by Anne Bishop
She peeked over the top shelf, then ducked back down out of sight. Poor man. Roxie had been sneering at his merchandise since she walked in the door, proclaiming loudly that the aristo shops in Doun had much better fare. But that hadn't stopped her from plunking several items on the counter. And now…
"What do you mean I can't put it on the account?" Roxie's voice rose toward a screech. "He told me I could buy anything I wanted and put it on his account."
"Unfortunately," the proprietor replied, his voice condemning in its politeness, "Prince Yaslana has not informed me of that fact."
Marian winced. She'd bought a few things at the shops she usually patronized, but then it had occurred to her that all the merchants would owe a tithe to Lucivar, so she'd taken one of the horse-drawn cabs over to this side of the village to spread her spending around a little. She'd felt self-conscious about walking into a shop that so obviously catered to the aristo families in Riada. Only the fact that she was buying these things for Lucivar's home and Lucivar's table had kept her from walking right back out.
That and the books. The merchant's shop she usually went to had a small selection of books, and most of them were used…and there'd been nothing there that she hadn't already read since Jaenelle was very generous about loaning her books. But there'd been so many to choose from in this shop, she'd lost track of time as she browsed the shelves. If she'd simply picked one that had interested her, she would have completed her purchases and been out of the shop before Roxie came in.
"He's hardly going to tell every merchant in the village that we're lovers," Roxie snapped. "Especially since we've tried to be discreet about our liaison."
Marian swallowed wrong and almost choked, so she didn't hear the proprietor's response.
"Oh, very well," Roxie said. "You can open an account for me, and Lucivar will settle it with you later."
"I am sorry, Lady, but I cannot open an account for you on the expectation that Prince Yaslana will pay it."
"I told you, we're lovers."
"And it has been my experience that a man who is willing to share his bed may not necessarily be willing to share his purse. If you do not have the funds for the purchases, I can hold the items for a few days."
"Don't bother," Roxie snapped. "The merchants in Doun wouldn't treat me this way."
"Then I suggest you do your shopping in Doun."
When she heard the door open, Marian rose from her crouch. But Roxie hadn't quite left the shop. For a long moment, their eyes met. Then something outside caught Roxie's attention, and she left the shop in a hurry.
Working to steady her nerves, Marian approached the counter.
"Have you found everything you wanted?" the proprietor asked.
"Yes, thank you," Marian replied, trying not to stammer. She swallowed hard. "Prince Yaslana instructed me to have the household purchases put on his account."
"I see." He flicked a look at the door as someone entered the shop. Why had she come to this part of the village? Why hadn't she kept to the shops where she felt she belonged? Why— "What's all this?"
Jaenelle was suddenly beside her, looking at the cookware with a gleam in her eyes that was downright scary. "Lady Angelline," Marian said.
Jaenelle smiled. "You finally informed Lucivar that he wasn't getting another dinner until you had the proper tools to cook with, didn't you?"
"Not exactly," Marian muttered.
"You're Lady Marian?" the proprietor asked.
"Yes." Maybe she shouldn't be surprised that he'd heard her name. After all, she and Lucivar were the only Eyriens living near Riada.
"Are you sure you have everything?" Jaenelle asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. I thought about—"
But Jaenelle was already heading toward the part of the shop that held household goods, and remembering their last shopping trip, Marian rushed after her.
"I don't need the large cheese grater," Marian said a few minutes later, trying to keep her voice from edging toward desperation. It wasn't a question of taste, as it had been when they'd shopped for Lucivar's furniture, it was Jaenelle's unflagging idea that if Marian needed one of something for the kitchen, two would be better.
"Why not?" Jaenelle said. "You only have the little one."
"The smaller one is all I need. Really." She took the cheese grater out of Jaenelle's hands and put it back on the shelf.
Since she couldn't hold Jaenelle back, she tried to steer the direction of that energy and enthusiasm, so it wasn't really her fault that they ended up buying a set of dishes… and glasses… and silverware… and a corner shelf for what use she didn't know except Jaenelle thought it would look nice in the kitchen.
Numbed by the sheer quantity of purchases, she watched the proprietor tally up the cost and wondered how many years of tithes had just been eliminated.
Then the proprietor turned to the smaller stack of items on the counter.
"No," Marian said. "Those don't go on Prince Yaslana's account. Those are my purchases."
As he tallied up her purchases, she called in the wallet she'd bought on her last shopping trip. Most of her wages were tucked in the back of the dresser drawer that held her underthings. The wallet held the funds she allowed herself to spend freely. She opened it and riffled the copper marks just as the proprietor finished his tally.
Heat flooded her face. Not enough. She hadn't come to the village to shop for herself and hadn't checked to see how much was in her wallet before she left the eyrie. And she hadn't expected to find that wonderful, soft wool material that she wanted to make into a robe for Lucivar as a Winsol gift. She could still afford the material, but…
After a wistful look at the two books she'd selected, she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't bring enough with me."
"Perhaps the Lady would like to open an account?" the proprietor asked.
She just stared at him. Why would he give a housekeeper an account when he wouldn't open one for Roxie, who came from an aristo family?
"That's practical," Jaenelle said.
That settled it—at least as far as Jaenelle and the proprietor were concerned.
"Thank you," Marian said, after she reviewed the neatly written list and had initialed the paper next to the last item.
"It is my pleasure, Lady," the proprietor replied.
"So," Jaenelle said. "Are you going home to play with your new toys?"
"They're not toys, they're tools," Marian replied as she vanished the material and books. Before she could deal with the rest of the purchases, they vanished.
Jaenelle smiled at her. "I'll come back with you. Then you can tell me what all of those things do."
"Do?"
"I'm not allowed in the kitchen at the Hall, so I don't see most of the things you bought."
"You don't know how to cook? Not at all?"
"No," Jaenelle said sadly.
Marian couldn't believe it. Lucivar could put together an acceptable meal, and he'd mentioned a few times that his father was quite a good cook when the High Lord felt inclined. Why hadn't either of them taught Jaenelle how to put together a simple meal?
"I can teach you," Marian said. "But we'll have to start with something very simple."
Jaenelle beamed. "Simple is good." The proprietor looked amused.
As she and Jaenelle walked out of the shop, Marian wondered how long it would take for the rest of the village to hear that Prince Yaslana's housekeeper was giving the Queen of Ebon Askavi a cooking lesson.
Since he'd been greeted by grinning merchants when he stopped in Riada on his way home, Lucivar expected to find Marian in the kitchen playing with her new toys. The counter was stacked with things, but his little hearth witch was just sitting at the table, frowning at two bowls filled with eggs. After studying the bottle on the table and considering the glazed look in her eyes, he doubted the two fingers of brandy in the glass near her hand was the first drink she'd poured.
Figuring he wasn't going to see dinner anytime soon, he pointed
at the eggs. "Are those cooked?"
"Mmm," Marian said.
He took one from the nearest bowl and peeled off the shell. Just as he punched his thumb into the center to break the egg in half, Marian said, "No! Not…"
Raw yolk fountained up and flowed over his hands. Lucivar looked at Marian. Marian looked at him. "You let my sister play in the kitchen, didn't you?" Which explained why his little hearth witch had indulged in several glasses of brandy. Marian stared at the egg dripping off his hands. "She's the Queen of Ebon Askavi. She's the most powerful witch in Kaeleer. And she can't boil an egg."
"I know. That's why we don't let her play in the kitchen."
Marian shook her head. "How can she not be able to boil an egg? You don't even need Craft for it. All she did was put the eggs in the water." She blew out a breath. "How can you end up with eggs that have the whites fully cooked and the yolks still raw?"
"I don't know. My father thinks it's because she's so powerful that some things don't react as expected."
"I thought I'd explained something wrong," Marian said. "So after she left, I cooked the rest of the eggs. They're perfect." She wobbled in her chair. "Jaenelle felt so bad when she left."
"Your offer to teach her was a kind gesture," Lucivar said. "But, Marian? This is a witch who, when she was sixteen, blew up the kitchen at the Hall because she confused the spell she was putting together with the casserole she and her friend Karla were making and put the wrong mixture in the oven. Think about that for a minute. Casserole. Spell. They couldn't tell the difference by looking at what was in the dishes."
"She blew up the kitchen?"
"Destroyed it. Right down to the last wooden spoon."
Marian shuddered.
"So the next time you want to do something kind for Jaenelle, make her a casserole or bake some nutcakes. But don't let her play in the kitchen."
Putting a shield around his hands so he wouldn't drip yolk, Lucivar walked over to the sink and used Craft to turn on the water taps. As he washed his hands, he said, "Do I dare ask what's for dinner?"
Marian hiccuped. "Eggs."
He turned off the water and sighed. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
SIXTEEN
"I have work," Marian said as Lucivar hauled her out of the kitchen and into the eyrie's front room. Tassle followed them, making worried little huffy sounds.
"The work will still be there an hour from now," Lucivar replied. She looked at the thick drops of rain hitting the glass doors that led to the lawn beyond. If it got any colder, that rain would turn to snow. "You're just doing this because you're bored."
Using Craft, Lucivar moved the furniture against the walls, leaving a large bare circle of stone floor. "If I was bored, I'd go to the Hall and annoy my father. That perks up both our days."
Bet it doesn't perk them up in the same way, Marian thought. "I don't want to do this."
"Whining about it won't do you any good."
Whining? She bristled at the insult. She wasn't whining. She was pointing out the obvious to a thickheaded male. Females did not use Eyrien weapons. Ask any Eyrien male…except the one standing in front of her…and he'd tell you that.
Since being reasonable wasn't going to work, she lowered her voice and tried menacing. "I've got a skillet, and I know how to use it." His quick grin wasn't the reaction she'd hoped for. "That's fine," he said, turning. "Now you're going to acquire skill with a traditional weapon."
"I'm not…"
He spun back toward her, and shouted, "If you get hurt because you're too damn stubborn to learn how to defend yourself, I will beat the shit out of you!"
Goaded by the unexpected verbal shove, she shoved back. "If you ever raise a hand to me, I will gut you!"
They stared at each other. She had that one moment for fear to zing through her as she realized she'd just threatened a Warlord Prince. Before she could move, his hands clamped on her waist. One quick toss in the air. As she came down, he wrapped his arms around her lower back and buttocks and spun her around and around.
"Ha! I knew you had it in you!" He laughed as he spun her.
"Stop!" Marian grabbed his shoulders. "Lucivar, stop"
He stopped. Since the room was still circling, she clung to his shoulders. Her feet didn't touch the floor, which put them eye to eye. With her heart pounding, she dared to look at him, hoping he wasn't too angry with her.
He didn't look angry at all. His eyes were lit with amusement, and he grinned at her as if she'd just done something wonderful.
Giving her a friendly squeeze, he said, "That's my feisty hearth witch. Now give us a snarl. Say Grrrr!"
Heat flooded her face. She pushed at his shoulders, wanting to get down, wanting to get away. He just tightened his arms.
"I'm not putting you down until I get a snarl," he said.
She looked away, mortified…and saw Tassle standing to one side, watching them. The wolf curled his lips, revealing an impressive set of teeth. After a moment, the lips relaxed. He waved the tip of his tail, then did the whole thing all over again.
She lowered her head, let her hair fall forward to hide her face. Great. Wonderful. A wolf was coaching her in how to snarl, and the man holding her off the ground…
She peeked at him. His grin had changed to that lazy, arrogant smile.
…would hold her like this all day if that's how long it took to get what he wanted.
She took a breath. Blew it out.
As soon as she was free, she was going to hide in her room. He could fix his own meals, wash his own dishes. They'd just see how long he grinned about that.
She took another breath. Blew it out.
The way she was pressed against him, there was no mistaking his body's response to hers. And there were all those warm, lovely muscles under her hands, just waiting to be touched, caressed…
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
Before she could do something stupid, she took another breath, raised her head, and said, "gr."
Lucivar's arrogant smile faded. His brows drew together in a frown. "What a prissy little gr. But it will have to do." Sighing, he loosened his arms, letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.
As soon as he released her, the rational part of her mind scampered off, leaving her with less sense than a rabbit. So she bolted.
Grab… lift… swing… plop. And she was right back where she'd started.
"You're going to learn to defend yourself, Marian," Lucivar said, an unyielding look in his gold eyes. "You don't have to like it, but you're going to learn."
When he called in the Eyrien sticks, Marian sagged with relief. At least these were the sparring sticks and not the bladed sticks used for fighting. Even so, an opponent could take a terrible beating. Her father had done it enough times to young warriors he brought to her mother's eyrie. He'd insist on a sparring session, with his daughters in attendance, so the young warrior could "show off his skills." Even a skilled youth couldn't match a full-grown Eyrien male who had been trained to fight.
And an unskilled hearth witch was no match for an Eyrien Warlord Prince.
She tightened her grip on the stick and set her feet in the stance she'd seen her father take.
Lucivar just looked at her feet. "What are you doing?"
She tensed, wondering where his first blow would hit. "This is the stance for sparring."
"Only if you want to be knocked on your ass."
She lowered the stick. "What?"
"You set your feet like that, you're going to eat dirt unless your opponent is smaller than you are."
So that explained why she'd never seen her father spar with anyone but half-trained youths. The fighting skills her father bragged about were nothing more than brags, just words without substance to justify what he did, and didn't do, for his family.
She hadn't thought about living with a man, hadn't really wanted to. That had never been part of her dream. Now she wondered what it would be like
to live that dream with a man who wasn't like her father. With Lucivar.
"Marian?"
She looked at him and realized she had no idea how long he'd been standing there, waiting, while her thoughts had wandered. "Are we going to spar?"
His lips twitched. "We'll get to it eventually. First you have to learn how to move."
Slow. Quiet. As graceful as a dance. He took her through each move, his voice flowing over her as he explained, corrected, praised. The warmth of his hand on her waist or hip as he guided her body. The movement of his own muscles as he demonstrated the next move. The clean male scent of him.
"Now we'll put all the moves together," Lucivar said. "Watch."
She watched. Grace and power. What would it be like to kiss him? Really kiss him? Would he bring all that grace and power to the bed? Would he be a generous lover? She'd only had one experience with sex after her Virgin Night, and that had been disappointing enough that she'd never been interested in trying again. But when a woman loved, wouldn't there be some pleasure from the act even if the body received none?
The thought staggered her, thrilled her, terrified her. Had she been falling in love with him all along? That would be foolish, wouldn't it? He might take a hearth witch for a lover to satisfy his body's needs, but he'd never give his heart to one. Would he?
"That's enough for the day."
She tripped over the sound of his voice, struggled to regain her balance. "What?"
"That's enough." He tugged the stick out of her hands. "I'm not sure where your mind wandered off to, but you weren't paying attention."
Oh, she'd been paying attention, but she'd been focused on the man and not the lesson.
"It's close to midday, and the weather has cleared." Lucivar smiled at her. "Why don't we fly down to the village? I'll buy you a meal."