The silence between them was grave, but peaceful. There was no more to be said. His father knew how Conor felt. And though he’d lost faith in the last year, Conor had always known the steadfastness of his father’s love.
So when Mikhal spoke, it startled Conor back from his thoughts. “Do you wish for a child between you?”
He took a moment to shake off the fog of waking dreams. “In my head, I pray that she remains barren. A new man may think twice before saddling himself with a dead man’s whelp.”
“And your heart?”
“That’s easy. I want her to have a child so in years to come when memory has faded the sharp edges of her anguish, she might remember me.”
“She’ll do that regardless.”
Conor thought of the time he’d wasted holding himself back from her. Of the sorrow and grief she’d experience in the days ahead. Of everything he’d put her through from the moment he’d burst into her life, soaked and half-dead.
A log collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. “Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps not. And which would be better, I cannot say.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Morgan knelt behind Ellery, fussing with the hem of her makeshift wedding gown. The style was old-fashioned and they’d hidden the expanded side seams with a drape of creamy lace, but still the borrowed pearl-gray silk gown hugged every curve of Ellery’s body until she could barely breathe. If she inhaled too deeply, surely her breasts would spill out of the tightly laced bodice. And if she didn’t, she was liable to faint before it was all over. But none of it mattered. She was marrying Conor this morning.
Excitement sang through her, and even the worry and fright that haunted her steps couldn’t completely quench the happiness that lit up her insides like a flame.
Morgan grasped Ellery’s shoulder. A confident soldier’s grip swathed in the gauziest of sea-foam green silk. “I’ll not let it end like this. Uncle Mikhal and Gram may have warned away the others from Ilcum Bledh, but I’m not so easily swayed.”
Conor’s father poked his head around the door before Ellery could answer. “They’re ready.”
And then it was time.
Mikhal Bligh had offered to give her away. And Ellery had been honored. Now, dashing in a coat of royal blue that fit snug across his broad shoulders, he was almost as breathtakingly handsome as Conor. Years had added a patina of wisdom and gravity in the small lines around his storm-cloud eyes, but he carried himself as proud and erect as a man half his age. He smiled, tucking her hand beneath his arm. “You’re lovely.”
She glanced up at him. “Be prepared to catch me is all I have to say.”
“Nerves?”
“Stays.”
He chuckled as he led her into the drawing room. A week ago, the scene of a funeral, now the walls were festooned with garlands of flowers. Seasons held no sway over the conjured bouquets of primrose, narcissus, peonies, and enormous pink and white cabbage roses. Gold and orange chrysanthemums and purple Michaelmas daisies combined with summer’s scarlet columbine and spring’s lacy, delicate blue violets. Entwined among the blossoms hung ribbons of gold strung with tiny silver bells that swayed in the breeze from the open windows, making a sound like rushing water or windswept treetops.
She looked to Lowenna who winked and motioned toward the far end of the room where a man in a plain frock coat stood waiting, a visible line of disapproval between his bushy, gray brows.
The vicar did this? Ellery’s eyes widened in disbelief. Conor’s grandmother wrinkled her nose, pointed behind the cover of her open fan.
Conor stepped up beside the vicar, a dark angel in unrelieved black, magic palpable in his every movement, from the straightening of his cuffs to the adjusting of his cravat. His lean face was carved into sober lines until he spotted her. Then his eyes lit with a fire that singed her to her toes and set her heart fluttering like a captured bird. Conor had done this? For her?
Lowenna nodded, smiling.
Conor came forward to meet them, his fingers closing firmly around hers. She smiled. “He looks none too happy,” she whispered beneath her breath at the vicar’s continued scowl.
“He’s here as a favor for Father,” Conor murmured as they walked back together.
“We’re not exactly doing it properly.”
“If he only knew the half of it,” she replied.
The vicar cleared his throat and began, and with each word spoken the ill feelings and exasperation she’d carried through the last day drained away. She loved Conor. She buttressed her mind against anything beyond that clear thought.
Then it was Conor’s turn, his vows deep and resonant, his gaze never straying from her face as if he were memorizing her.
The bright, fluttery feeling came back. She tried a deep breath to calm herself, but her stays crushed her ribs. She gasped, coughed, fought the suffocating pressure of her gown with quick rapid pants. Prayed she didn’t fall on her face.
“Miss Reskeen?” The vicar’s worried voice startled her.
“Ellery?” Conor asked. “The vows?” She repeated the words. To love. Honor. Cherish. All things she could do easily. To obey. She stumbled over the final vow, thinking over the night to come.
She looked back at the family ranged behind them in a half circle. Lowenna, ethereal in white and silver. Mikhal hand in hand with Niamh. Solid, dependable Ruan and sweet-tempered Jamys. Morgan, a shuttered expression in her eyes as she looked from Ellery to the windows and back. All of them had taken her in, welcomed her, accepted her even when they knew her life meant Conor’s death. They had become the family she had searched a lifetime to find.
“Until death do you part,” the vicar coached. “Should I repeat it?”
Duty burned clear in her mind. “No. Not at all.” Clearing her throat, she fixed Conor with a steady look, the worry melting away with her decision.
“Until death do us part.”
“Come with me,” Conor whispered. “I want to show you something.”
They snuck away from the others, still finishing up the wedding breakfast, soothing the ruffled feathers of the vicar with extra helpings of sausage and egg and a fresh pot of tea. Meeting Ruan’s wicked smile and knowing nod, Ellery’s cheeks went hot, and she hurried to catch up to Conor.
As they neared her bedchamber, her heart pounded, and a tingly ache began deep in her center. But no, they passed her room without a pause, coming to a stop in front of the mysterious and off-limits door to Ysbel’s apartments.
She pulled away. “We can’t go in there.”
He grabbed back her hand. “No. It’s all right. I’ve been in already. She won’t mind.”
Was this the same man who’d refused to even mention his sister? Who’d locked his heart away after her death? She offered him a raised eyebrow, but curiosity kept her mouth shut. She’d wondered every time she passed this way what lay inside. What Ysbel had really been like. Now was her chance to find out.
He opened the door, ushering her ahead of him.
The room was a soft wash of greens; walls, curtains, bedcovers. A thick white carpet lay on the floor. Framed watercolor landscapes created an elegant yet welcoming impression. Ellery recognized the long stretch of dunes by the sea. The bare-limbed orchards in winter covered with snow. The folly almost engulfed in purple wisteria. All bearing the signature YB. This was Ysbel’s artistry.
Conor stood by the bed, studying a miniature, his face bent in concentration. He nodded down at the portrait. “She wasn’t a beauty. Too tall. Too thin. But she glowed like a torch. Turned every head when she passed.”
She resembled Jamys more than Conor. Blonde hair loose across her shoulders. A long, angular face with a hint of stubbornness in the chin. A wide, straight mouth. But her eyes were the same tawny gold as Conor’s. The same animal intensity. They held her. Caught her in their clever gaze.
“Was she…?” But she didn’t finish her sentence. He replaced the miniature on the desk, but kept his gaze on it. “She had power, but
no formal training. Nothing beyond the household magic we all learned and the small bits I passed on to her in my times at home. More because I liked showing off for her than because she wanted to know.”
Blinking, his focus snapped to her. He gathered her hands in his. “It’ll be over soon. I give my word.”
“I don’t want your word. And I don’t want to talk about it.” Now that she’d made up her mind, she just wanted to forget—at least for today.
A stabbing cold plunged through her. Sharp as a knife blade.
Pulling away, she dropped to the bed. Clouds gathered over the sun, sending long, grasping shadows crawling over the floor. She curled her legs beneath her, wrapped her arms around her body as if that would banish the sudden chill.
Small hope of that. This frozen feeling went straight through her.
Conor broke the silence. “Asher thought I had the reliquary.” He sat down beside her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “He bargained for it then, too. If I turned it over to him, he’d let my sister go unharmed.”
Ellery felt the chained emotion behind his words. If he’d made a semblance of peace with his role in Ysbel’s death, it was still fresh. A healing just begun.
The angles of his face hardened as he stared unseeing into the past. “I like to think that Simon betrayed Ysbel to Asher thinking I’d hand the reliquary over with no difficulty. He’d be rewarded for his part. Asher would get what he wanted, and Ysbel would be free.”
“But you didn’t have it.”
“No. Asher didn’t believe me at first. Then he sought to punish me anyway. He sent me her ring as proof. As warning.”
She fingered her own wedding ring. A simple gold band. There’d been no time for the artistry of the wolf’s head. It didn’t matter. And yet—it did. “But you have the reliquary now.”
He faced her, danger in his gaze. “Know this, Ellery. I wouldn’t have given it to him even to save Ysbel. She would have been safe, but for how long? It’s a treasure too deadly to toy with.”
“He’ll kill you,” she whispered. Unless I can stop it, was her unspoken thought.
He offered her a gallow’s smile. Hitched his shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps.”
Reaching over, he twined his fingers with hers. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek. The hard, shriveled knot in her stomach relaxed under the familiar calluses of sword hilt and pistol grip roughening his palm. She let out a shaky breath.
“I’ve had a reason to fight since the battle at San Salas,” he murmured, his voice smoky and smooth. “But more important to me now, I’ve found a reason to live.”
“…riding St. George!”
The hour was late before Conor closed the bedchamber door, shutting out Ruan’s last ribald comment. His cousin had done his best to keep the atmosphere light, only crossing the line into bad taste when absolutely necessary. Needless to say, as the hours wore on the reception had become increasingly bawdy.
“Did he say what I think he said?” Ellery asked.
Conor’s face went hot. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Then he shouldn’t shout it as if he were barking orders from the quarterdeck.”
Conor shrugged. “Seaman’s good lungs.”
“Seaman’s filthy mind.”
He laughed. “True enough.”
Ellery sat on the bed, dressed in a confection of sheerest muslin, her hair still damp from a bath. A robe that did more to entice than disguise fell open, giving a perfect view of her round, shapely breasts and the long, graceful column of her throat. He saw himself sliding his tongue down that curve of dusky skin. Inhaling the scents in her hair, her flesh. He crossed the room with deliberate indolence. It gave him time. “It’s done.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous. Do you mean the wedding?”
“There was a moment when I thought you might run screaming in the other direction.”
She smoothed a hand down the turned back sheets, her eyes downcast, her thoughts veiled. “Was there?” She fumbled with the quilt edge. Ran her finger over the stitched embroidery. Avoiding his gaze.
“I’m glad you gave up your ridiculous schemes. Ruan told me he talked you out of them.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her. Pulled off his boots. “Just like a woman to meddle where she doesn’t belong.”
Her eyes swept up, her hand suddenly quiet. The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and tense. Then just as quickly, the moment passed. She leaned in. So near he watched a trail of water slide down her temple and over her cheek to pool at the corner of her lips, pouty and begging to be kissed.
“What are you waiting for?” she whispered in the most sex-me tone he’d ever heard as she reached for the waist of his breeches to pull him closer. “We’ve only hours,” she murmured. “Don’t waste them.” Her eyes went hot and dark.
What the hell was she up to? This was every trick of the courtesan that Ellery had ever learned on display tonight. And according to her, she’d learned from some of the best. Her fingers brushed over his groin.
At her first skimming touch, he’d gone hard as a rock, every cell in his body alive and standing at attention. But this new, hornier version of Ellery spelled danger. He’d be wise to heed the warnings. Except he couldn’t breathe much less think as she pulled his shirt tails out. Unbuttoned him like she was unwrapping a box of chocolate.
He cleared his throat, trying to gain time to assess this new and interesting situation. His discarded shirt fell to the floor. “Ruan didn’t really mean that last bit. It was merely a suggestion.” He backed away, but she followed, rolling up onto her knees on the bed. Slipping the robe from her shoulders, pulling the nightgown over her head in a swift, practiced move. And then she was naked, her skin blushed with firelight and invitation.
Suddenly her smile vanished. Her voice went chillingly soft. “Come on then, it’s what you want, isn’t it? A stupid slag who’ll ask no questions and never disagree.” She splayed a hand across his chest, traced the dark swirls of his mage marks, teasing him with the velvet of her touch. A cat with her claws sheathed—for the moment. “I can be that woman. I’ve known her kind intimately.”
Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? He should have known Ellery wouldn’t give way without a fight. Had she ever? He shook his head. “It won’t work. Playing cat and mouse with Asher and the reliquary is begging for worse trouble. You’ll end like your father. And I won’t see that happen.”
She snatched her hand away, sank back onto the bed, her face white as chalk except for two bright spots high on her cheeks. “You son of a bitch. Don’t you throw my father’s death at me. You killed him. Not Asher.”
Tonight wasn’t supposed to unravel this way. He shouldn’t have questioned his earlier good fortune. That would teach him. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Yes. I did. But death at my hands was easy compared to what Asher would have done to him. What Asher would do to you if you tried your tricks on him.”
“If you’d only hear me out—”
He stood up. “No more.” Ellery threw herself off the bed, coming toe to toe with him, trembling, her jaw hard, her hands locked into fists.
“You arrogant…If it’s not your way…”
He tried to stay focused on her eyes. Ignore her closeness. The scent of her. The pulse skipping at the base of her throat. He forced his arms to remain at his sides. “It’s late. Should I just go?”
Without answering, she reared back. Came at him swinging, landing a punch flush on his exposed chest. “Idiot! I hate you. Hate you, do you hear me?” She aimed again, but this time he dodged. Grabbed her and pulled her close in a bear hug. “Let me go.” She thrashed in his arms. “Damn it, Conor. Let go.”
“I won’t be killed on my wedding night.” He amended that thought even as she elbowed him in the stomach. “At least not by my wife.”
She was out of control. The eruption of her rage spent with teeth, nails, elbows, knees—any part of her bo
dy she could free long enough to use as a weapon. He held tight, never allowing her to get too close. Doing only what it took to keep out of harm’s way without actually hurting her. Finally, he pushed her back onto the bed, falling on top of her, using his weight to hold her down. By now, he was fully and painfully aroused.
“Get off of me,” she fumed, her chest heaving. “I can’t breathe.”
“Are you finished?”
“Not even close.” She wrapped a leg around him, tried to leverage her freedom. Sought to dig her nails into his wrist. He shifted, holding her down. Bent his head to steal a kiss. To taste the delicious heat of her anger.
She bucked in an effort to dislodge him, even as her lips moved against his. And then she flicked her tongue out, ran it over the curve of his mouth. Lifted her head off the pillow to take him more deeply, in a hungry, devouring kiss that turned him inside out.
He broke away only long enough to take her captured arms, place them over her head.
She glared up at him. Not all her anger spent, then. But the battle had definitely changed. Entangled with desire and desperation. He couldn’t see a loser in a fight like this. He offered her a wicked smile. “I seem to remember being in a similar position once before.”
“Apparently you haven’t learned much.” She wasn’t going to give in gracefully. He’d have to coax her into surrender. The rush of pounding heat centered in his crotch, the luscious curve of her breasts crushed skin on skin against him made him more than happy to oblige.
“Let me show you how much I’ve learned,” he said, lowering his mouth back to hers.
Even as she returned his kiss, she struggled, thrusting up with her hips to dislodge him. The movement sent a spasm through his system. He returned the favor, rubbing against her, letting her feel his erection.
“I hate you,” she said, but the fight was gone from her voice. “You’re arrogant, conceited, big-headed…I could go on and on.”
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