by C. A. Szarek
“Right.” Alasdair wiped his sword down and sheathed it at his waist it. Tossed the blade cloth and Leargan caught it. He walked past his brother without another word, and glared when the captain laughed.
Being alone suited him, but he couldn’t avoid returning the greetings of people he encountered on his way to Lord Jorrin’s leger room. Wished he had magic and a good invisibility spell. All the forced smiles and lies of “I’m well, how are you?” were threatening to kill him.
He was dying without her.
A little more as each day passed.
Alasdair sucked in a breath when he reached the duke’s dark-wood door. He made a fist and knocked. Lord Aldern called before he had to knock again. “You wanted to see me, my lord?”
“Aye, come in and shut the door. Have a seat.” Although the duke’s voice was even, and his smile pleasant, he’d given orders.
Alasdair tried not to shuffle his boots or seem as reluctant as he felt. He swallowed and took a seat across from his liege lord. The man he’d sworn to protect with his life. His eyes darted around the ledger room he’d been in dozens of times. Just rarely one-on-one with Lord Jorrin Aldern.
Bookshelves lined one wall. The Greenwald seal complete with its howling white wolf hung on one wall, and a detailed map of Greenwald on the other. Somehow, even with a quick glance, Castle Durroc was like a beacon he couldn’t avoid.
Lord Jorrin cleared his throat to draw Alasdair’s gaze.
He dug for propriety to address his duke. “How can I help you, my lord?”
“It’s how I can help you, Alas.”
“Oh?”
The duke shoved a small roll of parchment across his wide desk. “This came today.”
Alasdair made eye-contact with the duke before he accepted the rolled missive. One touch told him the parchment was of the highest quality. Instead of the natural color of cured paper, it was stained teal. The golden wax seal of Dalunas was broken, of course.
His heart lurched, then plummeted to his toes. He fought tremors. Didn’t have to unroll the scroll to know what it was. He’d expected to hear about it. Evidently he’d not adequately prepared himself.
Shaking fingertips skimmed the broken wax. Alasdair didn’t have the bollocks to open it.
“Read it,” Lord Jorrin said, as if he’d read his mind.
The duke was an empath. He didn’t have to read minds. He could read Alasdair’s feelings. Which was much, much worse.
“I know what it is,” Alasdair croaked.
“Read it anyway.”
He closed his eyes. “I wasn’t aware you enjoyed torturing men in your service,” flew out of his mouth unguarded.
Lord Jorrin laughed. “I don’t.”
Alasdair didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly unrolled the unwanted missive that hadn’t even been meant for his eyes. The parchment was trimmed in gold leaf. His heart rebounded off his ribs as it made a second journey south. His gut was so tight it ached, spreading pain down into his pelvis. His lower back renewed its throb, too.
Perhaps he was fond of self-torture, because he read every painful word slowly—twice. From the greeting addressed to Lord and Lady Aldern to, “…honored to require your presence…” and of course, Lord Cam and Elissa’s full names and titles.
He winced at, “…to witness the nuptials of…”
The date was only a fortnight hence, but it could’ve been yesterday, or tomorrow for all the helplessness—and hopelessness—that washed over Alasdair.
He couldn’t look at the duke. Or speak.
Everything was agony.
It wasn’t like it mattered; his empathic liege lord would know exactly what his emotions were.
“Given what you’re feeling, I actually have a little hope,” Lord Jorrin said, breaking through Alasdair’s anguish.
“At least it doesn’t say something like, ‘to join two hearts.’”
The duke wore a smirk when Alasdair finally tore his gaze away from the teal parchment. “You’re jesting? Perhaps you’re not as bad off as I’d thought.”
Alasdair sighed. “Why’d you show me this?”
“Leargan said if he couldn’t get through to you, I didn’t have a shot in hell, but I thought I’d try.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The duke cocked his head to one side. Didn’t call him a liar, but his expression did. “Do I have to order you?”
“Order me to what?” His hand closed around the parchment of its own accord. Alasdair stopped short of crushing it. The scroll didn’t belong to him, after all.
Neither does she.
“To go to Dalunas and stop Lady Elissa from making a mistake you’ll both regret for the rest of your lives. Marriage is permanent.”
“What?” Alasdair croaked.
Lord Jorrin tapped his forehead. “Empath, remember?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Amusement darted across his face, and he tucked a thick lock of ebony hair behind a long, tapered ear. “I wrote the king.”
Alarm washed over Alasdair. “Wh-wh-what?”
“He’s not opposed to a match of you and Lady Elissa, if it’s what she wants. What you both want.”
“Wh-wh-what?” His stammered repetition was all he could muster.
The ghost of a smile played at the duke’s mouth. “Since you seem fond of repeating yourself, I will as well. Empath, remember?”
“What’d you tell the king?” Alasdair blurted. The demand was rude, and not the way he should address his liege lord, but Lord Jorrin didn’t seem bothered. As one not born to nobility, he often didn’t offend as easily as the naturally highborn.
“Just relayed my observations, of you both. Don’t worry, he’s not going to thunder into Dalunas and break up their wedding. He’s leaving it up to her.”
“And me.”
Lord Jorrin nodded. “And you.”
Alasdair startled in the chair. Gripped the armrests tightly, then opened and closed his hands over the carved wood when his fingertips throbbed. His mind spun.
The king had basically given them his blessing.
King Nathal, the man who’d been a father to him when his true father had failed. The man who’d meant the most to him in his life, other than Leargan and their brothers.
“She wants Lord Cam,” he said.
The duke’s blue eyes were kind. He shook his head, making his shaggy locks dance and drawing attention to his tapered ears again. “She doesn’t.”
“I…don’t….”
“You don’t have to say anything, Alas. You’re one of my knights. More than that, I consider you a friend. And since you’ve come home from rescuing Lady Elissa, you’ve been walking around here half-dead. We’re all worried.”
“I do my duty.”
“Of course you do. That’s not in question. But everyone misses your easy smile, your laugh. Even ribald quips.”
Alasdair gave a small smile.
“We’re all behind you, is my point. All of us. You’re well-loved in Greenwald. In the short time Lady Elissa was with us, we grew to feel the same way about her. We support you both. Me, Cera, Leargan and Ansley, and all your brothers. Your happiness is worth something. You are worth something.”
He couldn’t speak. The lump in his throat took over and his eyes smarted. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.
Lord Jorrin nodded. Then grinned. “Go show Lady Elissa she still has a choice.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Lord Cam had taken the news well, all considering. He hadn’t seemed that surprised. Mayhap he’d expected it; despite the fact he’d said he’d be a father to her child.
Their wedding was supposed to take place in the morning.
Since the winter was so much milder in the south, the duke had wished the ceremony to be outside, in his massive, mazelike gardens. Even now, as Elissa peered out the window of the duchess solar, she could see the preparations. Decorations being arranged, the next even more elaborate than the
last, especially in the large gazebo. Serving lasses bustled, appearing to laugh as they worked. Enjoying their duties.
Rows of chairs already lined the walkways. A red runner made of lush crushed velvet lay in a roll, ready to be set to rights for them both to walk the aisle.
When would Lord Cam tell everyone all was for naught?
There wouldn’t be a wedding on the morn.
She sighed and battled an achy chest against a wobbly stomach. Guilt churned over her, making her feel worse. No matter how many times her logical side called her a fool for her decision; her heart wouldn’t allow her to marry the Duke of Dalunas.
Elissa didn’t love him.
She’d given her heart a chance, for two months now.
Feeling anything romantic for Lord Camden Malloch had been all for naught, too. She allowed his touch. Caresses on her face, holding her hands. Allowed him to hold her, too. His kisses—whether chaste or not so innocent—did nothing to stoke her desire for more. He’d been respectful, never pushing her.
Of course, he’d also assumed she had her virtue, so being the man of decorum he was, hadn’t planned on taking her innocence before they were wed. He’d told her as much, too.
He’d made her cry when she’d told him she was not a virgin, because he’d offered no judgment. Lord Cam had rubbed her back and held her until her tears abated. When she’d confessed she was carrying a child, he didn’t even ask after the sire—except to threaten the man’s life for hurting her. Perhaps he knew and chose not to say, the duke was not stupid, after all.
Lord Cam had been supportive. Patient. Loving. Told her he’d healed from a broken heart once himself. He’d assured her that her place in Dalunas—as duchess no less—was not in jeopardy.
He still wanted her. Intended to marry her.
The duke cared for her. She could see it every time she looked into his pale blue eyes. He’d not declared love, but it was only a matter of time.
Well, it had been. Not now. Not after she told him she couldn’t marry him.
The man was nothing if not tender, gentle, and so kind he made her cry—all the time.
Why couldn’t she love him?
Now she was hurting him, too. He’d not told her so, but his expression had been pained for the whole of their conversation that morning. He’d looked resolved from the moment she’d opened her mouth and had been completely honest with him. Save for the name of who’d fathered her child. Again, he hadn’t even asked.
Renewed guilt warred with her pain.
I’m doing the right thing. But—
Why couldn’t she move past Alasdair?
Elissa cringed. Even thinking his name made her want to dissolve into a pile of sobs.
She needed to hold herself together. Stay strong. Move on from Dalunas to…her new life.
Lord Cam had deeded the home of her birth back to her. His steward had readied the scrolls and she’d signed in the necessary spots. Another clue that the duke had been expecting her to break their betrothal.
He’d told her that he’d see her safely back to Greenwald as soon as she was ready to go. She had her own coin, and he’d provide it in full, as everything had been given to him from Lord Jorrin. Lord Cam had been stalwart in the fact that he’d see her settled himself, despite her protest.
She’d have a home to raise her child in.
Elissa closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. She rested her hand on her lower belly. She wasn’t showing yet, except for a slight roundness noticeable when she was naked. She stared at it every morning in the mirror.
If she hadn’t known her body so well, it might just look like she’d been eating too much and had gained a few pounds. But she knew the tiny distention was a hint of what was to come.
She’d become large with the child she carried. Unable to hide her impending motherhood forever.
Her heart skipped.
This morning, Lord Cam had urged her to tell her child’s sire, but she couldn’t reach out to him. Not yet. Everything was too raw. Her conscience kicked at her for that—her knight had a right to know of the child they’d created. But he hadn’t wanted her. She didn’t want to put her child through the same rejection.
Elissa wanted this baby—a piece of Alasdair—more than anything.
Would the man, Thomad Uncel, who’d run her property for all these turns see her as a harlot? Refuse to remain in her employ?
Elissa had written to him of her homecoming, and asked to see him and his family upon her arrival. The King’s Rider posted in Dalunas, a man named Simond, had left with her message that morning.
She had hopes Thomad Uncel would remain as her steward, move into the castle. She intended to offer his wife a position, and any other family who wanted it.
She’d be the lady of her castle.
Alone. With a fatherless child.
Elissa could ask Lady Cera for help, but she didn’t want to.
She wanted be alone. Didn’t she?
Definitely didn’t want to think about King Nathal and Queen Morghyn.
Lord Cam would have to report that they hadn’t married, but he said he’d wait as long as he could—knowing the delay would result in the king’s ire.
She wanted to be long gone by then, ensconced in Castle Durroc before the king stormed her home and commanded an in-person explanation. She didn’t doubt that he’d do so. Her cousin would likely accompany him.
Elissa didn’t know what would happen then…and didn’t want to think about it now.
I can’t. She had to be strong to get through the next few sevendays.
Mischief whimpered, and she spared him a glance. Her bondmate slept by the warm fire burning in the great hearth of the solar. Elissa studied him for a moment, but he didn’t wake. His thoughts and feelings were deeply mired in sleep, so whatever was bothering her wolfling must be in the land of dreams.
She really couldn’t call him a wolfing anymore. He’d been thriving in Dalunas, even as she’d wilted more and more each passing day. He was huge. Probably close to his sire in size, though he was not yet a full turn old.
“Someone’s here to see you, Issa.” Lady Aresha’s soft voice had Elissa turning away from the window.
Mischief wuffed and stretched by the fireplace, giving a loud yawn that had the lady smiling. The wolf wagged his tail and made a beeline for her.
“Oh?” Elissa smiled at the lass who’d become a fast friend since coming to Castle Malloch. Her bondmate had been quite taken with her from the start, too.
Aresha nodded as she stroked Mischief’s silver fur. She leaned down to him, making her long ebony locks sway. She wore them loose today, with only a ribbon across the top of her head to keep them out of her face. Her hair flowed to her hips, surrounding her like an aura. She was clad in a rich green, her gown simple, yet displaying her ample bosom and hinting at her rounded hips.
Her dress brought out the color of her leaf green eyes, and her beauty stunned Elissa, like most times when she gazed upon her new friend.
The lass wore her heart on her sleeve regarding Lord Cam, so Elissa hoped something good could be had from her breaking their betrothal. She prayed the duke could see what was so plainly before him and find happiness with the woman who did love him. Lady Aresha had been a ward of Lord Cam’s father as a child; they’d grown up together.
“A knight. From Greenwald.” Her gaze was knowing as she straightened.
Elissa’s whole body flushed. Her pulse pounded in her temples. She’d not confessed much to Lady Aresha—other than her heart had been bruised by another before coming to Dalunas. The lass had never faulted Elissa even though she’d been betrothed to Lord Cam. In a way, they’d grieved together, although Aresha had never admitted how she felt about the duke.
She’d also not told her she was with child, but Elissa suspected her friend knew. Whether Lord Cam had told her, or she was just intuitive was left to be unsaid. Either way, the lady hadn’t judged her—shocking considering she was in love with the man Elissa
was supposed to marry.
Elissa hadn’t told her of the broken marriage plans, since it’d just happened, but she’d planned to, so she could urge her new friend to bare her heart to Lord Cam.
Aresha could’ve treated her horribly, but she was a gentle soul who’d embraced Elissa, and for that, she’d always be grateful. She wanted her to be happy, as well as the duke she couldn’t marry. Instinct told her the two of them belonged together.
Elissa wasn’t ready to see the man who’d put a baby in her belly. The knight who was hovering just inside the door of the solar.
He bowed to her as he stumbled into the room.
Lady Aresha moved out of his way, looking at her, then at Alasdair. “I’ll leave you, Issa.”
Please don’t.
Her friend went anyway, taking her wolf with her. Barred the door, too, with magic, if the glow around the entryway was any indication.
Dammit.
Traitor! she thought-sent to Mischief, but her bondmate didn’t send anything back. She planted her fists at her sides as emotions ran all over her body. Her magic tingled and Elissa fought it.
Alasdair bowed again, then shifted from foot to foot. He stared hard, and his sapphire gaze burned. He didn’t speak.
Her bottom lip wobbled and she bit down on it, fighting tears. Even looking at him hurt.
Now her wolf thought-sent comfort and love, but it didn’t help. He didn’t scratch at the door, or try to rush back to her side. It was as if even Mischief wanted her to have this very unwanted meeting.
Alasdair looked like hell, even worse than he had when he’d rescued her from Drayton. His dark brown hair lacked its normal rich luster, hanging limply past his shoulders, stringy. His face was layered in thick stubble at least three days old and the black bags under his eyes made his gorgeous deep blue orbs appear sunk in. His normally supple golden skin was sallow.
He swallowed, making the apple of his throat bob.
His clothing was clean but messy, as if he’d not bothered to straighten his appearance after a hard ride. His ivory tunic was wrinkled, and he wore no doublet like normal. His gray breeches hung low on his hips, as if he’d lost weight, even worse on the side that held his heavy sword.