Lionheart

by Thea Harrison

  And he hated that being with him was such a struggle for her, because for him, being with her was simple. It felt easy. It didn’t matter that the timing was all wrong, that he was recovering from major surgery, or that they went too fast. Life was full of accidents, opportunities, and surprises, and one made of them what one could.

  She was everything he had ever hoped to find in a partner—she was strong, analytical, caring, and ethical, and deeply feminine and sexy. She surprised him and made him laugh. She made him rock hard with desire.

  She was someone to rely on when you had to face the worst challenges of your life. She was someone to trust when you had to place your life in her hands.

  There you are, he wanted to say. I’ve been looking for you all my life.

  The mating frenzy only heightened what was already true, but bitterly, he realized she probably wouldn’t welcome those words, or believe him if he did say them. She was too mired in her struggle and her doubt.

  He kept what he was thinking from showing in his expression. As he set the tray on the footstool and sat on the floor beside her, she yawned and murmured, “This day has gone on forever.”

  “It’s been an epic one,” he agreed. Half the salveri was left in the bottle, and she hadn’t bothered to grab any goblets. He offered the bottle to her. She accepted it, drank, and handed it back. As he drank, she murmured a quiet sound of pleasure. “What are you seeing?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” she told him. “It’s like someone just wrapped a beautiful red silk cloak around me. It’s warm and comforting, and it feels like your Lyonesse wine tastes. Like hope.”

  “Very nice.”

  “I’m curious—did you name Lyonesse because your Wyr form is a lion?”

  “There are several of us who have a Wyr feline in our ancestry—Annwyn, Nikolas, and others,” he told her. “Lyonesse means ‘city of lions.’ When we founded this demesne, we thought it was a strong name, and something we could be proud of.”

  Just then his own vision unfurled. He took in a quiet breath.

  “What do you see this time?” She sidled closer, gaze bright with curiosity in her tired face.

  “I see a peregrine falcon in flight.” His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “She’s quite beautiful, a little empress of the sky.”

  “Did you know,” she said with a sly, sideways look, “that when we’re diving, we’re the fastest creatures on earth? Faster than gryphons, harpies, or dragons.”

  “That’s because they’re huge and built like my lion is, full of bone and muscle, whereas your bird is built like a bullet when she goes after prey.” He broke apart one pie and offered her a piece. “Have you ever recorded your fastest speed?”

  She ate the pie. “Bayne and Graydon recorded me in a diving stoop once at two hundred and forty miles per hour. I remember that flight clearly—I was hungry and straining hard to catch a starling that had just tried to outmaneuver me, and I was pushing with everything I had so if their recording is accurate, that’s got to be my fastest speed.”

  He had enjoyed falconry many times over the centuries, and he could just imagine the flight she described. In the air, she would be perfectly deadly. She could have taken that deadliness into any profession and done anything that required superlative grace and speed.

  “You would have made one hell of an assassin,” he said, smiling. “Or a hell of a swordswoman. Instead, you chose medicine.”

  “I did, and I love it, although these days I just take on extreme cases.” With a crooked smile, she pushed her elbow against his upraised knee. It was an open, relaxed, and affectionate gesture.

  “That reminds me,” he told her. “Be sure to add Isla’s treatment to my bill.”

  “No, Oberon. You don’t need to pay me anything. She wasn’t hurt that badly, and I was glad to help, especially when they were both so tired and frightened.”

  “As long as you’re sure.”

  “I am. It’s all right.”

  He didn’t want this night to end, but the fire was dying down, and the rest of the palace had quietened some time ago as the newcomers had fallen asleep.

  And morning hurtled inexorably toward them, bringing change.

  “Past time for bed,” he told her.

  He watched her eyes darken, but she didn’t disagree. “Yes, it is.”

  He touched her hand. She would turn him down and execute one of her strategic retreats. He was certain of it, but he still had to ask while he could. “Come sleep with me.”

  She hesitated. Then her beautiful eyes smiled first, and the rest of her expression followed suit. “I would love to.”

  He felt himself lighten so much the inner rot almost disappeared.

  Almost.

  Lacing his fingers through hers, he kissed the back of her hand. Then they stood and made their way quietly upstairs through the darkened hallways. As he pushed the doors open to his apartment and ignited the witchlights, he began to apologize for the mess but stopped in midsentence.

  Someone had come in to tidy. They had made the bed and taken away the dirty clothes. Warmth spread through him as he looked at the waiting empty brandy glass and decanter on the nearby dresser.

  He touched the edge of the tray. “This was Owen’s doing. It’s a nighttime ritual from years ago.”

  “It’s obvious how much he loves you,” she replied. “How much they all do.”

  “No more than I love them.” He smiled as he said it.

  He did love them, and he didn’t just remember the feeling—he felt it. The words had become true again.

  “From what I’ve seen, they are pretty loveable,” she told him, yawning. “Is your amazing plumbing working now that everything has thawed out?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  When they went into the bathroom, he found the tub had been drained and clean towels had been stacked on a bench near the sink along with a sharpened razor, a robe and slippers, and bowls of soft cedar-and-citrus-scented soap.

  “I’ve had fantasies about using your incredible bathtub, but I’m too tired tonight.” Her words came out slowly.

  “Use it in the morning,” he told her. “It will still be here.”

  “True enough.”

  She left briefly and came back with her pack and a pile of clothes thrown over one arm. Together they went through their evening toilettes, almost as if they were in fact married and mated.

  He let her have the sink first and noticed every small thing, how she cleaned her teeth with the odd-looking toothbrush and minty-smelling powder, how she washed at the sink with an experienced economy of motion that hinted at many other times of exhaustion and using minimal effort to achieve maximum benefit. After dragging a hairbrush through her hair a few times, she kissed his shoulder on her way out.

  He followed soon enough. He thought she was already asleep when he slid between the bedcovers, but she turned over to curl around him. They were both nude, and the last of the tension between his shoulders left him on a deep sigh. Being skin to skin with her was everything he had imagined, and so much more necessary than he had realized.

  As he wrapped his arms around her, she settled her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

  They could do this every night, sleep together in complete peace and comfort, if only she wouldn’t leave.

  He almost said it. But the worm rot was still there, quietly residing underneath all the good they had created that evening, and he didn’t want to give strength to it by airing it out loud. She would either leave or she wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t do either of those things because of what he said. She had already shown that she was far too strong-minded for that.

  So he sank his awareness deep into his lion, because the cat only knew and cared about the present.

  The future had not yet occurred, and the past was gone. Now was all they had—it was all they ever had. Contenting himself with that and with the knowledge that his mate was lying with him for the very first time, the cat kept his secrets priv
ate and purred himself to sleep.

  A formless time later, he was inside her before he had fully woken up to know what he was doing. He came alert in a surge of adrenaline. She was sitting on him, riding him. The sky outside the windows carried a hint of predawn gray, leaving the room in near total darkness, but he could still see perfectly well.

  She had tilted her head back, and her expression was almost dreamy. When he grasped her by the hips, she looked down at him with a shadowed smile. He lost a little more of himself to her in that moment.

  “Come down here,” he whispered huskily, stroking her lightly.

  Pulling her hair to one side, she did, and met his kiss with parted lips. They made love fiercely, in near total silence, and afterward they lay entwined together and did not pull apart.

  No future, he told himself. No past. Hold on to this now.

  She fell back asleep, but he didn’t. He was too busy soaking in this reality.

  That meant he was awake when, sometime later, the door to his bedroom opened silently. Owen poked his head in, and his eyes widened when he saw Kathryn in Oberon’s bed.

  Oberon put a finger to his lips. Owen nodded and eased the door shut again.

  How odd, to lie in bed and listen to the distant sounds of the palace coming to life again after all these years. People hurried down the hall several times, talking together in quiet voices. They were very respectful. He only heard them because his senses had become so acute.

  Good morning, sire, Owen said telepathically several minutes later. I have set a breakfast tray with tea for you and the doctor here, next door in your sitting room. Alden is at guard at your door should you require anything else.

  He smiled. They had known for many years that the position of Oberon’s bed meant Owen could telepathize to him from the sitting room if need be. Thank you, Owen. There’s no need to post a guard at my door, not while everyone is still tired from their journey and there’s so much to do.

  Sir, I beg to differ, Owen said. An uncharacteristic steel thread had entered his mental voice. He almost never contradicted Oberon. You are the one still recovering from an assassination attempt that happened years ago. There’s every need for a guard on your door at all times, along with regular guard duty everywhere as soon as we can manage it.

  I stand corrected, he said. You’re right, of course. Thank you.

  It is entirely my pleasure, your majesty.

  Silence fell, and peace stole over him. The tea and breakfast that Owen had so thoughtfully provided would go cold, because he intended to lie quietly and hold Kathryn for as long as she would sleep. Then when she awakened, he had other plans in mind.

  Outside, someone shouted in the distance. At first, he thought it was all part of the group growing more active after having broken their fast. Then someone else shouted, closer to the palace, and he heard people running.

  He lifted his head. He wouldn’t have been able to hear any of it if he hadn’t been full Wyr. He was sorely tempted to pretend he didn’t hear it now.

  But then came the distinct, rhythmic sound of horse hooves on cobblestones—several horses. It could very well have been another party, but he knew in his bones that Annwyn and her troops had arrived.

  Carefully he eased away from Kathryn and out of bed. She stirred and mumbled, “What is it?”

  “Never mind,” he whispered, bending over to smooth the hair back from her face. She was indescribably beautiful in the morning, her fine-boned face vulnerable and open. She hadn’t yet assumed any of the formidable shields she had learned from her profession. He kissed her forehead. “You stay in bed and sleep. Breakfast is in the other room whenever you want it.”

  “Mmm.” When he would have straightened, she sought his hand and held it, only reluctantly letting go after a moment.

  She might be leaving, but at least it wouldn’t be easy on her. He took dark, selfish satisfaction in that. Dressing quickly, he headed out the door.

  “Good morning, sire,” Alden greeted him.

  Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Owen had unearthed uniforms for the palace guard. He would have smiled, but there seemed to be an urgency to the sounds of the new arrivals outside.

  “Come with me,” he ordered.

  Alden followed as he strode down the hall. He picked up his pace and was running by the time he reached the main staircase. Together they sprinted down to the main floor.

  Several of the newcomers from the night before were gathered at the open front doors, looking out. They fell back to let him and Alden pass.

  Below in the spacious courtyard, a party of soldiers had arrived—and it was much larger than what Kathryn had described. They were mud-splattered and grim, and several looked as if they had seen battle. He could smell the iron scent of old blood.

  Annwyn was in the middle of a swirl of activity along with Gawain, Rowan, and Robin, who looked drawn with exhaustion.

  Some sixth sense made Annwyn turn as he ran down the steps. Her tight expression transformed into relief and incandescent joy. Launching at him, she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace as he snatched her close.

  “Gods, Oberon! When Robin told us the news, I didn’t dare believe it.” She buried her face in his neck, and he felt the wetness of her tears against his skin. “Kathryn did it—she brought you back to us.”

  They were cousins, but they had been raised as if they were siblings. As a boy he had played with her, fought with her, and trained with her. They had gone on some of their first hunting trips together, and she had been the first to talk with him about his dream for creating Lyonesse.

  That he had ever entertained the possibility Annwyn might betray him would forever stand out in his memory as the most severe symptom of how badly he had been affected by Morgan’s spell.

  At first he couldn’t let her go. He kept one arm hooked around her neck as he roped Gawain in for a hug, then Rowan. While Robin stood back several paces and watched, Oberon motioned him over to pull him into a tight hug too.

  The puck’s slim arms tightened around him briefly before letting go. After that there were others to greet and hug as they crowded close around him, loyal, hardworking soldiers he had known and led for so many centuries.

  They were, all of them, closer than friends. They were his family.

  Deep inside, the worm rot spread, burrowing into his bones and stealing his joy. Connections like these were irreplaceable. How could he hope that Kathryn might leave behind everyone she knew and loved as well as the life she had worked for so long to build for herself?

  He couldn’t. She had been right and honest about that all along.

  Pain spiked through his middle as if someone had driven a sword through his body. He pushed it away. Now was not the time to give in to despair over what he could not change.

  “There’s so much to talk about,” he said to Annwyn. “And so much I want to hear from you, but first—what is the news?”

  With that, the lightness in everyone’s expressions turned stark and grim again.

  Annwyn’s clear gaze held a hollow look of horror as she replied, “I’m afraid it’s inconceivably bad. I don’t know how it’s possible, but Isabeau has invaded. Oberon, she’s here in Lyonesse.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Oberon left, Kathryn scooted over to the big area in the bed where he had slept. The sheets were still warm and carried his scent, and it was almost as delicious as actually sharing the bed with him.

  She had spent most of the night lying sleepless as everything that had happened ran through her mind in an endless loop. Trust me, he had said, and just like that, she had flung every other consideration aside and done just that. That kind of impetuous decision was not at all how she normally behaved.

  Normally she thought through every conceivable consequence before she acted, and that deliberation had stood her in good stead in her practice. But with Oberon, she was impetuous and impulsive, and she crossed lines previously she would never have considered crossing
. He had barely had his surgery before she had caved in and kissed him again, let alone leaping to have sex with him at the drop of a hat.

  But he had said trust me, and she did. She really did, already, so soon, right now. He had known himself, for far longer than she had been alive, and as he revived from the spell it must have felt like coming home. She loved fiercely the fact that he was coming into his own.

  Things were getting dangerous. She should have packed her gear last night and left.

  But what if she didn’t? What if she chose to stay instead? At that, a cacophony of conflicting emotions surged up. All her broken pieces were rioting.

  It was too overwhelming. She shoved it aside, reaching for a few more stolen moments. Her body pretended to ignore the rest of the world as she wallowed in the spot and soaked up his warmth, but her mind had switched on, and it wasn’t buying the ploy.

  She heard his exchange with Alden in the hall. She also heard the noise outside, and even though he had urged her to take her time, she threw back the covers, tore into her clothes, and ran after them.

  Oberon was out of sight by the time she reached the group that stood crowding the open doors. She elbowed her way through without apology and made her way outside in time to hear what Annwyn said.

  Isabeau was here, in Lyonesse?

  Nooooo.

  Kathryn’s brain refused to take in the information. It ran contrary to everything she had been told. The last she had heard, the Light Fae Queen had been badly injured and was in hiding, her society thrown into disarray, and her army fractured. Even her famous, deadly Hounds had abandoned her, and the Daoine Sidhe—Annwyn herself—had been optimistic about taking her down sometime soon.

  She fixed her gaze on Oberon, who stood very still upon hearing the news. Then a murderous smile creased his features.

  “She has finally gotten up enough courage to break into my house,” he growled. “That will make it easier to find and kill her, so we can be done with her spite once and for all.” Looking around, he told the soldiers, “Get your needs met. See to your horses, seek medical attention if you need, and eat and rest as much as you can. Those who can need to be ready to ride at a moment’s notice. Robin, that goes especially for you.”