Warrior's Moon A Love Story

by Jaclyn Hawkes

  “Peyton!” Her eyes widened and she felt her stomach do a somersault, but then he went on less suggestively, “I can only imagine what you’ll look like with the gown on as well. I may have to go to the ball in my armor.”

  At that, she rolled her eyes and finally laughed. “Will I do then?”

  He reached to carry the dress for her and replied, “You’ll far more than do. I so feel for the other men who will be attending the ball. I shall be the only man there tonight with my own personal enchantress.”

  Chantaya laughed, “Why Peyton, you wax eloquent. I had no idea there was a touch of the rogue in you.”

  “But of course you did. I’ve had a touch of the rogue near your whole life. I was just too busy keeping you in line to get out myself. Or maybe it’s my association with Matthew. At any rate, that look makes me feel the rogue; although I fear I may have to spend my time tonight defending my territory instead of the kingdom of Monciere. ‘Tis sure even Matthew himself will try to woo you away from me. Are you finished here then?”

  “Indeed.” Chantaya thanked the dressmaker and put a friendly arm round her shoulder as Peyton offered to pay her. She simply waved his coin away, saying she had already been paid and the two of them went out the door to the waiting carriage. As Peyton handed Chantaya inside, she glanced around to see several people looking askance at her face painting and she laughed to herself, knowing all who saw her thus were probably wishing they would be attending the royal masquerade ball this even at the castle as well.

  She settled into the carriage seat with a sigh and said to Peyton who watched her, smiling, “Thank you for not letting me talk us out of this, Pey. ‘Twould have been such a shame to have missed it.”

  Two hours later, when she stepped from her room after dressing, she had to stifle a laugh as she walked into the kitchen. Both Matthew and Shaun were trying to help Peyton figure out how to keep his own mask from slipping as he put on a positively swashbuckling three corner hat that sported a most voluminous fluffy feather. The three of them worked at it for several moments without noticing she was there before Chantaya finally reached onto a shelf, dipped a dainty finger into the sweet syrup there and dabbed it upon his temples. ‘Twas a trifle unconventional, but the mask stayed put instantly. Still laughing, she teasingly licked off her finger as all three of them turned to her.

  Once again, their complete and utter silence as they stared at her made her wonder, just for a moment, if there was something wrong with her appearance. Finally, Matthew, ever the jester, let out a low whistle, walked all the way round her, then whistled again, and said, “I challenge you to a duel for her, Wolfgar. This very moment. This very day. He who wins gets to accompany her to the castle.”

  Peyton chuckled, “Oh for pity’s sake, Ansel. No duel. You aren’t even invited and you’ve never bested me in aught but telling tall tales. I’d only have to kill you and you would miss the ball anyway.”

  Matthew put a dramatic hand to his chest. “But at least then I wouldn’t die of a wounded heart from watching such a heavenly vision of beauty walk away on another’s arm.”

  At that Shaun chuckled and said, “You? The fair Romeo of the entirety of the kingdom? Die of a wounded heart? Please, spare me the jesting! In truth, he’d probably only wound you and leave you to die slowly anyway, rogue that he is. So give it a holiday, Matthew.” Turning to Chantaya, Shaun said, “I however, have a much better chance of besting him with a blade for your favor, Miss Chantaya. Pray, I beg you, throw him over for me and ’tis that I shall waltz the night away with you in his stead. You deserve much the more virile and masculine suitor anyway.”

  Chantaya raised her eyebrows innocently and looked askance at Peyton, who fairly growled, “Best me with a blade? Surely you jest. And ‘twould this be the virile and masculine suitor who called her a boy and a little bugger and pressed me to leave her home but less than one day ago?”

  Shaun shook his head and laughed at himself, as he looked at Chantaya, saying, “How could I have ever been so blind and foolish, m’lady? Please, I beg of you, forgive me. ‘Twas the ale. It had to have been. I was blinded by the ale. For never have I beheld such a vision of grace and loveliness.”

  Peyton bowed and doffed his feathered hat to Chantaya while saying to Shaun, “You hadn’t imbibed yet a drop of ale. ‘Tis simply that you’ve the brain of a turtle at times. Give it a rest, Squire Shaun. It shall be me, and only me, who will accompany said vision. And ’tis true that I would fight to the death for the honor.” To Chantaya, he added mildly, “Although, ’tis also true, that I’ve spent the finest years of my life protecting you from any number of briar patches you’ve found yourself in, so in reality, I’ve truly earned this privilege. Have I not, my beauty?”

  With a soft laugh, Chantaya admitted, “‘Tis indeed that you have, Sir Knight. From the very day we met, I have ever been and shall ever be in your debt. You have earned all manner of privileges, the least of which is accompanying me to the castle this even. Are you ready then, Sir? Shall we away?”

  “Now that my mask is properly pasted in place, indeed, we should away, before I am pressed to duel just to keep you. ‘Twould be a short duel, to be sure.” He looked pointedly at his two grinning friends. “But I’d hate to soil this fine feather with the blood of either a rake or a dimwit. Do let us be gone.”

  She dusted her hands together dramatically and then offered him the same dainty hand she had just licked. “As you wish, Sir Knight.”

  Chapter 18

  They had only just been handed out of their carriage when people around them began to watch them and nod their greetings, although Peyton recognized only a handful under their masks. He’d simply been teasing Chantaya about having to defend his territory, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would, indeed have to parry the occasional flirtation from other men toward Chantaya. She simply looked too stunning tonight. There wasn’t a man on the continent, let alone in the kingdom, who wouldn’t want to at least speak to a woman as beautiful as she looked this even.

  They walked up the cobblestone drive toward the big front door of the castle and Chantaya looked all around. She seemed to be drinking in all the sights and sounds of this life and place so far removed from what she was used to. Still, as they were admitted at the archway into the great hall, she smiled and walked confidently at his side as if she did this kind of thing every day.

  Once inside, they joined a line of people waiting to greet the royal family who stood receiving their guests in front of a quartet of string musicians playing in the background. He knew she was nervous, but as she offered her lovely hand to the feeble dowager queen mother, she greeted the stately, older women with absolute grace and poise and soon the two of them were actually giggling like old friends.

  Prince Laird was next in line and he grinned at Peyton with his usual mischief as he shook Peyton’s hand and said, “Sir Peyton. She made it then. No wonder you wouldn’t kiss the troll. I see what you mean by not seeming a sister. You were correct. There’s absolutely no way.”

  Peyton glanced to where Chantaya was still conversing with the prince’s ancient grandmother and agreed, “No. Truly not. You’re not supposed to be able to tell who I am under this disguise.”

  The prince only laughed. “There are not two men with shoulders the likes of yours in the whole of the world, Sir Peyton. ‘Tis not hard to tell.” The prince was still all but staring at Chantaya and added, “The blue does suit her eyes. They’re incredible.”

  With a smile that felt just a trifle tight, Peyton replied, “She’s also incredibly taken, Your Highness. If I can say so respectably. You’re not thinking about using your royal power to overthrow my kingdom, are you, Sire?”

  Looking back to Peyton, with an honest smile, the prince assured him quietly, “Never, Wolfgar. I’m absolutely to be trusted. Well, unless I hear rumors that you’ve made her cry. Then, all bets would be called and you could know of a surety that I’d do my utmost to win her heart from you. Not only is she e
xquisite, but she can also get through the considerable cynicism of my grandmother. Look at the two of them. Your friend must be genuine. No one fools my grandmother.”

  Chantaya laughed just then. A happy, musical sound that made those around laugh with her and she leaned to touch the arm of the dowager queen affectionately, who grasped her hand to pat it. Peyton couldn’t believe his eyes. Never in his life would he have thought to visit so with the dowager queen and never would he have believed she would laugh like that in return.

  He turned to glance at the prince, who only chuckled and raised his own eyebrows and then leaned in and said, “See what I mean? I almost hope you do make her cry. She’s a lovely creature. You’ve got your work cut out for you here tonight. I see that Lord Baffin is considering eating her up, and that young, no-good Damian Rosskeene is considering worse than that. Look at him. At least he doesn’t appear to recognize her. You’d best keep the wall securely up round your kingdom.”

  Glancing around, Peyton felt his gut tighten when he saw the way Damian Rosskeene was watching her and said, “Securely up, and well guarded. I may even call in reinforcements among the knights.”

  Still whispering closely, the prince shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that, Sir Peyton. With a girl as lovely as that, even your brother knights are likely to want to overthrow.”

  The line moved on, although for Peyton, some of the glamour had worn off the evening as he watched the men watching Chantaya. Eventually, the guests were seated for an elegant dinner and it was almost with a sigh of relief that Peyton saw they were seated next to and across from either close friends, or elderly nobles who appeared to be somewhat trustworthy. Relaxing at last, as he helped Chantaya into her seat, he leaned in and whispered, “Now if only you had cooked the meal. The kitchen staff here could use a lesson in seasoning from you.” After only one bite, Chantaya looked up into his eyes and gave him an understanding smile.

  After the dinner, when the chamber musicians began to play the waltz, Peyton finally truly felt comfortable as he took Chantaya into his arms to begin to dance. For the first time this night, he truly felt like he was just Peyton, and she was just Chani, the two childhood friends who had grown up inseparable. ‘Twas infinitely comforting. Especially when she all but melted against him and he could smell the fragrance of her lovely hair and feel her body soft against his. Tonight, with its gentry and finery was fine, but what he really wanted—nay truly craved, was just soon to be her husband and be able to be with her as much and as closely as he’d dreamed.

  They danced through several sets and the temperature in the room went up as the floor became more crowded. Finally, as they moved near one of the doors that had been opened into the courtyard for ventilation, Peyton deftly swung Chantaya to the side and they quietly stepped outside.

  It felt cooler immediately and he felt her inhale a refreshing breath of air and sigh against his neck. He’d been thinking to slip off into one of the gardens, but she felt so good in his arms that he simply continued to dance with her to the music that floated through the open doorway into the darkness where they were.

  Chantaya moved closer to him still and he smiled as she whispered, “‘Tis far more romantic out here out of the lights and the crowd, is it not, Pey?”

  He kissed her temple just above the mask that rested there beside her silken hair, gathered her close enough that he could feel the front of her thighs against the front of his and murmured, “It is. Far and away more.”

  In their swaying to the music, he pulled her behind a rose hedge that lined the path to the courtyard gardens and wrapped his arms all the way around her as she whispered dreamily, “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of someday dancing at a royal ball with a handsome knight. Did you know that, Peyton? Then, I never imagined it would come true. Have I ever told you?”

  “Never.” Their waltzing narrowed until they were almost standing in one place and Peyton whispered huskily against her hair, “When I was a lonely knight, I dreamed of someday holding you like this in the seclusion of an enchanted fragrant garden and kissing you until I drew you right into my soul. I hoped and prayed it would come true. Have I ever told you?”

  “Mmm, never.”

  The music stopped then. At least Peyton thought it did, because he couldn’t hear it over the beating of his heart as he bent his head to slip off her gossamer veil and kiss her sweet, warm mouth. Maybe tonight they weren’t two young peasants who had been childhood playmates. But that was a good thing, because the emotions he was feeling weren’t those of a boy and the glittering enchantress he held in his arms certainly didn’t feel like a young girl.

  He crushed her softness to him and kissed her until his heart pounded and his brain shut down, and he truly felt he was breathing her in. She moaned softly and he worried about hurting the great cut on her ribs. Backing off a portion, he released her mouth to look into her sparkling eyes and ask, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head and he moved from her mouth to kiss her neck just below her ear where her earrings dangled and those exquisite, silken, sable curls caressed his lips. As he nuzzled her, she drew in a breath and it made him want her even closer still. Close enough that nothing could ever come between them. Gently, he bit the tender lobe of her ear and her body nearly seared his as she clung to him, her breathing almost intoxicating against his skin.

  With a ragged breath, he broke from her in utter frustration and then took her hand to pull her further up the hedged path, away from the doors of the castle and deeper into the darkness of the garden. When the music was just faint melody, he backed her up against the stone wall behind them and breathed in deeply as he wrapped her back in his arms. He kissed her again, this time hungrily, almost desperately, with a passion he was hard put to keep gentle. Especially when Chantaya was so close to his body that he could tell she was feeling the exact same need.

  He kissed her mouth, teasing it and tasting it and reveling in the power he wielded as he knew she felt that same, sweet, warm need. When he moved to her neck again, she sighed and it sounded like forever to him. How he loved this girl. How he needed her in his life and in his heart and eventually—soon, in his bed. He could never tell her that, but he admitted it to himself often lately. How could he not? She was the most exquisite, desirable woman he could ever imagine. He thought about that and knew immediately that it wasn’t a good idea right at this moment. She was too close. Too sweet, and warm and innocently willing. She trusted him.

  With a literal groan, he pulled himself back from wanting to swallow her in his passion. She trusted him. He cursed inwardly in frustration and kissed her mouth hard, one last, hungry, lingering time and then moved back to that sweet hollow on her neck below her ear that he was coming to know could turn her inside out.

  He knew this girl as well as he knew himself. Still, he was only lately coming to know her in a physically intimate way, and while it was the sweetest, most tempting, most satisfying thing he’d ever known. ‘Twas also the most frustrating and dangerous. She had far more power over him than any armored foe in battle. And generated a heat that could melt his usual iron willed self control if he allowed it. But he couldn’t allow it. Not yet.

  Stepping far enough away from her to break all contact between them, he sighed and ran a shaking hand through his hair as he watched her sparkling eyes look up at him in question. He blew out a breath and she self-consciously smiled up at him with utter, innocent trust in her eyes. Her complete faith in him made him feel almost guilty for the feelings that welled when he held her. They needed to get married. Maybe living so far from each other was a good thing as far as keeping him from her physically, but it was killing him, completely aside from the fact that she wasn’t safe at Rosskeene Manor.

  With another sigh, he leaned and gave her the most tender of kisses and then reached inside his dress tunic to grasp the medallion that hung round his neck. Pulling it off over his head, he stepped back again and reached for her hand. He turned it upward and dan
gled the medallion over it and then looked up into her beautiful, confused blue velvet eyes. After searching them for a moment, he whispered, “I love you, Chantaya Isabella Kincraig. Would you do me the honor of marrying me? Just as soon as we can possibly arrange it?”

  She looked up at him in wonder and then teared up as she nodded and whispered back, “Yes.” She gave a tremulous smile and he placed the medallion in her palm and gently closed her small hand around it.

  “I know you can’t wear a ring yet until you leave Rosskeene’s, but wear this. Next to your heart. Wear it and know that even if we’re still apart for a short while, I’m under this same moon somewhere. And that I love you, and I miss you and soon we’ll be together. As man and wife. Forever and ever. It has my knight’s crest on it. I pray it will bring you a measure of safety and peace.” He gave her a grin and added, “Twill be more comfortable than a letter to keep there.”

  She smiled back, slipped the medallion over her head and down inside the bodice of her gown and snuggled against him once more. “The letters haven’t been unduly uncomfortable. They warm my heart.”

  Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms back around her gently and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair before leaning to kiss it. “As you warm mine, Chani. Ever you have warmed my heart.”

  They stood there like that for several moments and then she looked back up at him and he bent to kiss her again. Knowing even more surely than before that she was to soon be his wife made the passion rise in him stronger than ever and he swallowed a groan of frustration and slowly pulled away. He closed his eyes and shook his head and said, “We should go back inside. I uh, I, you . . . It’s . . . You’re . . . We should go back inside.”

  She gave him a sad smile, slipped her veil back on and took his hand to let him lead off toward the castle again and said quietly, “You’re right. But sometimes I purely hate that.”