Latchling Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.5

by Carmen Caine

  “I see,” I said, concerned with how close the wolves actually were to discovering the truth—a truth that could only end with their deaths. “The ring?” I asked, gently nudging the conversation in a different direction. “What is its purpose?”

  Jacques shook his head. “I know not, my lady,” he said.

  I could tell he wasn’t lying, but from the expression in his eyes, he clearly knew something more. I simply nodded and let it slide. I knew the value of patience.

  He watched me closely and then offered something else. “I only know he’s taking it north, to Scotland. Along with the accursed stone.”

  North. “I am traveling to Scotland myself,” I said. “To Dunnottar.”

  He nodded crisply. “The stones. Oui, the stones of Dunnottar will restore you well, my lady.”

  I cocked a brow, finding his knowledge of the Stonehenge Druids interesting. I made up my mind, then. “Jacques, Devil of France, shall we form an alliance, you and I?” I asked, extending my hand.

  He accepted it at once. “I am honored, ma belle dame,” he replied, bowing low. “If you have need of me, call through the stones, my lady. Though I am a Chosen One, the stones still sing in my blood.”

  I blinked, realizing the implication at once. “Then, we are kindred, you and I,” I gasped, shocked.

  “Once, we shared the same origin, perhaps.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling and then he nodded at the door. “Your lady approaches.”

  He was gone before I’d drawn my next breath, vanishing in a blur through my open window.

  The next moment, the door opened and Marie stepped inside the chamber. I watched her curiously as she approached. She couldn’t hide her smile.

  “A handsome fellow that Dorian,” she said slyly. “There’s a twinkle in his eye when he looks at you.”

  I tensed, unprepared for such teasing. “I’m a wedded woman, Marie,” I chastised automatically, but without the harshness that would have accompanied such words had I truly cared for my husband.

  Marie was a stubborn woman. “A life of sacrifice should know love, too, my lady,” she responded mulishly.

  I rolled my eyes, sniffing aloud at the very idea of an affair, even though we both knew my marriage was a sham. “I’ve no time for such distractions, Marie,” I replied firmly, more for my own benefit than hers. “Enough.”

  She dropped the subject, but alas, the thoughts she’d planted refused to be banished so easily. The more I tried to ignore my kindling interest of the man, the more he intruded upon my thoughts.

  Finally, with a humph of exasperation, I stalked to the bed and threw myself down upon it, willing sleep to come. But, of course, sleep was not mine to command. I lay there on the rough linens, long into the night, keeping my eyes closed—at least until I heard Marie’s steady breathing nearby.

  Still, my thoughts whirled, wandering far that night and into the darkness before dawn. Yes, Dorian occupied an inordinately large share of them at first before worries of the Mindbreaker consumed me.

  At last, the sky outside turned a dull gray, and I rose from the bed, anxious to be gone.

  * * *

  We didn’t travel far that day. A snowstorm descended from the east, turning an already dark, short winter day even darker and shorter. I spent the morning huddled on my horse, silent, preoccupied, and swathed in my voluminous fur cloak with Marie riding at my side and Dorian a few paces ahead on his massive mountain horse.

  I tried my best to ignore him as we trudged through the powdery snow. More than once, I found myself distracted by his broad shoulders and the line of his muscular arms, which caused me to quickly avert my gaze and inspect the dull, winter landscape moving past me at speeds as glacial as the plunging temperature.

  Acres and acres of snow surrounded me, at times scattered with bare-branched trees and the occasional evergreen. Overhead, the storm clouds thickened and chill gusts of wind began to whip around us, penetrating my cloak and gloves as if they didn’t exist. Blowing a warming breath over my freezing hands didn’t help much. Nothing could evade the cold descending on all sides. Shivering, I looked up into the sky and for timeless moments, became lost in the silence of the large, white flakes drifting down to caress my upturned face.

  “Ach, ‘tis too dangerous, my lady.” Dorian’s deep baritone shattered the silence. Slapping his hand on his thigh, he wheeled his enormous beast around. “We must stop and find shelter afore the snowfall deepens.”

  Shaking myself a little, I straightened in the saddle. “Very well,” I said, my voice sounding hushed in the falling snow.

  At my side, Marie exhaled a long, loud sigh of relief.

  Noting Dorian had stopped his horse, I pulled my horse’s reins, but the beast plodded forward a few feet before obeying my command entirely, coming to a halt mere inches away from where Dorian waited. I found it uncomfortably close. ‘Twas odd. I’d never experienced such a keen awareness of a man before.

  It took me a few seconds to realize he was speaking. “Swansea Castle’s friendly with your husband,” he was saying. “’Tis not far—”

  Startled at my own distraction as well as the mention of the castle, I cut him short. “No, I will not go there,” I said, firmly. Indeed, Swansea was ‘friendly’ with Lord Rowle. The castle’s lady would dispatch a message to him forthwith and do her best to hinder my movements. I simply didn’t have the time. “Surely, there’s an inn or an alehouse nearby.”

  The highlander peered down at me, so close I wondered what he would do should I reach out and run my fingers up his muscled arm. Surprised at my errant thought, I nudged my horse’s side, intending to maneuver the beast a respectable distance away, but the animal was obstinate and stepped sideways first.

  My leg brushed against Dorian’s, and I experienced a jolt of magnetic energy I’d never experienced before. Startled, my eyes flew to his.

  A roguish twinkle entered his bright green eyes as he shifted in the saddle. “Aye, my lady,” he murmured, lifting a somewhat amused and definitely curious brow.

  I stared at him.

  The corner of one carved lip crooked into a knowing smile. A fleeting smile, but as brief as it was, one that revealed the depths of his attraction to me—an attraction he couldn’t hide any more than I could apparently conceal mine.

  Still, surprisingly, we both tried.

  Turning his horse’s head, Dorian guided us in a different direction, and within the hour, I found myself once again standing outside an inn of a humble yet comforting nature. Dried vines clung to the rough stone walls, and a weathered sign hung on an iron rod above the door, the letters so faded the only ones I could truly make out were “NN”.

  A lad appeared to take the horses, and as Dorian opened the door, we nearly collided with another lad carrying an armload of wood. The smoke hung so heavy in the air, I wondered at first if it were fog, but the tears gathering in my eyes quickly announced it otherwise. The second lad waved us in with a nod of his chin and scampered away towards the fireplace.

  Dorian disappeared also, but returned a moment later to rest a gentle hand upon my shoulder.

  He said something. I know not what, exactly. I felt only his touch. I stood there, battling the temptation to lift my hand and cup his cheek with my palm. He’d shaved that morning, but already, his beard shadowed his lean jaw. I wondered if it felt like tiny, stiff needles or a pleasant prickly-soft combination beneath my fingertips.

  Again, his lip quirked. He didn’t even attempt to repeat what he’d said. Instead, he slid his hand down my arm to capture my wrist and, turning away, pulled me after him through the bustling, smoke-filled room.

  I let him lead me, all the while wondering how so simple a touch could trigger such a wealth of feeling. Never having been attracted to someone before, I wondered what made him so different.

  A moment later, we stood in a tiny, windowless chamber. The bright crackling fire, the half-eaten chicken on the table, and the rumpled bedcovers betrayed the fact the previous occupants h
ad only just been hustled away for my benefit.

  “I’ll be sleeping outside the door if you need me,” Dorian offered, moving purposefully away.

  I pivoted sharply. “Stay,” I said, the word escaping my lips of its own accord.

  His broad shoulders tensed and he turned his head, revealing the outline of his lean jaw. “May I be candid with you, my lady?” he asked in a voice so soft that I scarcely heard it.

  Inexplicably, my heart quickened in a mix of trepidation and excitement. “Please,” I said, finding it difficult to force my lips to form the word.

  He faced me then, a rueful expression dancing across his handsome face. “You’re a bonny lass,” he said, speaking in a tight voice. “Draw men to you like a pot of honey does flies, I’d wager. Ach, but you’re wed and even then, with the mighty in this land playing the lovelorn swain and falling at your feet, what chance have I, a man with naught but his sword and arm? I know this well, but still, should I stay, I fear I would—”

  His boldness surprised me, just as much as the sudden desire to release myself from the chains of inhibition holding me back.

  “No,” I interrupted, not wanting him to think I dangled men like puppets. “The ‘mighty’ I have seen are cold, cruel, and they lust for power. My husband …” My husband? He was first and foremost amongst the rank of the cruel.

  Oddly, I shivered. I rarely wasted time thinking of Lord Rowle, and when he did stray across my mind, if I felt anything beyond apathy, it was contempt. This time, however, I strangely thought of his skin on mine and the resulting surge of nausea nearly made me vomit.

  I blanched, a light sweat beading my brow.

  Dorian’s eyes narrowed, taking in my reaction. I saw pity on his face. Pity. I frowned, displeased to see it there.

  I turned away, annoyed with myself. What was I doing? I had a purpose, an undeniable, strong, overriding sense of purpose I’d felt from as far back as I could recall. And I lived for nothing save to accomplish the task for which I’d been born. Love and attraction stood in my way.

  I lifted my hand, intending to bid him leave, when he gave an easy, deep rumble of a laugh. “Mayhap a friendly game of chess will cheer your thoughts, my lady,” he suggested.

  Chess. Lord Rowle’s overriding passion. Again, unbidden thoughts of Lord Rowle intruded upon my mind, and again, I felt ill just thinking of him. Odd. I’d never cared enough to feel even disgust before.

  “Checkers,” Dorian said, quickly changing course.

  I lifted my head then, startled at the ease with which he’d followed my thoughts.

  He grinned and striding past me, yanked the door open and bellowed into the din of the common room outside. I scarcely had time to think or object. In moments, I found myself seated at the table with Dorian opposite and a meat pie, wine, and a rough-made checkerboard betwixt us.

  But if I’d thought myself headed for a light evening of conversation and amusement, I was wrong.

  “I’ve been asking myself why a lady of your stature would deny herself the comforts of Swansea Castle,” he mused aloud as he settled into his chair, stretching his long legs out before him.

  I blinked, surprised at his bold curiosity.

  He merely skewered me with a piercing gaze. “Are you running away from Lord Rowle?”

  Startled, I opened my lips to deny such a thing, but no sound came out.

  Was I? Was I running away? I’d found the Mindbreaker, my purpose. Was Lord Rowle truly needed anymore? My heart began to pound. I’d never dared to let myself think of freedom before …

  I sat there, strangely mute.

  Not seeming to care that I’d left his question unanswered, he calmly began laying out the checker pieces on the board. “Marie tells me that you wed him at the wee age of five,” he continued conversationally even as the expression on his face revealed his deep repulsion at the thought.

  Marie? I jerked a little, startled that I’d forgotten her.

  Again, he followed my thoughts with astonishing ease. “Ach, Marie’s fine, my lady,” he assured with a lighthearted chuckle, tapping the checkerboard. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

  My eyes flicked over the pieces, wondering exactly what we were truly beginning. “You read my thoughts uncommonly well,” I admitted, a tad uneasily. “Only my father could do that.”

  He cocked his brow and gave a polite nod, catching the past tense. “I’ve lost my parents as well,” he said. “I’ve only my wee sister, Gloria, far home in the north.”

  “Then why are you in Wales?” I asked, steering the conversation away from myself.

  He answered, but I truly do not recall his words. The timbre of his voice slid over me as I sat there, longing for him to kiss me and for the chance to kiss him back. It didn’t take him long to see my distraction, indeed, with his keen eye, he’d most likely noticed it from the start.

  He paused and with a suggestive lift of his brow, let his gaze darken with desire and fall upon my throat.

  “Kiss me,” I heard my voice demand.

  He tilted his head to one side and, rising to his feet, placed both hands flat on the small table. Lowering his head until our faces were mere inches away, he said, “I’m a simple man, my lady. And I live by simple truths. Honor. Loyalty. Justice.”

  Oh, but he charmed me. One of my palms came up to rest against his cheek. Prickly soft. His chin was prickly soft.

  “I’ve known only a cruel touch,” I confessed, not really stopping to think just why I’d shared that. Perhaps I wanted nothing but truth between us.

  Sorrow filled his eyes. “Justice, my lady,” he said. “You’re in sore need of it.”

  My hand dropped. “I don’t want your pity,” I said, hardening my voice. “I—”

  “Pity? Nay, not pity,” he snorted, interrupting. Catching my chin in his hard hand, he tipped my face up to his. “Justice.”

  And then his lips devoured mine.

  A Taste of Love

  Dorian’s kiss claimed my lips with a powerful, seductive intensity, soft and tender at first, but deepening rapidly, sweeping me into a realm of sensation I’d never before experienced. His lips unleashed a long imprisoned, dormant, white-hot heat, and as it rippled through me, I moaned in response.

  The soft sound made him pull away.

  “No,” I gasped, reaching out.

  “Aye, lass, your kiss and the spill of your hair has an uncommon effect on me,” he said, his voice gruff with raw emotion. “But I willna take advantage—”

  “Advantage?” I interrupted, surprised he would think I’d ever harbor such a charge against him. “I’m no blushing maid, Dorian.”

  Indeed, I wasn’t. I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted his mouth on my bare skin. I wanted to scream his name in ecstasy.

  He stood there, the look in his eyes betraying the fact he wanted the same as well, but honor—or his current perceived sense of it—ran too deep in him.

  Shaking his head, he nudged me under the chin and stepped back, disagreeing in his Scottish burr, “Aye, you may be wed nigh on twenty years, wee fool, but you’re as innocent as any blushing maid.” He paused and his demeanor hardened. In a lower voice, he added, “I’m not one to share what’s mine, lass.”

  What could I say to that? Alas, but I was wed—or chained—and for the moment, my task, my duty, would not allow the breaking of that shackle. A sense of despair arose within me, a strength of darkness I found puzzling. After all, I scarcely knew Dorian even though my heart begged to differ.

  I let my eyes rove over his broad chest, lean hips, and massive height and over the sharp planes of his face, the seductive curve of his jaw, and the brightness of his green eyes—eyes so strangely, hauntingly familiar to me. I caught my breath. I couldn’t lose the man. The thought of him slipping from my grasp sickened my soul as if I’d known him a lifetime or more.

  “Don’t leave,” I whispered, even though he’d made no move to do so. “I have a task to finish, and once it’s done, I will free myself from Lord
Rowle.”

  I blinked, surprised to hear the words leaving my lips, astonished I’d finally given voice to what had long played in the shadows of my mind. And with each passing moment, the certainty grew. With the mere thought of leaving the man, I felt a heavy burden slide from my shoulders. Yes. Soon, I would leave Lord Rowle. Soon, I would be free of him. Forever. I would, at last, experience freedom, and looking into the sensual heat flaring in Dorian’s eyes, I knew I would experience something else as well. Something that made my heart skip a beat.

  He didn’t even attempt to hide his attraction, yet, he stubbornly insisted. “Leave I must, lass. I’ll not have you feeling regret come morning.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. Determined, he spun on his heel and strode through the door. He was gone before I could manage to collect my thoughts.

  Disappointment raged through me, along with a startling sense of loss. For a time, I attempted to assuage my emotions with logic, with understanding, but the ache of desire he’d created with that kiss clouded my thoughts, allowing me to think of nothing else.

  I threw myself down upon the bed and when Marie entered sometime later, I turned my face to the wall, unwilling to speak.

  She padded about the chamber silently for a time, setting things to her liking before dragging a straw pallet near the fire and finally settling down.

  Darkness shrouded the room, accompanied by a silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing, hers the soft and tranquil breath of the just; mine, short and forceful, betraying the storm churning within me.

  I spent the next few hours tossing and turning, drifting through a wide range of emotions and fitful bouts of dreamless sleep. Finally, upon waking for what seemed the twentieth time, I could bear it no longer and arose from the bed.