Set in Stone: A Contemporary Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 1)

by Kylie Stewart

  “No, forgive me. I shouldn’t have pressed you.” I hadn’t noticed the race of my pulse until it rushed into my ears. I had been frightened for a moment but never truly afraid. It was as though I’d been here before. His body was familiar against mine. I thought if I could touch him one more time, I’d be shown everything, but he had rushed to the door.

  “Dinner is at six o’clock. Please feel free to make yourself at home.” He turned to leave.

  I could see the unease and self-loathing reflected in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders and clasping fists gave him away.

  The sensible part of me wondered if he had been abusive to his former wife. Wait—something didn’t make sense. He had married. There had been a Duchess of Avalon. I pivoted in the room to survey the ancient furniture, fixings, and adornments. My eyes rested on the bed, and my heart gave a leap. There had to have been duchesses in the past—his ex-wife, his mother, his grandmother—they would have all been duchesses.

  Yet no portraits of women were in the house. My hand fisted and rested against my chest. What did the Dukes of Avalon do with their women?

  Dinner was one of the most awkward moments of my life. Avalon was there in body, but his mind was somewhere else. He barely spoke. In fact, he had uttered only three full sentences.

  “Good evening.”

  “How do you like your chicken?”

  “Excuse me; I have things to attend to.”

  He left me with only a portion of his food touched. M had given me a sympathetic smile. My face burned. I was sure they had talked about what had happened in my room.

  I excused myself from the table soon after, leaving half of my food untouched. I hated wasting it, but I’d lost my appetite. I wandered back to my rooms, the dim lighting casting shadows on the ancient walls. A chill sliced down my spine, causing me to embrace myself. I could have sworn I saw shapes moving at the end of the hall.

  Quickly, I opened the door to my room and checked every possible nook and cranny for secret entrances. I didn’t want any surprises. When I was certain all was clear, I changed into lounging pants and an oversized sweatshirt. No way was I sleeping in one of my nightgowns here. I chewed on a fingernail, thinking about the day’s events.

  Everything I needed to start my commission tomorrow was here. I had a horse I could escape on, and I was not to ask about Avalon’s family matters. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I watched the fire crackle on the hearth as I sat myself down on the plush bed. It was a four-poster bed with fabrics draping over the sides. Fit for a queen, not a duchess. I had already tended to everything that had to be done before bed. I looked over at my phone. The time read 9:13 p.m.

  I closed the sheer curtain, leaving the heavier one open. I settled myself under the covers. Pridwen sat underneath the pillow next to me, ready to be of service. I’d locked the door on my arrival. I soon found myself drifting off to sleep, watching the shadows dance along the walls.

  Would I dream of him tonight?

  Four hours later, and out of a dreamless sleep, I woke. Sitting up, I surveyed the dark room. The fire had dimmed to tiny flecks of amber, and the moon was high. Its light flooded my room. I slipped out of bed and walked toward the window seat. I ran my fingers along the cool stained glass pane. The moon was high in the sky; the light seemed to soothe my nerves from an abrupt awakening.

  My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten much at dinner. I rummaged around in a drawer and pulled a pair of socks on that I’d unpacked earlier. I would go late-night snack hunting in the big kitchen. Taking my phone with me, I left the safety of my room and wandered back down dark halls. Although, this time, it was spooky rather than nerve-racking.

  I made it to the kitchen and turned on one of the many lights. A kettle was sitting on the back burner of the huge stove. I grabbed it to fill it with water but stared at the steam coming from the spout. It was hot. Shrugging, I grabbed a cup and a tea bag from the jar labeled tea. Sugar and milk were easy to seek out.

  Now came the fun part. Food.

  Upon opening the fridge, leftover potatoes and chicken were right in my line of vision.

  “You are mine.” I chuckled to myself as I pulled out both bowls and placed them on the wooden table. I looked around for the “simple” china. Plates that were microwave friendly would make this entire adventure a whole hell of a lot easier. I placed a hand on my hip. My fingers twisted in my tangled hair.

  “Having a midnight snack, are we?” Avalon’s voice cut through the night air like a knife.

  I jumped, spinning around before nearly crumpling in fear. My mouth opened to say something, but I noticed the steaming mug of tea in his hand. So it had been him in here before me.

  “Easy there; you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” With a smirk, he made his way over to me.

  I didn’t want him near me. I tried to straighten my hair, embarrassed I wasn’t wearing a bra under the oversized shirt.

  Avalon merely sailed on by, opened a cabinet door, and handed me one of the plates I had been searching for. He followed up by finding the French bread and cutting a few slices.

  “Thank you.”

  I spoke softly when he handed me the bread, not sure of his motives.

  “M told me you hardly ate at dinner.” Avalon reached into another cabinet and pulled out the salt and butter. “I suppose that is my fault.” He rested his hands on the old, wooden prep table. “I must ask you to forgive me for my actions earlier, Ms. York. I am deeply ashamed over what transpired.”

  All I could do was gape at him.

  He was apologizing?

  I let my fingers tighten around my teacup.

  “I accept your apology. I won’t ask questions like I did again.” Not knowing what else to do, I reached for the chicken and spooned the potatoes onto a plate. “Do you want some?”

  I caught Avalon’s gaze. He seemed surprised at my acceptance. Shaking his head, he smiled a bit.

  “No, thank you, I just needed some tea.”

  “Do you take midnight trips for tea often?” I stuck a small pat of butter on my potatoes and popped the plate into the microwave.

  “Sometimes. Other times, it’s a whiskey break.”

  My eyes wandered to him again. He was wearing a deep scarlet robe with black sweatpants underneath. Moccasins donned his feet. The glinting chain around his neck was still there, and I looked away, realizing he must not have a shirt on underneath.

  “Oh, why whiskey?” I played with the fork, busying myself.

  “It puts me to sleep.”

  “So you’re an alcoholic?” I was only half teasing.

  He chuckled. “No, just seasoned. I enjoy the burn. It’s slow, creeping, warming. You should try some. I have the best stash in all of England.”

  Eying him, I wrapped my mind around his words. He had just described how I felt when Arthur entered my dreams. That slow, creeping, warming passion that pooled in my core. My desire was the same for Arthur as Avalon’s was for his whiskey.

  “Sounds like a love affair.” I sniggered.

  He actually cracked a boyish half-grin. “You have jokes, Ms. York.”

  “I told you to call me Alexandria.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and opened the microwave. “Or does that have something to do with the distance you put between us today, Your Grace?”

  I didn’t have to look at him to feel his body stiffen. His presence was all consuming. Whenever he was in a room, I knew it before I saw him. Did he not think I was observant?

  The microwave dinged, and I pulled the steaming plate from the machine. “I think it’s funny how you have technology in a place like this.” If he were uncomfortable with talking about himself, I’d avoid that topic—for now.

  “Yes, it is a bit odd.” Avalon sank down into a high-seated chair at the table and motioned to the one across from him. “Please, we should try to have a dinner conversation after the fiasco of today.”

  “I told you. It’s fine.” I did what he asked, though. Wh
y? I jumped at his command. Did I want to please him or avoid conflict? I’d revisit that question in the morning.

  “Well, either way, Ms. York, you are not eating alone.” Gray eyes flickered over to meet mine. “I know that feeling all too well.”

  “You mean Alexandria,” I corrected him, arching a brow. “It’s not hard to say; you’ve done it once before.”

  Avalon opened his mouth to respond and shut it, to my surprise. He glared down at his clasped hands. I watched him work the tension out in his jaw. I scooped up a bite of potato, waiting.

  “Alexandria.”

  I almost choked. He said my name as though it were something holy, sacred. His tone lowered from high-class English to something I’d never heard before. It was like velvet, wrapping around every syllable. No one had ever said my name with such intention behind it. But here I was, sitting in the great kitchen of the Duke of Avalon’s castle, eating leftovers in my PJs and he in his robe, making him say my name.

  “Yes?” I composed myself and looked over the table at him.

  A nostalgic look lingered in those ancient eyes. If I stared long enough, I would be granted the answers to the universe.

  “Alexandria,” he said again, this time snapping me out of my trance.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” His voice was soft, his facial features unguarded.

  He made me feel things I didn’t want to feel.

  “Oh, just . . . I got lost in my thoughts.” I shoved the bite of chicken in my mouth. It wasn’t a total lie.

  “What were you thinking?” He leaned forward, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly. Avalon shouldn’t want to drop in and say hello to my thoughts. He didn’t need to know I ran around with a fantasy man named Arthur who blindfolded me and made me want to do naughty things.

  He didn’t need to know I still pined for a lost love. He didn’t need to know he’d inspired me to create anything of beauty. He didn’t need to know he affected me at all. Yet something told me lying to this man was not an option. Those eyes would catch me and reprimand me. That darkness somewhere inside me shivered, wondering in what way he’d reprimand me. Would he be like Arthur?

  “I was thinking about your eyes,” I started carefully.

  “Oh?” Avalon seemed genuinely interested. “What about them?”

  They scream you’re lonely.

  You’re hiding so much from the outside world and from me.

  You’re a wounded soul.

  You want someone to love.

  I kept those thoughts to myself.

  “Your eyes see beyond the surface, as if you know things no other human will ever know or learn. As if you’ve lived thousands of lifetimes and your wisdom hurts you at times.” I took a sip of tea, watching his face conform into one of surprise and sadness. “Yet you still have hope. You’re a fighter to the end. I can admire that about you, Avalon.”

  His hands curled up slowly on the table as he sat back in his chair. His eyelids lowered until hooded and something new took their place. I knew that look. Lancer used to give it to me before a night of sleepless bliss. It radiated through Arthur when he kissed and touched me in my dreams. Avalon was not only a man’s man but also a man of passion. A man of dark desire just waiting for someone to release it.

  He was a dragon. Dragons were fueled by avarice. Once one found what a dragon wanted above everything else, the dragon could be slain. Using the dragon’s greed against him, the master could control the beast. Avalon was a beast of passion, and I had just unwittingly let myself into his lair.

  Ten

  Avalon

  Alexandria had no idea what her truth did to me. She frustrated me, pulled down my walls, and made me vulnerable. She also aroused me . . . challenged me. Needless to say, I deemed my attempt to sleep after that late-night kitchen conversation futile. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that sleep finally came. I had to keep the ring out of my reach, for I would have surely gone to her and taken her.

  Light danced through the stained-glass windows and onto my bed. I scrubbed my hand over my face, my eyes cracking opened. It must be mid-morning, at least. I normally was an early riser, but it was Saturday, and M must have known what transpired last night with Alexandria to let me sleep. I pushed myself out of the plush bed and stretched. The black sweatpants fell loosely on my hips as I did so. I let my fingers touch the jagged scar on my chest, watching myself in the mirror above the fireplace.

  With a sigh, I walked to my bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water greeted me as I stepped into the stream. I stood still and let the water run over my body, pushing back strands of hair. I’d go to her tonight. Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhaled.

  It was so much harder now that she was under my roof. I thought I’d be able to handle the close proximity, knowing that while she was there I could keep her under my control—but her presence had a reverse effect on me. She continued to see through me. She pushed me past my limits. She wasn’t afraid of me.

  I rested my head on the cool tile, thinking back to yesterday when I had brazenly lost my nerve.

  Why did I?

  Why did I snap when she asked about the past Duchesses of Avalon?

  Because I know her truth or because of my sins?

  Because there is no duchess, only a queen?

  Because I long for her to be my ever after?

  Or was it something darker, more sinister? I had been prone to strange mood shifts and even blackouts the longer the curse held me. Lately, it had felt as though I was losing myself. To what or whom, I didn’t know.

  Emotion thickened in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I had handled her roughly, and she hadn’t pulled away. Our bodies had been flush, so perfectly fit together, and she had the audacity to stare at me with a cool, calm composure. Her dark hair had flowed through my hands like silk. With her lips inches from mine, and her heart racing just like mine, I was sure she wouldn’t have protested had I kissed her at that moment.

  I muttered to myself, finishing the shower as quickly as I could. I knew how often I got into trouble with my thoughts, and this morning was starting that way. I pushed Alexandria from my mind and finished getting ready. I didn’t bother to shave; I had no one to see this weekend. The five o’clock shadow added an extra layer of intensity to my features I rather liked. A few passes through with my hands gave my locks a wild look, instead of slicking the entirety of it back. A fitted black turtleneck and dark jeans completed my routine, along with a splash of cologne.

  I slid into a pair of Italian leather shoes. I grabbed the dangerous ring from the dresser and adjusted the chain around my neck. I kept the necklace under my shirt. I didn’t want to give Alexandria more reason to ask questions.

  I had a slight spring in my step as I entered into the second-floor kitchen. It was more or less a private kitchen for just me. After making some toast and a cup of tea, I picked up the newspaper left on the island for me by Orla Tudor. She was the head housemaid and would take special care of Alexandria. The motherly Welsh woman was one I greatly respected.

  The front cover held nothing of major importance—well, to me. To the world, it seemed detrimental. Terrorist attacks seemed to be the normal, Cameron was barking orders for war in Syria, and one of the American presidential candidates said something stupid again. Taking a bite of toast, I turned the page, and my stomach retched.

  In a photo, Sir Thomas Mordred sat smiling from behind his office desk. I read the title of the article.

  “Sir Thomas Mordred Seeks the Holy Technological G.R.A.I.L. for Humanity.”

  I couldn’t read any further. That bastard made me sick, and just thinking about his name made me want to . . . Damn . . . I had bent another butter knife. Looking down at the arched metal in my hand, I frowned. He was moving too fast, too damn fast.

  How?

  A sudden flurry of sounds caught my attention. Peeking out into the hall, I didn’t see anyone. Curious now, I followed the light
sound of music and the whizzing of power tools. It sounded like some sort of metal was hitting the floor. When I rounded the corner, the door to the ballroom was propped open slightly. My curiosity was satisfied. Alexandria was working on the statue already.

  I snuck up to the door and peered through the opening. She was dressed in beat-up jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better days. She’d pulled her long hair up in a messy bun on the top her head. I watched her for a few moments as she cut different sized pieces of metal rods. She was creating the structure that would hold the statue together. Her face was one of complete concentration, so I decided to leave her be.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket, sipping my tea. I hated to admit it, but it was nice having her around. That sentiment was short lived. The oppressive coldness that sliced through me chilled me to my very roots.

  Acute hearing allowed me to guess the voice long before I saw her face. With a growl, I stalked from the ballroom, down the hall, and trotted down the staircase swiftly.

  “Excuse me, sir, but Ms.—”

  Orla began to tell me who the caller was, but my face must have frightened her. Moving the older woman aside gently, I stood face to face with a witch.

  “Ah! Avalon, so you will humor me.”

  Her melodic voice did nothing to ease my tension. If anything, it grated on my nerves. Orla sank back to the hall to watch. She was an insightful woman, so she must have sensed the dark aura seeping from the woman dressed in a slate gray skirt suit. The fascinator did nothing to deceive me. She was no lady.

  The woman’s heels struck the marble in deafening tones. Gloved hands held a clutch and an envelope. It was taking everything I had not to break the teacup in my grasp.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here? And what the hell do you want?” I raised myself to full height, not letting her cheery façade sway me.

  “Well, that’s no way to treat me.” Red lips turned into a pout.

  “You shall address me properly.” I sneered.

  She seemed to weigh her options before dropping her left leg behind and curtseying.