by Shana Ab
When he moved again he accidentally knocked into the gargoyle inkwell, causing it to skid over the wood and fall to the floor, where it rolled in an awkward loop, stopping against the edge of the rug.
Ink spilled out, a trail of it puddling on the stone, seeping into the fibers.
Arion turned his gaze back to his hands, to the wood beneath them. Time wound on, diffused as light through heavy glass, meaningless.
He became aware, at some point, that there was someone else in the room with him, standing behind him and then beside him. Ari didn't lift his head to see who it was.
“My lord?”
Fuller moved again, obviously seeing the inkwell, caring enough to pick it up, shutting the hinged lid. Arion finally raised his head, breathing deeply to find that stabbing pain in his right side from some Northman's blade. It woke him slightly.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice too gruff.
The steward seemed to be having problems deciding what to do with the inkwell; he held it in one hand, trying to stop the ink from dripping further to the floor and the rug. But his other hand held something that he had not released. A folded piece of paper.
“This is for you, my lord,” said Fuller at last, offering the paper to Arion.
Ari turned away.
“Leave it and go. I want to be alone now.”
“I think you might want to—”
“I said leave it,” Arion growled, scowling at the table.
From the corner of his vision he saw the steward pause, then carefully place the paper on the edge of the table, where Arion could reach it. He bowed, backing away.
“Note the seal, my lord,” Fuller said, and then was gone.
Arion closed his eyes. He concentrated on taking more shallow breaths, because that stabbing pain was no longer welcome. He wanted the numbness again. He wanted the void. Why run away now?
Note the seal.
What the hell did that mean? Arion looked askance at the note, at the dark green blotch of wax that had been pressed down into the paper in what appeared to be a bizarre series of interlocking lines.
He could make no sense of it, those lines. He had never seen a seal like it before. Seals were not lines. They were crests. They were lions and griffiths, stars and fields. Not lines.
In spite of himself he was intrigued. Ari pulled the note closer to him, directly beneath his head, so that he would not have to move much to study it.
Yes, lines, but cut off, like just the corner of some greater design, intricate and precise. It did look familiar, now that he could view it more clearly. He had seen this before. The near recognition tickled the back of his mind, a nagging buzz that would not let him alone, pushing away the hollowness that plagued him.
He reached out and touched the cold wax, feeling the raised pattern of it, finding the fold in the paper and breaking open the note just exactly as he realized what the seal was.
Clan crest of the MacRaes. A note from the MacRaes.
Ari felt his heart skip, his blood racing again, and the stabbing pain that came back seemed distant, unimportant.
The note had just a few words. He didn't know the hand, but then, he didn't have to. Firm letters, elegant slant, no wasted space or energy on elaborate script:
Rock Oak, the note said. Tonight.
And no name on it, but by God, he didn't need one. Arion pushed away from the desk, the note clutched tightly in his hand. He paced the room, power once more flowing through him, then stopped to read it again, to make certain he had not dreamed it, that it was not merely the product of fervent wishing.
It was not. The words stayed the same, their invitation just as clear.
Arion crossed to the hearth and tossed the paper in, watching it burn to ash, the message curling up into smoky tendrils before vanishing altogether.
He glanced out his window and saw the edge of darkness seeping over the land, and then moved away, looking for his boots.
O QUICKLY, HE could almost feel his wounds begin to break open, the blood wanting to escape him again. But he had no patience for it now. By the time he had managed to dress himself, to order his destrier saddled and ready for him, too many precious minutes had passed. It had not helped that the stable-master seemed slow and incompetent, that Fuller had arrived while the stallion was still being readied and had tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade Arion to go back to bed—and if not that, then at least to accept an escort.
Arion had forbidden it, mounting his steed with nearly the same ease as he used to know, and then rode away to leave them all staring after him, dark shapes in the twilight.
He was not followed. He knew enough to ensure that; if any of his men had disobeyed such a direct order, they understood the punishment would be swift and sure—and perhaps there was a bit too much of Ryder in him to not make his threat convincing.
He rode alone, remembering the way as if he had traveled it a thousand times over, though in fact he had been to this meadow only once before, back when his alliance with Lauren MacRae had been a new and uncertain thing.
The meadow appeared empty.
Arion fought the disappointment that saturated him, dismounting, walking the steed closer yet staying in the woods, scanning the area. True night was with him now, no moon, just clouds drifting overhead, but it was clear that no one awaited him by the rock oak. He saw no steps in the snow, though it was spotted about in ranthatches. He heard no sounds at all, no rustling, no breathing, no birds or wind.
He was early. Or she was late.
Or she couldn't come at all.
No, Ari told himself firmly. She would be here. She had to be here. Everything he was—or ever hoped to be—rested on it.
He waited, feeling his senses honed and sharp, sensitive to the slightest change in the land around him. And slowly he began to realize that there was something different across the bent winter grass, over there, by a thick cluster of trees. Something not right, too soft a shape to be part of the landscape, too irregular to the lines of the trunks….
She stepped away from the forest and Arion released the reins of his steed, uncaring, and began walking to her, faster, faster, focused only on Lauren, the figure of her coming toward him, long steps to him, her hood pushed back, her hair loose, a look of such intensity on her face, her eyes locked on his.
By fate or strange fortune they met exactly at the rock oak, and then he had her in his arms, and his lips were on hers, and she was making some breathless sound that sang to him, that left him stunned and ferocious and wildly joyous.
She tasted sweet and willing, her skin cold, her grasp on him tight. Her breath warmed him, her fingers slid up to enmesh in his hair, keeping him close to her, though he was already half afraid that he might be crushing her with his embrace.
He was saying her name, he couldn't help it, drawing her to him until his back was against the stone tree and she was pressed fully into him, her body a welcome weight against his. He wouldn't let her move away but kept her there, kissing her until he thought he might die from it, and still it wasn't enough, still he had to have more of her, her light, her brightness. She was helping him, she was leaning up into him, matching his kisses, her touch firm, pulling.
Lauren felt his hands slide over the heavy material of her cape, and then beneath it, to skim her breasts, to cup them in his palms. It sent a hot fire through her, the sparks he alone could give her, banishing the chill that had dwelled in and around her. She closed her eyes with it, gasping. Arion smiled against her cheek, his own breath coming hard. She opened her eyes again and took in his face, the dark green heat of his gaze, now slumberous and rapt.
He moved downward, taking her with him, sliding to the ground, his back still upright against the rock oak, until they were on their knees, face to face, and he had a smile that sent more of that sparking fire through her blood. He pushed away her cape until it hung far back over her shoulders, and then his own, and his body was hard and unyielding, his hands at once controlled and supplicatin
g, running over her body—her chest, her back, her bottom and thighs—as if he wanted all of her at once but couldn't decide how to start.
“Lauren,” he said into her neck, making her name a rough sound.“Lauren, Lauren, why did you come here?”
But he didn't seem to want an answer, because he was kissing her again, sucking at her lower lip, brushing over her cheeks to her jaw, her neck, causing her body to arch against him on its own. He came back to her mouth and his lips grew softer on hers: another version of that gentleness he had shown her before, on the floor of his chamber in his home. It was tenderness and languid sensuality; it was devotion and reverence.
She had been just holding on to him till now—the force and speed of his want had left her grasping, trying to stay with him, trying not to let go. But Lauren felt something new flame through her now, a dawning awareness of her own power, or else overwhelming desire, she couldn't say which. She touched him as he was touching her, an exploration of him, the pleasing form beneath the tunic, the beauty of him, his exotic unfa-miliarity, male lines and solid muscles. Yet for all the newness she knew exactly what to do now, how to caress him, where to stroke him to elicit a dark growl from the back of his throat, all of him paused, focused on her.
Lauren did it again, her hands soft against the hardest part of him, feeling his shape, the urgency of him straining against her.
“Lauren,” he said again, only now his voice was broken. He gave a soft, wondering laugh. “What are we doing out here—”
She stopped his words the only way she knew how, a melting kiss, and it worked, it silenced the protest she could feel in him, though not so much as to make him loosen his grip on her.
“Please,” she murmured, moving her lips over his cheek, his jaw.“Please, Arion …”
He moved swiftly, so fast that she had only a secondary awareness of it, but now she was on her back and he was on top of her, and the rock oak was behind him, pointing up to the scattered stars in the sky, the silver-edged clouds that moved over them.
He came down between her legs and she let him, she bent her knees to keep him there, wrapped her arms around his back and held on, feeling the sparks transform to something stronger, something much more like pain and liquid sun, igniting beneath his touch. The cape was a pillow beneath her, but even if she had been bare on the cold snow, it wouldn't have mattered. Arion was there. Arion was keeping the night far away from her. Arion was moving against her, slow and hot, making the sun in her burn even brighter.
Her gown and tartan were rising; he pushed them higher and she helped him, both of them wordless now, staring into each other's eyes, their breathing matched to short pants.
Even the winter air could not affect her. She felt overheated, she felt as if she would melt the snow beneath her, a river to sweep them both away, far, to someplace where there could be nothing but the two of them, forever.
When he came back down on her again, Lauren realized he had done something to his hose, and his tunic was raised. It was flesh on flesh, and the shock of it made her go still.
It was real. It was truly happening, finally, at last, her joining with Arion, the enemy for whom she would die. Lauren had thought herself ready for it. She had thought she knew what it would mean, to offer herself to him, to taste his sweetness and become his.
But now, with Arion on top of her, sharing the same air, their bodies so shamelessly intertwined, she felt the reality of what this would mean.
She would be his. Her maidenhood, her heart, her soul—all of her. It was terrifying, it was rash and insane. But oh, she wanted it more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life. It seemed she was caught in a terrible contradiction—afraid to move, but wanting to move with every ounce of her being.
Arion cradled her face with his hands. He looked pained, as if what he felt right now was nothing of pleasure but rather agony. The hottest part of him, that maleness, was stiff and still against her, pressed against her thigh by the weight of his body.
I love you, she thought. I want this.
Lauren shifted, just a little, and he seemed to grow even stiller, the tension around his mouth pronounced.
“What are we doing?” he whispered.
She raised her leg higher in response, bringing him that much closer to her.
“No,” Arion said, closing his eyes, looking tor-mented.“Wait.”
“No,” she said to him, soft and sure, and moved her other leg to follow the first.
His body slipped closer, the strangeness of him now probing against her, finding that part of her where the liquid sun burned. Her back arched without her will, a natural flexing, and he responded with a kind of muffled groan, slowing penetrating her, sinking into her.
Lauren felt the unique sensation of his entry, burning and good, and all the air from her lungs fled under the pleasure of it. She could not breathe, she could not replace that air, but she didn't need to, because she had Arion, and he was a part of her now … pain and sorcery and passion and him.
But then he stopped.
He stopped, not close enough to her yet. She knew somehow that this act was not done, that there was something incomplete to this moment. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, trying to pull him down to her the rest of the way, insistent. Pleading.
“What are we—” Arion began, and then cut himself off, a hiss of air through his teeth. His eyes were wild and lost; his hand trembled as he stroked the hair from her cheek. “Lauren … the snow, and the meadow … this isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to be.”
“Yes it is,” she said quickly, low and fierce.
He stared down at her, unmoving, so close to her that her heart beat contralto to his, a matching rhythm, both fast and furious. She felt the ache stretching through her, commanding. She flexed her back again, but this time it had no effect on him. He supported himself away from her with his arms, shaking very, very slightly.
There was a change coming over him, she could see it and feel it. The soft focus of his gaze sharpened, grew more keen and clear.
“No,” Lauren said again, and to her dismay, this time it sounded closer to a wail, faint and imploring.
“I can't,” Arion said, shaking his head, almost to himself.“Not like this.”
And to her very great fear and frustration, he pulled fully away from her, leaving her completely, alone on the ground, shivering. He stood up, adjusting his clothes, and walked a few steps from where she lay.
Lauren slowly rolled to her side and pushed herself up to sit, her gown falling back into place, the cloak coming forward to hide the bow of her body. She brought up one hand to cover her eyes.
“It would mean a war,” she heard Arion say heavily, his words directed to the trees around them.
She said nothing.
“It would sever you from your clan and your country, from all you hold dear,” he continued after a pause, still to the trees.“It would ruin you.”
“I don't care,” Lauren said, not looking up.
“You do,” he countered, turning to her. “Don't lie to me.”
“I don't care!” she shouted at him, lifting her head, glaring.
He gazed down at her, somber and forbidding, nearly lost in the starlight.
“I care,” Arion said.“I care for you, then.”
He walked back to her, crouched down and touched her cheek lightly with his fingers. Lauren was careful not to wince when he brushed the same places as Murdoch had.
“Why did you do it?” he asked, hushed and trou-bled.“Why did you send me that note?”
Her lips remained locked shut. Pride would not let her speak. She watched his look darken, his face go bleak and stern.
“My God, look at you. You look like you've already been in a war. You're covered in bruises and cuts—”
“Take me to Elguire,” she said.
He sighed.“Lauren, whatever it is you think you feel for me, I assure you that it will fade. With time. Right now, you're probably feeling a lot of
things that stem from our alliance, from the confusion of battle. But when you are married, and you have a family of your own, all of these things will seem distant to you—”
“You said you loved me.”
Pain came and went through him; she felt it so clearly, even as he masked it.
“Was it a lie?” she asked.
He stood up, scowling at the stars.
“Was it?” she demanded.
“No,” he admitted, the word sounding angry. “It wasn't a lie.”
She stood as well, supple and brisk. “Then let me come with you to Elguire. Let me stay with you. Or take me to your castle on the mainland, or to London. I'll go with you anywhere you want.”
“Lauren, you don't know what you're saying.”
“I do! I want to be with you, Arion du Morgan. And I don't care if it's right or wrong or even legal. I don't care if you wed me or not. Just take me with you. Let me be with you.”
He said nothing, staring at the ground, a kind of violence to the tremors of his hands, the clench of his jaw.
She put one hand on his arm. “I want to stay with you, Arion, and damn the consequences.”
He shook her off, spoke with some of that suppressed violence crackling through.“I can't.”
“Then you lied when you said you loved me.” Her voice was ice, her soul was frost.
“No, goddammit!”Without warning he took her into his arms, holding her firmly over her stiff resistance. After a moment she felt his lips against her temple. Despite the harshness of his hold on her, his words came out soft, hopeless.“So help me, I've never spoken a greater truth. I love you, my grand Lauren MacRae.”
“Then—”
“It's why I can't have you. I won't. I will not be the one to ruin you. I will not do that. Your life is too dear to me.”
The bravado that had sustained her began to crumble. Her arms crept around his waist, her head felt heavy and weary. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hearing the finality of his decision, feeling it cut through her like the sharpest sword. She was not going to cry.
“My uncle was a man without pity or mercy,” Arion said now, remote.“He cared for nothing beyond his own pleasure. He drove his own niece to her death with his constant condemnation of her, his punishment of me and her for every dissatisfaction that came to him. After you left Morgan, after I freed you, he went mad … he lost control. So many suffered for it.”