by C. A. Szarek
She explored him, dragging her hands through the springy curls on his chest, moving downward, skimming her fingertips across his toned abdominal muscles then returning to trace each line. She told herself not to stare at his manhood, but the more her fingers roamed, the more it jumped. As if it was ready to take her again.
Elissa’s body tingled. She wanted him again.
Alasdair’s groan caught her attention and their eyes met. His gaze was intense as he studied her. He gripped her wrist, and the apple of his throat bobbed. “Don’t fall in love with me, lass.”
She sat up, looking him square in those blue eyes.
Tell him the truth.
“It’s too late.”
“What?”
“I love you, Alasdair.”
His expression darkened, brow furrowed, his mouth a hard line. “Don’t mistake lust for tender feelings.”
“Excuse me?” She straightened, crossing her arms over her breasts. Bile burned the back of her throat. “I believe I know my own heart.”
“Then this was an even bigger mistake than I imagined.”
“Alasdair…” Her shoulders shook. Next her arms. Anger mixed with crushing pain, her lungs burned with every breath. Magic pushed back, threatening to breech the surface of her skin. She fought it, forcing her eyes to remain on her knight.
Do. Not. Cry.
Elissa couldn’t show him that he’d just ripped out her heart and stomped on it. The hole in her chest widened as he pushed past her to leave the bed, keeping their bodies from touching, as if it was offensive.
Alasdair grabbed his breeches and yanked them on. His belt buckle clanged, but he made no effort to fasten it.
Her vision blurred and she looked away.
“Tomorrow I’ll inform my captain and the duke you’ll need a new chaperone.” His even, matter-of-fact tone made Elissa’s heart stop.
“What?”
Her knight didn’t turn to face her.
Tears spilled over, hot on her cheeks.
“This won’t happen again.” His voice had bite, an edge she’d never heard before.
Her throat started to close and she sucked back a sob. Power made her chest smolder, her hands shake as water demanded she let it free.
Elissa fought her magic with all she was, because she would likely drown Alasdair. And although the thought had merit, later she’d probably regret harming him.
So she sat still, sucking in her cheeks and begging for strength. When that didn’t help, she started to rock, and clutched her bed linens with tight fists.
Mischief howled within her mind, and instinct told her that her bondmate would fight to get back to her side. Sensed him leave his packmates. She could feel him running. No doubt, he’d return to her in minutes.
She said nothing as her knight gathered his tunic and stuffed his feet into his boots with stiff movements. Elissa bit her bottom lip until it bled to hold back every whimper. She would not let him see—or hear—what he’d done to her.
Not once did he even look at her.
His tunic was slung over his arm, and he made no move to don it or tie his boot laces. His buckle clanged again with his frantic movements.
To get away from me. He can’t go fast enough.
Alasdair paused with his hand on the doorknob. Her heart leapt with a small hope that he crushed as he remained silent.
He’s really leaving without another word.
As soon as the door closed, with him on the wrong side, Elissa—and her magic—fell apart.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Alasdair rushed out of Elissa’s rooms and dashed into his own.
I’m too damn close to her.
He tried not to slam the door, but he couldn’t help collapsing against the thick carved panel and sliding down until his arse smacked the stone floor. His tailbone smarted, but he could hardly feel it over the pain in his chest.
“Weak coward.”
He cradled his head in his hands and barely staved off the urge to weep like a lass. Hell, his lass was probably sobbing right this second. Naked. In that huge bed. Where he’d…
Alasdair sucked back air, but couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t catch his breath.
He’d taken her innocence.
She loved him.
Which is worse?
His gut churned. Bile rose and scorched his throat. Alasdair swallowed. It didn’t help. He took another deep breath, but that didn’t clear out the urge to vomit.
Thinking the word acted as a trigger.
He put his hand to his mouth, then wrenched it away just in time to avoid a drenching. Turned his head and bent over to expel the meager contents of his stomach.
Alasdair straightened and slammed his shoulders into the door. He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, barely resisting the urge to crash his head into the wood, too.
He wanted to get up, move into the room and rinse out the awful taste in his mouth, but his body refused all commands.
‘I love you, Alasdair,’ played in a loop in his head.
Her gaze had been open. Hopeful.
His response had crushed her. Although he’d made himself avoid her gaze, he’d caught more in his peripheral vision than he wanted to face. Those gorgeous hazel eyes had shone not with love, but with unshed tears. The air had rippled around her form; no doubt Elissa’s magic.
She should’ve drowned him.
Put him out of his misery.
He wanted to scream, but that wouldn’t fix anything either.
What am I going to do?
He’d taken a lady’s innocence. His doubts about what she’d declared hadn’t been unfounded after all. Had Elissa lied to him? Nay, he’d misunderstood somehow. Or she had.
“That has to be it.” The statement was as scratchy as his charred throat.
Elissa wasn’t the type of woman who’d lie to trap a man. She had too much honor.
“Honor? Hah!” Alasdair’s eyes burned as he scoffed at himself. Where was his honor? “Blessed Spirit save me.” His vision blurred, but he swiped the moisture away before it could soak his cheeks. He wouldn’t cry. Hadn’t done so since he was a lad, and a tiny one at that.
Divine intervention was about the only thing that could save him, though.
“Nay.” Alasdair shook his head and pushed to his feet. He frowned at his puddle of vomit, and guilt bit at him again. What he’d done couldn’t be reversed.
He snatched a bathing linen from the private privy of the guest suite. He surveyed the rooms, so lavish it made his quarters in the soldier wing look like a stall in the stables. Two—if not three—of his room could fit inside the suite before him.
The bed was huge and wide, with finer bedding than he owned. The hearth was twice the size of his. The desk was fine dark wood, and ornately carved. Alasdair preferred his own simple furnishings. He was out of place here. In this room.
With her.
He clenched his jaw until his teeth smarted. Threw the bathing sheet over his mess and patted the spot with the tip of his boot until the whole thing was absorbed.
Alasdair cursed as he gathered the cloth up and dumped it in the basket for the maids. Didn’t swear because he’d cleaned up his vomit. He cursed because he was weak.
His heart thumped and his chest seared from the inside out. He rubbed the spot, but touching his bare skin only reminded him of Elissa’s naked form in his arms. Her supple flesh against his. Soft. Smooth all over.
Her small breasts had heated his pectoral muscles and hardened his nipples. She’d touched him tentatively at first, then with firm caresses.
Alasdair could see it all as if she was still before him. He didn’t even have to close his eyes. The slight roundness of her hips, her slim legs, the curls at her center. They were a darker blonde than the hair on her head.
Her kiss, her tight grip around him as he moved in and out of her. How perfect she’d felt around his cock. Hot, wet and so damn tight every thrust had made his balls burn. His cock jump
ed and Alasdair yelled a curse so loud the whole wing probably heard. He whipped his breeches down and squeezed himself until the sting was white hot pain that forced his hand to open. He gasped.
Ripping off his manhood wasn’t going to solve any problems. His sex alone wasn’t the reason he’d acted so rashly. He’d wanted her from the first time he’d seen her, but Alasdair hadn’t been driven by lust alone.
It wasn’t about the rutting.
He hadn’t rutted Lady Elissa Durroc. Even putting the word next to her name made him wince. It was wrong.
Alasdair’s heart had been in that room as much as the physical act. And that scared the hell out of him. Perhaps that’d been the reason he couldn’t refute her request. “I want to make love to you,” she’d said.
He’d kissed her. Over and over. So many times he’d lost count. He’d tasted her mouth and her sex. Licked and nipped until her essence had enveloped his senses.
Kissing was as foreign to him as using his mouth on a woman below the waist. Yet, he’d done both to her. Alasdair had been moved to do so. To please her. Make her want him. Burn for him. Crave him.
Him alone.
And she had. Shattering in his arms more than once, despite her inexperience.
Alasdair shuddered. He should be in that room right now. Holding her. Kissing her. Taking her again.
I love you, Alasdair.
“Blessed Spirit, stop!” He plopped on the end of his bed, ignoring his open breeches. His belt buckle ended up beneath him and dug into the bottom of his thigh, but the pain was no less than he deserved.
There was only one thing he could do to make this right.
Alasdair gulped and stared at the wall. A painting he’d not noticed before filled the space before his eyes. A fair-haired barefoot lass was running across a meadow, her skirts hiked high in both hands and an expression of utter joy on her face. Her eyes were bright and free.
He couldn’t tell what color they were from his distance along with the dimness of the room, but the lass’ hair was a close match for Elissa.
Free. Happy.
I’m neither.
Trapped. In agony.
His actions tonight had ruined Elissa’s chances at marriage with Lord Cam. Had ruined her for any good match. He’d stolen her virtue. But the thought of Lord Cam in bed with Elissa, hovering above her, thrusting into her, made him growl. He inserted himself into the little fantasy, where he slid his sword into the duke’s back.
He couldn’t kill the man, no matter what happened.
Alasdair didn’t want her to marry the Duke of Dalunas, even if the man would accept a debauched bride. Most likely, Lord Cam would set her aside; choose another, if he knew.
Unless…
If he didn’t tell anyone, and neither did she…
It wouldn’t be obvious until the wedding night, right? Then it’d be too late, after vows were exchanged.
“Coward. Just do the right thing.”
The right thing would be to offer for her. Wed her because he’d taken what’d been meant for another man.
Wed her because…
I love you, Alasdair.
“Nay!” he shouted to his empty room. Alasdair couldn’t—wouldn’t—put a word to the burn in his chest, especially not that word.
He stood on shaky legs, then started to pace so he wouldn’t fall on his arse. Alasdair gnawed his thumbnail and tried to convince his heart to calm, his breathing to even out, but his disloyal body refused every order. His stomach roiled.
Doing the right thing wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. He usually managed honor and decorum without struggle or disagreement, but this was…permanent.
“This is precisely why I don’t touch nobles. Or virgins…” Touch her he had. More than touch.
“I want to make love to you.” She might’ve said it, but…Alasdair had…made love…to Elissa.
Made love. He choked and tripped. No matter how he shook his head and tried to deny it, Alasdair had to accept it. He’d made love to someone for the first time in his life.
It’d been…
Perfect.
If he married her, he could touch her like that again. Assuming Elissa would speak to him…eventually. He grimaced. He’d been an arse.
If he walked away, he’d never get the chance to experience being with her again.
He could get her to forgive him for what he’d said, couldn’t he? Alasdair crushed his eyes shut. What he’d said had been wrong.
A lass like Elissa deserved someone who could take care of her. Treat her right…return her tender feelings…not break her heart. He couldn’t do that. Had no experience with such things, nor did he want it.
Do I? “Nay.” His whisper was a lie.
He did want her like that. To be with her completely.
Alasdair had been her first lover. If he married her, he could be—would be, dammit—her last lover. He couldn’t fathom anyone touching her the way he had.
If a man did, he wouldn’t survive Alasdair’s wrath, anyway.
He blew out a breath and whirled around, starting the pacing routine all over again. He could go to Leargan in the morning. Tell his captain what had happened—what he’d done.
No.
He’d have to go to the duke. Lord Aldern was the one in charge of her marriage contract. Then King Nathal would have to be contacted.
Did the king have to know he’d taken her already?
Alasdair frowned. Admitting Elissa was no longer a virgin was the quickest way to marriage.
Damn. Hope no one—including Lord Cam—wants to run me through.
Perhaps it was a boon that the Duke of Dalunas had left Greenwald. He was about to steal the man’s betrothed.
Alasdair made a fist, but his stomach somersaulted.
Am I really going to do this?
“I have to.” Couldn’t see her marry another man. Not when he— “No.” He still couldn’t put words to the tightness in his gut, to the thunder of his heart. He just refused to lose her.
Alasdair had wanted Lady Elissa Durroc from the moment he’d seen her. Now he’d had her, and he couldn’t look back. Wasn’t going to let her go.
She would be his wife—whether she wanted to or not.
* * * *
Her whole body shook as she reached for the decorative handle when Lord Jorrin called for her to enter. Elissa bowed to him and ploughed forward, taking a seat without looking around. Her heart thundered, resounding in her ears.
“Good morning, my lady.” His smile was pleasant. His handsome face and tapered ears drew her gaze and she hollered at herself to calm.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Lord Jorrin’s smile widened and they made their way through more polite conversation. She was more nervous with every word that wasn’t about her purpose for meeting with the Duke of Greenwald.
“I’ve chosen a husband.”
“Oh?” Lord Jorrin arched a dark eyebrow, his gaze now piercing more than friendly.
Elissa nodded and launched into her decision. Without giving the duke a chance to answer, she fired off questions about her dowry, the marriage contract, her property of birth, and even the impending journey to her betrothed’s home Province.
After answering her barrage of demands, Lord Jorrin was quiet—too quiet. He met her eyes head-on, and she tried to concentrate on anything but his face. “Are you sure about this?”
“Aye, my lord.” Elissa tried not to look at the empathic half-elfin duke. He was staring, and she didn’t like the look in his deep blue eyes. She could barely meet him in those eyes, anyway. They were too much like Alasdair’s.
She had to choke back a sob at the mere thought of his name. Elissa sat taller and looked around the ledger room. The same room from which she’d overheard the devastating news about her family. She tried not to think about that, because then she’d be angry at King Nathal all over again. Then she’d think about running away, and how Alasdair had kissed her for the first time in the c
astle she’d been born in.
Her stomach clenched and she swallowed.
Elissa studied the map on the wall. It was a replica of the one in the great hall Lady Cera was so proud of, but smaller. She looked at the duke’s bookshelves full of castle ledgers, rather than a library of pleasure reading.
“My lady…” His hesitation brought her gaze back to him. He looked concerned, with more than a touch of worry in the tightness of his dark brow.
“I’ve made my decision, Lord Jorrin.” She cursed the shake of her voice and made her mouth curve up in the semblance of a smile.
The Duke of Greenwald sighed and leaned back in his chair. He dropped the feathered pen he’d been writing with. It gave a soft thump, landing next to the inkwell on his desk. “You do realize your every word is at odds with your emotions?”
Elissa startled on the edge of the chair. “You do realize it’s impolite to use your magic without permission, let alone point out what…I’m feeling.”
Lord Aldern smirked. “I figured it’d do no good to censor our conversation. As far as picking up what you feel, I can’t help it. Your emotions are…overt.”
Heat curled around the back of her neck and took over her cheeks. Elissa looked down and clutched her hands together in her lap. His response had been amused, and preferred to what he could’ve said to her. She’d been abrupt. Rude. However, she didn’t want to apologize.
She cleared her throat and looked back at the duke. “Lord Cam is a good man.”
“Yes, he is.” Lord Jorrin narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin up.
“I look forward to going to Dalunas.”
“Do you?”
“Aye.” Elissa forced a nod.
“I’m going to ask you something, my lady, and I urge you to be honest with me.”
Her heart stuttered. “Very well.”
“Do you honestly want to wed Lord Camden Malloch?” His sapphire gaze was keen.
Nay. “Aye.”
Disappointment darted across Lord Jorrin’s handsome face. His lips parted, but he paused, as if he’d changed his mind about what he’d planned to say.
Elissa sucked in her cheek and bit down. Perhaps even if he hadn’t been an empath he would’ve known she was lying. “I feel this way, because choosing a husband is a difficult task.” Another lie.