"Best lower your weapons and step aside, Your Graces, else you're about to be perforated," she told the three Faolchúnna princes who were glaring at her with murderous intent.
"Drop those fucking swords!" The bellow of Captain Reese Fontanelle was loud enough to make the glass chimney on the lamp vibrate.
Breck Aeolian and his brothers Vale and Knoll spun around to face several angry men whose weapons were pointed right at them.
"Akkadians!" Knoll hissed and his hand tightened on his sword.
"And friends of your brother's," Lauryl said loudly to gain the attention of all the men crowding the small room.
"Brother?" Reese repeated and motioned his men to lower their blades.
"The tall one is the Prince Regent," Lauryl announced. "The one who spoke is Prince Knoll and the other is Prince Vale."
Breck was so concerned for Glade that he turned to face Lauryl, mindless of the armed men at his back. "What has happened to our brother?" he demanded, advancing on the bed where Glade lay in complete oblivion of what has happening around him.
"He contracted a rodent-borne illness while at Blaithmoor," Lauryl replied. "He is very ill so be good enough to tamp down the volume of your words."
The eldest Faolchúnna prince handed his sword to Lauryl then put his hand to Glade's sweaty brow. His gaze shifted angrily over his brother's bound wrists. "Why the hell is he tied to this gods-be-damned bed?"
"To keep him from hurting himself," Lauryl replied as she laid the blade aside. "He has been hallucinating and isn't aware of where he is or who I am."
Knoll and Vale skirted the foot of the bed to go to the other side, both looking down at their ill brother with worry. It was Vale who asked if Glade would be all right.
"The Healer says he will but it will take time."
"If all is well here," Reese said, "my men and I will leave you."
"Thank you, Captain," Lauryl told him.
Breck waited until the room was silent, the Rangers gone before he sat down carefully on the side of the bed. "He looks so pale."
"Actually, he looked worse when I extricated him from Blaithmoor," Lauryl said.
"We need to get him home," Knoll declared.
"Aye and the sooner the better," Breck agreed. He looked around at Lauryl. "We owe you a greater debt than we will ever be able to pay you, Milady. If he'd stayed in that dungeon…" He shuddered. "There is no telling what would have became of him."
Lauryl wasn't sure Glade should be moved but she doubted these men would listen to her. "If you intend to move him, you need to make sure the conveyance is heated. The chills that wrack his body have been so strong he chipped a tooth from the chattering."
"We could put a mattress in a wagon and ...."
"Get stuck in the mud," Vale interrupted Knoll. "We'll need a smaller conveyance and one that can be heated."
"He won't be able to sit up inside a carriage, you dolt!" Knoll argued.
"He won't have to," Lauryl said. "He can lay with his head in my lap."
All three men had been staring down at their brother and when she made that statement, all three heads snapped up as though pulled by a puppet master's strings.
Lauryl almost laughed at the three identical expressions of shock that had dropped the men's mouths, rounded their eyes and stilled their breaths.
"I have no intention of being left behind," she said. "Where Wolfboy goes, I go!"
Breck's tone was incredulous. "Wolfboy?" he repeated. He stared at her then his own face turned as pale as Glade. "Oh, by the gods, please don't tell me he's done what I hope to hell he didn't!"
Vale's brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
Knoll jabbed his brother in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "He has taken the wench's blood."
A look of shock passed over Vale's handsome face and his eyes bulged from his head. "Oh, surely not!" he protested. "Glade wouldn't do something so stupid!"
But the eldest Faolchúnna prince knew better. His attention was steady on Lauryl and her face said it all. "No," he whispered. "No."
"Your brother was starving for lack of Sustenance," Lauryl said. "He was a heartbeat away from going mad. I gave him what he needed though he tried to dissuade me."
Knoll sagged against the wall behind him, shaking his head in disbelief. "Woman, do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I didn't at the time but I do now," Lauryl answered and all three men turned their eyes to her. She shrugged. "And before you ask, even if I had known what the outcome of it was going to be, I believe I would have done the same."
The three princes looked at one another.
"Are you satisfied now, Vale?" Knoll growled.
"Me?" Vale countered. "What…?"
"We ought to beat the shit out of you for suggesting we hire this woman in the first place!" Breck hissed.
"Aye well, the damage has been done and we'll have to make the best of it!" Knoll griped. He--like his oldest brother--was glaring murderously at Vale.
"I didn't tell her to give him her blood!" Vale defended himself.
"Have you any notion what is going to happen to Glade because of this?" Breck demanded.
"Nothing had better happen to him!" Lauryl stated. "I insisted he…"
Breck jumped up from the bed and rounded on her, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her up against the wall. His lips were skinned back from his teeth as he held her there. "They will punish him for taking an outsider's blood and enthralling you!"
Lauryl was choking from the fierce hold and trying to pry the Faolchúnna's fingers from her neck, but an enraged one of his kind was stronger, faster and more vicious than any opponent she'd ever encountered and the only thing she could do to break the hold that was slowly turning the room around her black was to bring her knee up into his groin.
Which she did with the last ounce of her diminishing strength.
Breck gagged and stumbled back, his hands leaving her throat to protectively cup his abused genitals. He dropped to one knee--unable to make a sound as the agony spread through his lower belly and down into his thighs. When his brother's would have attacked the Hell Hag, he managed to hold up a hand to stay them. Heaving, gulping in air, he knelt there with his extended hand trembling until Vale and Knoll stopped then he dropped his arm.
"Don't you ever put your hands on me again, Fur Back!" Lauryl spat, using the insult for his kind that she knew would do the most damage to his pride.
Knoll and Vale spoke in unison, cursing her for a Hell Hag and questioning her parentage and sexual preferences but once again Breck found the strength to hold up a hand to cut off his brothers' angry shouts. He finally raised his head and looked into Lauryl's eyes.
"Forgive. Me." He had to force the words past a throat constricted with pain.
Knoll and Vale exchanged stunned looks. Neither had ever heard their eldest brother apologize to anyone--not even his Lady-wife whom he loved beyond reason. Their attention went to Lauryl and her next words brought them both up straight.
"If there is punishment to be had, I will take it upon myself," Lauryl stated. "I forced him to take my blood."
Breck shuddered at her words and his shoulders drooped. "This is not good," he whispered.
"You'd best help your brother to his feet," Lauryl instructed.
Knoll and Vale stepped around the bed and reached down to lift Breck up. Though the Prince Regent grimaced brutally, he kept his feet until they eased him over to the bed so he could sit down gingerly.
"Don't ever fuck with my woman, again."
Four sets of eyes flew to the man lying on the bed. Glade's eyes were open, his face greased with sweat but it was the intense glower in his gaze that told his brothers all they would ever need to know.
Lauryl shot over to the bed and leaned over him, putting a hand to his cheek. Though his flesh was still raging with fever, at least he had awakened and was pulling weakly at his bonds.
"Untie me, Lass," he asked, his gaze softening as he met hers.
Lauryl reached for his left wrist as Knoll hurried around to the other side of the bed to release his right wrist. Vale moved to the foot of the bed to untie his brother's ankles.
"Water," Glade whispered and the strain of the violent headache throbbing between his temples showed on his face.
Lauryl poured him a cup from the pitcher on the bedside table then gently ran a hand under his sweaty neck to lift his head so he could drink.
Breck had seen the look that passed between Glade and the woman and had to look away. His own expression said there was going to be trouble. He looked over at Knoll. "Go see about that carriage," he instructed. "The sooner we get him home, the better he'll be."
Knoll nodded and left.
"Not too much," Lauryl said, pulling the cup back. "You'll most likely throw what you drank back up."
"I stink," Glade said.
"Aye, you do," Breck agreed with a smile and when Glade looked at him, he winked. "But then you always have."
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in," Glade mumbled and closed his eyes to the pain in his head but he had laced his fingers through Lauryl's and held her hand firmly.
"Are your horses at the stable here?" Vale asked Lauryl.
"There is only the one," she replied then her lips thinned. "And the wooly."
"Wooly?" Breck questioned suspiciously then frowned. "What wooly?"
"My wooly," Glade replied without opening his eyes.
"Keyrragh," Lauryl provided.
Breck's frown deepened then he groaned. "Oh, Glade, you didn't enthrall a gods-be-damned female wooly, too!"
Vale looked shocked to the core of his being. "We never take blood from living animals!" he gasped. "Glade, you know that!"
"And he knows why," Breck said on a long sigh. He plowed his hand through his hair. "Could this get any worse?"
"We only take blood from animals that have been recently slaughtered," Vale said in a highly indignant tone. "That is the law!"
"Aye, well what's one more law the little bastard has broken?" Breck inquired.
"It was either the wooly or me," Lauryl said.
Breck narrowed his eyes at her. "Be quiet. You are not helping, wench."
"She's my wooly and she comes with us," Glade said then gagged.
"Move!" Lauryl hissed at Breck as she bent down to snatch up the bedpan.
Despite the fading agony in his groin, Breck pushed off the bed a moment before Glade twisted to the side to relieve himself of the small amount of water he'd taken.
Standing together at the foot of the bed, the two princes observed as Lauryl held the bedpan while Glade wretched. They were silent as she put a hand to his forehead to brace it as he continued to strain. They heard her speaking quietly, soothingly to him and watched as their brother slid an arm around her waist to hold her--obviously needing the comfort of touching her. They saw her brace his head against her side and watched as she leaned down to place a kiss on his tousled hair. Then they looked at one another.
"I think it just got worse," Vale said quietly.
Chapter Eight
A week after he had arrived at Cumhacht Keep from Nonika, Glade was well enough to leave his room and be escorted into the presence of his parents. Though his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, had come often to his room to check on his convalescence, no matters of importance were discussed and he had known they would not be until he was able to stand on his own two feet before the throne of Faolchúnna.
The time was now here.
As he walked down the corridors of his family home, he felt the eyes of his tribesmen following him. Servants curtsied and bowed to him as he passed, soldiers lifted a fisted hand to their chests in salute, but no one spoke nor greeted him beyond the showing of fealty and respect.
He missed Lauryl so deeply his heart ached but she had left three days earlier on a job he had prayed she'd be unable to take but apparently the enthrallment he had given her did not extend to missing him so badly she would not leave him for her work.
"I will be back as soon as possible," she had assured him but that didn't help. He was lost without her and so miserable he wished he could cry. It made him wonder if he was the one enthralled.
Not that they had been allowed to be alone together since arriving at Cumhacht. The servants and guards watched them like hawks and they had to remain at arm's length with one another, never permitted to so much as touch fingertips with one another. They had been forced to rely on looks passed between them and soft words to convey their feelings. It was totally unsatisfactory but there was nothing to be done about it.
Arriving at the double oaken doors that led into the throne room, Glade straightened his shoulders as the guards opened the portals and he was ushered inside. His parents were sitting upon the gilt thrones of their stations and as the doors closed behind him--leaving only the three of them in the cavernous room--he felt like a small boy dragging his feet as he came toward them.
His father stood as Glade approached, the king coming to the edge of the dais upon which the thrones were seated. His mother remained seated--expressionless, as still as a statue.
"Your Majesty," Glade said and went to one knee before his King. He bowed his head.
"You are well, Gladeson?" King Barren inquired.
Glade lifted his head, all too aware he had not been given leave to stand. "Aye, Sire, I am."
"We are met here as family, Glade," Barren stated. "Dispense with the formalities."
Yet still Glade did not receive permission to get to his feet. "Thank you, Father."
The King began pacing with his hands curled behind his back. Neither he nor his Queen wore the official raiment of their position. Glade's father wore a simple rust colored leather jerkin over a soft cream shirt and dark brown corduroy pants. His Lady-wife was attired in a flowing gray cambric gown with a scooped neckline and long sleeves.
"You know why you are here," Barren said.
"Aye, Father." Glade fidgeted as he knelt there. His right knee was already beginning to ache.
"Then we will hear your side of this sordid mess," the King stated and turned to take his seat.
Realizing his position on the floor was part of his punishment Glade raised his head and cleared his throat. He knew his parents would not appreciate any dissembling on his part so he had practiced what he was about to say many times over the last few days, hoping he could be as clear and concise as needed.
"I spent six weeks in the dungeon of Blaithmoor," he said. "Placed there by the woman to who I am Joined."
"We know this," his father snapped. "Get on with it."
Glade swallowed, took a deep breath then let it out slowly. His eyes shifted to his mother but there was no sign on her lovely face that gave a hint to what she was thinking.
"I did not want to Join with Rolanda des Grieves. I said as much at the time."
"Aye, we know all that," the King allowed, his fingers tapping out an angry rhythm on the arm of his throne. "We will stipulate there was never any desire on your part to take the woman to wife and that there was no love lost between you."
"You were lucky to have your mother make a match for you based on love," he told his father.
"Your mother did what she thought best for you."
"I understand that, Father, but neither you nor Mother was forced to live with a decision that all but destroyed your life," Glade protested. "A decision that made my very existence a living hell."
"Surely you are exaggerating, Glade," his father insisted.
Glade shook his head. "Before I took my vows with Rolanda I knew the pleasures of the flesh and I enjoyed those pleasures. I liked having a woman touch me, kiss me, put her arms around me, my body joined with hers." He looked from his father to his mother. "Is that not why the Old Ones say women were created--to give a man companionship, to love and comfort him, to provide his heirs?"
His mother kept silent, sitting there watching him from her throne. Her hands were folded in her lap, finge
rs laced. With shoulders straight, chin high, her dark green eyes were like glowing coals but still there was no expression upon her face.
"When you condemned me to Joining with Rolanda, Mother," Glade said, "you sentenced me to a loveless marriage with a woman who despised me. She hated the sight of me and my very touch sickened her."
"Yet the Joining was consummated," his father stated.
"Aye, on our Joining night and never again thereafter," Glade said, bitterly. "The consummation had to take place for the Joining to be valid but she expected as soon as I broached her maidenhead, I would transfer the Power to her. That was the only reason she did not protest our union in the first place. But from the moment she learned I would never share the Power with her, she made it clear there would be no further intimacy between us. I was barred from her chambers, denied her body and deprived of even a crumb of respect from her table."
"And she is content to remain chaste?" his father asked. "I find that hard to believe of a woman as sensuous as she appears to be."
Glade gave his father an amused look. "She has another man to satisfy whatever needs she has. He…"
"You know that to be true?" his father interrupted, gaze narrowed.
"I saw them copulating with my own eyes," Glade replied. "She took great delight in flaunting her lover before me, making sure I knew she was more than willing to give him what she denied me."
"Perhaps he is a better lover than you," his mother injected.
Glade flinched. "Perhaps he is," he said, lowering his head to the implied insult.
King Barren sat down, knowing his wife would now take over, as was her right. Punishment of their children was her domain and though she might choose to listen to his advice on matters of reprimand, ultimately the chastisement would come from her.
Queen Adélie took a slow deep breath then gradually exhaled as though attempting to calm herself. She held her son's worried gaze for a long time before she spoke.
"I am sorely disappointed in you," she told him.
Glade lowered his eyes--unable to bear her silent condemnation--and bowed his head, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of her disapproval.
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