When he lets go of my hands to pull me closer, I grasp Vanni’s wide shoulders out of necessity, my legs weak with pleasure. The quick flicks of his tongue become deft strokes, ones that tell me what I’ve suspected.
He has kissed many a maid before, maybe one in every town he visits. And likely more so at court. For Vanni’s kiss is adamant and strong and skillful, every bit what I’d expect from a man such as he.
When he groans against my lips, the thought of bringing him the same measure of pleasure emboldens me. Reminds me of all the ways I’ve learned to please a man, starting with how to kiss a man like Vanni.
Matching every touch, every thrust, of his tongue, I’m pulled deeper and deeper under until I can bear it no longer.
Stepping away, I attempt to slow the beating of my heart. I may be inexperienced, but I know there was an unusual power in our kiss. A deeper sense of connection.
“I thought,” my words stumble over each other, “I thought if I did not pull away, I might not ever do so.”
Vanni lets out a breath, his hands raking through the dark, thick hair I burn to touch.
“I should not have kissed you.”
Staring at his lips, I violently disagree.
“Aye, you should have. I willed it so.”
Today, last eve, the day before . . . every moment since I first saw him.
“As you said, I am not long for Murwood End.”
He’s telling me nothing I don’t already know. It is plain enough to us both this is but a temporary arrangement.
“I’ve guarded the hearts of many a maid,” I say, braver than I feel. “And will do so with my own.”
From the look in his eyes, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. Nor should he.
“Your heart needs no such guarding.”
Danger.
Death.
The strange pulse of knowledge comes to me again, the feeling much stronger this time.
What is my intuition trying to tell me? That he is dangerous to me? To someone else? Maybe Father Beald.
Or Kipp?
Nay, he said he would not force him, and I know Vanni to be an honorable man. Even now, though I know he wishes to kiss me again, he waits for me to sort through my complicated emotions.
If I believed a Garra who’d never been in love herself was a fraud, this one, who is unable to protect her own heart, is even more so.
Love healer, indeed.
Chapter Eighteen
Vannni
This time, Aedre didn’t run away.
I did.
After that kiss . . .
That kiss.
Though I did not touch her again, every part of me wished it were otherwise. When we finally sat, I moved closer to her on the stone. And when she reached for my new sword, the one her father forged, I used the moment to brush my fingers across hers.
Except I don’t want to simply kiss Lady Aedre. I want to consume, and be consumed by, her. When we’re not together, I’m thinking of her, curious about what she’s doing or who she’s healing. I’m imagining her swinging the double-edged hammer she clearly knows how to wield. I’m sitting inside the inn listening but not really hearing my companions.
Thomas raises his voice, arguing with my squire, Christopher, over the merits of Voyager fishing nets and how they differ from those in the south.
But I care not about fishing nets. Or anything, really, save Master Aldwine’s return.
And, of course, Aedre.
“You’ve not eaten yet,” Thomas says to me, apparently finished with the good-natured disagreement.
In answer, I take a piece of fish and stuff it into my mouth.
“I spent the afternoon at the docks.” Thomas smiles at the serving maid passing by. “And heard a rumor about the Queen of Edingham.”
I eat, suddenly hungry after that one bite, as the innkeeper’s daughter, a now-familiar serving maid, moves past us again. On many of our journeys we are hosted by noblemen. At other times, we stay in abbeys. But Sailor’s Inn has fast become a favorite, despite my typical distaste for inns. With the exception of that first day, none have challenged us, and some appear to have forgotten there are strangers among them. Every day fewer and fewer patrons look our way.
“Celebrating the demise of Meria’s lost heir already?” I ask.
Though the news must have traveled to Edingham by now, it’s premature for it to have reached Murwood.
“Nay, though no doubt they’ll do so soon enough. Some say Queen Cettina’s sister has returned to court.”
Salvi and I look at Thomas, both of us surprised.
“So Lord Whitley has finally found a home for his ambition?” Salvi asks.
The knight has served me well these past years, and there are none I rather wish to have by my side than he. Unlike Thomas, he is more reticent with his words.
“More like the queen’s sister has found a way to get into her good graces.”
An interesting development, if it is, indeed, true.
Though second-born, Cettina inherited her father’s crown when he died the year after her older sister, Lady Hilla, was disinherited and banished. Rumor has it Lady Hilla had an affair with an especially unsuitable man, although none know the truth of it. Some say aye, and others nay. But all agree that when her father, the king, learned of the accusations, the man in question was swiftly beheaded, Lady Hilla and her husband exiled. Said husband, Lord Whitley, still rages over the incident.
“Either way, she and Whitley are back at Breywood Castle, if the stories are true.”
I consider how this may affect our current state of affairs.
“If stories of Whitley’s ambition and greed are true, he will undoubtedly make a play for his wife to reclaim the crown.” I take a swig of ale.
“Perhaps Meria won’t be alone in her misery?” Thomas speculates.
I’ve come to the same conclusion.
“This is good news for us,” I agree. “But Edingham’s instability does little to solve our own problems.”
The group falls silent until my squire speaks up.
“What will we do if he doesn’t come with us?”
The others look at Christopher and then back at me.
“The king refused to name another heir, but if Aldwine refuses us—” my teeth grind at the possibility, “—the king will have to name another.”
“Who?” Thomas asks.
I have my suspicions, but none are fact, so I will keep such thoughts to myself.
“It matters not. If the church backs Hinton, along with those who support him already, ’twill ensure a long and bloody path forward for Meria.”
Our uneasy silence is broken by the sound of the inn door swinging open.
“The Artemis has returned,” someone calls excitedly.
My hand drops back to the table, my mug hitting it with a thud.
Thomas and I exchange a glance before we both shift our attention back to the door. More watching and waiting. After more than one of the Sailor’s Inn patrons leaves, we have our answer.
Voyagers are known to put into port, even at night, rather than anchoring.
Without saying a word, I nod, and the four of us stand at once. Because of Aedre, I am not worried about gaining an audience with him immediately. Even so, I would glimpse the man that may yet be king of Meria.
A crowd has already gathered along the wharf.
“There’s hardly any moonlight,” Salvi says, lifting the lantern he’d taken with him. “Do you know any ship captains who would put in on a night such as this?”
“Madness,” Thomas mutters.
I tend to agree. But Voyagers are also known for their skill in the water. The tragedy that cost Meria so dearly would likely not have happened in Murwood End.
“Can you see the ship?” Christopher asks as we approach.
“Nay.” The crowd has grown, presumably for first pick of the furs Aldwine’s men have traded for oil. A curious custom, the makeshift port-side fair, but one that has become famil
iar. Despite the dark, townsfolk have descended on the Artemis, and we can see nothing of note for some time.
Eventually establishing a position with a vantage point that allows us to see the Voyagers as they make their way ashore, we blend into the crowd. Nothing marks us as king’s men, for we’ve learned dressing the part makes the townspeople hosts uneasy.
“Look there,” Thomas says, but I’ve already noticed him. Something about Master Aldwine draws the eye toward him, and it is not just his height. I step closer for a better look at the man.
Goods are tossed ashore, Aldwine pointing and shouting, though I can’t hear his words. It is just as well. I can see the men look to him for their orders. I can see that he holds his head high. Though I hear nothing, I see everything. The rumors are all true.
The king insists Kipp Aldwine has grown to be a man who can be trusted with his crown and the ruling of Meria. And though it is not for me to question Galfrid’s judgment, I am most curious about his bastard son.
“They say he can swing a sword while carrying ten men on his back, and now that I see him, I can understand how such a thing is possible,” Christopher says.
I shake my head. “If I told you he pushed the ship into port, swimming behind it in the water, you’d believe that too?”
The others laugh.
“He believed me when I told him you drank the blood of your enemies for strength,” Thomas adds. “So aye, he would . . . ow.” Thomas rubs his arm, looking at Christopher as if he’d dearly love to strike him back. But I gesture for them to quiet their talk.
“He disembarks.”
Leaving the others behind with a shouted order that I cannot hear, Aldwine makes his way through the crowd. Slaps on the back and words of welcome tell me that he is well-liked.
By Aedre too.
The twinge of jealousy is not new. She speaks of him as a god. No ill words ever leave her mouth where Aldwine is concerned. And though she’s told me more than once that he is as a brother to her, now, seeing the man, I wonder how such a thing is possible. Even I can see another rumor of him is indeed true.
Though his father is also a good-looking man, Aldwine is more handsome by far. I’ve heard many stories of Aldwine’s mother, even from the king himself. If he did love her, as he claimed, perhaps her beauty played a role?
As he approaches our spot, I imagine Aldwine and Aedre together and then immediately push the vile thought away, replacing it with another more pleasant one. Of Aedre in my arms, kissing me with abandon, responding to each stroke of my tongue with one of her own.
“Glaring at the man will not bring him around to our cause,” Thomas says beside me.
I turn my head toward him, away from the king’s son.
“I was not glaring.”
My voice is thick with jealousy.
Thomas clears his throat.
“I may have been glaring,” I admit. And Thomas knows why. I’ve told him about Aedre’s promise to set up a meeting with Aldwine. He is intelligent enough to surmise the rest.
“God willing, he will be the next king of Meria.” He lowers his voice. “Remember your purpose here, Vanni.”
I look back at Aldwine as he makes his way through the crowd.
Never in all the years I’ve served Galfrid have I given a reason for my loyalty, my motives, to be questioned. And as much as I wish to lash out at Thomas, to refute his words, it would be foolish to do so.
I had forgotten our purpose, if only momentarily. I’m not here to steal kisses from Aedre, however pleasing it would be. My purpose is to speak with that man, the one being feted by his people. The one Aedre and her family do not believe will return with us.
My duty is to convince him otherwise.
Chapter Nineteen
Aedre
Though just on the edge of the village, the walk to Nord Manor takes a bit of time and effort. Built on a massive rock island, the base of which becomes submerged at high tide, it is an impregnable and impressive structure. As I walk the long path leading to it, the low tide allowing me to pass, my mind turns over and over again, as it has since yesterday. So many questions invade my thoughts. I have a clear answer to only one.
Should I have kissed Lord Vanni d’Abella, Curia Commander to the King of Meria?
The answer is a resounding yes.
Had I gone a lifetime without such a kiss, I would never have understood the power of love, of desire—why people are willing to drink any concoction, recite any spell, for such a feeling.
Of course, I am not in love with Vanni. But he does invoke something in me I’d never experienced or understood before. Not really.
While some imagine themselves at court, surrounded by elaborate gowns and glorious luxuries, I’ve not once wished for such things. My grandmother has ensured I wish only to be surrounded by love. By my family. Someday, perhaps, that family will grow and I will take a husband.
Unfortunately, Vanni could never be that man. He is King Galfrid’s man through and through.
I come to the gatehouse after an uphill climb. A small tower with its circled stone wall encompassing the keep within its courtyard greets me, and I wave up at the guard. Though I can’t see his face from here, the portcullis is opened. Surrounded by water, this small island accessible only during low tide took years to build but is considered the crowning glory of Murwood End, much to the consternation of Lord Bailor, the highest ranking noble here. Kipp’s father, Sir Nicholas, was knighted on the battlefield but held no other title. A mercenary, he’d saved a lifetime’s worth of gold to make Nord Manor possible.
A good man, Nicholas Aldwine had left this manor, which would be considered a castle by some, as well as his legacy, to Kipp, whom he’d accepted as his son.
Kipp would never leave it, most especially not to return to a man he despises. But I made a promise to Vanni and intend to keep it. Even if it hastens Vanni’s departure from Murwood End.
I refuse to regret that kiss.
“Good day, Lady Aedre,” Kipp’s steward, one of just a handful of servants at Nord, greets me as he opens the door.
“Good day.” I walk inside and spot him immediately.
Kipp is a difficult man to miss. As always, he is dressed simply. Braies and a linen tunic, given the warm temperature. And yet, he’s a tall, broad man, and there’s a regal quality to him that must have been passed to him in Galfrid’s blood. It is a silly thought, but difficult to dismiss.
I could very much imagine him on the throne.
“Aedre? I’d have come to see you,” he says, leaping up from his chair. Unlike at Lord Bailor’s home, Anbarth Castle, there is no dais or special seat for Kipp. As he says often, he is neither a great lord or even a knight but a Voyager and the son of a mercenary.
“Today? Tomorrow? A sennight from now?”
He wraps his arms around me and I squeeze back, grateful for his return.
“I’d have come—” he releases me, laughing, “—eventually.”
There are few in the hall. I raise my hand to greet the men who hardly leave Kipp’s side, a group of twelve fellow Voyagers as loyal to Kipp as if he were their lord.
They say Nord Manor is akin to a monastery for the abundance of unmarried men and lack of women. With two very obvious differences . . . they’re neither religious or celibate.
“Not soon enough.” I nod away from the hall. “I’d speak to you privately.”
The words have barely left my mouth before Kipp starts striding toward the entranceway whence I just emerged.
A small solar just up the stairs is by far the most spectacular chamber in the entire manor. It boasts large windows open to the sea beyond.
“Something’s troubling you?” he asks as he settles into his chair.
I sit across from him in a high back, velvet-lined chair. The upholstery is brightly colored, much like the tapestries that hang on the walls—Kipp’s mother’s attempt to lighten the long, dark days here in the north.
“Have you spoken to anyone s
ince returning?”
“Last eve when we made port, aye.”
“Then you’ve heard we have visitors?”
A visit by the king’s men would likely be one of the first pieces of news Kipp learned of upon his return. Not because everyone knows his secret, for they don’t, but because it is the most significant thing to have happened in Murwood End of late.
“Aye.”
Suspicious now, Kipp’s jaw ticks as it is wont to do.
“What were you told of them?”
Crossing his arms, Kipp leans back in his chair, legs outstretched. I will not tell him, for his sorrow at his adoptive father’s passing has not yet abated, but Kipp reminds me very much of him at this moment. In this position.
“There are four of them. Their leader is King Galfrid’s commander.”
I nod.
“The commander has bested many men, including Agnar, since he arrived less than a sennight ago.”
“You are well-informed.”
He frowns. “Though not as well-informed as you, I presume?”
If only Kipp knew the whole truth. I debate telling him, as I usually share everything with him, more so even than Amma. But this feels . . . different.
Something in my expression must put him on alert, for he leans forward, no longer relaxed at all. Knowing Kipp as I do, I blurt out the news so as not to delay the inevitable.
“The prince is dead. Drowned in a shipwreck. They’re here to convince you to return with them.”
I wait for him to grasp the full import of my words.
“Return with them . . .”
Bracing for his reaction, I say, “To be named as King Galfrid’s successor.”
Eyes wide, Kipp jumps from his seat, curses tumbling from his mouth.
I stand, look out to the sea, and wait for him to calm.
“Whoreson. He thinks I would do such a thing?” I do not answer, knowing he is speaking to himself. “After all these years . . . he only cares to remember who I am now that his precious son is dead. God rest his soul.”
Kipp is not a cruel man, so I’m thankful he added the last bit, though the sentiment surprises me too. He has never been a religious man.
The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1) Page 9