Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Don’t forget your flower.” I nodded at the lily still lying next to me, beguiling me with its scent.

  A slight frown creased Rogue’s brow. “It is a gift for you—I’m hopeful you won’t destroy this one so willfully.”

  “I’ve learned to be wary of gifts. And this is no magic chamber pot. Is this one also a spying device?”

  “If you’re with me, lovely Gwynn, why would I need to spy on you?”

  “I’ll be with you?”

  “After tomorrow,” he said, with great confidence, even smugness. “Falcon will have no choice but to cede possession to me early, after this stunt.”

  “The stasis spell in the necklace?”

  “Oh yes, that, too. But he broke the rules by damaging you, foolish Gwynn.” He smiled at me fondly. “Also he failed to safeguard you during battle today. You were nearly killed, so I’m entitled to safeguard my investment.” His smile faded.

  “What if I don’t wish to cede possession of myself to you?” I asked in a steady voice, trying to keep the pissed-off out of it. He hadn’t called me on not-flirting, yet. In fact, he seemed like the cat that ate the canary.

  Rogue dropped down beside me, running his hand over my hair and down my bosom to toy with the nipple on my uninjured breast. I made myself hold still for it. “Seductive Gwynn, you can’t fight your nature. After a day of my…attentions, by tomorrow night you’ll be begging me to take you.” His eyelids lowered in intent pleasure as he massaged my breast and I leaned into his hand. “Once we have bedded one another, you will know what we can have. You will never want to leave me.”

  I believed it, too. He filled my head like the lily, sweet and bewitching. Bewitching indeed. An image of that dream bedchamber crossed my mind, the green sash lying on the bed.

  “I won’t lose myself to you,” I whispered.

  “What’s to lose? This isn’t much of a life. I’ll keep you safe, lovely Gwynn,” he promised. “Not even the passage of time will touch you.”

  I shuddered, and it wasn’t sexual this time. The prospect of timeless imprisonment congealed in my belly with a chill. Despair filled me. A gilded cage was still a cage. No matter how appealing my jailer might be. A captive breeding program for exotic human sorceresses. Was that why he wanted the baby I would possibly have?

  He was right that I would cave. The physical longing to have him inside me, possessing and filling me, washed over the caution. I needed something else to keep him from that moment when I would collapse and let him in.

  Then I caught an idea, glimpsed a path through.

  “There’s just one thing.” I opened my eyes and smiled dreamily at him. The cat with cream on his lips indeed. “I think you were right the first time. Our bargain did not have a time limitation. It would be unfair of me to require you to end it after only a night and a day. We should stick to our original agreement.”

  Rogue stilled. Then anger began to filter through his eyes, amber sparking in the lapis.

  I smiled sweetly and pressed my breast more firmly into his hand. “Outside the clothes, one hand, no body parts…forever. You might be able to make me go with you, but, crafty Rogue, however do you plan to impregnate me?”

  I watched, fascinated, as the eyes iced over, cold fury creeping through them.

  “You will cry off eventually,” he said, his tone steel. “You are a sexual creature—you cannot resist the demands of your body for long.”

  I shook my head at him, kept shaking it, slow and measured. “I am also a creature of the mind and will, Rogue. If not before, then the training I went through saw to that. If it means my freedom from sexual slavery and my maybe-child from some unknown, possibly horrific, fate? That gives me plenty of incentive to resist.”

  I hoped.

  But he must have read the truth of it in my eyes, because he stood again, gazing down at me with aristocratic disdain.

  “I saved your life,” he got out. “You owe me.”

  “Oh yes, you certainly did.” I smiled, careful to look flirtatious. “But how is it my fault that you agreed to a bargain that supersedes the previous one?” That was a gambit—I wasn’t sure which took precedence, chronological order or immediacy. But it seemed he wasn’t going to argue that point.

  “Don’t set yourself up to battle me, Gwynn. You can’t win.”

  “I’ll settle for not losing, frankly.”

  “You’ll stay here, surrounded by enemies, out of childish fear of the pleasure I can give you?”

  “The pleasure you offer comes with a hell of a lot of strings, Rogue. Chains even. I haven’t heard you deny it yet.”

  He drew himself together, holding still, but his fingers flexed rhythmically at his sides. I admired the long lines of him. At least I didn’t have to fake the interest.

  “You won’t be able to resist me for long.”

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “If you don’t get yourself killed. Or worse.” He gestured to my breast.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, yes,” he sneered, “you’ve been doing a fabulous job of that so far. You can’t even protect your own Familiar.”

  I felt myself blanch. “That was a low blow, Rogue.” An accurate one. “But cloistering me in your fortress like some kind of Rapunzel fuck-toy is not what I consider a fantastic solution.”

  Rogue folded his arms while color suffused his skin, angry blood filling in around the black lines. “You have a filthy mouth.”

  “I told you from the beginning that I’m no lady. You were just in denial.”

  “I know who you are, Gwynn.”

  “Then why do you get my name wrong?”

  He raised the eyebrow on the clear side of his face, but otherwise did not move. He appeared to be restraining himself from throttling me.

  “I know who you are, far better than you know who I am,” he murmured. “Be careful not to underestimate me, Gwynhwyvar.”

  I stood, bringing the gorgeous lily with me. I tucked it into the fold of his arms, then let my hand, one hand only, trail down his leanly muscled arm, dropping to his hip. Found the hard upthrust line of him under the velvet with my fingertips and rubbed lightly. Not so impassive after all. His eyes flared.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “Likewise. Pleasant dreams, lover.”

  And he disappeared. Right out from under my hand.

  “Poof!” I said to the thin air. “Figured you could do that.”

  I stared at the spot where he’d been, telling myself I’d done the right thing. That I wasn’t even the tiniest bit disappointed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Détente and Circumstances

  I awoke alone the next morning, having slept myself out. Last night’s threats to the “staff” to leave me undisturbed clearly had been effective. The morning had advanced along, bright sun shining in my open skylights. My body felt sluggish, blood pooled in all the wrong places.

  Darling hadn’t returned, and both lilies had poofed along with Rogue last night. I wanted to take a bath, but I was too nervous that Rogue might reappear. I tried to distract myself with plans for wishing up something decent to get drunk on—whiskey, Chardonnay, something.

  Shockingly enough, trying to remember the chemical structure of alcohol didn’t do much for distraction from emotional turmoil.

  As it was, I had lain in the dark while my mind raced. When I finally slept, it was one of those sleeps where you kept thinking you were still awake. Except that I was running around saving kittens from dragons, plucking them out of goo and trying to clear the stuff from their pink noses while they cried piteously.

  No need to psychoanalyze that one.

  Rogue hadn’t shown up yet to renew his assaults. Surprising, given the lateness of the morning. I’d even wor
n something to sleep in, which normally annoyed the hell out of me, just in case he did show. Couldn’t afford to have accessible skin around him. Though with the stakes this high, perhaps I could resist.

  God, I hoped I could resist. I really did not want to find out what would become of me—and my maybe-baby—if I didn’t.

  Hauling myself up, I stopped on the way to my clothing trunks to examine myself in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed under my eyes. I looked exhausted, the white cotton nightgown barely whiter than my pale skin. And I felt depressed. I had come far too close to getting Darling killed. White was the color of mourning in the Orient. I should start wearing white all the time. Better than black, that was for sure. Rogue needed no advantages.

  “Regrets?” I asked myself.

  “No,” I answered myself. “The price is too high and you know it.”

  We both nodded, knowing it to be true.

  I brushed out my hair. Wished some shine into it and added a bit of makeup. Time-tested female armor for bolstering oneself for a tough day ahead.

  Then, casting a look around the tent once more for unexpected visitors—maybe I could make some kind of Rogue-keep-out spell? Now there was an idea—I unbuttoned the neckline of my nightgown and let it fall to my waist, so I could check on Falcon’s bite mark in the bright light of day. Rogue’s apparent concern—feigned or not—over the matter had me worried.

  I felt like the breast-exam woman, standing in front of the mirror, hands on hips, studying the relative shape and size of my two breasts. Red dimples circled the aureole on the left side, but they didn’t look inflamed. The left breast looked as round and smooth as the other—no sign of necrosis, no red streaking of blood poisoning. The freshly brushed black strands of my hair streamed down, curving slightly, dark contrast to my white skin and icing-pink nipples. I could be the witch queen from any number of tales. The thought heartened me considerably. Better the villainess than the victim any day. Don’t try to stick me in a glass coffin!

  “No wonder Falcon wanted a taste.”

  I squealed in a most unpowerful, very damsel-in-distress kind of way. I even clamped my arms over my breasts to hide my charms like any silly movie maiden.

  “Goddammit, Rogue! You can’t just appear in my private tent any damn time you please.”

  He grinned easily at me, butt propped against the workbench, in his customary relaxed pose. “But, I can, ravishing Gwynn—see?” He gestured to himself and the tent.

  “We’ll see about that,” I muttered.

  I turned my back to him and, careful to face away from the mirror, slid my arms back into the nightgown’s sleeves and buttoned it up to the high neckline, silently thanking Starling and Blackbird for the modest sleepwear. Then I pulled a deep green velvety robe from the trunk and added it for good measure, though the late morning was a bit warm for it. Why Rogue hadn’t taken immediate advantage of my nudity, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t taking further chances.

  “I see you’re back to your usual fine fettle this morning.”

  Rogue shrugged, all nonchalance, but something dark shadowed beneath it. “I brought you a present.”

  “Is it a hollow wooden horse?”

  “I don’t believe you requested one of those.” With a flourish, he gestured to an enameled chamber pot sitting on my workbench.

  I must confess I squealed a little. Maybe skipped a bit over to the bench and ran my hands over the rather gorgeous pot, shining brass and gold, with blue lilies all over. Of course. I lifted the lid and peered inside. It gleamed empty brass. I wanted to poke my finger in, find out if the metal felt the same from the inside.

  “I wouldn’t do that. And don’t drop anything you like in it.”

  “So I’ve been warned.” I contemplated Rogue, who looked decidedly irritated under the glib facade. The black lines on the sinister side of his face seemed darker this morning, and perhaps sharper. “And what’s the price tag on this?”

  “It’s a gift, Gwynn, since you don’t like my flowers.”

  “I don’t like the strings on your flowers,” I specified. Then added, to be perfectly clear: “Or on any gifts. Where are the strings on this?”

  He sighed, brows forking down. I got the distinct impression that had he been a man of my world, he would have said “yada yada yada.” Instead, he said, “Titania give me patience.”

  “The price?” I persisted.

  “Not everything has a price, Gwynn.”

  “You know, my experiences thus far in your world indicate otherwise.”

  “Then give me something in return.”

  “Aha. This is the part I was concerned about.”

  “Alas.”

  Too bad I hadn’t rummaged through the tribute tent yet. I glanced around, looking for something I could give him, something of equivalent value. He watched me in amusement, a lock of shining hair falling over his shoulder. Blue glinted in the black with the morning light.

  “A kiss?” he suggested.

  Here we go. “Not a good idea—and a deal-breaker, recall?”

  “A one-time exemption, no hands, lips only.” His eyes darkened and he tucked his hands ostentatiously behind his back. “Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

  I studied him uncertainly. “Our agreement stands? This momentary exemption in no way alters any other standing bargains?”

  “Agreed.”

  “And in return for this one kiss, lips only, no hands, this one time, I get to keep this magical chamber pot, which will be wholly mine and not connected to you in any way.”

  “Agreed. Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

  “I can’t help but think this has to be a bad idea.”

  Rogue simply regarded me steadily. His lips, the sweet Val Kilmer curve of them, drew my eye. It didn’t help that I wanted to kiss him. And the irony didn’t escape me that I had turned out to be the sort of woman seduced not by flowers but by convenient hygiene—along with an opportunity to study how he did the spell stabilization. But kisses—weren’t they magically potent? I flipped through stories in my head. Sleeping Beauty’s kiss, Snow White’s kiss. Judas’s kiss. Awakenings, pledges, betrayals.

  “One kiss, as a thank-you. It means nothing else?”

  “It might mean little to you, Gwynn,” he replied softly, not moving.

  “What might it mean to you?” I jumped on the point.

  But he only smiled, a slow curve of those enticing lips. “You have your parameters, Gwynn. A kiss, another gift of similar value. Or,” he added with a raised eyebrow, “you can owe me.”

  “I don’t see how one lousy kiss has much value anyway,” I muttered.

  “There you are then. Something you can easily part with. And it would go a long ways toward being flirtatious. Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

  Even with his hands behind his back, Rogue looked dangerous. Tempting dark candy. Unable to shake the feeling this was a bad idea, but unable to intellectually pin it down to anything, I finally put my hesitation to fear of my own weaknesses. I stepped up to Rogue, who watched me gravely. His long legs crossed at the ankle made it difficult for me to get close enough—would I have to straddle him? No way.

  I stepped in from the side, to reach him from that angle, but with a flash of his predatory grin, Rogue drew up his legs and opened them wide, so that I had no choice but to move between them. As I inched up enough to get close enough to kiss, I realized that, even with him partially sitting on the bench, I couldn’t match his height without leaning on him.

  “You’ll have to lean forward,” I said, “for me to reach you with lips only.”

  He obligingly angled toward me, his tail of hair sliding back over his shoulder as he moved. I felt awkward, with my hands fluttering in the air, no place to ground, so I finally folded them behind my back, too, and raised on my toes to place my lip
s on his.

  Seductive and sweet, the soft steely heat of him moved through me. Sandalwood and Stargazers swirled in my head, and I kissed him longer than I’d meant to, angling my head to savor him better. He responded with a deep hum and opened to me, drinking me in, as he had before. During our other kiss, when my hands had also been behind my back, but chained there.

  The memory brought up the flooding arousal and despair of that moment.

  I broke away, stepping back with an abruptness that elicited a soft snarl from him, black lines spiking around his eye with a certain savagery.

  “Let me have you, Gwynn,” he demanded.

  I took another step back.

  “No.” I tensed to run, because he seemed as if he might launch himself at me, but then he coiled the tension into himself.

  “Don’t you have servants? The little faerie with the ridiculous wings?” Rogue was suddenly the insouciant courtier. “Refreshments would be appreciated.”

  I struggled to catch up. “Um, what would you like?”

  “Just some wine. Some food.”

  Trying to move sedately, I walked over to unlayer the tent flaps and poke my head out. Larch stood sentry and Dragonfly crouched morosely at his feet.

  “My lady sorceress!” She sprang up, knocking Larch in the side of the head with one stiff wing. He rolled his eyes in disgust. “How may I serve you?”

  “Could we get a refreshment tray, wine, fruit, stuff like that?”

  “Immediately, lady.” Dragonfly pranced off happily.

  “Larch, your…liege is inside—you want to come in, get instructions maybe?”

  He cocked his head, looked up at me from the corner of his eye. “I serve you, my lady.” Then returned his gaze to scanning the rows of tents.

  Yeah, right. But I let him be.

  “Okay, breakfast, brunch, whatever, is on its way,” I said as I came back in, to find Rogue pacing. A sign we were back to business then. “So where do you and I stand now? I’m losing track.” The kiss still hovered in the air, a tangible cord between us. I almost felt I could close my eyes and track the ripple of it.