by C. A. Szarek
The headwoman, Morag, had no love for the beasts in the castle, but this one had taken her dislike to new heights, from what Elissa had heard—and not just from the duchess.
Mistress Morag had dubbed him Mischief for his antics, and Lady Cera had half-laughed, half-winced when she’d told Elissa how much the name fit the cub.
He wouldn’t mind any person, including Lady Cera. Only his sire had luck with him, and only because in the castle Trik—as the duchess called him—was alpha amongst the wolves, including Mistress Ansley’s she-wolf, Ali. The three—now four—wolves made up a small pack.
The silver cub made no sound as he stared her down.
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
His eyes were ice blue; their beauty took her breath away. He sat about ten feet away, gazing back at her as if cataloguing everything about her. Or as if he could see through her. His eyes almost glowed in the dim light of the corridor.
Elissa’s heart skipped for a reason other than her knight’s rejection.
She wasn’t afraid of the wolf—not really. What could he want with her?
Finally, the wolfling rose to all fours, swishing his tail once, much like he had when she’d seen him with his sire.
The movement broke the spell over her and Elissa pushed her door open with shaky fingers on the decorative handle.
He made no move to approach—or move away.
Do I want him to come closer?
Aye. Elissa wanted to find out if his fine silver coat was as soft as it looked. “Mischief?” she whispered.
The wolfling wagged his tail again, harder. Cocked his head to one side, his tongue lolling out of his open mouth.
She swallowed and took a step away from the open door. Toward the wolf.
Could she go to him?
Should I?
The wolfling scooted forward, and tossed his head back as if he was agreeing with her mental questions. As if he was saying, ‘Aye. Come here.’
Could he thought-send?
She’d learned how when she’d trained with the king’s mages, but she’d always been under the impression that unbonded animals could not. She’d never heard of animals having magic on their own.
I must be imagining things.
A howl had Elissa stilling before she reached the cub’s side. Then another sounded. Which soon became a series of howls—from more than one wolf.
It was eerie and beautiful. Like music, in a way. And coming closer.
Mischief made a sound in his throat and glanced over his shoulder. He looked back at her and wuffed, as if to say, ‘I have to go, but I’ll be back.’ Then he pivoted and bolted down the long hallway.
Away from her.
Sadness washed over Elissa as she stood, watching the corridor even after the wolfling had disappeared.
“What’s wrong with you?” She didn’t answer herself, but as she turned to go back to her guest suite, her eyes rested on Sir Alasdair’s closed door.
Pain hit her chest full-force, ripping away her curiosity about the wolf.
Elissa darted into her room and shut the door hard, wincing at the resounding, unintended, slam. Leaning hard on the thick panel, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but counting and exhaling slowly did nothing.
All she could see behind her tight lids was her knight.
She scowled and shoved off the door. She’d just get ready for bed, read one of her favorite stories—she’d brought several books from Terraquist—and go to sleep.
Forget about a certain knight.
Forget about the kiss.
“My…first…kiss.” She sobbed and cursed herself. “Just forget it. All of it.”
Forget about how it’d felt to be in his arms, up against his hard body, how his mouth had moved over hers.
Elissa traced her bottom lip with her fingertip, as if she could still feel him there. Then she ran her tongue over the same spot, trying to savor him still.
All she could taste was the salt from her tears.
His words haunted her all over again. “You’re so damn innocent.”
“Naïve or virginal?” Did it matter to which he’d been referring?
He’d rejected her.
Wouldn’t talk to her about the kiss. Wouldn’t even tell her why he’d kissed her.
“It matters not.”
She wasn’t naïve. She was a virgin.
In either case, it wasn’t any of her chaperone’s damn business.
He’d ruined her first kiss by what he’d said afterward. Then he’d treated her to the roughest horseback ride she’d had in her life—her body still ached. Then he’d been angry at her in the bailey.
“So, why do I care? Why am I letting him hurt me?” Elissa pounded her thighs with tight fists. She wouldn’t let him make her feel this way.
Her knight wasn’t one of her suitors. What he did or didn’t do didn’t matter.
She wouldn’t marry Lord Avery Lenore, but her other suitors would arrive soon, one by one, and she would give them as much of a genuine chance at her heart as she had the young heir from Tarvis.
“My heart?”
Aye. Her heart.
She wouldn’t marry for any reason other than love, like she’d told King Nathal. The king had agreed, after all.
Resting her hand over her left breast, she pressed down and felt the organ in question jump against her palm. Her pulse sped up, echoing in her ears as she paced the room, her rust gown caressing her legs as her movements quickened.
Magic pushed back, the more agitated she got, but Elissa ignored her powers and refused to give in to the new tears that threatened.
I’m stronger than this.
She wouldn’t let her chaperone do this to her.
Sucking in air, she pulled her magic around her like a cape and breathed in and out until the pressure, the temptation of the elements melded into the background.
Elissa lifted her trunk’s lid, and the Durroc family seal caught her eye. She reached down and grabbed the brooch she never wore, tracing the embossed edges of the cold metal with her index finger.
She’d seen her home today. Walked the same halls as her parents and her brother. Touched their—her things. Yet she remembered nothing.
Despair enveloped her and she couldn’t fight the sob that bubbled up. She dropped the brooch and shut her trunk.
Collapsing on her bed fully clothed, Elissa didn’t bother wiping her face. More tears would just blind her.
Was she crying for her family? For the hurt Sir Alasdair had saddled her with? Or were her tears for the betrayal at the hands of King Nathal, since she’d never known the truth about her parents and Emery?
Does it matter?
Chapter Fifteen
Knock. Knock. Then a hammering noise that echoed.
“Who the—?” In his rushed irritation, he failed to grab his tunic, but when Alasdair wrenched the door to his temporary quarters open, he had a fleeting wish he’d grabbed his sword. He frowned. “You’re going to wake the whole corridor pounding like that. What the hell is wrong?”
His heart skipped and he glanced at Lady Elissa’s door, half-expecting her to be standing in the frame, scowling at him, hands on her perfect hips.
It was shut tight.
“Nothing.” Bowen’s shaggy sandy locks shifted as he cocked his head to one side. Amber eyes wide, he was looking at Alasdair as if he’d gone daft.
“Then why did you pound on my door?”
“You didn’t answer fast enough.” Dallon flashed a grin.
Bowen tipped his head, arching an eyebrow. “Aye, what he said.”
Alasdair dragged a hand down his face. Stubble grazed his palm. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “You two are pretty far from the soldier wing.”
“Aye, because you are,” Bowen said as if it made all the sense in the world.
“What do you want?”
Bowen and Dallon exchanged a glance.
“What?” Alasdair barked.
�
�Thought so,” Bowen muttered.
“Looks like you were right.” Dallon offered a curt nod.
Alasdair leaned into the doorframe in lieu of popping each of the younger men with one of the tight fists his hands had worked their way into. “What the hell nonsense are you two going on about?”
Bowen whistled, Dallon shook his head.
“It’s a damn good thing we’ve come for you, brother.” Dallon’s dark eyes were serious.
“Come for me?”
“At supper I suspected, but now I’m sure,” Bowen said.
Alasdair growled and grabbed Bowen by two handfuls of his shirt. His fellow guardsman wore no doublet, as it was evening. The knights were relieved of their duties until the morning, no doubt. Both wore soft breeches and loose tunics. Clothing to relax in. “Stop being obtuse.”
“Obtuse?” Dallon echoed, chuckling.
Bowen grinned, despite the fact Alasdair had him in a tight grip. “You, my dear, older, usually wiser—”
“Spit it out.” The mocking just irritated him more. Alasdair leaned into the knight, tempted to smash his forehead into Bowen’s nose. Mess up his handsome face a bit.
“You’re wound tight, Alas.” It was Dallon who spoke.
Alasdair reared back, releasing his hold on Bowen. “What?” He couldn’t deny the accusation, as much as he wanted to. He’d been as taut as a bowstring all night…well, closer to all day. Since that afternoon.
Since you kissed her.
Then acted like the biggest wretch in the world.
Hurt her.
“Proof positive.” Bowen crossed his arms over his chest, not even bothering to tug his tunic straight or smooth the wrinkles.
“Get your shirt, brother. We’re going to Greenwald Main.”
Alasdair tried to sputter a response. A denial. Anything. But two sets of strong hands turned his shoulders—against his will—and shoved him into the borrowed rooms. They followed, Bowen uttering a command for Lucan’s magic orbs to alight and brighten the suite as Dallon shut the door.
He liked the dark. Had been wallowing on his own just fine. Obsessing over every bit of conversation he’d had with Lady Elissa since the kiss.
On a loop of torture.
Fighting the embarrassment that’d come with his actions, as well what he’d said. He’d been worse than a wretch. He’d been rude. Hurtful. A total arse.
“I can’t go anywhere,” Alasdair said, although he snatched his olive green tunic from the back of the chair by the fireplace and shoved his arms into it.
“Your charge will be fine,” Bowen said.
“We won’t be gone long,” Dallon added.
“I’m…not supposed to leave her.” He yanked the shirt over his head and into place.
His brothers exchanged a look before glancing back at him. “You’re going,” they said in unison.
Alasdair stared.
Was he that transparent? Next they’d ask him what’d happened. Alasdair swallowed and scowled. “Are you two wretches going to explain to Leargan if he discovers I’m gone? We’re not lads anymore. Dereliction of duty is serious.”
“The captain has given his blessing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Aye?”
“You’re as off-duty as we are.” Dallon nodded. “For the evening.”
Alasdair snorted. “It’s well past evening.”
“All is quiet,” Bowen said as if he hadn’t spoken.
“After seeing you at supper, Leargan all but commanded us to take you rutting.” Dallon looked as if was fighting a smile.
“I doubt that.”
“’Tis true.” Bowen nodded.
“Then why didn’t the captain himself tell me I’m relieved for the night?”
“I suppose he didn’t think you’d need such persuading.” Dallon winked.
Alasdair sighed and slid onto the seat he’d been occupying by the hearth before his brothers’ disturbance. The fire had burned down, losing its glow as the embers winked in and out. But the room was still warm. More so than his quarters in the solider wing.
“To your feet, Sir Alasdair Kearney. We’re going to The White Sage. Betha is waiting for you.”
“How do you know?” He glared at Dallon.
“I made sure of it. I sent a message. She’s eager to see you.”
Lady Elissa’s face, kiss-swollen rosy lips, heavy-lidded hazel eyes, and pink cheeks flashed into his mind. Her hair, mussed from his hands, had floated around her. She’d been radiant.
“Hardly innocent,” she’d said.
She hadn’t looked innocent.
Alasdair pushed off the arms of the chair so hard it creaked as he straightened. “Fine.”
Bowen chuckled. “Don’t sound grateful or anything.”
“You’re welcome, anyway.” Dallon grinned.
He tumbled out of the guest suite, both fellow knights on his heels. Alasdair looked next door and paused. “Wait. I need to check on her.”
His brothers exchanged another look he chose not to interpret.
Alasdair grumbled to himself and ignored them. He pushed the door open, half-surprised she didn’t have it barred.
She should.
To keep the likes of him out.
He wanted to yell at her to do so. Perhaps he would, even though it’d just add more guilt for speaking to her with such disrespect, on what—three occasions now?
The room was dim, but not wholly dark. Two of Lucan’s magic lights hovered on either side of the bed, lit at the lowest setting.
“Lady Elissa?” He called, but kept it low. His stomach quivered when he glanced at the sleeping fur-covered form in the huge bed. She didn’t have the curtains drawn.
She’s sleeping.
Alasdair’s feet carried him to the head of the bed, to the side she was sleeping on.
Leave.
But he didn’t.
Lady Elissa lay on her side, facing him. The glorious length of her long flaxen locks were spread over the pillow. Her eyelashes, darker than her hair, looked impossibly long against her cheekbones.
The sleeping furs were pulled up to her shoulder, but she had one arm resting on top of the blankets, the other in a small fist tucked next to her cheek on her pillow. The fluffy sleeve of her sleeping gown went all the way to her wrist, complete with feminine lace around the cuff. It was pale pink and somehow made her seem younger.
He watched the rise and fall of her breathing. She was deeply asleep, her expression serene. Her fair skin glowed in the soft magic light.
She looked radiant. Beautiful.
“So damn innocent.” His whisper made his heart skip.
It didn’t matter if she’d had a lover—though his gut clenched at the thought. She was so gorgeous, so pure he couldn’t breathe.
She doesn’t belong to you. She will never belong to you.
His throat tightened and his stomach flip-flopped as if he was a lad of five and ten gazing upon his first naked women.
She’s not even naked.
It didn’t matter. Lady Elissa was so lovely it hurt to look at her.
He didn’t say her name again. Not that he could speak even if he tried.
Alasdair turned on his heel and strode silently from her rooms. He closed the door soundlessly and met two curious pairs of eyes. “Let’s go.”
“All is well?” Bowen asked.
“Aye. Let’s go if we’re going.” So I can get back.
Although he left the latter part unsaid, he didn’t miss Dallon muttering that something was wrong with him indeed.
He’d never wanted to hurry away from rutting before.
* * * *
Betha threw herself into his arms. Instead of trying to kiss his mouth, she planted a loud smack on his stubbled cheek as Alasdair caught up her barely-clad form and held her tight.
She knows me well.
For some reason, that made him feel like a rogue.
He’d not hesitated to kiss Lady Elissa Durroc.
“Sir Al
as,” she whined. “It has been much too long!”
He plastered on a grin as she slid seductively down his chest to her feet.
Betha was petite, but she plastered herself to him as soon as her slippers hit the tavern floor, wrapping her arms around his torso, pressing her full breasts into him. She tilted her hips in a bump-and-rub for good measure.
His cock didn’t even stir. Which was odd, considering Betha’s skill in rotating her pelvis—he had a fantastic memory after all. She’d ridden him more times than he could count.
He pushed away any minute worry. It’d be different when they were naked in her room.
Alasdair would make her scream his name.
Like always.
He met sky blue eyes so different from the hazel ones that’d been haunting him from the moment he’d mounted Tess to accompany his brothers through Greenwald Main, and to The White Sage Pub.
Guilt.
It churned in his gut, making his mouth taste sour, his tongue heavy.
Why?
He owed her nothing.
No loyalty.
No fidelity.
They weren’t going to be together. Despite the cock-hardening kiss. Despite how good she’d tasted. Despite the noises she’d uttered and how she’d clung to him…or how she’d felt in his arms, her small perfect breasts flat against his chest. Despite…
Shite.
“Sir Alas?” The barmaid’s concern had him refocusing on her face.
Alasdair cupped her cheek and tucked wayward ebony strands of her hair behind her ear. Betha couldn’t be more different than Lady Elissa—
Stop. Now.
“I’m sorry my duties have kept me from you, lass.”
She smirked. “And here I thought you’d just been visiting another tavern.”
Alasdair leaned back and gave her an affronted expression. He clutched his chest. “You wound me, lass. You know you’re my favorite.”
She giggled and beamed. “I bet you say that to all the lasses.” Betha winked. Even if she knew he did, she wasn’t offended. Wasn’t attached to him.
Betha enjoyed their time together. He pleased her physically; she enjoyed sex. If she didn’t assure him of that in words, her body always did. They found mutual pleasure in each other’s arms, even if coin was involved.
He released a breath and let go of some tension. He needed this. Alasdair needed to feel normal again. Needed Betha.