by Jane Atchley
“Leave Katie out of this,” Kree warned. “That was different.”
“How so, sir?”
“For one thing, we weren’t trying to kill each other.”
“I am not trying to kill Faelan, sir, far from it. Were she trying to kill me, she has had opportunity enough.”
“I’m speaking in generalities.”
“I am not, sir.”
“Your sweetheart?” Kree helped himself to a bite of fruit, spearing it with one of the little Temple knives he always carried on his person. “Every available woman in Qets, and many who aren’t, throw themselves at you. Your father sends marriage offers daily. Not to mention the Nhurstari—all of them! Namar’s tears, man. Couldn’t you pick someone on our side?”
“I did not pick anyone, sir. I merely made an observation on your behavior.”
The captain gave a little sigh and speared another bite. “What is this stuff?”
“Maloduari, sir. Well…not really since I’m not serving it over finfish, but still…the flavors and textures meld well and Faelan will never know the difference.” Shooting his captain a quick glance told him this was more information than was wanted.
“It’s good.”
“High praise, sir, coming from a man to whom a gourmet meal is anything not served fried on a stick.”
“I like food fried on a stick.”
Duncan smiled but kept his eyes on the contents steaming in the pan. “Exactly my point, sir.”
“You know this is going to cause one hell of a dust-up with allied generals?”
Duncan saw a chance to throw one of his captain’s most infamous, irritating mannerisms back in his teeth. He met Kree’s gaze, glanced quickly to the right then back in perfect mimicry of the bigger man. “I don’t care.”
Kree grinned. “I wondered when you’d get your belly full of that pack of idiots.” He paused and made a sucking noise against his teeth. “Tell you what, Sugar-babe.”
Duncan kept his head down, smiling at his captain’s annoying private nickname. There’d be no cashiering today.
“I’ll keep the generals off your back. You just make sure your sweetheart doesn’t put a knife in your ribs between the salad and the entree.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Faelan wrapped and pleated her sari a third time, trying for the old-fashioned style, no undergarments. For all Duncan’s reserve, he wanted her and his stress on my tent, gave her hope for this, their last evening together. She eyed her handiwork as best she could. She had managed to cover all the essential bits this time.
The sari and veil-cloth, both midnight-blue silk heavy with silver embroidery, brought a touch of warmth to her ice-blue eyes. It echoed her ancestor’s heraldry, though Duncan wouldn’t know it. She suspected this was Quinn’s reason for choosing the outfit. He wanted her looking like a princess at the prisoner exchange. She brushed her short hair until it gleamed, arranged the veil-cloth over her head and shoulders, and wished for a full-length mirror. What she got was the kin-slayer captain’s feather-headed half-pixie wife.
At five foot one, Kayseri was delicate, not tiny, but her husband and her bodyguard were both freakishly large. In their company she appeared diminutive. The bodyguard’s gaze followed the lovely half-pixie like a devoted hound, but the young woman only had eyes for her captain. More than anyone else, Kayseri had changed Faelan’s perception of the kin-slayer captain. If he were a demon, as her people taught, he was the most beloved demon ever to walk among men. On the day he’d arrived in the camp at the head of a small Nhurstari force, the mood of the allied army shifted. Even Aimery was a little less his usual sober self, at least for a day or two.
Furthermore, if he could converse with his feather-headed wife for hours on end, and it appeared he could, without developing a splitting headache, he was a saint. Still, Faelan was glad to see Katie. One look at Kayseri’s wide-eyed, delighted face told her better than any mirror, she looked as beautiful as she felt.
“Ooh.” Kayseri circled Faelan eyeing her from all angles. “If I’d had a dress like this, I wouldn’t have had to make My Captain chase me all the way to Nhurstari.”
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Pretty? It’s amazing. Duncan will die. He’ll absolutely die. Is it one piece of cloth? He’s a virgin, you know.”
The woman mixed topics together then jumped back and forth between them all the time. Faelan had stopped trying to plumb the depths of the pixie mind her first week in captivity.
“What makes you say so?”
“It looks like one piece.”
“Yes, it is. About Aimery…ah…Duncan, what made you say he’s a virgin?”
Kayseri laughed. “His name is Aim-ree not Aah-mu-ray. Show me how it’s wrapped?”
Faelan bit the inside of her check to keep from screaming. The Kin-slayer was definitely a saint. “What makes you think Duncan is a virgin?”
“Because it’s true. He never goes with women… or men either. Chaste as a virgin, My Captain says. All the troopers laugh at him.”
“There’s a difference between chaste and virginal.”
Kayseri frowned, shrugged. “He wasn’t at the garrison before I left home. I don’t know him well. But now you ask, I did hear My Captain say Duncan had fathered a child.”
“He’s never mentioned a child to me. Are you sure?
Kayseri nodded. “Uh huh, it’s some Addiri custom or other about giving his dead brother children. So he can’t be a virgin can he? You won’t have time to show me how this dress wraps. My Captain says you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Faelan picked up her other sari. This one was a vibrant red with gold flowers. It would look well with Kayseri’s dark coloring. “I’ll show you now.” She hadn’t gotten far before the twins arrived to escort her to Duncan’s tent.
He met her at the entrance, posting his Nhurstari bookends to guard duty shouting distance away.
“Oh my.” Duncan covered his mouth to hide his amusement. “I thought all that fabric was for you to sew. It is enchanting, Faelan. I am bewitched.”
Well, that explained why he kept asking if she needed pins and thread. Faelan was fairly bewitched herself. Duncan had shed his dragon’s eye blue jacket in favor of a buttery yellow waistcoat, a gauzy white shirt, dun colored trousers, and brown riding boots. The outfit made his shoulders look broader and his hips narrower. He still sported his chin stubble. If he thought it made him one bit less gorgeous, he was mistaken. It made him rakish.
“What are you supposed to be?”
“An Addir gentleman, what else?” He swept her a courtly bow. “I thought it would be more enjoyable to dine with a Holder’s throwaway son as opposed to a mortal enemy.”
Duncan swept aside the curtain separating his private chamber from the outer tent, revealing an oasis within, complete with a fountain. Faelan gasped. The small space teemed with life. Green plants and bright flowers decked every corner. In the center of all this opulence, surrounded by colorful cushions, Duncan had laid out their feast on a low table.
“You cannot visit my islands, and I cannot visit your desert paradise. Did I capture it? ”
Great Ancestor, he’d remembered every word she’d spoken. “You did all this for me?”
“I wanted to make tonight special.” Duncan’s breath warmed her ear.
No man had ever gone out of his way for her, not even Nicholas, who claimed to love her. Faelan didn’t know how to respond. She’d scratched and clawed for everything she’d gained. Had she not been a shifter, she would have found herself some man’s chattel by age thirteen. Such was a Descendant woman’s lot. There were no words. Duncan’s gentle and thoughtful nature, so at odds with his occupation, melted her heart. She turned, again she felt strangely intimate, standing eye-to-eye with Duncan. Yet he seemed large enough to shield and protect her from all the harshness of her world. For the first time in her life the promise of a man’s protection filled her with hope instead of fear.
He wanted to take h
er in his arms and kiss her, the fire of his desire starkly evident in the depths of his incredible blue eyes, but he refrained. Faelan hesitated. To the wolf in her, it was natural to want him for his Alpha strength and cunning, but as a woman and a captive, wanting him for his generous nature and gentle heart was fool-hearty. Still, she was tempted, oh, so tempted. Duncan shifted back a step breaking her thrall.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Faelan reached for his hand and a spark jumped between them with an audible pop.
It wasn’t much of an affirmation given the time he had obviously expended on her behalf, but it satisfied him. Taking her hand, Duncan drew her into the paradise he’d created and seated her on the cushions. In a charming melding of his culture and hers, the low table held a bounty of color displayed on the crisp white linen tablecloth. Faelan turned her face away, blinking back tears.
To the right of the table two fish broiled on a small squat grill. Sinking down on a cushion beside her, Duncan poured sweet smelling amber liquid into a fluted glass, placed a thin bite-sized slice of bread and fruit on top of it and served it to her with a worried half-smile.
“Please tell me that look does not mean you do not like fish.”
“For desert dwellers fish is a rare treat. It is just—I don’t recognize any of these dishes.”
“I imagine not. They are Maoliou. The women in my family fear I will perish from a steady diet of mutton and turnips. They ship me love-packages. Luckily, there are so many women in my family some of it reaches me in a usable condition even out here.”
While he talked, Duncan poured and prepared a glass of the amber drink for himself. Taking the topper in his fingers he saluted her, “To good appetite, Faelan.” He popped the whole thing in his mouth.
She followed his lead discovering what she had taken for bread was actually cheese. The rich sweet taste of fruit exploded in her mouth. As Duncan had done, she followed it with a sip of liquid and found it delicious.
“It’s wonderful. What is this?”
He gave an odd little half-shrug reminiscent of the Nhurstari twins. “Poi’taw. Other than sweet cane, I have no clue what it contains. The recipe is a great Maoliou secret. Be warned it packs a punch. One sips it.”
“You can’t figure out what’s in it?”
“I suppose I could.” He gave a sad little smile. “But then Ky’lara would never make it again.”
Faelan laughed and took another sip. The stuff was wonderful. “All of this grows on Addir?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Spy.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass.
“Ah yes. As a matter of fact, all this grows on my family’s Holdings.” Duncan served up another topper before turning his attention to the fish on the grill.
“Tell me about Addir.”
“What would you like to know?”
“What’s it like? What do you do there?” Faelan’s previous attempts to get him to talk about himself had met with very little success. Unlike most men, Duncan proved reluctant to speak about himself.
Duncan glanced up. “Hot. Green. Humid. Nothing.” Setting a plate before her, he demonstrated how to eat using a pair of slender sticks.
“That’s it. You think you’re getting away with that?”
“Surrounded by a deep blue sea.” His smile was all innocence.
“Aimery.”
He closed his eyes for an instant. “I love the sound of my name on your lips.”
“Katie tells me I mispronounce it.”
He opened his eyes, smiled. “It is a charming mispronunciation. My homeland is Maoliou, not Addir. Addir refers to the crew of the pirate ship Sea Dragon who became Holders on the islands, as did my family, and to their progeny.
“Hundreds of wild flowers perfume air already heavy with the scent of sweet cane in various stages of production. Colorful birds dart about jungles so verdant it requires constant vigilance on the part of our House-holden to keep the jungle from swallowing up all we have built. There is one vine in particular that grows up to a foot per day.”
Faelan took another swallow of the wonderful amber liquid. “You think I’ll believe anything, don’t you? Nothing grows that fast.”
Leaning in on his elbow, Duncan rested his chin on his fist for a minute while his gaze explored her face. “I never lie. It is bad Addiri.” He tilted his head a little to one side, his gaze rested on her lips. “And I would never joke about Kudzu.”
Gaze met gaze.
“May I kiss you, Faelan?”
“Yes, you may.” What else could she say? Faelan wanted his lips on hers more than her next breath.
Duncan did not embrace her, just leaned forward slanting his lips over hers. One simple touch sent a fiery shock zinging through her body like the spark that had jumped between their hands multiplied by thousands. Her lips opened under his, and his tongue darted in exploring her mouth. She felt herself grow warm and wet with desire. He broke their kiss, licking his lips as though he’d just tasted something wonderful. His body shifted and Faelan saw that he was as aroused as she was.
“The native Maoliou,” Duncan’s voice came out a deep rumble. He retreated to the far side of the table, “are like Ky’lara, pretty, dark-skinned people, fond of bright colors, and very industrious. They work in the house or in the cane fields from dawn to dusk while we Holders relax in our family compounds high upon the volcanic slopes. Every afternoon rain sweeps in from the sea, the higher up the hillside, the later it rains. Maoliou say they can judge their Holder’s wealth by how late it rains on his compound.”
Why does he move away? It’s not what he wants. “What time does it rain on your home?”
He grinned. “Well after sunset.”
“So you are very wealthy.”
“My family is. I am a throwaway son.” He frowned and muttered, “Rather I was.”
Throwaway? It was the second time he’d used the term. It made her angry. Aimery Duncan was a worthy man. He was not someone to throw away.
“Do you mean your family disowned you?”
Duncan laughed aloud, something he did rarely. “Not likely. I am not—I did not expect to inherit.” He fixed her with an earnest gaze as though his next words must be important to her. “But I am not a pauper.”
He looked at her with fire in his eyes, her stomach fluttered, and she lost the ability to think of anything beyond his stunning, beautiful eyes. “You have such expressive eyes. Loyal. Kind. Intelligent.” She covered her mouth stopping her words. “You don’t like that.”
Duncan busied himself serving the fish from the grill. “You make me sound like one of my sister’s spaniels.”
Faelan rose gracefully intending to take a turn about the chamber and just happen to end up on his side of the table. “What adjectives do you prefer?”
He grinned. “Strong. Virile. Powerful. Handsome will do.”
“Now you’re fishing.”
“False modesty is not among my many faults”
Faelan laughed, edging around the space, eyeing this and that. Duncan’s gaze followed her, noting what she looked at, what she touched. He was not a fool.
“There are eight children in your family?”
“Yes. By Addir tradition land does not usually pass to daughters, although it can. My father was desperate for sons. He persevered.”
“Yours is a male-dominated society?” Like mine.
“We males like to think so, but I know better. Holding wives manage the Holding and handle the day-to-day business. We men are left to our leisure and our intellectual pursuits.”
“Such as…” Faelan searched the tent gestured at his chalk board. “Chemistry?”
Good work, Faelan. Nothing inspires a man to kiss you again faster than insulting something he loves.
Duncan blinked at her several times. “Physics.” He looked a little abashed. “I realize I was born into privilege. If I sounded unappreciative just now, I apologize.”
“What are their
names, your brothers, and sisters?” Faelan asked eager to move away from her blunder.
“Adela. Aceline. Amanda. Ariel. My brother, Ansel who died at sea. My sister, Aimee. Nine minutes later,” he touched his chest, “Aimery, and lastly, Anton.”
She smiled. “Eight children whose names begin with an A. You expect me to believe you?”
“It is one of the many traditions in my family to name the first born something beginning with an A. As it happens, both my parents’ names begin with A. My father thinks it is charming. When we were small he used to make us wear caps embroidered with our initials whenever we went on a daytrip, AD1, AD2 and so on. He claimed it made it easier for him to see he had all his hatchlings under wing when it came time to go home.”
It was charming.
Faelan stopped in the tight space between Duncan’s bed and his chalk board. Neat handwriting nearly filled the board’s surface. The term =CF appeared repeatedly. Although her back was turned, she heard Duncan’s light step behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder. “You have a twin sister.” She reached toward the board, but Duncan’s hand intercepted hers.
“Obviously, we are not identical.”
A hot tingle sizzled through her. All he had to do was touch her and she was on fire. Faelan turned to him. Duncan’s smoldering gaze told her he felt the same heat.
“Obviously.” Careful not to touch the chalk board, she pointed out the repeated term. “What does CF stand for?”
Duncan frowned at the board. “Catastrophic failure.”
“And catastrophic failure means…”
“The resulting reaction destroyed the delivery system.”
“It doesn’t sound good.” Faelan laughed. “I’d erase it.”
“It is important to know what does not work. I learn as much from failures as successes. Sometimes more.”
Here was his passion. Faelan had seen how his eyes sparkled when he explained some formula or the use of some powder to Roland, and she heard it in his voice now. She studied his board. “Will it blast you into the stars?”
“Oh.” Duncan blew out a deep breath. “I hope not.”