Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  “It’s done me no good,” Leargan whispered. The king knew him well. He couldn’t be angry for the disguised order. After all, he’d accepted the words of the scroll almost immediately, despite expressing his frustration to Jorrin.

  Orders were duty. Not to be questioned.

  Even in matters of the heart. Marriages were arranged for alliances all the time, after all. Love was rarely considered in the world of nobility and knights, but the king loved his queen.

  Leargan was surrounded by strong marriages filled with love.

  He ached for the same with Ansley.

  “All is not lost, lad.” King Nathal patted his shoulder. “But Murdoch doesn’t need to know his daughter is no longer a maid. That we will keep between us. The rest, we will reveal. Murdoch has a chance to get through to her. They are very much alike. From that display earlier, I’d say even their tempers are similar.” The king grinned and Leargan scowled.

  There’s nothing amusing, dammit.

  “I was prepared to confess all, actually, so he could get us to the alter quickly, but I don’t want her against her will. I’ll do as you suggest, your Highness.

  “And I will do my best to keep your hide intact.” King Nathal laughed again.

  Leargan winced.

  “Come now, Leargan, you’ve always had a sense of humor.” The big man was crestfallen when their eyes met.

  “Aye. When I don’t fear I need someone to keep my hide intact.”

  King Nathal clapped him on the back, almost knocking him off balance.

  Leargan groaned and the king threw his head back and bellowed with laughter.

  Chapter Thirty

  The room spun, and Ansley grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. She blinked to clear her vision. Swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Ali whined, and she glanced in the wolf’s direction. Once again, her bondmate had claimed the large hearth in the guest room.

  “I’m fine, Ali.”

  But am I?

  She needed to get dressed. Her father would be there soon to escort her to the feast.

  Ansley glanced at the gorgeous dark green gown on her bed. Cera had had it made for her just a few days ago, and had surprised her with it the previous night in the Duchess Solar.

  The bodice was a cut a bit lower than Ansley was used to, but it was her favorite shade of green; the hunter green of the Senior Riders.

  Cera’s gown maker had outdone herself. Beautiful large golden roses were stitched across the corset. Ansley caressed the shimmery fabric. The skirt was full and would flow when she walked.

  The former Senior Rider duchess was infamous for her dislike of all things feminine, but Cera had good taste in gowns. The dress was perfect for Ansley. She loved it.

  A knock on the door made her look up. “Come in.”

  Daicy grinned, her brown eyes dancing, face lit up. She exuded joy.

  Ansley couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips. “What are you so excited about?”

  “Everyone is in such a good mood. The king and his men are so friendly.”

  Ansley laughed, feeling a weight lift off her, despite the negative interaction with Leargan in the great hall.

  Daicy had been her constant champion since Ansley had discovered the truth. A new—but true—friend.

  “Do I get the hint that perhaps a certain one of the king’s men is friendly?”

  The maid grinned again, but her cheeks were pink. “Actually…not one of the king’s men. One of ours.”

  “O-o-urs?”

  “Yes, Mistress Ansley. You belong in Greenwald.” Daicy nodded, meeting Ansley’s gaze.

  Pain gripped her chest and threated to bowl her over. She didn’t belong in Greenwald.

  Because Leargan didn’t want her.

  Ansley looked away from Daicy. She sucked in a breath and cleared her throat. Normal. She needed normal. “So, who’s the lucky man?”

  “Merrick.” Daicy fairly sighed his name.

  “He’s very handsome.”

  Sir Merrick, one of the knights of Cera’s personal guard, wasn’t as tall as Leargan, but he had pretty green eyes and pale hair, like his younger brother, Laith. The brothers had been raised like Leargan, by King Nathal in Terraquist, groomed to be knights. From what Ansley knew of him, Merrick was a jester like Alasdair.

  Daicy’s smile faded, and her teeth sank into her full bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I…don’t want to make you sad…”

  “No, no. Don’t be silly, I’m fine.” Ansley mustered a weak smile.

  Silence fell, and Daicy looked away first, her nod making her ponytail bob. Neither of them had fallen for Ansley’s statement.

  “Well, let’s get you dressed,” the maid announced, rubbing her palms together, a smile back in place on her pretty face.

  “Aye. I don’t want to be late. My father is escorting me.”

  “Your da, mistress?” Daicy asked, raising a brow. Her tone made it plain she was of the opinion Sir Murdoch Fraser was the wrong choice.

  Funny, since she’d been the one to keep Leargan away from Ansley. Had Daicy changed her mind about the captain? The maid knew Ansley loved him. Perhaps budding feelings for Merrick had made Daicy reassess things.

  “Aye, and he’s always been fond of punctuality. So we’d better get moving.” Ansley made a grab for the dress and missed. The bed spun along with her head and she reeled, rocking back on her heels.

  Daicy gripped her forearm; it was the only thing that kept her on her feet. “Are you all right?” Her brown eyes were concerned when Ansley met her gaze.

  “Aye…aye…” Nodding made her head somersault.

  Daicy’s eyes darted all over Ansley’s face and body. “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  “No. I need to dress. Cera had this gown made for me. I need to go to the feast. My da will be here any moment. Everyone’s expecting me.”

  “Shall I fetch Lord Dagget?”

  “I’m fine. I skipped midday meal. That’s all it is. I broke my fast very early this morning.”

  “All right.” Daicy’s tone shouted she didn’t believe Ansley, though the maid would never call her a liar.

  Needing a distraction, Ansley picked up the gown, holding it up to her body. “I’ll need help lacing this.”

  Daicy’s chest rose and fell as if she had taken a deep breath. However, the maid’s expression was still much too concerned for Ansley’s liking. “That’s what I’m here for. Then we’ll do your hair. How would you like it?”

  Her instinct was to say down. Leargan loved to run his hands through it.

  Ansley met Daicy’s gaze and ignored the pain that crept up from her gut, burning her from the inside out. “Up. Can you do any special braids?”

  “Of course. I can even weave flowers in if you like.”

  Ansley tried to stave off tears.

  She needed to forget about Leargan.

  Like that would ever happen.

  Ali whined, and she mentally shushed her, praying to the Blessed Spirit she would make it through this night.

  ****

  The second knock at the door came only moments after Daicy had taken her leave, and Ansley sucked in a breath.

  For a split second, she wished Leargan was standing in the corridor waiting for her.

  Sense descended with the pain, and she panted as she went to let her father in, her head spinning all over again.

  It’s the braids.

  Maybe Daicy had pulled too tightly.

  The gorgeous style was reminiscent of something Queen Morghyn would have done to her pale locks; intricate braids crossing and crisscrossing each other, some up, some left down, with flowers woven in above her ears and down her back.

  Beautiful.

  And she looked fantastic in the dress. It brought out the color of her eyes and pushed her breasts up.

  Ansley looked like a lady. Too bad she didn’t feel like one.

  The longer it’d t
aken to get ready, the more she wanted to avoid the feast—and Leargan. Her bed looked inviting.

  Curling up with Ali was all she desired at the moment. However, she’d spoken the truth to Daicy; she was expected in the great hall. And Ansley was hungry.

  “Oh, lass. You look beautiful. If your coloring was hers, I would think your mother was looking back at me.” Her father’s tone was thick, his teal eyes misty.

  Ansley’s heart ached for a reason other than Leargan.

  Her mother.

  She’d been so young when she’d died. Flaxen hair and brown eyes, her mother had been tall and slender. Gorgeous. And her father had adored his wife.

  Ansley nodded, chewing her bottom lip, unable to speak for a moment. After chiding herself to pull it together, she looked her father up and down, smiling. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain.”

  Dressed in a fine dark brown doublet and matching breeches, he had a fancy decorative dirk at his waist instead of his usual broad sword, and his normally unruly red hair was straight and combed, bound by a leather strap at the back of his neck. Murdoch had even trimmed his beard. Her father looked turns younger.

  Handsome.

  “Thank you.” He gave a lopsided smile and offered his arm.

  She stared, freezing in the doorway.

  Leargan.

  It was the other captain’s arm she should be on.

  The man she loved.

  Right?

  His dark eyes had been full of so much pain that afternoon in the great hall.

  Had it been real?

  I miss you. His words reverberated in her head and she fought the urge to close her eyes. Ansley missed him, too. So much.

  “Are you all right, love?” her father asked.

  His deep voice jolted her, and she reached for him, movements jerky. “Aye.” Ansley cleared her throat. “I’m fine, Da.”

  “Love…”

  Ansley swallowed a groan.

  He didn’t continue until their eyes met. “What happened between you and Leargan?”

  Her vision blurred and she averted her gaze until a large calloused hand gently forced her chin back around.

  “Nothing, Da.”

  “Nonsense, lass.”

  Ansley clenched her jaw and pushed his fingers away from her face. “I don’t wish to discuss it now.”

  Murdoch grunted, narrowing his eyes.

  She squirmed. “Let’s just enjoy the feast. Can you let it go? Please?”

  “For now,” her father allowed.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  That was too easy.

  Sir Murdoch Fraser didn’t let things go.

  Ansley stared into eyes that matched her own.

  “You cannot avoid things forever.” You will talk to me, was implied.

  Sighing, Ansley ignored the unspoken promise. She hadn’t bought very much time. “How’s Xander?” she blurted.

  Murdoch harrumphed, but a ghost of a smile played at his lips. “The same mangy flea-ridden, oversized tomcat he always is.”

  Ansley gave a genuine grin. Her father would never admit it, but the orange and gold striped cat she’d rescued thirteen long turns ago was more Murdoch’s cat than he’d ever been Ansley’s.

  He’d attached himself to her father not long after she’d brought him home. Tolerated her as a child, but Xander had always been all about Murdoch. He always purred louder for her father than Ansley had ever coaxed even from lavished affection.

  When Ansley had bonded Ali, Xander had totally ignored her. Then again, Ali had been rather obnoxious to the cat as a cub.

  “I miss him,” Ansley said.

  Her father grunted. “I don’t see why. He’s getting crotchety in his old age.”

  She giggled and patted her father’s broad chest. “Even more like you, huh, Da?”

  Murdoch threw his head back and bellowed a laugh. “I should have thrown him out of the cottage turns ago.”

  It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Her father’s blue-green eyes danced when their gazes met. No doubt Xander slept with her father in his bed. But Ansley wasn’t brave enough to remark on it.

  “Let’s go, Da.”

  She did want to enjoy the evening.

  Ansley would have to stick to her father like glue to avoid Leargan.

  Ignoring the pain that threatened to cave her chest, she stood tiptoed to press a kiss to her father’s bearded cheek before they headed down the corridor.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Ansley allowed her father to walk her to the dais, kissing him on the cheek again before he bowed to her, Cera and Aimil, then took his leave.

  The duchess beamed, and Aimil waved as Ansley took her seat next to them.

  “Hello there,” Cera said, grinning.

  What was Cera up to?

  Her expression was much too cunning, disguised by the friendly smile. As Ansley and her father had passed Leargan, she hadn’t missed that his dress doublet was dark green with stitched gold embossed accents.

  They were matched.

  Having couples dress alike was something Queen Morghyn was fond of doing.

  Cera and was supposed to be on her side. Aimil, too.

  They were supposed to be as mad at Leargan as Ansley was.

  She’d gotten over her hurt regarding Cera knowing about the scroll rather quickly. After all, they’d been friends—more like sisters—since they were fourteen.

  Cera and Aimil had taken turns holding her while she cried the first night, and then the second after Leargan had betrayed her.

  Ansley’s stomach tightened and she swallowed hard.

  Not now. I will have a pleasant evening.

  “What’s wrong?” Cera’s whisper snapped her back into her own skin.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” Both of her friends’ expressions spoke of their disbelief, which Ansley ignored. “Thank you for the gown. I truly love it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The two ladies also wore new gowns for the occasion, and of course, looked stunning, even seated.

  Cera wore Greenwald colors. Dress pale green, with intricate silver lace lining the edges of her corseted bodice and waist.

  Aimil’s garment also denoted her Province of birth; an Ascovan deep red gown with a navy blue sash at the waist, accentuating her pregnancy, but it just made her glow.

  “Have you seen Avril? I put her in light blue since she said that was her favorite. I personally think it has something to do with the color of Roduch’s eyes. No matter, she looks gorgeous. As do you, Ansley.” Cera reached for Ansley’s hand.

  “You both do, as well.”

  Cera grinned and Aimil nodded thanks.

  “Oh, there’s Avril,” Aimil said, gesturing toward the personal guard’s table.

  Ansley smiled when the younger girl caught her eye and inclined her head. She returned the gesture.

  Avril did look stunning in the pale blue gown. Happy. The dress shimmered, the material iridescent as it caught the light.

  The duchess had done well for the girl.

  She stayed close to Roduch, smiling when the large knight leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. Like Leargan, the blond warrior’s decorative dress matched Avril.

  Ansley ignored Leargan, even as her eyes zoned in on him against her will. He was talking to Dallon and Alasdair.

  “It’ll be all right, Ans.” Cera squeezed her arm.

  Ansley bit her lip to stave off tears and met her friend’s gray eyes. She had to stop being so transparent.

  Aimil smiled and patted her hand.

  Ansley reached for a goblet and sipped wine, needing a distraction. Sweetness exploded on her tongue and warmth spread as she swallowed. “I will have a good time tonight.”

  “Aye. We all will,” Aimil said. Her dark gaze wandered, and Ansley’s followed, resting on the duke and Tristan as they entered the great hall. Both wore doublets that matched their wives.

  Ansley groaned.

  “What?” Cera
asked, eyes wide and a fair impression of innocence.

  “Matching,” Ansley said.

  Aimil giggled.

  “As you well know, I stole the idea from the queen. But there’s no harm in matching those who belong together.” Cera’s eyes spoke volumes.

  A lump rose in Ansley’s throat and her breath caught.

  No.

  Wasn’t Cera on her side? Hadn’t she been mad at Leargan just that morning? Why had her friend changed her mind?

  Aimil cleared her throat, judiciously averting her dark gaze.

  Aimil, too?

  Ansley closed her eyes, sucking in air for the hundredth time that night. Her chest ached, heart pounded.

  Am I on my own?

  “Good evening, my love,” Jorrin said, dropping a kiss on his wife’s cheek when he’d stepped up to her chair.

  Cera’s warm smile could have split her face.

  “Hello, Ansley, Aimil.” Cera’s husband inclined his head and winked. Tall and broad, the pale green of Greenwald looked good on him, making the sapphire of his eyes even more startling. Tapered ears and high cheekbones added to his attraction. His dark hair was a little mussed, as if he’d come in from the wind.

  The duke was beyond handsome, but the way he and Cera were looking at each other made Ansley hurt even more.

  For one not born to nobility, Jorrin looked the part. However, from what Ansley had heard and seen since coming to Greenwald, her friend’s husband made a fine duke.

  “Where did my husband suddenly disappear to?” Aimil asked.

  Ansley was hit with a pang of envy, then berated herself as guilt crept up from the pit of her stomach. Her friends were happy.

  That really is a good thing.

  “I believe one of the maids had need of him for a sick child. He said he’d be right back.”

  “Whose child is ill?” Cera’s tone was concerned.

  “I’m not sure, but he or she will be healed shortly. No worries, love.”

  “You’re right, of course. I don’t like the idea of any child being sick.”

  “Tristan will make sure no one else falls ill,” Aimil said.

  After everyone had gathered in the great hall, Jorrin stood and gave welcome for the king and his men.