by C. A. Szarek
The duchess explained the ladies often spent mornings in the solar with their children before seeing to duties. She loved the idea and hoped to do the same when she was married and had her own. Her heart thumped at the thought—and the simultaneous knock at the door.
Sir Alasdair bowed as he entered the solar, and his sapphire gaze zoned in on Elissa, who was still holding the heir to Greenwald on her lap.
Lord Fallon scrambled down and dashed to the knight. Sir Alasdair squatted down to greet the tiny lord, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of him and the child.
Lady Cera said something teasing, and they all laughed.
Elissa’s chest tightened and she swallowed against a lump in her throat when he avoided her gaze, but continued pleasant interactions with the ladies. She rose to her feet and bowed to the duchess, almost regretting her knight’s interruption.
Things still weren’t—and wouldn’t be—right between them. It hurt to see him speak as his normal self to others.
“Have a good day, Elissa,” Lady Cera said, squeezing her hand fondly.
She wanted to cry.
When they were alone in the corridor, she intended to ask him how the swordplay lesson went, but he looked away as soon as the door was closed, and her heart slid to her toes.
Elissa only had one more day of Sir Alasdair’s company alone.
Problem was, it was going to be an arduous one.
Chapter Nineteen
“Do you need to go back to The White Sage, brother?” Sir Bowen knocked her knight on the back of his shoulder outside the great hall.
Sir Alasdair glared.
“What? Did you not get enough of Betha the other night?” Sir Dallon winked.
The other night?
Elissa’s heart plummeted, and she flushed to her toes. Her magic responded, warming her limbs, but it didn’t make breathing any easier.
The two knights chuckled and continued to pass ribald remarks. Obviously they hadn’t noticed her approach, but this was one time she wasn’t grateful for the soft sole and soundless footsteps of ladies’ slippers.
Her gut churned.
“The lass certainly looked well pleased when we left.” Sir Bowen laughed.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Betrayal threatened to take her over, even though she had no hold over him.
“Don’t you two have duties?” Sir Alasdair’s voice was a growl, but he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened.
Of course he hadn’t expected to see her standing there.
Elissa hadn’t told him she’d make it to the formal sitting room outside great hall on her own. He’d probably been planning to get her from her rooms momentarily. He’d left her there after midday meal to change gowns.
An unnamed emotion passed over his face. Was it guilt?
Nay. Stop seeing what you want.
Another day of misery had passed.
After spending time with the ladies in the duchess solar the morning before, she and the knight had shared an awkward midday meal with barely a word. She’d spent the evening alone in her rooms, reading. Or more accurately, pretending to read.
Sir Alasdair hadn’t collected her for evening meal, and she’d been relieved. Hadn’t wanted to seek him—or any other company—out. The young maid she’d been assigned, a pretty fair-haired lass named Jonah, had offered to get him and she’d declined.
Elissa had asked if Jonah would get her meal, and the maid had agreed. She’d seemed to sense Elissa’s need to be alone after that, and had excused herself for the night.
After eating, Elissa had laid out a lavish teal gown to wear for the Duke of Dalunas herself, since she’d refused Jonah’s offer to help her prepare for bed or the morrow, as well as declined a hot bath.
Teal and yellow were the colors of Lord Camden’s Province, and the queen had made sure she had a gown especially for him. The dress was exquisite, billowy and full of lace embroidery and details that must’ve taken the seamstresses sevendays to finish. The fabric was rich and the bodice low-cut enough to make her blush; not that she had a much of a bust to show off anyway, not like Lady Cera or Mistress Ansley.
She’d twirled in the mirror when she’d put it on, but the man to impress in her mind hadn’t been the duke. Now, she regretted that she’d hoped her knight liked the gown, because he’d just crushed her yet again.
Elissa didn’t want to think about him kissing another woman. Touching another woman. Doing more than merely touching her. A tavern lass, nonetheless.
Did he pay her, too?
Her heart thundered, stabbing at her with each beat, but she schooled her expression fast. Sir Alasdair couldn’t have a clue anything his fellow knights had said had any impact on her.
She was about to meet her final suitor, and she looked fantastic. Even Jonah had agreed. The maid had helped twist her hair up in an elaborate design reminiscent of her cousin. Braids and flowers overflowed and free curls intentionally framed her face.
So…damn Sir Alasdair Kearney.
Lord Camden was a duke. A good man, by all accounts from those around her.
I’ll make sure he’s the man of my dreams.
“Good day, my lady.” Sir Dallon bowed deeply to her, but Elissa couldn’t muster a smile for the handsome knight.
She inclined her head and tried to convince herself what she’d just decided about the Duke of Dalunas was true.
Sir Bowen bowed as well from where he stood next to her chaperone. “You look radiant, Lady Elissa. Truly magnificent. Lord Cam won’t be able to resist you.”
She allowed him to take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles, ignoring the heat that burned her neck and cheeks. He spoke the truth; there was no reason to feel shy or embarrassed.
Sir Alasdair fidgeted, his face marred with a frown, but she ignored him.
“Thank you, Sir Bowen.” Elissa looked into the sandy-haired knight’s unusual golden eyes. She smiled for him, keenly aware her chaperone was staring at her.
Sir Bowen beamed. He was handsome, especially with his one-dimpled cheek. But he didn’t stir her. Neither did Sir Dallon, who was equally appealing, with dark hair and eyes and a cleft in his chin. Tall and broad, as if all of the above was a requirement to be a member of the Aldern personal guard.
No, she was drawn to the broody man next to them.
Who wants nothing to do with me.
Sir Alasdair cleared his throat as Sir Bowen released her hand. “The duke should be here shortly. I’ve been told the room is ready for us, with a light repast already set out.”
Elissa squared her shoulders and reached for a regal expression. She wished she was taller, so she could look down her nose at him. “Very well. I’m ready.”
She whirled away from the three men, crossing the distance to the wide doorway of the nearby sitting room without a backward glance. Elissa heard someone whistle, then the low rumble of a laugh and a male voice—either Sir Bowen or Sir Dallon, because the responding growl was definitely her knight.
Unfortunately, that sound from Sir Alasdair was all too familiar as of late.
Elissa didn’t let allow what was behind her to force her step to falter.
If Sir Alasdair chose to follow, very well; if he didn’t, that was fine, too.
I’m done with him.
She ignored the inner voice that called her a liar.
* * * *
Alasdair had never felt murderous toward men he considered brothers before. Today made it official—and tempting. Instead of bashing Bowen’s face in for laughing at Dallon’s whistle, he bowed to his two fellow knights and clenched his jaw. Forcing a smile was too much to ask for, so he didn’t try.
“The lady is irked with you, Alas.” Bowen had the bollocks to wink.
“Aye, I’d noticed.” Dallon beamed.
“I wonder what he did, Dallon.”
“Hmmm, as do I, Bowen.” Dallon framed his chin with his thumb and index finger, cocking his head to one side. Then they
both looked back at Alasdair.
He swallowed a snarl. “Good day, my brothers.” He pushed the pleasantry out, not responding to Dallon’s smirk or Bowen’s raised brow. Alasdair bowed again.
He tried not to stalk to the doorway. The urge only deepened when one of them laughed. Again. Visions of violence danced into his head, so Alasdair quickened his pace, blocking out his brothers and taking his first step in to the lavish sitting room where they were to meet Lord Cam.
Guilt hit him in the gut, almost doubling him over before he’d made it very far and glanced over at the lass he couldn’t have.
He had no intention of mentioning the trip to The White Sage or asking her to clarify exactly how much she’d heard of his brothers’ reprobate teases. Alasdair wasn’t keen on remembering his failure to perform, let alone relate it to the person who was the cause of said failure.
Who he chose to tup was none of Lady Elissa Durroc’s damn business anyway.
However, he wanted to shout, “Nothing happened!” Apologize to her if something his brothers had said had hurt her feelings. Which was ridiculous.
She stood by the fireplace, her back to him, staring at the painting that hung above the mantel. It was a wildlife scene, complete with a white wolf and a lush forest at the edge of a huge lake.
A real place, it wasn’t far from Greenwald Main. There was a large field of long grass behind it, and a small profile that only hinted at the village in the distance across the water, both reflected true-to-life in the painting.
The wolf was posted high on a ridge like a king, but the beast was gazing out of the painting as if he could see the whole world—in and out of the scene. Something made him want to avoid the wolf’s painted amber eyes as much as the hazel ones that’d held so much pain when he’d ignored her request to speak about what’d happened between them.
What could he say, anyway? He’d already lied his way through multiple apologies.
“Is this Trikser?” Lady Elissa asked, turning to him.
Alasdair’s breath caught when he allowed himself to look at her—really look at her—in the teal gown. It had to be the finest he’d seen her in, with its detailed stitching and swirls of embroidery and lace. The bodice was low, the corset tight and snug all the way to her hips, before the fabric billowed.
For some reason, he wanted to grab a shawl and wrap her in it. Her breasts were on display for another man.
He swallowed and suppressed the urge to growl. Tried not to think about how what he was trying not to stare at had felt up against his chest.
Her expression fell and he mentally kicked himself. She’d asked an innocent question, and his delay had probably made her think he had no intention of answering. Or speaking to her.
Alasdair had acted like the worst cad the past few days. He’d not directly ignored her, but he’d kept their conversations abrupt—at best. Talking to her made him crave her even more.
Every time her eyes flashed with disappointment because he’d snapped at her, or been too curt, had been like a kick in the stomach. However, he still couldn’t convince himself to be at ease with like he had before he’d kissed her. To be at her side, to talk to her, touch her, felt right somehow.
But it isn’t right.
His chest burned.
Treating her like he had been made him a feel like selfish bastard, but the illusion of being with her, but not really with her was even worse.
The lass would get over whatever tender feelings she thought she had for him. As soon as she was good and married.
Alasdair wanted to rub his chest.
Lady Elissa turned away, looking back up at the painting and Alasdair closed his eyes.
He sucked in a breath and planted his feet to where he stood so he wouldn’t rush to her side. An apology and reassurance teetered on the tip of his tongue. He held back. “I don’t think so,” he said finally.
“What?” She spared him a glance over one bare shoulder.
Damn the teal gown.
“I don’t—” He had to clear his throat and try again. “I don’t think the wolf in the painting is actually Lady Cera’s bondmate.”
“Oh.” Lady Elissa didn’t look at him again. “It’s beautiful, at any rate.”
You’re beautiful.
Alasdair didn’t realize he’d spoke aloud until she whirled on him, her hazel eyes huge and her delectable mouth parted on a gasp. They stared at each other until he ran out of curses in his head. His pulse thundered in his temples. His cock twitched when her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip.
Stop looking at her mouth. He couldn’t. Nor could he banish the vivid memory of her innocent taste.
“Who, in all the lands, is this vision?” The male voice made them both jump.
She pinkened—across exposed upper chest and those bare shoulders, too—and touched her cheek as her gaze darted to the doorway. The curls above her ears bobbed. Lady Elissa looked pure—and adorable.
Lord Cam filled the doorway, dressed finely in yellow and teal, his Province’s colors. Somehow, the outfit didn’t look anything but masculine, despite the loudness in hue. The duke was impeccable, as always, not a lock out of place on his blond head. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was trimmed shorter than even Dallon’s. He wore a wide belt and decorative sword with a gold-plated, jeweled hilt.
Alasdair wanted to growl and dart in front of Lady Elissa, hiding her from the lord’s view. He stayed where he stood instead, plastering on a smile for a man he’d always genuinely liked but suddenly loathed.
“My lord.” Lady Elissa curtseyed deeply, lowering her lashes as any fine lady of her station would.
Lord Cam crossed the room in two strides. He gathered her hands and kissed her knuckles. “My lady, I’m overjoyed to finally meet you. King Nathal has told me much about the queen’s cousin.”
She murmured something appropriate but her statement was lost as Alasdair tried to talk himself out of the red haze that clouded his vision.
“You are lovely. And you resemble Queen Morghyn so.” The duke openly admired Lady Elissa until her cheeks shone an even deeper crimson.
“Thank you, Lord Camden.”
Somehow, it irked Alasdair that the man hadn’t introduced himself, but she’d said his name almost breathlessly. As if she’d been waiting all her life to meet the Duke of Dalunas.
“Lord Cam. Actually, just Cam.” The man beamed.
Alasdair sucked back a growl.
The lord’s eyes shot to him. “Alas, it’s good to see you, old friend.”
He forced a nod and consciously schooled his expression as Lord Cam slid forward and gripped his forearm in a familiarity that stirred his guilt—but only a little.
“It’s good to see you too, my lord.”
“You’ve been doing well in Greenwald?”
“Aye, my lord.” Alasdair made himself relax and look into the man’s pale blue eyes. “Quite well indeed.”
The smile he received was easy and genuine. More guilt bit at him. “Glad to hear it. You’ve been taking good care of my intended?”
Guilt shot into rage—and jealousy. Alasdair spared her a glance as he nodded for Lord Cam. Lady Elissa’s gorgeous hazel eyes were wide—and wary. She looked at them both, saying nothing.
His stomach started at a slow churn that did nothing but raise the bile up to his throat. Alasdair wanted to spirit her away. Hide her. Hold her. Kiss her.
The Duke of Dalunas was the first of her suitors that worried him. Word was, Lord Camden Malloch was playing for keeps.
He should be overjoyed. The duke would take her off his hands. The man was charming and handsome. Surely, she’d be infatuated with him in hours.
Pain bit at him, clenching his roiling gut.
Alasdair straightened his shoulders and let his arm sweep the room. “Why don’t you sit? The journey from Dalunas is long. Are you interested in the light repast, my lord?”
The look Lord Cam flashed was grateful. He didn’t disagree as he gently
took Lady Elissa’s arm and seated her on a plush gold sofa before taking a seat across from her.
The lass stared at Lord Cam as he talked and ate. Lady Elissa declined the offer for food, but she accepted the goblet of mead the duke himself poured for her.
Alasdair backed up to the hearth, forcing himself to remain on his feet instead of resting his back against the warm brick as he was inclined. He propped his elbow on the mantle and told himself not to watch them. Or listen to their conversation.
He failed.
His eyes darted back and forth from the lady to the duke. Over and over.
She seemed to relax more and more as Lord Cam spoke. Lady Elissa reclined into her seat and her conversation took on a normal edge. She even laughed.
Somehow, although they spoke of nonessential things, consisting mostly of questions to get to know one another, Alasdair hung on every word, as if they were speaking to him.
His chest burned again, and this time, he did rub the spot. It hurt to watch them together.
This is only day one.
Alasdair shook his head and turned his body, making himself look into the bright fire and blocking out the conversation behind him.
Lord Camden Malloch and Lady Elissa Durroc together was…right.
Sir Alasdair Kearney and Lady Elissa Durroc was not.
Chapter Twenty
Charis circled the busiest market street for the hundredth time.
Bracken and Nason were both cursing behind him, but he ignored them, probing for magic as inconspicuously as he could. He was agitated and frustrated, so he had trouble focusing specifically on elemental magic.
Powers of all kinds kept bouncing off his probing spell. He tried to block them out, wade through what was coming back at him, but it was difficult.
“If we walk past tha square once more, one of tha marshals is bound to stop and question us. We haven’t stopped at any of tha stalls. We carry no purchases.” Bracken had an irritated edge that rose Charis’ hackles even more.
“Shut up. I need to concentrate.”
“Bracken’s right. There’re too many eyes on us,” Nason complained. “We don’ look like we’re shoppin’.”