Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  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