Lady Cera frowned.

  Mistress Ansley ignored her friend, eyes on the now-empty courtyard.

  Avril’s former husband was essentially a coward, but would he be foolish enough to act aggressively against Lord Aldern and his men?

  Tynan didn’t like being backed into a corner. Unpredictable when things didn’
t go his way.

  He’d boasted being trained with a sword, but Avril had never seen him fight, or even spar. Her former husband did have a small armory, though. He’d probably order Harlan to defend him. That was the coward’s way out, was it not?

  Harlan could refuse. Hopefully he would. The older man and his wife had never been anything but kind to her. Avril cared for them and their three sons a great deal.

  Blessed Spirit keep them safe.

  Perhaps she’d get a chance to see them again, and thank them for all they’d done for her.

  But she needed Roduch to come back to her safe and sound as well.

  She clung to her earlier words. She wasn’t afraid of Tynan Mont. He had no hold over her anymore.

  Soon, he would be in the dungeons of the castle that was starting to feel like home.

  Then, Avril would be back in the arms of the man she was falling in love with.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Sire, there is a large group of men approaching.” Harlan’s voice was breathless, his formerly muscle-packed chest heaving. He bent at the waist, hands resting heavily on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

  “What?” Tynan snapped, popping up out of his ornate throne in the great hall.

  He’d been supervising the wood mage reforming the arch that led into the large room. The man was using his magic to etch in the embossed design Tynan had chosen. It would depict a fox hunt when it was done.

  Then they’d talk about the murals he wanted on the ceiling. The man was talented, and could infuse color into the wood he shaped. It would appear as if it had been painted, but would be perfect, and permanent.

  “Men. A group of men. Knights, I think. The sun glinted off armor as I observed from the tower.”

  “Knights?” Tynan narrowed his eyes as his gut screamed that his little bitch wife had something to do with the men headed toward his property. Cursing savagely, he planned her death. Torture was in order.

  When he found her, that is.

  He’d spent days in Greenwald Main.

  Nothing.

  Avril wasn’t there.

  After questioning the Kenrick boy, he’d gotten the child to admit he hadn’t seen Avril, but someone who’d reminded him of Tynan’s wife. He’d sworn the boy to secrecy regarding Avril being gone and sent him home with bruises and a demand of a tithe for wasting his time. Enough food for a feast had arrived less than an hour later, with sincere apologies from the boy’s father, one of Tynan’s tenants.

  “Get rid of them,” Tynan barked to Harlan.

  “Aye, Sire.” With a nod, his steward turned on his heel, hurrying out of the hall with the same speed of his arrival.

  What the hell could knights want with him? What had Avril done?

  Not ten minutes later, he heard the clang of metal and booted feet.

  “Master Tynan Mont!” The shout accompanied said they were headed toward him.

  Damn it, Harlan is useless.

  Tynan trotted down the dais and froze by a long table, his hand on the back of the head chair.

  The wood mage peered over his shoulder, a sheen of sweat bright on his forehead, his shaggy blond locks slick with it as well. “Master? Not lord?”

  “Leave,” Tynan snarled.

  Harlan simpered in front of the group of men, walking backwards as the men continued forward as a unit, ignoring him.

  Without so much as a bow, the wood mage slipped from the soon-to-be great hall, the knights paying him no attention.

  They were indeed knights, armor-covered from head to foot. Some had swords drawn.

  Before his eyes, they fanned out, blocking all exits, and stopping at intervals around the perimeter of the large space.

  Three continued to walk toward him, one slightly in front of the other two, dressed from head to foot in the pale green and silver of Greenwald, the seal of the Province, a howling white wolf standing in front of a green flag, etched into his decorative chest plate.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Tynan swallowed hard, squaring his shoulders and trying to look taller than his five feet three inches.

  The fair-haired knight on the right was a big son of a bitch. He glared at Tynan, one corner of his mouth lifted in a snarl. He drew his sword, pale blue eyes scorching.

  “Are you Master Tynan Mont?” The one in the middle asked.

  Tynan’s eyes shot to the man. His ears were long and tapered, like an elf’s, but he was very tall. Though not as tall as the blond knight, he was broad, his presence was commanding. He was probably half-elfin.

  Wait…half-elfin…what the hell was the Duke of Greenwald doing in his home?

  “Lord Aldern?”

  “Are you Master Tynan Mont?” he repeated, an edge to his tone. He had a wide scroll in his hand, sword sheathed at his side.

  Not answering, Tynan’s eyes swept over the third man as well as the rest of the soldiers in the great hall, his heart plummeting to his stomach.

  This was about more than his wife.

  The third man in front of him, dark haired like the duke, had a Greenwald-silver captain epaulet on the shoulder of his chest piece. Expression fierce, his sword was also drawn.

  As Tynan’s gaze raked over the big one again, he fought the urge to squirm.

  The man’s expression was intense, as if he was daring Tynan to doing something so he could attack him. Hostility rolled off him.

  Why?

  He didn’t know him...never seen him before.

  “Sire, I’m sorry,” Harlan said, studying his boots.

  “Leave us.”

  “Sire?” Lord Aldern asked before his steward could move, one dark eyebrow arched when Tynan met his eyes. “You’ve not the rank for such an honorific.” The younger man raised a hand, and Harlan froze near the table.

  Tynan glared. Duke or not, how dare he seek to override his order? “Who are you to tell me how my steward is to address me?”

  “He’s the Duke of Greenwald, so you need to watch your tone, Master Mont,” the dark haired one said, northern accent evident with each word.

  “I meant no offense, Captain,” Tynan said, inclining his head.

  The blond one muttered something that sounded like, “The hell you didn’t,” but Tynan ignored him and looked at his liege lord.

  “How many I help you, Lord Aldern?” He made his tone as even as he could muster and bowed at the waist.

  “Please confirm your identity,” the captain said, taking a step forward.

  “I am Tynan Mont, master of all you see here.”

  “Tynan Mont.” Lord Aldern cleared his throat as he opened the scroll.

  Tynan’s heart thundered as he watched the parchment unravel.

  “You are under arrest for murder, blackmail, theft, abuse, misappropriation of land and coin, and breech of your marriage contract. You will be taken into custody, offered the choice of Advocate and put to trial for your crimes.”

  “Avril,” Tynan bit out.

  “You do not say her name,” the big blond one growled.

  Anger boiled up from his gut. “That little whore. Little. Lying. Whore,” Tynan spat. He glared at the duke, then the captain. He wouldn’t let Avril do this to him.

  Tynan lunged forward, making a grab for the hilt of the captain’s sword. Taken off guard, the man stumbled. Their hands collided as Tynan’s grip made purchase, and they wrestled until he’d gained it from the man.

  The captain scrambled to remain on his feet, but Tynan rushed him, slashing at him with his own sword. He managed to make a swipe at the younger man’s face before he was wrenched off his feet. The sword flew from his hand, clattering to the floor.

  Tynan winced.

  Better not scratch my tile.

  He’d special ordered it from the Southern continent. There was nothing in the North like it.

  The big blond knight slid behind him, wrenching Tynan’s arm up and back. He pushed down until Tynan had no choice but to fall to his knees.

  Tynan trie
d to pull free, to no avail. The large man’s grip was like a vise. “Unhand me. Now,” he ordered.

  The only answer he got was a tighter grip on his arm.

  Tynan winced and called the big bastard every name he could think of, but when he glanced up, the knight had the nerve to grin at him.

  “Easy, Roduch,” the captain said softly. “You’ll break his arm.” He’d regained his balance, seemed unbothered by the attack. The man bent to retrieve his sword, but a small trickle was visible on his forehead.

  Good, I got him.

  Satisfaction rolled over Tynan, and he smirked at the captain. If the man noticed, he ignored him.

  Roduch growled, saying nothing. His impossibly large hand didn’t loosen at all. “I promised not to kill him. Never said I wouldn’t maim him.”

  Tynan’s gaze shot to those pale eyes. “Promise not to kill me? Why?”

  The knight didn’t answer him.

  “Master Mont, I am adding assault of my captain to your list of charges,” the duke said, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

  “Slander is how you run your Province!” Tynan shouted. “I’m being victimized because of a lying little whore!”

  He was ripped up off his feet and flipped around so fast his head spun. Having no choice but to stare into the huge knight’s pale blue eyes, he had a prime view of a hard forehead slamming into his.

  Pain exploded and his head reeled.

  Then the world went black.

  ****

  Blessed Spirit he wanted to kill him. Why had Roduch given his word to his captain and the duke he would not?

  The bastard was now the little bastard.

  Portly and short, he had to be five and forty.

  Tynan Mont wasn’t much to look at. At All.

  Yet he’d terrorized the love of Roduch’s life for four turns? Beat her, raped her?

  Tynan Mont needed to die.

  If possible, Roduch’s blood boiled even more when he’d laid eyes on Avril’s former husband than when she’d retold what she’d endured.

  He was a tiny little shite.

  Why was he able to hold so many people under his thumb?

  Magic.

  Not even his own.

  Growling, Roduch looked down at the man’s crumpled form on the too-shiny ornately tiled floor.

  If one looked around the hall—hell, the whole property—it was no secret how the man used the gold he’d misappropriated.