by C. A. Szarek
“Aye. Coming.” The duke crossed the distance to Sir Alasdair. “Thank you, Alas, for protecting Elissa. Please continue to do so until you bring her to me. I’ll write as soon as I can. I’ve already explained my situation to Jorrin.”
Elissa watched the man she loved nod his dark head and loosen his clenched fists to shake the Duke of Dalunas’ hand. He didn’t speak but the apple of his throat bobbed. His shoulders were tight, his full mouth a pale bloodless line. Lord Cam seemed oblivious to the tension radiating off the knight’s body.
She couldn’t stop watching them together. Light and dark. One she wanted, the other wanted her.
“I’ll do my duty, as always.” The statement was a croak when Sir Alasdair finally spoke, but his jaw was still clenched, barely giving clarity to the words.
Could her knight be upset about the kiss? He had been last night, but this time, she’d been the aggressor.
The duke smiled. Nodded. Then he and his captain were gone.
When they were alone, Sir Alasdair wouldn’t look at her.
Elissa raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I have to meet Lady Cera.”
Mischief pushed to all fours and wuffed. When he looked at the knight, his tail swooshed.
Sir Alasdair’s gaze swept past her. The taut fists he’d had at his sides returned, opening and closing this time. His body was even tighter than moments before. As if he was restraining himself. Anger radiated off him; she didn’t have to be an empath like Lord Jorrin to feel it. His handsome face was the harshest she’d ever seen it. Almost as if he was about to go to battle.
Elissa took his nonverbal answer as the only one she’d get, and started off down the corridor. She didn’t care if he followed or not—so she told herself. Her chest ached, but she couldn’t focus on that now. She had a task.
Why he was so angry, she didn’t understand.
He’d run from her the night before, reinforcing that he didn’t want her. She was doing what she had to do where Lord Cam was concerned.
The Duchess of Greenwald smiled as Elissa opened the door to her solar. The room was bright and welcoming as always. Drapes were tied back on the many windows; fall sunlight streamed in.
Lady Cera stood before the rich brown sofa. She wore soft gray breeches that brought out the color of her eyes, and a puffy-sleeved pale blue tunic with no jerkin or doublet. It was tucked into the breeches, and had lace on the collar—the only feminine touch.
She’d seen the duchess in many gowns since coming to Greenwald, but like the other times she’d seen Lady Cera breech-clad, this outfit wasn’t normal ladies’ attire.
Elissa’s admiration of the woman who’d fast become a friend shot up. Lady Cera was, above all else, herself. No matter her role to her Province. She was half-surprised the duchess didn’t have her magic sword at her waist.
“Good morning, my lady.” Elissa cursed the shake in her greeting. It had to be nerves about her imminent bond.
“Morning, Issa.”
She told herself to relax and widened her smile. Lady Cera had taken to calling her by the childhood nickname. Elissa didn’t mind.
“Good, he’s with you. I was worried when I couldn’t find him this morning after my ride.” She gestured for Elissa and Mischief to come closer.
“He’s been with me since last night, actually.”
“Oh?” Lady Cera cocked her head to one side, her loose auburn curls shifting over her shoulder. Her wolf, Trikser, wuffed from where he lay by the welcoming fire in the hearth.
Her soon-to-be-bondmate returned the noise, but didn’t leave Elissa’s side.
Heat kissed her neck and she swallowed. She wouldn’t tell the duchess everything. Just that her wolfling had scratched on her door. “He came to my room late, whining until I let him in.”
The duchess looked at the young wolf. “That’s a good sign. Somehow even without magic, you’ve already formed a bond.”
Elissa stroked Mischief’s head and the wolf leaned into her touch. “Don’t tell the headwoman, but he spent the night in my bed with me.”
Lady Cera laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me. Come, sit with me.” She returned to her seat and patted the cushion beside her. “Lucan’s going to bond you two. He should arrive shortly.”
The door opened and Elissa’s heart sped up, because her body sensed her knight’s entry. She didn’t need to look his way.
He bowed to the duchess and murmured a morning greeting.
“Hello, Alas, I’d wondered where you were.” Lady Cera grinned, but the expression faded fast. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay, my lady.”
Elissa still didn’t spare him a glance. She couldn’t.
The duchess looked at him, then at her. Her expression was thoughtful, but she said nothing. For some reason, that made Elissa want to squirm.
Sir Alasdair perched in the corner against the wall, refusing Lady Cera’s invitation to join them in the circle of chairs and sofa by the hearth.
Neomi, Lady Cera’s handmaiden, presented Elissa with a tray.
Her stomach gurgled with nerves, so she politely refused cheese and fruit, but thanked the lass for a mug of warm mead.
The maid nodded and offered her wares to the duchess.
“Is Fallon napping?” Lady Cera asked.
Neomi nodded, her brown eyes twinkling. “I got him down without much of a fight, my lady. He wore himself out playing with the duke.”
“Good! I hated to miss out on our morning routine, but Ash needed a run as much as Trik and I.” She spoke of her black stallion. “Jorrin was late to join the men, then?” Lady Cera grinned when the maid winked.
Elissa watched them interact and relaxed into the plush pillow of the sofa’s back. Lady Cera was friends with her handmaiden. That made Elissa like her even more.
“I suspect Captain Leargan suffered the same fate. Mistress Ansley told me the twins are trying to walk,” Neomi said.
The duchess giggled. “Don’t let it get out that our big tough men are so enamored with their children.”
The maid bowed, but she was grinning. She left the room shortly, her blonde curls bobbing as she went. She was married to Gamel, the Head Steward of Greenwald. Elissa had seen the couple together and had been envious of their obvious love for each other.
Yet the same could be said of the other couples of Greenwald. Castle Aldern was saturated in love. Nothing more than she wanted for herself.
Can I have that with Lord Cam?
“I heard Lord Cam had to head back to Dalunas. Something urgent?” The duchess’ gray eyes were concerned as she sipped mead.
Elissa tried not to jump.
It was as if Lady Cera had sensed she’s been thinking about him. “Aye, my lady. I shall meet him there when he’s taken care the problem. He didn’t say what.”
“Oh? So, you’ve chosen then?” Lady Cera grinned.
She forced a nod, feeling Sir Alasdair’s eyes on her. Again. As if daring her to look his way. “Aye, my lady.”
The duchess beamed and reached for her hands, squeezing. “Lord Cam is a good man. I like him very much. I’m so happy for you!”
Elissa’s gut churned and she bit her bottom lip to keep from giving into a sudden wave of emotion. Her magic skittered down her spine and she forced herself to sit taller and push it back. She couldn’t lose control in front of the duchess.
Mischief whined and leaned into her leg.
“Are you all right?” Lady Cera whispered.
She forced a nod. “Aye. It’s just happening so fast.”
Lady Cera patted her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Lord Cam will take care of you, Issa.”
“I know, my lady.” Elissa wanted to wince at the strain in her voice, but she didn’t.
“Cera, like I have told you so many times,” the duchess chided gently, but she flashed a charming, lopsided grin.
Elissa gave a sheepish smile. For some reason, she wanted to spill everything to the woman before her. She wanted
to cling to the duchess’ hands, meet her eyes, and admit she was scared to death.
She wanted to tell Lady Cera she loved a knight, not a duke. Elissa wanted to ask what she should do. Wanted relief from the confusion. From the pain.
From the rejection of the man who held her heart.
The young knighted mage, Sir Lucan, took that moment to scramble into the room, and relief washed over her. The distraction was needed. Before she confessed things she couldn’t take back.
Sir Alasdair is here, for Blessed Spirit’s sake.
Elissa straightened and tugged free of Lady Cera’s grip.
The mage bowed, his face crimson. “I’m sorry I’m late, my ladies.” He bowed again, first to the duchess then to Elissa.
“No worries, Lucan.” Lady Cera smiled at the obviously nervous lad. “Issa and I were just chatting.”
Elissa swallowed—twice. And told herself the butterflies in her tummy were due to the impending bond. She met the lad’s striking green eyes. “Thank you for doing this.”
He reddened to the tips of his ears, but nodded.
She felt his nerves, as clear as hers, and smoothed the front of her dark green gown, though the fabric didn’t require flattening. Her stomach rolled, and Elissa wished she’d eaten. Perhaps food would’ve settled her. Her gaze sought the knight that’d been her only constant since coming to Greenwald.
Sir Alasdair was looking her way, but his expression was implacable, betraying none of the anger he’d shown in the corridor when she’d said goodbye to Lord Cam. It hurt that he’d composed himself. Locked his emotions away, because she could not do the same.
Elissa jumped when the duchess called her name. She murmured apologies and looked at the young mage. “What do you need me to do?”
He shoved his dark hair from his eyes and squared his shoulders as he took a seat. Sir Lucan sat across from her, close enough to touch. Magic poured off him.
She wasn’t trying to sense it, but he was so powerful she could see his aura without concentrating—something she’d always struggled to do turns ago when she’d trained with the king’s mages.
Lady Cera had told her the lad was only five and ten.
So young; so much magic.
It didn’t matter. Elissa had never seen a more magical person.
He was handsome for one so young, with ebony hair that kissed his collar and pale green eyes almost unnatural in their hue. High cheekbones gave his face a regal look, and Sir Lucan was tall—six feet already. He’d be broad-shouldered with age, when his lean muscled frame filled out. Surely lasses would be chasing him from all over the Province when he was grown.
Sir Lucan pitched his body forward and offered his hand. “I need you to put one hand in mine and the other on your bondmate. No matter what, don’t let go of either until we’re done.”
“Alas, can you please bar the door?” Lady Cera asked.
“Shall I go?”
“Stay. Please stay.” The frantic plea was out of her mouth unbidden and Elissa breathed through her sudden, irrational panic.
Mischief whined.
“All right.” Sir Alasdair nodded, and their gazes collided for a few heartbeats.
She watched him walk to the door when he broke their eye contact, and heard the click of the lock. Elissa couldn’t take her eyes off him even as he returned to the corner, but this time, her knight took a seat in the nearest chair.
He was still too far away.
“Take a breath,” Lady Cera whispered, patting her arm. “You need to be calm before we start. So does he.” The duchess stroked her other hand over Mischief’s silver head.
Trikser made a barking-growling noise from the hearth, and the wolfling looked toward his sire, swishing his tail. The larger wolf rose from the fireplace, only to cross the room to his mistress and sit next to her, resting his large head on her lap.
Elissa tried not to stare into his amber eyes; she didn’t want him to think she was trying to be dominant. He was magnificent, graceful in a way Mischief wasn’t yet. He was also huge. “Will…Mischief grow as large as…your bondmate, my lady?”
Lady Cera smiled and buried her hand in the thick snowy fur at the back of Trikser’s neck. “I don’t know, as your wolfling was the runt. But his dam, Isair, is of good size as well. We can hope.”
“Are we ready?” the mage asked, his body giving off a calm that made Elissa’s respect of him shoot up a notch. He might be young, but he was in total control.
“Aye.”
“Get comfortable,” Lady Cera advised. She scooted away, breaking physical contact of Elissa as well as her wolf cub.
Elissa settled into the sofa, one hand at the back of Mischief’s neck, her fingers spread wide in the soft fur there, much the same as the way the duchess stroked her own bondmate.
Sir Lucan threaded his fingers with her other hand and took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell as he steadied his respiration. Trance settled over him and he closed his eyes.
Her own felt heavy as she felt the effects of the newborn spell. Elissa didn’t fight the urge to shut her lids. She squared her shoulders and flexed her fingers against her wolf’s warmth. Mischief leaned into her leg as the mage began a chant she didn’t understand.
She listened hard, but didn’t recognize the language at all. It wasn’t her dialect and it didn’t have the lilt of Aramourian, though many spells were in the language of the elves.
Magic hit her chest and started to spread out, moving down her arms and tingling her spine, her hips, her thighs. It was hot, searing from the inside out, but it didn’t hurt. It burned of power, opening her in a way that felt different than her elemental powers.
This was heavy, where her magic was light, enveloping her, but it didn’t constrict. It made Elissa want more. Her breath rushed faster, and she heard Mischief pant, but the wolf moved into her, not away.
She cracked her eyes open and had to squint against Sir Lucan’s radiance. His skin was glowing; the more he chanted, the more he brightened.
Elissa gasped as her body reclined of its own accord. She pressed into the cushion at her back, as if it was the only thing catching her. Her ears popped and prickled.
Something felt as if it encircled her. Entwined with her, body and mind. She blinked but the sensation didn’t lessen. It…deepened.
Then…
Two heartbeats echoed.
One hers…one…her bondmate’s?
Elissa wasn’t alone in her own head.
Visceral, primitive thoughts, made themselves concrete. Need. Hunger, thirst. Survival. That soon faded and she was washed with joy.
Love.
Mischief loved her.
Tears were born and spilled. Elissa’s body shook. She didn’t calm until the mage released her hand, a wide smile on his face.
Mischief made a sound that was almost a squeal and Elissa opened her arms. He didn’t hesitate to throw his bulk into her chest, and she didn’t care, even though it stole her breath. She buried her face in his warmth, his fur tickling her cheeks. She breathed deeply of his scent, somehow clean and woodsy, yet animal, too. Elissa wound her arms around him, holding him tight against her chest.
He was hers.
She was his.
Mischief liked the notion, infusing love into her mind. His thoughts were moving pictures in her head.
His tail wagged so hard it was like a fan over her overheated skin.
She threw her head back and laughed, feeling light in a way she hadn’t in days…sevendays, maybe. Confusion regarding the knight and the duke faded into the recesses of her mind, taking her pain with it.
Right now, there was only her newborn bond with the beast on her lap.
Elissa needed that more than she needed to breathe.
Chapter Twenty-four
She’s lost to me.
His heart had plummeted to his boots the very moment she’d reached for Lord Cam. She’d kissed the duke, and Alasdair had seen red. But he was overcome with grief, too. A
nd loss so powerful it seized his lungs and made his head spin.
Alasdair had struggled to not show a reaction. To hold onto the appearance of indifference.
I will never have her.
Lady Elissa Durroc would marry Lord Camden Malloch.
She’d chosen the Duke of Dalunas.
It’s as it should be.
No matter how many times he’d repeated that, his gut never loosened. His heart never beat normally. His head wouldn’t stop spiraling. Blessed Spirit, his…everything…burned.
The rest of the day was a blur. He’d not even allowed himself to be fascinated by the magic of her bonding with the young wolf, though he’d never been personal witness to anything like that.
Alasdair had shut down the short-lived elation that Lady Elissa had seemed panicked at the thought of him leaving the duchess solar, as well as the retort that’d been on his tongue. He’d wanted to snap, ‘Perhaps you should call for your betrothed.’
He couldn’t have run his mouth anyway. The duchess had noticed something was wrong. Alasdair had schooled his expression and squared his shoulders—commanded himself to hold onto that notion for the rest of the damn day.
Lord Cam might be on the road to his home Province, but he was trapped with Lady Elissa. Until Lady Cera released her.
Let it be soon.
Then he could get over her.
Move on with his regular duties. And with his life.
He’d not stayed for her first bondmate lesson, and neither had Lucan. Alasdair had gone to the fighting yard with the lad, and had a quick—much needed—swordplay lesson with all three of his young trainees.
Alaric had asked to see some of the new techniques, so Alasdair had challenged his co-instructor to a little demonstration. He’d come at Roduch hard, working off some aggression.
His brother had been up for his level of intensity, and now they were on their third round. He’d bested the big blond knight two times, but not by much. They were both too good.
Roduch circled him, sword ready, sweat sheening on his brow in the late-autumn sunlight.
The breeze was chilly, but it felt good as it caressed Alasdair’s overheated skin. He’d tossed his doublet and tunic to the ground after their first round.