Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)
Page 10
I put my lips to his ear, inhaling the scents of leather, metal, and whiskey that always hung around him. “Sir?”
He awoke swiftly with the immediate alertness of a solider. “Eden, what time is it?”
“Past daybreak.”
“You should have roused me sooner.”
“I just woke myself.”
He sat up, ran his hands over his face and across his temples before he stretched. His lean muscles rippled, in some places covered with crinkly pewter-colored hair. I trailed my fingers down his back, feeling the tautness under his skin, the ridges of scars. He shrugged me away.
“Damn it, I bet it's almost ten o’clock.” His eyes gleamed dangerously. “What are you still doing here?”
“You never woke me.”
“I can’t believe I slept like that--half the day is wasted.” He glared at me.
“It’s not my fault.”
“You came sneaking in here last night.”
“No one forced you to tumble me, sir.”
“Irksome wench. For God‘s sake, put on some clothes.” He got out of bed and strode over to the bath alcove.
“What does God have to do with my clothes?” I asked the bed canopy as I settled down in the warm spot Mordric had just vacated. His pillow smelled of leather, metal, and whiskey, his scent, and I buried my face in it, already roused.
There came a frantic knocking at the door, and I raised my head, every muscle suddenly on the verge of snapping. The knock sounded again. “Sir,” Selwyn hollered, his voice muffled. “Sir!”
I burrowed under the bedclothes, hardly daring to breathe. I heard Mordric emerge from the alcove. Then I heard the creak of the wardrobe door and him rifling through his clothes.
“Sir!” The knock came again.
“These idiots.” Mordric slammed the wardrobe door.
“Sir!”
“God damn it, just a minute.” He must have thrown on some clothes, for next I heard the door creak and the click of the latch as he opened it.
“Sir, are you all right?” Selwyn demanded.
“Of course I’m all right.”
“Oh.” Selwyn sounded taken aback. “But sir . . . you’re never abed at this hour.”
“I was up late, working on some court business.” Mordric evidently started to close the door.
“But sir . . .”
“What now?”
“Sir, we need you downstairs. Whitten’s still missing, and . . .”
“Good riddance.”
“Sir?”
“You heard what I said.”
“Sir, now Eden’s gone missing too.”
“Really?”
“Yes--her lady’s maid Bridget discovered her bed hadn’t been slept in this morning,” Selwyn said with no small relish, evidently pleased he’d finally managed to get Mordric’s attention. “Maybe she and Whitten are in the same place.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Sir, what if Eden’s in some kind of trouble?”
“I’m certain she is. She’ll turn up soon--she lands on her feet like any other cat,” Mordric said. I stifled a laugh in the pillow, light-headed in this airless, Mordric-scented world under the bedclothes.
“Sir, I don’t . . .”
“Don‘t you have work to do? The household ledgers still need to be balanced.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Selwyn,” there was a pause before Mordric continued, as if the words were an effort he had to brace himself for. “I was pleased last night with the tenant ledgers--not a copper out of place. Good work.”
“Thank you,” Selwyn exclaimed quickly, as if afraid Mordric would snatch back the compliment. Selwyn even forgot the ubiquitous sir.
“I think Whitten’s been a hindrance more than a help to you. If I’ve distrusted aspects of the estate management in the past, it was due to him, not you. I’ll see you downstairs.” Mordric shut the door with a bang, Selwyn‘s second startled "thank you" cut off halfway through.
I emerged from under the covers. “What’s happened to Whitten, anyway?” I asked, yawning.
“How should I know?” Mordric sat on the edge of the bed, near me but not looking at me.
“Really? Last night at dinner, you said you‘d talked to Lemara about it--surely he has some theory. And I‘ll never forget how Merius charged after Whitten that day in the courtyard before he and Safire went to Sarneth. I thought he was going to kill Whitten. Now you say good riddance when Selwyn asks . . .”
“Selwyn’s a meddling dolt. Take heed and mind your own affairs as well, wench.”
“And what affairs are those, sir?” I knelt behind him and put my arms around his shoulders. He remained tense, but at least he didn’t try to shrug me away.
“Me--I’m your affair. Your only affair, if you’ve got good sense,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “How soon can you be packed?”
“You’re sending me away after last night?”
“One of us needs to be at court, Eden.”
“You didn‘t seem to mind when you, me, and Merius were in Sarneth, a whole sea away from this court. And Merius and Randel are there now, aren‘t they? Can‘t they watch things for us a few days?”
“Safire needs your guidance.”
“Mordric, she seems a bit odd but clever enough--I doubt she needs a nursemaid. Merius won‘t let her out of his sight anyway.” I tried to jerk away from him, only to find his hands gripping my wrists. “Why all the silly excuses? I told you, if you don’t want me, then order me to leave. But then don’t order me back and expect me to come like some whipped dog. You can only slight me once.”
He lifted his hands, still gripped around my wrists, and swung me down on the bed with effortless strength. Then he was over me, one hand still imprisoning my wrists while the other supported his weight. We looked at each other, so long that I noticed the flecks of silver in the pewter of his eyes, something I had never noticed before. Both he and Merius had beautiful eyes, the same mesmerizing storm of gray, though I never dared say that out loud. He would likely throw me out the window.
“Maybe I don’t want you anymore,” I said finally.
He let go of my wrists. “Then leave, Eden. I won’t play these games.”
“Me leaving now would make it too easy for you.”
He chuckled--his amusement always held a dangerous edge--and my breath quickened. “You’re already flushed,” he whispered, his teeth nibbling my ear. His hand captured my wrists again, his other hand moving over my body in a rough caress. When he pinched my nipple, I cried out. “You’re roused for me, aren’t you, and we haven’t even kissed,” he said.
“Mordric, please . . .” I said as his hand slid between my thighs. “Damn you, how can you be so . . . so calm?” I spat, trying to twist away from his hand.
“I’ve had many years of dealing with women and their whims--it’s made me patient.” He pulled his hand away.
“Don’t stop . . .”
A rare smile flashed across his face, almost too brief to be seen. “Contrary wench--your games are going to drive us both mad, Eden.”
“My games? You’re the one who keeps threatening to marry me off.” I strained against the hand that still shackled my wrists. “Let me loose.”
“Eden . . .”
“I’m cold.”
“Get some clothes on then,” he said, suddenly impatient as he released me.
My entire body still felt as if I’d been pummeled in rough water. I rolled over, and he swore and grabbed my shoulders. He dragged me up and draped a blanket over me, his usually deft hands awkward and fumbling the corners. I put my hands over his, drawing on his warmth, the sheer animal magnetism and strength in his taut muscles. Our gazes met.
“Is that better?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Eden, I told you to stop calling me sir when we‘re together. It’s ridiculous.” His hands were on my shoulders now, supporting me.
“I can’t help myself. Sir.”
“Quit mocking me, wayward wench.”
“It smells of the sea,” I said. “Have you ever noticed that?”
“What?”
“When we‘re together, it smells salty, like the sea.”
He sniffed despite himself. “Sweat from tumbling,” he muttered. “That’s what it smells like. And that damn spicy Marennese scent you wear. Eden, you need to go back to your chamber.”
Instead of leaving as he commanded, I fisted my hands in the blanket corners and put my arms around him, the wings of the blanket enfolding us. After a long moment, his arms went around me, and we kissed. I sighed, warm again at last.
“I’ll join you at court by the end of the week,” he said, finally breaking away. His voice was quiet, but it carried a deep resonance that rumbled through me, leveled my will to resist him.
“What do you want me to do until you get there?”
“See Prince Segar in his chamber, wear his jewels as often as you can, spread rumors amongst the servants about him, all the things you‘ve been doing.”
“So now that you know the truth, you want me to be his mistress?” I asked, incredulous.
He ignored my tone. “Keep up the façade for now. It could be useful.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see, my dear.”
I laughed. “You’re beyond belief sometimes. You’ve threatened me with bodily harm because you thought I shared his bed. Now you expect me to pretend to be his mistress?”
“I deal in actualities, not façades. The façade is your rumored affair with that horse-faced prince. The actuality is that you’re in my bed every night we‘re both at court.”
“Every night? Won‘t people notice?”
“Not if we’re careful. Every night, if you know what’s good for you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
It was his turn to chuckle. His hand dipped low and slapped my rear, hard, before he let go of me. “Now, away with you,” he said, already off the bed and at his wardrobe. “Watch for me at the end of the week.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
April, 3 years ago
The court salon clanged with the dull-edged meeting of practice swords. I hid a yawn in my hand and leaned against the window, sunlight warming the panes. My maid Bridget shifted beside me on the window seat, her hands clasped and her enrapt gaze upon Prince Segar and Peregrine of Bara circling each other. She gasped when Peregrine lunged toward Segar, her fingertips over her mouth as they slashed at each other in an overly orchestrated dance of blades. It was more entertaining to watch her than the match. Peregrine was by far the better fighter, but Segar would win. Segar was the prince, after all, and Peregrine was angling for Devons's seat on the council.
When Bridget gasped again, I languidly turned my attention back to the practice floor. Both Peregrine and the prince cut a fine form, Peregrine especially. He was almost as tall as Merius, but where Merius had the lean build of a born swordsman, Peregrine had the heavy muscles of a born brute, the kind of muscles that soon went to fat if neglected. Peregrine had never and would likely never neglect himself, however, and those muscles rippled under the thin linen of his sweat-dampened shirt, a fine sight to see. He had forsaken the mesh-screened mask and padded vest generally used in practice, likely because he wanted to show off his build, the dandy.
As if Peregrine sensed me watching him, he glanced my way, blocking the prince’s sword with a perfunctory move. Bridget swallowed beside me, caught under the spell of Peregrine’s cerulean blue eyes, bright against his tanned skin and dark hair. She certainly wasn’t the first to fall under the spell of those eyes. I grinned again. Little did she know. Little would she ever know, if I had anything to do with it. She was the best maid I’d ever had, and I wasn’t about to let her get debauched by a scoundrel.
Then Peregrine’s eyes shifted to my right and stopped on Safire. Prince Segar, apparently noticing Peregrine’s distraction, charged him, but the prince’s move was hasty, and Peregrine easily dodged him, his unblinking gaze still on Safire. Her hand curled around my arm, and although other women touching me usually made me uncomfortable, I didn’t mind it this time. I’d be grabbing someone’s arm too if a man looked at me the way Peregrine was looking at Safire, like a snake eyeing a particularly delectable mouse. What was his problem? If it was her hair, she wasn’t the only red-tressed beauty at this court.
Embarrassed by Peregrine’s lascivious lack of discretion, I glanced at Safire to find her gaze fixed on me, likely so she could avoid Peregrine too. She did have unusually pretty eyes, I decided--large and clear, and that golden-green was a shade I’d never encountered before. I could be generous concerning her eyes as mine were considered uncommonly fine as well by anyone who was anyone at court. And I’d have to ask her what she used on her skin--aside from a few freckles, her skin was so perfect it seemed to glow like a ivory-sided lantern, the ivory so thin in spots that the flame inside could almost be seen. Maybe that was the source of Peregrine’s fixation--he loved ivory and smuggled it into Cormalen by the shipload as often as he dared. Otherwise she had fine features, perhaps a bit sharp for true beauty, and she was too short to ever be considered elegant. But there was something else, something beyond the copper hair, the alluring eyes, the ivory lantern skin, some indefinable heat that hung in the air around her. She might look shy, perhaps even innocent, but that heat bespoke a sensual woman who could be one wild tumble if handled properly. I knew, for I had the same heat, and it had led me into no end of trouble and excitement. No wonder Merius wanted to keep her locked up.
The discordant clash of blades ringing in my ears made me glance up in time to see Prince Segar elegantly sidestep Peregrine and spin around with a flash of silver. They might as well have been dancing. I stifled another yawn.
“My lady,” Bridget whispered fiercely, daring to look indignant at my obvious boredom.
“Silly girl,” I whispered back. “Mind yourself and not me.”
She glanced away, chastened. “Yes, my lady.”
I settled back against the window, my arms crossed. Would this match never end? I enjoyed swordplay, but not when I knew the outcome. Maybe I was spoiled--I had spent my adolescence watching Mordric and Merius in the training salon. Anything after seeing those two go after each other was bound to be dull.
Prince Segar’s blade tip nicked the loose folds of Peregrine’s shirt, right over his shoulder. It was a near hit, almost close enough to Peregrine’s chest to end the match in favor of the prince. Peregrine leapt back--it looked like he was going to concede the match. Then an odd stillness came over him, his narrowed eyes glittering with an icy light. The stillness broke when he suddenly lunged forward in a surprise attack. His blade flashed as he beat Segar back to the edge of the floor, parrying the prince’s every move with solid strength. I leaned forward, noticing with amusement that Bridget‘s, Safire‘s, and Elsa‘s mouths had dropped open as they leaned forward too. Peregrine was competitive, and he could have a lethal temper. Would he let his outraged pride rule him? Or would he be sensible and concede the match?
Peregrine lunged yet again, his anger obvious in the wide slash of his blade, the taut set of his muscles. The prince, unable to match his opponent, blocked Peregrine’s blows with as much force as he could muster, all pretense at cutting a graceful form long gone. Prince Segar’s jaw jutted outward, his face flushed, the only signs he might be angry as well. Peregrine brought his blade down on Prince Segar’s sword for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, the prince, rather than merely parrying, whipped his sword upwards with startling force. Peregrine grunted in surprise, his sword flying out of his hand.
There was a long pause as the watching crowd absorbed this end with astonishment. Then there were a few random claps, slowly growing to a thunder as we all began to applaud. Peregrine retrieved his sword and bowed to the prince. Then he strode off the practice floor, wiping his forehead with the towel his steward tossed him.
Safire brushed by me without warning, and I gasped. Elsa trotted after her, as intent as a faithful watch hound. They were out the door in a flash of silken skirts before I had the chance to utter a word. Her haste was just as well, as Peregrine likely would have thought of some excuse to detain her if he could have caught up with her.
Peregrine stood in the far corner with his steward. He drained at least two measures of water as I approached and was holding his tumbler to the steward for a third when he noticed me.
“Fine match,” I said, taking the pitcher from the startled steward and pouring water into Peregrine’s tumbler myself.
Peregrine shrugged, as if to say save the court pleasantries. “Thanks.”
“You gave a good show of wanting to win.”
His eyes glinted ice. “Believe me, if I had wanted to win, I would have,” he said, his voice so low only I and the servants could hear him.
I grinned. “For certain.”
“Will you join me in my rooms, Lady Eden?” he asked as a small group of courtiers leaving the salon came within earshot for a moment. “My younger sister and her husband have lately come to court with my betrothed, and I’m hosting a small gathering of our mutual friends to welcome them this afternoon.”