“Once again, you put your own life in danger to save hers,” Garion stepped forward, his hand reaching out, offering some form of apology to the man.
“Again?” Willow’s voice was clear and although her fear was still apparent, her breeding, her blood shone through. She stood with a pale-faced Helen by her side, their hands entwined to face the two men and the secrets concealed from her. “You’ve done this before?”
Donovan turned, his eyes latching on to her tear-stained face reading the same determination that marked the line of her family, and nodded.
“Donovan’s the reason you’re here,” Garion stepped forward, bringing Willow’s attention to his lined face. “He offered his own safety to ensure yours.”
“But that safety is declining the longer we remain here,” Donovan reminded them all. “Willow and I must leave before Colson sends more.”
“You’re not going without us,” Helen spoke up, her voice reedy and weak but taking courage from her friend’s fortitude. She glanced to her father’s face, seeing agreement in his nod.
“Count me in,” Fluffy chimed from the doorway.
“You don’t understand,” Donovan interrupted. “It will be dangerous and I must see to Willow’s safety first.”
“Danger? I love danger,” the cat smiled much as a cat would. “I eat danger for breakfast. Peril is my middle name.”
It only took one look from the warrior to shut the cat up.
“Where are we going?” Willow stepped closer to the man who called himself her husband, her eyes searching his face for a clue of his emotions but, as ever, they were sealed behind the darkness of his looks.
“To the Kingdom.”
Chapter Six
The morning was warm; it was August, the best month of the year. A blue canopy and a welcoming sun lit the sky but the folk climbing into the old car didn’t notice.
“I’ll drive,” Garion said to Donovan, dangling an old key between his fingers. “I don’t suppose you’ve had much experience with motor vehicles.
“None at all,” Donovan admitted but his focus was on the dark-headed woman climbing into the seat in the back of the rust-coloured car. He pushed the door shut once the cat had jumped up onto her lap. “Remember whose wife you rest upon, cat. My sword will make short work of you in either form.” He ignored the hushed grumbles of ‘one mistake and I’m never allowed to live it down’ and moved around to the other side of the car, glancing once around before climbing in. Garion started the car, its engine drowning out the complaints of the disgruntled cat that had begun to settle under Willow’s gentle stroking. Soon the clunking of the gears, the grinding of the dying engine mixed with the loud purrs of the black cat before he succumbed into sleep.
“Are you really my husband?”
Donovan stirred. He was searching the road ahead for any signs of danger although, rationally, he knew it was too soon for Colson to have despatched more men.
“Yes,” he said, without turning his head although he felt her eyes on him, willing him to look at her.
“How long were we married?”
“Seven years and seven days,” Donovan mentally counted the hours too. Seven years, seven days and since it was now late morning, ten hours. They’d been married at midnight with the stars shining in her eyes, fireflies crisscrossing above their heads and the sound of wood owls screeching their own form of serenade. How could anyone forget that?
“Seven years! Shouldn’t I remember you?” Willow frowned again, a shock of pain echoing through her words, so sharp Donovan spun in his seat.
“You would have thought so,” Donovan murmured, looking away again for fear of telling her, telling them all what he thought of her betrayal but this wasn’t a time for rage - that would come. For now, he needed to get her to safety.
“That might be my fault,” Garion spoke up, his eyes catching sight of Willow’s in the rear-view mirror, his heart full of the pain in her face. “This isn’t the time for explanations but later, I will tell you everything.”
It was dusk before they stopped outside the field, Garion pulling the rusty old vehicle to park behind a rambling hedge.
“Is this the Kingdom?” Willow asked of the taller man, his dark hair falling across his face as he surveyed the land around them, looking for enemies.
“No, we are not there yet. We cannot journey further until the moon has risen.”
Willow frowned as a vision of a white dress, flowing and free, layered by a million tiny star drops, danced through her mind. Donovan had been there, smiling down at her, his eyes lit by love and pride but, before she could pull the certainty of that memory from her mind, Garion spoke.
“It’s time to talk; to explain many things. I fear I’ve made a monumental mistake,” Garion said quickly, his hand on Helen’s arm ushering her toward a deeply wooded area, somewhere they could shelter until it was time to move on. The two women sat on a blanket, a basket of food untouched before them. Helen reached out, her hand touching that of her friend and bringing Willow’s eyes to her face. Donovan sat just out of sight but he watched and listened for their words as much as he listened for any sign of danger.
“You know I love you, like a sister. I’d do anything for you,” Helen said softly as Willow smiled back. Helen had been a great friend; they’d known each other all their lives, hadn’t they? “I love you like a sister because we are sisters, well half sisters but the half doesn’t makes any difference,” Helen clutched her sister’s hand a little tighter. She’d always known this moment of truth would arrive but hadn’t expected it under these circumstances. No one could have envisioned this.
“Sisters?” Willow gasped. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” She turned to look up at Garion West; he’d always made her feel so safe. “You’re my father?”
Garion nodded, standing tall and stiff, afraid her reaction would be different but all his fears disappeared as Willow walked into his embrace.
“I think I always knew it,” Willow whispered gently, her head resting on his chest.
“But there’s much more you need to know yet,” Garion kissed his youngest daughter on the forehead and urged her away. “Please sit down, I need to explain.” He waited only until Willow had seated herself beside her sister before he began.
“It began seven years ago almost to the day. You and Donovan were in love, against every protocol, and had hidden away to get married.”
“We eloped?” Willow gasped, it sounded so romantic.
“Not quite,” the deeper voice told them all the warrior had been paying attention. “It was a small chapel in the woods; we found a holy man willing to perform the ceremony but for it to be binding, we had to hide away until the dark settled. You were beautiful, a prize beyond my imagining.”
Willow looked up, her eyes on the shadowed form of the man who was her husband. She knew this now and deep within her heart a tune sang of true love and hope.
“You were the heir of the Kingdom, I a mere Lord, a warrior owing fealty to your cousin, your rival in power. It should not have happened, our love should never have been but neither could it be denied,” Donovan sounded sad, his voice low.
“How long were we married?” she asked, this time needing a different answer.
“Seven days.”
“But you said seven years.”
“Willow, please allow me to explain,” Garion stepped forward, creating a barrier between the two of them. Willow nodded, although her eyes remained on her husband’s shadowed face. “Donovan is a Lord in his own right, possessing vast lands in the North of the Kingdom but he is indebted to your cousin, Lord Colson. Your wedding ceremony was seen as an insult. My Lord Donovan had no right to offer marriage to you. No offence, my Lord.”
“None taken, you speak the truth,” Donovan sighed, his face tilted so he might watch the reactions flittering across Willow’s face. Her brow creased, her slim eyebrows folded in that appealing manner whenever she met with something she didn’t understand. She looked as t
hough this was the first she’d heard of it but he promised he wouldn’t be fooled by feigned innocence again. Her family were masters of illusions.
“When the news of your betrothal filtered through the land, Lord Colson declared Donovan a warlock, a betrayer. He believed you were combining your forces to usurp the throne and deny him the right to battle for the Kingdom.” Garion moved now, bending at his knees as though the weight of what he needed to share was too much for his body to hold.
“I don’t want any Kingdom, this Colson can have it,” Willow declared, reddening slightly beneath Donovan’s caustic chuckle.
“Things don’t work like that, Willow,” Helen leaned forward, taking her sister’s hand. “If only it was that easy. Your mother is Queen Felicity. You and Colson are both heirs to the throne.”
“I don’t want to be an heir; I know nothing about this kingdom,” Willow declared haughtily, in that moment looking more like Felicity’s daughter than ever. She raised her eyebrows catching the grin crossing Donovan’s thin mouth, her heart, although still within her chest, made bounding movements as though wanting to leap across the distance between them. Donovan was too good-looking, his dark eyes hooded and dangerous, but that smile should be illegal for the heat it spread throughout her body.
“It knows about you,” the cat reappeared, a paw touching its mouth as it prepared to clean itself. “Each ruler provides one child, negating the need for disputes for the throne. Your grandmother, Good Queen Jessicah, gave birth to twins, Felicity and Byron. Your uncle died under mysterious circumstances but his wife was already carrying your cousin, Lord Colson, who believes he is the rightful heir.”
“I’ll tell him I want nothing to do with this place and come home,” Willow decided. It was simple enough.
“The Kingdom is your home,” Donovan’s voice contained little of the dark humour she’d seen on his face.
“Lord Donovan, if I may continue?” Garion interrupted, his voice laden with need. “Willow, your marriage was a death warrant for you both so your husband and I concocted a scheme to bring you here, to protect you until the time you were strong enough to defeat Lord Colson, but we were discovered before we could escape.”
“Donovan offered to stay behind as Colson’s soldiers caught up and our last image was him lying on the ground; we believed he’d died,” Helen continued. She’d been part of it too. “You wanted to go back; you demanded to return but what was the point if he was already dead? You cried non-stop for days, you wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. You were dying, so our father obtained a spell to remove your memories.”
Willow’s eyes filled with tears, her mouth drawn in a tight line as she swallowed the knowledge.
“When was this?” she asked.
“Seven years ago,” Donovan answered. Only he could.
“Seven years?” Willow was aghast; she’d been living a lie for seven years? She stood once more, head shaking as her mind struggled to absorb the fact and turned to face the warrior. “And you, what happened to you? If you loved me so much, why did you wait so long before you sought me?”
“I could say the same for you, my Lady,” Donovan eased his long body off the gnarled tree trunk and moved without further word into the dwindling darkness.
“Word is Lord Donovan has been residing in the lowest pit of Colson’s castle and was released only when knowledge of your survival surfaced. It was rumoured for several years that you had died and Colson kept him prisoner as punishment for choosing you over his fealty.” The cat explained, his green eyes chasing over Willow’s dismayed face but she lifted her eyes to follow the dark shadow of the man they discussed before following. There were things she still needed to know and only he could tell her. He sat on the edge of a fallen tree, his legs splayed out in front of him as though he expected the earth to shift beneath his feet.
“I didn’t know,” her words were soft, unsure as she faced the man she didn’t remember. Donovan’s eyes were hooded as he looked up but he could read the pain of regret on her pretty features. She stood with her arms wrapped over her chest, tears building at her eyes, but she didn’t lie. Could he take this as truth? Was he brave enough to place his broken heart into her caring again?
Her fingers on his face were his undoing. She smelled of sweet vanilla and he opened his mouth to the fingers tracing the lines of his lips, his tongue wet on her skin.
“This is not a good idea,” he gasped, the heavy material of his jeans too tight to be comfortable. Seven years he had waited to be touched with love, with desire.
“I think it is a very good idea. You said we were married, isn’t this what married people do?” Her lips were curved in a tentative smile as she brought them down to the warmth of his. At first he didn’t react, fighting the power building inside him. He should resist, he should turn away, but too many years of calling for her, of yearning for her touch, stole every wisp of his resolve and his arms moved around her as he stood, pulling her up against the hard line of his body. She need have no doubt of the desire in his body; the hardness at his groin told it all. One hand found its way into the softness of her dark hair, holding her face to his as though he was afraid she would pull away, but Willow melted against him and wouldn’t be the one to break the kiss.
“How could I forget that?” She gasped, a hand moving to her lips as he finally released her. Her mouth was sore, surely bruised, and yet it was wonderful. She couldn’t wait to do it again. “How long have we been married?”
“Seven years and seven days but, in truth, we were only together for one week.”
“Then we have some making up to do,” she smiled again, aware of his hands on her back and the warmth of his skin beneath the white shirt, the dark jeans.
“Do you often throw yourself at men you cannot remember?” Donovan meant to move away but found himself holding her tighter, willing her not to reject him.
“None unless they looked like you but I’ve never met anyone quite so fine,” her head was against his chest, the warmth of it heating his own blood.
“Fine?” he laughed. She heard the echo dancing through his strong chest and couldn’t stop the hand that reached to touch his skin, tempting her beneath the open neck. He froze, his next words lost in the delight of her tender caress, but he would stop her if she tried to delve further. That promise was lost as one button after the other was loosened beneath her fingers. She sighed. His skin was smooth over hard muscles. How the hell could have she forgotten him?
“I believe we should stop this now, my Lady.”
“My Lady? Am I not your wife?” Willow peered up into his dark eyes as night fell around them but this merely increased the sense of romance, of desire and all thoughts of their companions were forgotten.
“You are my wife,” Donovan answered coarsely, his breath shallow, all thought fading to a point below his belt buckle, the one Willow was slowly unravelling. “But you do not remember our nuptials. I do not expect…”
Willow wasn’t listening; she didn’t care for his words as she dropped slowly to her knees. The hard shaft her hands had discovered explained his every thought.
“My Lord husband, I believe you still love me.”
Donovan groaned loudly as the wetness of her mouth devoured him, her soft tongue caressing his length and his hands found her hair, holding her to him as he endured the sweet passion her mouth encouraged. With a gasp, unable to bear it any longer, he urged her to her feet, his mouth finding hers and lifting her into his arms. With a wave of a hand, a soft blanket appeared, covering the leafy floor as he knelt, the woman still in his arms. She lay looking up in surprise, awaiting her husband’s touch.
“Are you certain, my Lady?” he asked, still unsure, still unable to believe her show of longing.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything, my Lord husband.”
With another wave of his hand, her clothing was gone and she lay naked before his dark eyes. A faint smile touched his lips but it was soon gone as he bent his head to taste the
softness of her breasts, his tongue flicking over the nipples blossoming beneath his touch. A low moan escaped Willow’s lips; she should stop him, should stop herself but the actions of his tongue, his lips, were too delightful. She didn’t remember him but her body did and her thighs opened in response to his movement.
A flow of white blue energy flowed around them, building higher as their passion ignited. Willow stared at it in delight -- surely this was a sign of their love?
“Are you sure, Willow?” Donovan asked again, as he moved over the beautiful, sexy body laid out before him like a feast for his eyes, his body, his soul.
“I think I will die if you don’t love me,” Willow sighed, her hands about his shoulders urging him closer. No man needed more invitation than that and Donovan had not the power to refuse. He’d spent too many nights dreaming of her, remembering the love they’d shared for too short a time and his hand slid down her body; over the curve of her hip to the place she beckoned him. She was warm and wet, his finger sliding easily inside as her hips rose in time to his movement.
“More,” she cried, her voice a whisper, but he didn’t mistake the command. She was ready for him; she needed more.
Her whimper was a thankful cry as he pushed slowly into her body, as he waited for her pleading to stop, but her arms moving around his neck, her mouth seeking his, gave no sign of wanting him to stop.
He drove on, his body taking command as his pent-up emotions soared through his heart, his soul. She was the only woman he’d ever truly loved and if this was to be the last, the only time he could bury himself in her, he wanted it to be the best either of them had ever had. She moved with him, under him, taking her cue from his rhythm. She clung to him, kissing his lips, his face, as though she would never let him loose. She cried out as he tensed, his love for her emptying into the softness of her body. Blue light surrounded them, sparkling out like an explosion of colour joining together, never to be torn apart again.
Chapter Seven
Loving Lies Page 3