Montanyard. Then there was Dawson’s escape. Should he
frighten her further by telling her about it? He couldn’t seem to
think straight. Here she was, almost in his arms, rubbing her
hands all over his chest and tantalizing him to the point of
combustion without seeming to realize what she was doing.
A possibility came to him—perhaps she liked to touch him.
He tried very hard to keep a grin of delight from breaking
through and concentrated on her fears, instead, for they might
get him what he needed—a promise from her to remain where
he knew she would be safe.
“You would be unhappy to come within a hundred miles of
Galerien, wouldn’t you?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She sounded so forlorn. Instinctively protective, he
pulled her closer.
“Will you stay until I return?” Rather than demand, he asked
her.
“I cannot promise you anything.” She gave him that
stubborn pout that was both an aggravation and a catalyst for
lust.
A fierce heat blazed through him—frustration with her
refusal to trust him, the hot need of his body and something
more elemental that he refused to scrutinize. The fire surged
through his veins, pulsing hot, burning away logic and caution.
His hands seemed to work on their own, shaking her slightly.
“You will stay here for your safety and because there is
something you give my country that I cannot.”
Her eyes widened, uncomprehending.
“You are unaware of what they say about you in the market
place, in the small towns? Word spread westward from Selonia.
Already, the common people take hope because of you. They
think you are some kind of gift, some good luck charm that can
protect them from the evil threatening Laurentia. It’s a
superstition I shall use as long as I may.
“Only for a few days, Sera,” he said. “Say you will stay for
my people.”
She paused, apparently deep in concentration, as though
she were measuring something of the utmost importance—
maybe just time. Abruptly, she nodded. “All right.”
He let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “So.
Here you will stay, where my guards can keep you safe. Don’t
suppose for an instant that a weak fop like Darlington is capable
of protecting you.” After weeks of frustration, the heat took
hold and fanned itself into a possessive blaze of frustration.
She gave him a blank look. “Darlington? What has he got
to do with this?”
“He was all over you last night. At dinner and later, when
we joined you. Making sure you were seated near the fire.
Laughing with you, complimenting you. Leaning over you in
the most proprietary manner. Did he escort you to your door?
Did he do this to you?”
Before she could protest, Nicholas pulled her roughly to
him. He kissed her. Hard. This was what he had ached for. This
was why he had wanted to throw Darlington out the nearest
window.
“Just this one last time,” he murmured against her lips.
Before he sacrificed everything for Laurentia.He dominated her
with his will, with his force, molding her lips to his. He could
feel the exact moment when she softened in his arms, when she
met his kiss with equal ardor, when her lips opened beneath his
tongue. She tasted honey sweet. Gentling his assault, he reveled
in the warm welcome of her mouth, of her body bent to him,
her breasts pressed to his chest. His hand splayed across the
curve of her back, pulling her up, rubbing the demanding heat
in his groin against her hips. She made a low moan, and he
molded the contour of her breast with his other hand, kneading
gently.
The tight bud of her nipple peaked beneath the thin wool of
her gown. He weighed the soft swell of her breast, lifting it in
his hand, rubbing against the budding nipple with his thumb.
She moaned low in her throat and arched to his teasing fingers.
What incredible pleasure to touch her so intimately, hearing
from the helpless sound she made that she had no defense against
his passion. He wanted to take her now, naked in the soft, green
grass, her body warm from the sun and the heat he was building
in her.
He wanted—what he couldn’t have. He froze, coming back
to himself with furious self-loathing. And made the mistake of
looking at her.
Her face was flushed, her blue eyes cloudy with passion.
Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the curve of her breast
and set her back on her feet.
“I—I have acted abominably. I’m so sorry,” he said, almost
stammering the words.
Her soft, unfocused gaze snapped into clarity, and she
looked as though she would like to see him drawn and quartered.
“Say whatever you wish to others, Nicholas Rostov, but do
not lie to me. You are not sorry, and neither am I.” She reached
up and fisted her hands in his hair, tugging his face down toward
hers.
She kissed him—a sweet, hot, open-mouthed kiss, her
tongue playing with his as he’d taught her just a moment ago.
He groaned, pulled her closer, and plunged his tongue deep,
reveling in the taste of her. She moved her hands down against
his chest and gave a little shove, causing him to lift his face.
She looked at him for a moment and her face softened. She
patted his cheek, her smile warm and giving.
“There,” she said. Without another word, she turned and
walked away, as regal as a queen.
***
Sera stood at her window watching the king and his men
ride out. The soldiers were resplendent in their red tunics and
blue breeches. Every buckle and spur gleamed in the afternoon
sun. The whole scene looked like some brave pageant from a
history lesson in the scrying glass, but their destination in
Beaureve boded ill. Her fear rose, for all these brave men and
the king riding so tall and proud before them.
Nicholas cared, at least a little for her. And he wanted her.
She had felt the very real evidence of his desire. She didn’t
understand him a bit, but she couldn’t carry anger against him
any more.
Katherine stood beside her holding her hand, staring at the
king’s first minister who rode beside him, his hair an untamed
mop of bright curls beneath his hat. She and Sera watched until
the last soldier trotted out of sight, and the last sword hilt caught
the glint of a sunbeam.
“Thank you,” Katherine said.
“You are always thanking me. Whatever for this time?”
laughed Sera.
“It is easier to watch them go with someone who
understands.”
Guards passed, courtiers hurried by behind them. “Come,”
said Sera. “Let’s ride, so we can talk openly.” Far better to talk
with Katherine than Darlington, she thought and laughed. She
wanted the wind in her face, the free flow of Wind Rider’s
haunches beneath her. Since she had walked from the garde
n,
her spirit hadn’t been at ease. She was worried about Nicholas
and giddy with a tenuous hope she refused to examine too
closely.
The park was still beautiful, for the trees were graceful even
bare of leaves. The hemlock and the holly grew lush here in
late October. She felt better in the clear, chill air.
Pulling up after a brisk race with Katherine, she said, “I
believe you must tell Nicholas that you will not be a pawn in
the game of power. Tell him you love Andre. Tell him you will
do better for Laurentia if you remain here, happy and useful to
him and your people.”
Katherine gave her a sad smile. “How could I ask him for
that which he denies himself?”
Sera shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you know? Nicholas is betrothed,” Katherine said.
Sera worked very hard to keep her face expressionless. Very
hard. “Betrothed,” she said, and her voice sounded far away, as
though it were coming from underwater. “To—to whom is he
betrothed?”
“The princess Catherine Elizabeth of Beaureve. Anatole
Galerien’s niece. Galerien is really just the regent of the country
until the princess weds.” Katherine’s dark gaze, always eloquent,
spoke pity.
Sera ducked her head. She didn’t want pity. “How long has
he been….”
“Betrothed?” Katherine said gently. “Since he was six, I
believe. My father took him to Beaureve to sign the betrothal
papers. King Stephan and his queen were still alive. It was quite
a ceremony, apparently. Nicholas told me about it just the other
day. When they returned, I was born, and my mother was—
well, dead.”
“Why hasn’t he married this princess? Surely, she is old
enough to wed,” Sera said, her heart pounding.
“She is not well,” Katherine said. “She lingers at the convent
where she has been at school all these years. Perhaps at this
meeting, Nikki and Galerien will agree on a date, and then the
wedding will take place.”
“I see.” The wind blew chill through the bare branched trees.
“The night is upon us,” she said to Katherine, taking care to
keep her voice calm. “It is time we returned to the palace.”
Sera sat awake long into the night. A storm raged outside
the palace, but it was nothing to what raged in Sera’s mind and
heart. Her stomach hurt. She couldn’t stop shaking, walking
the floor of her pink and blue cage, trying to deal with the outrage
and sick misery swirling through her. She had given her word
to a scoundrel who kissed her and then went off to make a
marriage with someone else, even if that someone else was really
her.
The room was too confining. She took up a candle and
slipped out into the hall. The guard near the door bowed, but
she brushed past him, walking the stairway, her flame guttering
in a sudden gust of wind. Up she went until she entered the
long hall, past the disapproving, ghostly portraits, until she came
to the last, a likeness of Nicholas.
Tall and straight he stood, his sword belted at his side, his
eyes meeting hers in a young face cold, but seemingly
honorable—what irony. “I owe you nothing,” she whispered.
“Tell me, why shouldn’t I ride out of here tomorrow? What do
I care if Napoleon or Galerien topples you from your blasted
throne? What do I care if the cliffs close out your world forever?”
Suddenly, it was all too much. She put the candlestick beside
her on the floor and sank down, drawing her knees up to her
chin. “But there’s not just you to consider, is there? I gave my
word, thinking of Katherine and Father Anselm and the
orphanage, and all the shopkeepers, and young Ned. You knew
that, you counted on it, you reprobate. Even if the thief comes,
even if I retrieve the Heart of Fire, I’m stuck here. Until you
return with some sham princess probably trained to kill you
while you sleep. It would serve you right, Nicholas, to marry a
traitorous fraud.”
Sera began to laugh. She covered her mouth, trying to stem
the hysteria. The last thing she needed was for someone to hear
and see her like this, alone at midnight, slumped on the floor of
the long, dark hall, laughing like a lunatic while lightning slashed
through the sky outside the high windows. But it was the final
irony.
This stupid Outlander king who alternately wooed and
ignored her was betrothed—to her. Sera—Catherine Elizabeth
Seraphina Galerien, daughter of King Stephan and Queen
Marissa, had fled Beaureve immediately after the Brotherhood
slaughtered her parents. While Nicholas wasted his time in a
cold, calculated attempt to build alliances, the elusive princess
of Beaureve took shelter beneath his very roof from the beasts
that still stalked her.
In her extremity, Sera did not perceive what was happening
around her until it became shockingly evident. The rumbling
sound crashing in on her ears brought her head up sharply into
consciousness of her surroundings. The long gallery walls began
to shake. The floor beneath her moved like a wave. Portraits
swayed and danced on the walls, their heavy gilt frames ringing
against the stone. The windows rippled, stressed by some
cataclysmic force that beat against them from within the gallery.
Dear gods, was the force coming from her? Sera, her heart
beating a tattoo of horror, shut her eyes. With all her will, she
wished calm, wished serenity, wished understanding. She
pictured her grandfather, his blue eyes deep with understanding,
his calm seeping through her. She whispered to him, asking for
his help.
The rumble died. The walls stood still. The oak floor boards
settled into place beneath her. The storm abated. The rain no
longer lashed at the windows but fell quietly to soak into the
ground below.
Shouts sounded outside the gallery. Boots clapped against
the wooden floorboards. She looked up to find a protective circle
of guards bending over her.
“My lady, are you all right?”
She nodded, still too upset to speak.
“Thank heavens. We heard the noise,” he said. “We thought
the gallery might be caving in on you.” The guard held out his
hand and helped her up.
Another picked up the candlestick. He looked about him,
eyes wide with surprise. “It appears to be unharmed.”
“I am relieved,” she managed to say.
Exhausted, she let them escort her down the stairs and to
her chamber. The guard handed her the taper in front of the
door.
“Please have the workmen check the gallery tomorrow,”
she told him, pulling her wrapper tightly about her. “Just in
case there is a weakness in the structure you cannot see.” As
there is in me, she thought.
“Of course, my lady,” he said, saluting her as she slipped
into her room.
Her last thought before she fell into be
d was that she had
managed, for once, to control the Gift before it did irreparable
damage. Whenever she felt these terrible, deep emotions, she
would think of Grandfather and imagine him beside her,
listening and accepting her, no matter what the truth in her heart
might be. But the power was growing, and she had no assurance
that next time, she would be able to restrain it.
For the sake of Laurentia and her people, she had to go
home.
In the morning, Sera awoke with a pounding head. The sky
was leaden with roiling clouds. She had promised not to leave,
but she had not given her word to stop the search for the thief.
The young soldier who always accompanied her when she left
the city met her at the stable. He was a likeable youth, with
round blue eyes and a snub nose. The guard waved them through
the palace gate.
“Perhaps we could ride by the river today,” she said to the
soldier. The thief might travel the river, she thought. The youth
nodded and fell in behind her. Usually, he was talkative and
entertaining with his stories of his large family. But today, he
seemed to know that she wanted time to herself, and with the
gentle understanding she had never expected in a man trained
to kill, he gave it to her.
At the edge of the city lay a river valley with lush fields
and hedges to jump. Sera took the main road downward through
the valley. Wood smoke rose from farmhouse chimneys, the
yards and fences neatly kept. She felt the lonely twinge of
jealousy the traveler feels for the native when home and kin are
far away. She sank so deep into melancholy that she didn’t even
hear the thundering of a team of horses as a carriage approached
from behind and nearly overtook her.
A shot rang out from behind. Sera pulled Wind Rider to the
left of the road and glanced backward. To her horror, her young
guard listed to one side, a stream of bright blood running from
his shoulder. He dropped from the saddle to the road.
The driver gave a shout and swerved around the fallen
soldier. Horses reared in their traces and men jumped from the
carriage as it thundered to a halt a few feet in front of her. Sera
pulled sharply at Wind Rider to gallop him toward the fields
where the men couldn’t pursue them.
Rough hands grabbed at the reins and caught at her, hauling
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