by Phoebe Conn
She placed her hands upon his chest and shoved hard. “If it’s only the king who’ll need a wife, then come to me when you’re our king, and not before.”
Rather than release her, Kieran wound a hand in her hair and bent her head back for a bruising kiss. He punished her with his lips until she was breathless. Then he strode off the bluff intent upon finding Fiona, who would welcome him with gentle laughter and eager kisses rather than tedious arguments over pride.
Albyn had set out early in the day to speak to Quill, but he was unable to find anyone who could actually swear to having seen the bard in the bailey that morning. When he finally found the poet asleep in the stable, he had to bend down and shake him awake.
Quill yawned and stretched, but as he took in his unexpected surroundings, he could not imagine why he had spent the night with the horses. He only dimly recalled a buxom lass who had begged him to sing after they had made love, but doubted he had bedded her there.
His harp lay at his side with nary a string broken, but his clothes were wrinkled, and one foot was bare. He rose shakily, and after waving Albyn aside, searched for his missing shoe. When at last he found it buried beneath the straw, he slipped it on and carried his harp out into the sunlit afternoon. He smelled more like a horse than he cared to, but with the fortress so crowded, he thought he would be lucky to find a bucket in which to bathe.
“I’ve need of you, Quill,” Albyn confided.
The name rang with a painful echo in the bard’s head, and he raised a hand to plead for silence. “It matters not at all what you need, Druid. It is an inopportune time.”
Albyn rested his hands on his hips. Quill appeared to be a few years older than he, but that might have been due to a hard night that had left his fair hair tangled, his face puffy, and his eyes bloodshot and weary.
“My name is Albyn. I’ve not seen you so disheveled. I’ll walk you to your chamber, and we’ll talk while you prepare for the evening.”
“The two of us won’t fit in my humble chamber. Indeed, I can barely turn around when alone.” He covered a wide yawn and shoved his hair out of his eyes. A man of medium height, he had to squint to avoid the sun’s glare as he looked up at Albyn.
Albyn gestured broadly. “Then you must come to mine. While modest, there is ample room for the discussion I require.”
Puzzled, Quill frowned unhappily. “Is this about the lass? If you want her, we’ll have no quarrel. She is yours.”
Albyn had to laugh. “The lass I want would not leave me at risk of being trampled while I slept. Now come along.”
“Is it a song you want?” Quill asked as they climbed the stairs.
Albyn waited until they had entered his chamber to answer. Its size was more suitable to the lad he had been, but it was still adequate for his needs. “I want more than music. Sit on the bed if you like,” he invited. “You’ll find it far softer than the straw clinging to your hair.”
Quill sank down on the bed, and then had to fight the temptation to stretch out upon it. He felt stiff and sore. Worse yet, the gap in his memory made him wonder if he would even recognize last night’s companion when she next appeared. Because he greeted every pretty lass with a smile, he hoped he would not offend her.
Albyn leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Your rhymes are clever and everyone is humming your tunes. How long have you been here?”
Quill was far too smart not to recognize a compliment often preceded a curse, but he bowed his head as though he were extremely flattered. “I’m pleased you appreciate my talents. This will be my fourth winter at the fortress.”
“Good. You’re present at most gatherings. I’d like you to recall the time before Cadell fell ill. Were there any unusual visitors? Had he settled any violent disputes? Had he been involved in any bitter arguments himself? What of Ula? What was her mood this last summer?”
Quill came fully alert. He listened attentively to each of Albyn’s questions and grew increasingly frightened by their direction. “What are you seeking?” he blurted out.
“The truth. What do you recall?”
Quill clutched his harp tightly on his lap. “Cadell heard all manner of disputes, some serious, some silly. Most involved stray cattle or lambs whose ownership was questioned. One man accused another of seducing his wife. But Cadell always listened to each complaint with a thoughtful frown, and he settled every argument with admirable wisdom.”
“What did he do with the unfaithful wife?”
“The couple had no children, so he advised her to divorce her husband and return to her father. The husband was glad to be rid of her, and the second man eager to pursue her. All were happy.”
“Aye, Cadell created remarkably peaceful times,” Albyn murmured thoughtfully.
“Prosperous as well,” Quill added, but his glance quickly shifted toward the floor.
“Speak. It will go no further,” Albyn encouraged.
“Do you take me for a fool? You are Egan’s friend.” In a flash Quill’s expression filled with dismay. “Did I sleep right through the final challenge?”
“Nay, wings are being built so that Kieran and Egan may fly on the eve of Samhain.”
Quill could barely contain himself then, and his fingers played nervously over his harp. “They mean to fly? Then I’ve verses to compose and must go.”
Albyn just shook his head. “I heard that along with Cadell, many fell ill. Were you among them?”
“No, but then I eat scraps from the kitchen, rather than dine at his table.”
“So, you do believe that he was poisoned,” Albyn observed.
“I’ve accused no one!” Quill sent an apprehensive glance toward the door, but feared Albyn would surely block his way if he tried to flee. He felt trapped, and hoping to escape, pointed out the obvious. “If someone did poison Cadell, it wouldn’t have been in the great hall where others would have witnessed the deed.”
“Of course not,” Albyn agreed. “But you have no suspicions?”
Again, Quill looked away quickly. He did indeed harbor a few dangerous thoughts, but so did many others at the fortress. His life had been good there, however, and he wanted it to continue in the same fashion. But he did feel he owed Cadell more than strained silence.
“I wrote a song for Cadell that he cautioned me to sing only for him,” Quill reluctantly revealed. “It was of Adelaine, whom he had adored. Often in the evenings, he would pretend to listen as Ula spoke at length on whatever caught her fancy, but his gaze was filled with the same longing as when I sang of his beloved Adelaine.”
That Cadell still dreamed of Adelaine was a valuable piece of information, and Albyn doubted he would get more from the unkempt bard. He reached to open his door. “I look forward to hearing your new verses tonight, Quill. If you should think of something more, whether it be a casual comment you overhear, or a careless gesture that brings to mind something important, come straight to me. I’ll find a way to reward you, and I’ll not reveal the source.”
Quill nodded, but he wanted no part in talk of murder and vowed to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself.
Albyn knew he might lack Cadell’s wisdom, but he was smart enough to recognize how easily Ula could have poisoned her husband. She was a demanding woman, and it must have torn at her heart to have had to vie with the memory of a dead woman for her husband’s affections. She had ample opportunity to be alone with Cadell, and his untimely death would not have diminished her circumstances in the slightest.
He knew precisely where she would have gotten a villainous brew: from Garrick, who never strayed far from her side. Albyn had no interest in mixing potions himself, but many Druids took great pleasure in creating everything from love charms to poisons for the damned, and he considered it likely that Garrick was such a man.
An old Druid had died. Had that merely been a test, or a mistake in dosage? Ula could have sampled the potion rather than feign an illness, and then when Cadell cared for her, given him a lethal dos
e. It was a horrible possibility that completely sickened him, but if a fine man like Cadell had been murdered, he deserved to be avenged.
Depressed by the fortress and its dark intrigues, Albyn left for a long stroll along the sea. He welcomed the change of scene and the tiring exercise, but not the first faint chill of winter in the air.
When he returned to Egan’s chamber and found it empty, he panicked and raced down the corridor to find Oriana. She answered his knock promptly, but then raised a fingertip to her lips to plead for silence. Gazing past her to the bed, Albyn was so relieved by how peacefully Egan was sleeping that he wanted to shout.
Unwilling to disturb Egan, he drew Oriana out into the corridor. “I’m surprised Egan got this far on his own,” he said, “but this is where he belongs.”
“None of us belongs in this dreadful place,” Oriana countered, and she hugged her arms against the perpetual chill. “I long for the peace of the forest.”
“The forest is a cold and forbidding place in winter,” Albyn said, recalling it from bitter experience. “You’ll be far more comfortable here.”
“If we are here,” Oriana whispered apprehensively.
The sadness in her eyes tugged at his heart, but she was not his woman to comfort. To avoid that temptation, he folded his hands behind his back. “I’ve never known Egan to fail.”
“You are a true friend to have such unshakable faith in him, but he’s never tried to fly, has he?”
“He’ll fly. There are a great many on his side, and we’ll make certain he has the superior wing and the better flight.”
“I know you’ll try, but I’m still sick with worry. I’ve never cared for autumn,” she confided. “With Samhain, winter begins with its freezing rains. Families gather around their hearth to reminisce or plan for long summer days, but it’s a trying time for wanderers.”
That she had yet to accept how greatly her life had changed puzzled Albyn. “The queen of the Dál Cais doesn’t wander,” he reminded her.
Oriana paused to look in on Egan before she replied. “I can’t think of myself as queen when nothing has gone well for Egan since the afternoon we met. Should he win the challenge and become king, I fear another calamity will swiftly befall him. And then another and another until he throws me from the wall walk just as—”
Horrified by the image that had flashed in her mind’s eye, Oriana sagged back against the doorway. She had never met Cadell, but it had been his name she had nearly spoken.
“Forgive me,” she begged, and in a rush to escape him, she turned toward her chamber.
“No, wait.” Albyn reached out to catch her arm. “Are you thinking of Adelaine? If she didn’t fall to her death, then who killed her?”
Oriana was now desperate to avoid him. “I’m tired. I’ve not slept well, and you mustn’t give my wild ravings any credence.
“Egan will surely be hungry when he wakes,” she hastened to suggest. “Please send a servant with food for him. Then find Yowan and determine what progress he’s made today. He needn’t come here to speak with Egan himself. You can convey his report on the morrow.”
They had talked easily for a short while, and Albyn was sorry she had become so anxious to be rid of him. “It must be very difficult for you when disturbing thoughts of others intrude so unexpectedly,” he mused aloud.
Oriana had calmly listened to the knowing and provided thoughtfully embellished fortunes for as long as she could remember, but nothing had prepared her for a life with Egan, where death and danger leapt from every corner.
“Beyond your wildest imagining,” she replied, and closed the door to send him on his way.
“What’s beyond imagining?” Egan asked. He rolled onto his side and straightened his arm to shove himself into an upright position.
“The possibility of flight,” Oriana answered as she rushed to assist him.
“I can manage on my own,” Egan responded crossly, but once he had sat up straight, he had to lean back against the wall to catch his breath. He had sincerely believed Oriana’s touch would heal the long cut in his side, but it was not happening nearly as rapidly as he had hoped.
At his rebuff, Oriana had drawn back and begun to pace beside the bed. She hugged her arms, then plucked at her sleeves before retracing her path with a distracted step. He wanted her beside him, but it was obvious she would not be able to sit still.
“I shouldn’t have spoken so sharply,” he murmured, “but I can’t rely on your help. I need to care for myself.”
Oriana lengthened her stride to cross the chamber, then pivoted gracefully to come back toward the bed. “I understand, and I want you to be well. You were born to be king, and I love you with all my heart, but I can’t spend my life imprisoned in this awful fortress, or I will surely lose my mind. My sanity may already be slipping away.”
She was dressed in a beautiful gown, and her hair was again neatly combed, but each time she glanced toward him, flames seemed to dance in her eyes. He did not know whether to laugh or cry, and when either activity would doubtless prove excruciating, he could only watch her and wait for inspiration.
“It appears I’m a very poor husband,” he finally offered, “for no new bride should be as unhappy as you.”
“I’m not merely unhappy,” Oriana explained. “I’m terrified that we’re caught in a violent whirlpool that will keep spiraling downward until we’re drowned beneath its weight.”
Egan was equally depressed by that frightening image. “Doomed,” he muttered.
“Aye. Cursed.” Oriana kept up her brisk walk beside the bed, but she looked as though she would rather run.
“The Dál Cais have always been lucky. Why should we be cursed?” he asked.
Oriana halted in midstride, but she could not bring herself to describe her fear: she suspected that his father had murdered his mother. “I’ll not speculate on the cause, but I fear we’ll not escape it,” she responded.
Egan refused to allow her mood to deteriorate any further. With only one attractive option open to him, he seized it. “Bolt the door.”
Oriana’s frown deepened, but he had issued a command, not a polite request, and she quickly complied. “Did you hear footsteps? I’ve no weapons here. Will we need them?”
“No. We’re safe for the moment, but we don’t want to be disturbed while we’re making love.”
Caught by surprise, Oriana remained by the door. “You’re not well enough,” she argued softly.
Egan gestured for her to approach him. He did not care if he was risking his health when Oriana was in such great need of reassurance, and he lowered his voice to a more seductive level. “There are many ways to make love, and we’ll indulge in one that won’t cause any harm to either of us. Now come here and sit across my lap.”
Blessed with a vivid imagination, Oriana readily grasped what he had in mind, but she was still reluctant to join him on the bed. “No, I’ve not been with you enough. I’ll be too clumsy and hurt you.”
“Oriana,” he nearly sang, “you’re never clumsy.” He unfastened his belt to loosen his pants, but still she did not move. Where was the confident young woman who had shocked him by stepping out of her shift? he wondered. Of course, that was before she had seen Kieran carve up his side. And before he had stupidly sent her away. It was no wonder she was so skittish.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted only to please you. Just come sit beside me here on the bed, and we’ll see which of us can guess what they’ll bring us for dinner.”
It was such a silly contest, Oriana could not help but smile, and relieved he had given up on making love, she crawled up on the bed and made herself comfortable by his side. “You have the advantage because you know all the likely possibilities,” she complained. “I’d not eaten wild boar until I came here, and I’ve no idea what wonders might be served tonight.”
Egan fought to contain the width of his grin as he slid his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “Fish, perhaps.”
�
��Oysters?” Oriana guessed.
“Aye, oysters would be far better than gruel.” He took her left hand in his and brought her fingertips to his lips.
“When have you ever been served a bowl of gruel, my lord?” He was warm, and she relaxed against him. His kiss on her palm tickled, and she laughed.
She looked up at him and watched his eyes close as he bent his head to kiss her. As their lips met, she knew she had been tricked. Still, it was a long, slow, luscious kiss that turned her thoughts in the direction of his. His taste was delicious, and silently begging for more, she leaned into him.
He shifted position slightly to slip his hand beneath her gown and caressed her foot, then encircled her calf, and spread an adoring trail up the length of her thigh. Oriana remained hesitant to go any further, but when Egan was moving so slowly, and enticing such delicious sensations, she swallowed her protests and kissed him again. He slipped his fingers between her legs to tease her with sweet, fluttering strokes that made her ache for more, but even as her breathing quickened, she relaxed to allow him to set the pace.
Egan enjoyed going slowly with Oriana. He was thrilled to have such a responsive bride, and that her slender body held so many tantalizing curves and inviting crevices provided him with nearly endless inspiration. He used her own wetness to smooth his fingertips and traced the same intimate patterns he had once savored with his tongue.
When she began to gasp, he took a firm hold on her waist to lift her across his lap, and with no further complaints of inexperience, she freed him from his soft woolen pants and guided him into her core. She rolled her hips to take him deep, but she felt so hot and tight, he held her still to prolong the glorious sensation.
He wound his hands in her hair to pull her mouth back to his and kissed her, his thrusts deepening as she tensed her inner muscles around him. He was in no pain at all and risked dropping his hands to her hips to raise her slightly and then lowered her in an easy twisting motion that pleasured them both. He had never restrained himself with another woman, but moving with such deliberate care heightened each exquisite sensation.