by Sara Bell
Alric slid the torch back onto the wall before coming to stand a scant foot from Nadar's face. “You asked me a question. I wanted to make certain you have light enough to see the answer.” He plucked at the lacings of his tunic. “I believe you wanted to know the real reason Gareth interfered with your sister's marriage plans. Allow me to show you.” Without waiting for an answer, Alric turned, tugged his tunic over his head, and laid his back bare for Nadar to see.
Chapter Eleven
Gareth scrubbed a weary hand across his face as he made his way to the north tower. He was still angry enough to kill Nadar for putting Alric's life in jeopardy, but a long talk with Tristam and a couple of hours to temper his wrath had helped him gain perspective.
If Nadar hadn't known Alric's secrets before, he certainly knew them now. He was a threat that had to be neutralized, but violence against his own brother would only earn Gareth the disapproval of the High Council and dishonor his father's memory. Holding on to the faint hope that Nadar was rational enough to listen to reason, Gareth made his way to the cell.
The guards opened the door for him with a metallic thud. Gareth walked into the small chamber expecting Nadar to rail against him the minute their eyes met. Instead, his brother was sitting on the floor, a faraway expression on his face.
"Did Denmar truly put those marks on your husband's back?"
The question hit Gareth like a slap to the face. “How did you know about those?"
"He showed them to me only moments ago."
Another shock. “Alric was here?"
"He told me what he endured at Denmar's hands.” Nadar looked up at Gareth before drawing a ragged breath. “At first I didn't believe him, but then he showed me proof, and I...” He slumped against his chains. “I almost matched my own sister to that monster Denmar. How could I have been so blind?"
Nadar had a reputation for many things, but owning up to his mistakes wasn't one of them. Unsure how to deal with this new side of his brother, Gareth proceeded with caution. “Perhaps now you can see why I intervened with the High Council."
"What I see is a man determined to take my kingdom. Now that the alliance has been foiled—rightly so, though it may have been—I've not a hope of holding onto Vale.” Nadar's shoulders sagged. “You may as well kill me now. By the time you're done, I'll have nothing left to call my own, anyway."
Gareth was shaken to the marrow. “You think ‘tis Vale I'm after?"
"Playing the fool doesn't suit you, Gareth.” Nadar's laugh was harsh and humorless. “I've known for years how you envied my inheritance. My mother warned me that one day you'd rise up to claim Vale as your own, but I thought sure I could hold you off. Now that you've the High Council to back you, all my hopes are for naught."
"Your mother lied to you, Nadar.” Gareth closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “I've known all the while that Vale rightfully belongs to you. I've never once thought of trying to take it."
"All I ask,” Nadar said as if Gareth hadn't spoken, “is once you've killed me and claimed the throne, that you make provisions for my family. I've a wife and a young son. Then there's Mother and the girls to think about. Sonya and Ellyce are your sisters too. You—"
"For The Creator's sake, Nadar, haven't you heard a word I've said? I'm not after Vale. Your throne is safe."
Nadar snorted. “You've got me chained to the wall like an errant dog. How safe can my throne be when I'm at your mercy?"
Gareth ground his teeth. “You kidnapped and threatened to kill my husband. How did you expect me to react? Was I to welcome you with open arms, to invite you to share a jug of ale with me while Alric burned to death in that tent?"
"I did what I had to do to save my home.” Nadar bowed his head. “Now that all my efforts were in vain, there's nothing to do but surrender.” He glanced back up at Gareth, his eyes flashing. “I won't beg you for mercy. That's the one pleasure you'll never gain from me."
Trying to reason with Nadar was getting him nowhere. Seating himself on the cold floor not far from where his brother was chained, Gareth tried a different tactic.
"Did Father ever tell you the story of your birth?"
Nadar eyed him with open suspicion. “What is this you say?"
"The day you were born ... did Father ever tell you about it?” Before Nadar could answer, Gareth continued.
"Obviously he didn't or you'd know what I mean. The day of your birth, Father was on the far side of Vale, dealing with a band of rebels who'd caused a minor insurrection in one of the low lying villages. He received word that Lady Sharlan had begun her labors and hurried home to witness your birth. Unfortunately, he got there just in time to hear the midwife pronounce you stillborn."
Nadar scoffed. “Had I been stillborn, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation."
"You were blue and lifeless, the birthing cord wrapped tight around your neck.” Gareth went on with his story as if Nadar hadn't interrupted. “The midwife grabbed a dark cloth and was about to cover you with it when Father ripped you from her hands."
Nadar's eyes went wide. “Who told you this?"
"Father told me himself. He said he took one look at you, so small and still, and knew he couldn't lose you. He took you from that woman's hands and cut the cord from your neck with his own dagger. Then he laid you upon the bed and did something I'd never heard tell of."
Too engrossed in the story to remember his anger, Nadar said, “What?"
"He opened your tiny mouth and breathed life into you. He gave you the air from his own lungs, Nadar. He fought for you the only way he knew how.” Gareth smiled as he did every time he recalled his father's words. “The midwife was so terrified when you opened your eyes and let out the first pitiful wail, she ran from the room screaming. Father said your mother was just as frightened and actually fainted, though I imagine that had more to do with the birthing ordeal than true fear. Nevertheless, all the commotion caused Father's men to come rushing forth."
Nadar was watching him closely. “And then?"
"According to Father, Jeoffry was first on the scene. Having heard the midwife's tales, he demanded to know what Father had done. Father looked him right in the eye and said, ‘Only what I had to do.’ Then he held you up high and pronounced you the next ruler of Vale, his beloved son and a gift from The Creator, Himself."
Nadar was silent for so long, Gareth was afraid he'd gone back to sulking. Finally, he said, “Why would Father tell this to you and not me?"
"Because he wanted me to understand my place in our family. He loved me, Nadar—loved my mother—but you held a special place for him no one else could. The minute Father shared with you the very breath from his body, you became a part of him as none of his other children could: the living embodiment of his future. Father told me the story of your birth on the eve of my fifteenth birthday, the day my fostering with him ended. He told me then that Lachlan would be mine, but Vale would always be yours."
Nadar curled his lip. “I'd wager you hated hearing that."
"You're wrong.” Gareth spoke with all the sincerity in his heart. “I accepted it then as I accept it now because I knew you were meant to rule. Any babe strong enough to defy death itself is meant to be a king."
"But my mother said—"
"Your mother is a jealous fool, Nadar. Jarric fell in love with my mother long before his father ordered him to marry Sharlan. When Jarric learned of his forced betrothal, he fought the match, but in the end there was nothing he could do. He made my mother his mistress and set her up in a fine house not far from Vale's borders. Then he pledged his troth to Sharlan like the dutiful son he was. As far as I can tell, he never made any secret that Sharlan was second in his affections, and she hated my mother for that. Adding to the insult, my mother gave birth to me a full two years before Sharlan was able to conceive. As a result, Sharlan saw me as a threat, a usurper ready to steal Vale from any offspring she might have.” Gareth folded his hands. “I'm only sorry she visited her envious poisons on you."
Nadar shook his head as if trying to clear it. “You always seemed to bear me so much hatred."
"If you think back on it,” Gareth said, “I believe you'll see why. Each time I tried to approach you—even when we were nothing more than children—you scorned me. For the longest time, I wasn't even certain you knew my name. The only thing you ever called me was ‘bastard.’”
Nadar winced. “I thought I was protecting myself against a man who coveted my throne."
"You were wrong. All I wanted was to make peace with you, but it always seemed to be beyond my grasp.” Gareth rose to his feet. “I'll leave you alone to think about what I've said.” He stopped on his way to the door and spoke over his shoulder. “I never hated you, Nadar, but I do despise your mother and will until the day I die. She robbed me of the one thing I always longed for."
Nadar arched his brows. “Your rightful place as the ruler of Vale?"
"No. What Sharlan took from me is much more precious than a kingdom.” Gareth inhaled against a fresh wave of regret. “She stole from me the chance to love and be loved by my brother."
* * * *
Gareth found Wycaster heavily bandaged and sitting up in bed. Balthazar handed Gareth a silver cup on his way out the door and said, “Order him to drink that, would you? I've been trying for the longest now with little success.” He glared at Wycaster one last time before making his exit.
Gareth grinned as he crossed the room and took the chair closest to Wycaster's sick bed. “I gather you aren't the best of patients.” He handed the cup over.
Wycaster downed the brew, sputtering and exclaiming over the taste before tossing the empty vessel onto the floor. “I shouldn't be in this blasted bed to begin with.” He struggled to find a more comfortable position. “Prince Alric ... is he well?"
"Banged, bruised, and burned, but overall none the worse for wear."
"And my injured soldiers? Were you able to help them?"
"'Tis what I wanted to talk to you about.” Gareth watched him closely, ready to measure the man's reaction. “There were no wounded men, Wycaster, and not a single body was recovered, either. ‘Tis as if the battle never took place."
Wycaster sat straight up, then fell back with a groan when the movement jostled his injured side. When finally he could speak, his voice was nothing more than a rasping whisper.
"'Tis impossible, what you're saying. Vale's soldiers rushed us, and I saw ... I saw—” He broke off then, his eyes going wide.
"What is it? What did you see?"
Wycaster's sigh was long and slow. “'Tis what I just realized. I saw nothing at all. So intent was I on getting to the king, I paid no heed to the battle behind me. As I rushed to King Alric's aid, one of Vale's soldiers clubbed me with the butt of his sword. When at last I woke, the king was gone, and six men lay on the grass. I thought sure two were dead and the rest wounded, but now I wonder..."
Gareth didn't have to ask his meaning. “You wonder if ‘twas but a ruse on the part of the soldiers."
Wycaster nodded, his eyes heavy with a pain that had little to do with his wounds. “The men who rode out with us today joined our ranks only a month ago. I thought I'd learned them well enough to trust them with the king's safety, but now...” He shook his head. “'Twould seem I made a grievous error."
"Did not you think it strange that six able bodied foreigners came to you at the same time seeking a place in Kray's army?"
"Yes, but—” Again Wycaster sat straight up in his sick bed, only this time he kept his balance and fought against the pain. He was trying to climb from the bed when Gareth stayed him with a firm hand.
Wycaster fought to free himself from Gareth's grasp. “Let me go, Sire. I must—"
"Do nothing but rest.” Gareth's resolve was complete. “You're not to rise until your body replenishes its strength. Balthazar said as much."
Still Wycaster fought. “You don't understand."
"No, and I won't until you tell me what has you so undone."
"Sire, those men ... the lot of them were recommended to me. I was told they came from an ailing village to the east of us and needed the work. I was asked to train them myself."
Gareth's heart began to race. “By someone here at Kray?"
Wycaster nodded, his face awash with misery. “I'm sorry to say it, but yes.” He drew a harsh, stilted breath. “I know the name of our traitor."
* * * *
Alric opened the door wide as Lennox, one of his personal servants, and another man brought a shinning metal tub into his bedchamber. Two more men followed, pouring forth ewer upon ewer of steaming water until the tub was all but full. Having felt dirty since the moment Nadar's men grabbed him, Alric could hardly wait to avail himself of the cleansing soak.
Grabbing a cake of soap and a linen cloth from the chest at the base of his bed, Alric thanked the servants and began to disrobe.
"Will there be anything else, Majesty?"
"No, thank you, Lennox."
Lennox bowed low and took his leave along with the rest of them. Once alone, Alric shed the remainder of his garments and lowered himself into the water.
The blessed heat went a long way toward taking the chill from his blood. Ignoring the twinges to his burns, he ducked beneath the surface and soaked his head. Rising, he soaped his body from face to foot before scrubbing the cake over his hair. He dropped the soap into the water and lay back, working the suds into his scalp.
Warm fingers joined his, causing Alric to start. “Lennox, I told you I needed no further assistance.” He was always careful not to allow the servants a look at his back. It was bad enough having to live with the marks. Alric had no desire for his private shame to become public knowledge. “If you wouldn't mind leaving, I'll finish my bath alone."
"Ah, but I would mind. You have no idea how much.” Hot breath caressed his ear. “Please tell me you don't make a habit of allowing other men to bathe you, servants included. I doubt my jealous heart could take it."
Alric went stiff, trying to open his eyes and getting a burning wash of soap for his efforts. “Gareth, what are you—"
"Shh. Let me help you.” A soothing cloth was pressed against his eyes a second before a rain of fresh water cascaded over his head, rinsing away the soap. Alric could feel Gareth's fingers smoothing through his hair, searching for a hint of remaining lather.
Once certain Alric was clean, Gareth said, “I think that's got you.” He hesitated. “Sorry. Looks as if I missed a spot right over ... here.” Before Alric could guess what he meant to do, Gareth leaned over the tub and nibbled the tender area just below his right ear.
Alric's hips shot from the water as he sought to move away. Gareth slipped his arms around Alric and held him tight, continuing the tender assault on his neck. Again Alric struggled for freedom, banging his knees against the tub in an effort to get loose.
"Stop that.” Gareth's fingers held fast, making soft, circular patterns on Alric's chest. “You're more likely to hurt yourself as not."
"Then let me go."
"No.” Gareth laid a soft kiss at the base of Alric's shoulder, causing him to shiver anew. “Letting you go is the one thing I will not do. Not now, and not ever."
Alric stiffened. “You came in here thinking to void my grounds for annulment?"
He could feel Gareth's smile against the sensitive skin at the base of his throat. “No, Alric. I came in here to make love with my husband, a task much easier accomplished if you'd stop fighting me and hold still."
They couldn't do this. Alric knew it as sure as he knew his own name. Unfortunately, his traitorous body didn't agree. Already he was growing hard beneath the water, aching with a longing he could scarcely deny.
But deny it he must, for both their sakes. With all the strength he could muster, Alric wrenched himself free from Gareth's grasp, turning and backing against the end of the tub. Again Gareth reached for him, but Alric stayed him with a hand upon his chest.
"We can't ... I don't want this.
"
Gareth raised one brow before pointing to the evidence of Alric's arousal, clearly visible through the water. “A falsehood if ever I heard one."
Alric swallowed. “I want you. ‘Tis one fact I will not—cannot—deny. But you must understand. Were we to mate, we would henceforth be bonded.” That Alric wanted that bond more than anything else in his life was irrelevant. He'd learned long ago not to pine for that which he couldn't have. Hoping to make Gareth see reason, he said, “We both know that isn't what you want. Get out now, whilst you still have the chance."
Gareth took Alric's hand from off his chest and kissed each one of the fingers with infinite care before letting go and rising to his feet. “You have no idea what I want.” He reached for the hem of his own tunic, yanking it over his head and casting it onto the floor. “If I'm half the man I think myself to be, I vow you're soon to find out."
Alric was getting desperate. He rose from the water and reached for his drying cloth with one swift motion. Covering his loins with the thin linen as best he could, he looked Gareth in the eye and said, “You can't possibly want me. Not knowing where I've been ... who I've been with. If this is about the alliance, I've already told you, I'll not break faith with Drystan once our marriage is over."
Gareth stood on his left foot and pulled his right boot free with one swift tug before casting it aside. “Listen to me, Alric.” He changed positions and removed his other boot, tossing it to rest on the floor with its partner. “Listen well, because I'll say this once more, and once more alone. What lies between us has nothing to do with wars and alliances, kingdoms or revenge. This is about you, me, and the fact that I want you so much I ache with it.” He took a step closer and began working on the lacings of his hose.
"Each time I close my eyes, ‘tis your face I see. Your smell ... it haunts me.” Gareth closed his eyes, inhaling deep. When he opened them again, the blue circles were shining with an emotion Alric could only name as raw desire. “No other man could smell as sweet. And the brief tastes I've had of you ... Creator save me, I've been going mad wondering what it would be like to taste you until I've had my fill. How would it be, I wonder, to drag my tongue across your body until I've sampled each delectable trace of your flesh?"