Rogue's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  Sir Alasdair hadn’t told her to conceal her identity, but he didn’t have to. The stable master couldn’t guess the knight hadn’t been with a servant lad or squire when he’d rushed after them from the stables. Hopefully the distance she was standing would assist in the subterfuge.

  Again, she couldn’t hear the knight’s answer to the man’s inquiry. They spoke for a few more moments, then the stable master retreated.

  Her knight stomped, as if his anger had been reignited by the exchange. Tremors shot down Elissa’s spine. He gripped her arm, but this time he didn’t hurt her. “Let’s go.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  He didn’t answer, just tugged until she didn’t have a choice but to accompany him. It was either that, or truly be dragged.

  Sir Alasdair didn’t say another word until they were in front of her guest suite’s door. “Get inside and change. Clean yourself up as best you can.” He crossed his arms over his impressive chest when she hesitated.

  She tried not to think of how she’d felt in his arms, up against those hard muscles. Elissa failed. All she could remember was his heat, how he’d held her, and what his mouth felt like moving over hers. What his tongue tasted like. Her belly warmed. “I—”

  “Just. Go.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not foolish enough to let you out of my sight again. Get in there and put on an acceptable gown before I drag you inside and do it for you.”

  Anger shot her newborn desire away, churning her stomach. “Oh…you…” Magic awakened and burned to be let free. Elissa clenched her fists at her sides.

  He arched a dark eyebrow. Daring her.

  She narrowed her eyes. Wanted to throw curses in his face but couldn’t muster the courage to say them aloud. That made her even angrier.

  Elissa turned on her heel and wrenched open the door.

  When she was on the other side, she slammed it shut. She only wished he’d been closer, so it would’ve been in his face.

  Maybe she even could’ve hit him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “We’re going to Terraquist Main; mount up.”

  “What the ‘ell for?” Nason demanded, a frown marring his pocked face. The blond man’s far northern accent wasn’t much different than Charis’ own. Although familiar, it was suddenly irritating.

  He suppressed a shudder as the last of Drayton’s magic skittered away from his spine. He stalked forward and towered over the little man. “Just do what I say. Get your arse up on that horse before I knock you out and drape you over it. I want to get the hell away from this cave.” He took a breath and forced himself to calm. “Then I’ll explain.”

  Bracken smirked when Charis met his midnight eyes. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The big man gave a mock-salute and flashed a lopsided grin that looked wrong on the face of a baby-killer. The lasses liked the oversized oaf. Enough to make a man jealous. Of course, none of the tavern lasses knew of their…predilections, anyway. So, it mattered not as long as they got to swiv, right?

  Charis growled and yanked his horse’s reins from Nason. He didn’t have time to buck up to a man twice his size, nor was he fond of the headache that usually followed a rumble with Bracken.

  Nason said nothing aloud, but he was grumbling under his foul breath. Charis let it go, because if he didn’t calm down, he’d give in to his desire to pound the man’s flat nose even flatter. He could—and often did—inflict more damage to the smaller minion than the larger.

  But right now, getting away from Drayton was paramount.

  He swung himself into the saddle, but patted Barley’s neck when his roan gelding neighed a protest of Charis’ stiff, rough movements. “Sorry, lad.” His horse was about the only being he’d apologize to. Ever.

  Charis swung Barley around and put his knees to his sides. His horse jolted forward, well on his way through the woods and back to the public road.

  Bracken and Nason followed, but said nothing—they rarely did when Charis was in such a foul mood. Well, Bracken knew better. Nason had sported many a black eye for running his mouth when it was less than desirable to hear him speak.

  The stupid old mage had been invigorated for some reason. He’d kept rubbing his hands together, and his aura had glowed brighter than before. Drayton had been hyped about something, but what, the codger hadn’t said.

  He’d been less than pleased when Charis had admitted there’d been no progress since the last holding they’d visited in Terraquist. And Drayton hadn’t earmarked any more blonde lasses for them to visit, either.

  However, the mage had charged Charis and his lads with a new mission: find an elemental, any elemental. Drayton had used his magic to locate one, and ordered him to gather the water mage up; return him to the cave.

  Being the fine mercenary he was, Charis hadn’t asked questions, but he had demanded a separate fee for the new task. Drayton hadn’t batted an eye at the exorbitant amount he’d named. That should’ve sent red flags up, but he’d bowed and backed through the wretched protection spell.

  Tingles ran up and down his spine—then and now. Charis straightened in the saddle. He’d always hated spiders, and invisible ones were even worse.

  “So, what’s in Terraquist Main?” Bracken’s deep voice made him jump.

  He sucked back his curse. Didn’t want his companion to sense any weakness. “We’ve a new task.”

  “Oh?”

  Nason urged his mare closer to Charis and Bracken’s mounts. He leaned in.

  Good. They’re both listening.

  “Drayton needs an elemental mage.”

  Charis didn’t miss his lads exchanging a glance.

  “Aye,” Nason said. “’Tis our task, isna’?”

  “Aye. Not the lass. Another.”

  “Another?” Bracken asked.

  “Aye. A lad that performs water tricks for coin in Terraquist Main. Should be quick. I know where he is.” Charis hated to admit it, but Drayton’s ability to pinpoint other elementals was handy.

  Too bad it’d failed for the lass he sought. Hence the old mage seeking Charis’ services. He’d long told Drayton if his tracking magic couldn’t find something—or someone—they were dead.

  Or cloaked in very powerful magic.

  Questions he never asked swirled around in his mind. He’d always refrained from more than need-to-know, as long as he got paid.

  What was the old codger not saying about the lass?

  Three who were not her were dead—upon Drayton’s insistence of no witnesses.

  Who is this lass?

  Supposedly, Drayton didn’t even have a name. Just fair-haired, and in her early twenties. An elemental he’d encountered turns ago. A birth mark roughly half-moon shaped high on her right side. If the mage knew more, he wasn’t saying.

  “How much?” Bracken’s bark tugged Charis from his head.

  “One-eighty.”

  Nason whistled.

  “One-eighty? All gold?” Bracken asked.

  “Aye.”

  “The old fool agreed ta tha’?” The big man cocked his head to one side, a dark brow arched.

  “Without hesitation.”

  Nason swore in Aramourian and snapped his fingers, delight written all over his countenance.

  Charis smirked.

  “’Tis too good ta be true,” Bracken mused.

  “So far, he’s paid well.”

  Doubt crossed Bracken’s broad face, despite Charis’ truth. He grunted at his companion and kicked Barley.

  He had nothing more to say; definitely wouldn’t remind them that Drayton was holding the majority of their prize hostage until they’d found the elemental lass.

  “Let’s go.”

  They had a task. Needed to get to it.

  Hopefully this was one they’d see through quickly and without issue.

  * * * *

  Enduring evening meal was horrid.

  It took all her self-control to avoid the duchess’ searching gaze. From the moment
she’d taken her seat of honor on the dais, her eyes had collided with Lady Cera’s gray orbs. Over and over.

  Elissa had barely eaten, since her stomach remained in knots.

  She’d picked the simplest of the gowns she had, a light flowing rust-colored dress with embroidery on the bodice. She’d tried to put her hair in a simple bun at the base of her neck, since Sir Alasdair hadn’t allowed her time for anything more, but Elissa never wore her long tresses in that style. Had always considered it messy, and unfortunately Lady Cera had noticed. The duchess had seemed to analyze her appearance for a full minute.

  It only worsened when the lady spoke. “Is something wrong, Elissa?”

  Sitting still was a challenge. Elissa reached for her goblet of wine and brought to her mouth. Sipping, she shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” The duchess’ auburn brows drew tight and Elissa wanted to squirm.

  Now the duke, Lord Jorrin, was looking her way, too. As well as the healer, Lord Tristan, and his wife, Lady Aimil.

  Staring.

  They’re all staring.

  She tried not to gulp.

  Sir Alasdair froze in the chair next to Elissa’s; her suitor, Lord Avery, seated on her other side, seemed to notice. His red brows knitted, and he looked at her knight, then back at her. He didn’t remark, though.

  “I’m well. Thank you for asking.” She didn’t spare either man a glance as she plastered on a smile and nodded for her audience of nobles. “I’ve had a lovely day, meeting your cousin and walking in the gardens.”

  Lord Avery beamed—and blushed. “I’ve enjoyed today as well.”

  His father and Lady Cera looked pleased. As did King Nathal. He sat at the head of the table—several chairs away—but evidently could still hear their conversation.

  Seated next to him, her cousin smiled.

  Elissa reminded herself she could not openly glare at the king.

  Sir Alasdair hadn’t said a word the whole meal—and everyone had taken note of that, too. Although no one at the dais had inquired if all was well with the knight, he was getting some quizzical stares. The way he hunkered down in his chair and hovered over his plate told her he hadn’t missed the silent observations, either, but he didn’t remark. However, his normal jester-nature was nowhere to be found.

  Not looking her chaperone’s way wasn’t proving too difficult, though. Elissa was still furious with him for the way he’d spoken to her in the corridor outside her rooms.

  When she’d dressed and met him, the rogue hadn’t said two words—and he hadn’t escorted her properly into the great hall. He’d walked—or stalked—beside her. They hadn’t touched at all and she was mad at the part of her that was hurt by his slight. She’d told herself she’d been upset about his lack of decorum, but had to ignore the voice that called her a liar.

  Now he barely looked at her, and Blessed Spirit knew he wasn’t talking to her. That hurt, too.

  Elissa had done nothing wrong. Had she?

  She pushed slices of meat around on her plate with her fork. Although she loved smoked venison, her appetite had vanished. She’d made efforts, stuffing food into her mouth to appease her growling stomach, but it didn’t satisfy. Nor was she able to taste anything.

  Eventually, their tablemates returned to normal chatter, and she breathed a sigh of relief the spotlight was no longer shining in her direction.

  Lord Avery engaged her in light conversation she tried her best to return, but Elissa wanted to flee his company, the dais, and the great hall.

  And Sir Alasdair.

  After-meal music started playing. She didn’t want to stay for any kind of dancing, and finally gained the courage to tell her suitor and her chaperone.

  Sir Alasdair gave a curt nod and rose. He didn’t look at her for more than a second.

  Her chest ached.

  “Oh, you intend to retire?” Lord Avery’s countenance fell.

  A pang of guilt bit at her and she tried not to react. Or care. That made her feel like a wretch for being selfish, but she didn’t change her mind. Elissa nodded. “I’m sorry, my lord, I’m a bit tired. It’s been an eventful day.”

  He nodded and stood, offering his arm.

  She gave him a small smile and slid her hand in the crook of his elbow, despite the black look her knight flashed. Elissa ignored how her heart skipped, too. She wanted to snap at him.

  Now he cares?

  They’d gotten no further than the base of the dais when Sir Alasdair’s captain, Sir Leargan Tegran, called his name.

  Lord Avery spoke with her as they waited, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from resting on her knight and Sir Leargan. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she assumed the captain asked after her. He smiled in her direction, and she forced a curtsey.

  “I’ve enjoyed meeting you very much, Elissa.”

  The heir to Tarvis gained her attention and she looked up into his gray eyes. “I have enjoyed meeting you, too, Avery.”

  He smiled and bowed deeply, kissing her knuckles even as it made his cheeks bright red. “Thank you again for showing me your magic, and for the gift.”

  Ah, the dirt rosebud.

  “It was nothing, my lord.” Elissa stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek.

  Lord Avery blushed three or four different shades of red.

  She grinned; she couldn’t help it. “I think we shall become great friends, Avery.”

  He regarded her silently for a moment, then nodded. As if resolved.

  Elissa scanned his face for disappointment but saw none. She was relieved he’d not asked about a marriage contract—and hoped he continued to avoid the subject.

  She’d tell Lord Jorrin when the time was appropriate that she wasn’t accepting Lord Avery’s suit. Her future was not as the Duchess of Tarvis. Elissa prayed Lord Avery wouldn’t be upset.

  Her first suitor and his father were leaving in the morning with the rest of their party.

  The king also was leaving in the morning, but she ignored the panic that crept up at the thought of being left in Greenwald. She was angry at King Nathal—justifiably so. Besides, it wasn’t like she was being abandoned.

  I’m an adult.

  Elissa had a task in Greenwald. She’d see it through.

  When Sir Alasdair collected her, he didn’t say what he’d spoken about with his captain. Then again, he’d not told her what he’d discussed with Master Gean, either. And she’d asked then.

  “I’m sorry if I’m pulling you away from dancing,” she said quietly as they strolled the nearly empty corridor.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She glanced at him, then regretted it. Her knight wore a dark expression like a shroud and he wouldn’t look at her. Again.

  “I…” Whatever she’d meant to say melted from her tongue before it was born. She didn’t know what she wanted to say to him, anyway. Elissa couldn’t stand this new awkwardness between them. Wanted to banish it, but she wouldn’t beg him to talk to her, either.

  She wanted to discuss the kiss they’d shared. Wanted to ask him to clarify what he’d meant when he’d called her innocent, but couldn’t seem to form the words.

  His expression didn’t offer encouragement.

  He still wasn’t touching her, either. Walking beside her, not escorting her properly, with her hand tucked into his arm, their bodies in step, closer together than they were now. Elissa felt the distance between them more keenly. Her throat burned and her mouth was dry.

  The silence was deafening as they made the last turn that would take them into the guest wing. A weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe well before they reached her door. Pain made her heart throb, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was wrong.

  She wasn’t supposed to be upset that Sir Alasdair Kearney had rejected her.

  Had he actually rejected her?

  Aye.

  The painful—repeated—apology was a cast-off disguised as manners.

  He’s not
one of my suitors.

  Elissa wasn’t supposed to be thinking about what it’d been like to be kissed by him. She should feel guilty that she hadn’t pushed him away.

  She definitely shouldn’t be pondering if it would happen again. Or plan to kiss him back like she had the first time.

  Sir Alasdair clearing his throat had her glancing into his face.

  Oh, we’re here. When did we stop walking?

  She looked up into his sapphire eyes.

  He said nothing. The mouth she’d just been fantasizing about was a hard flat line.

  “Why did you kiss me?” The words were out in a rush, and heat seared her neck on its way into her cheeks.

  Sir Alasdair didn’t just stiffen. He became a statue. “Go inside, my lady.” His order was as hard as his posture.

  “Why won’t you talk about it with me?” Elissa frowned.

  He averted his gaze. “Good night, lass.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “Why?”

  Her knight wouldn’t even look at her when she tugged on his forearm. Sir Alasdair dropped her hand as if she’d burned him and turned on his heel. He practically fled into his own rooms and slammed the door.

  Shock washed over Elissa. She stared at the door as if her eyesight could penetrate the thick panel. Or make him appear in the corridor. Surprise melted into something that stabbed. A lump formed in her throat and worked its way painfully downward, settling like a brick in her gut. Tight. Hard. Full of agony.

  Unwanted moisture kissed her cheeks and she repeated those unladylike curses under her breath as she reached for her door handle.

  Damn him.

  Elissa should shout it, even though his door was sealed.

  Damn you, Sir Alasdair Kearney.

  A whine took her attention and she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze locked onto the wolf cub she’d seen with Lady Cera’s bondmate.

  Blessed Spirit, was it just this afternoon?

  During the horrific evening meal, she’d told Lady Cera about seeing the wolves in the wide hallway. The duchess had explained that the wolfling was the only one to remain unbonded from the litter of four wolves born. He was half a turn old now, and Lady Cera worried he’d never find a person to be bonded to.