by Moira Rogers
How foolish of him to assume her offer to leave was about his happiness. What woman wouldn’t be desperate to escape the life in which he’d trapped her? “And you might be happier with a husband who is better at dealing with women.” Outside of a bed, the thought came, though at least he knew well enough to not give it voice.
But Iloria only laughed softly. “You are not without your charms, Farran, no matter what you seem to think.” She stroked his arm through his sleeve, slow and soothing, and it was then he realized his free hand had clenched so tightly his knuckles ached.
Slowly, he relaxed his fingers. “I’m not a quick learner, not when the lessons aren’t about war and violence. But a patient woman might be able to make a husband out of me. If she’s willing to try.”
For too long, she only looked up at him. Then she murmured, “You’re very honest, and if I seem taken aback, it’s because I’m not accustomed to people telling me the truth. You deserve the same, so I’ll say that I will make demands of you. I like you too much to be happy avoiding you for the rest of my days.”
He’d never smiled so easily, or so often. “Well, then. I imagine we’ll scandalize the castle-folk with all of our happiness. It’s not tradition, you know.”
Iloria’s gaze softened and fixed on his mouth, and her lips parted. “Some traditions need to be broken, do they not?”
“Not just broken,” he replied softly. “Shattered.”
“Shattered,” she repeated, and her expression sharpened with resolve. “I want to stay, Farran, and be your wife.”
For the first time since he’d offered to marry her, he felt true hope in his heart. With Iloria’s grace and spirit, she might yet be the one to tame him.
Chapter Five
Several days later, Iloria knelt in the garden with grimy hands and a light heart, entertaining a decidedly naughty fantasy fueled by the kiss Farran had given her the night before.
A good night kiss, he’d called it, though as far as she was concerned, he could call it whatever the hell he wanted as long as he kept doing it. His hands wandered during the nightly embraces, though he never slipped his fingers under her clothing, just stroked over fabric as he explored her mouth with endless patience. He bit her neck, nibbled at her ear lobes, and finally returned to her mouth for more deep, endless kisses that made her whimper.
Every kiss left her torn. The need clawing her up inside demanded that she coax him into her bed, but she found herself strangely reluctant to risk it. The last few days had been filled with peace, tentative though it was, a peace broken only by those kisses, and she was loath to disturb the comfortable pattern of companionable silence, careful conversation, and blistering kisses.
She was staring, caught up in her own reverie, when Magda rushed outside. “My lady.” The woman jerked to a halt and dragged in a breath. “The High Lord is here. Unannounced.”
Iloria rose, her panic echoing the sentiment clear in Magda’s words. They’d had no time to make preparations for such a visit. “Is my husband out riding?”
“He should be on his way back from the farmsteads to the west. Talen went to fetch him.” Magda hooked her hand through Iloria’s elbow and coaxed her toward the castle. “I can stall them if you wish to change.”
She gasped. “I’ve been on my knees in the dirt, and the High Lord is—” Suddenly, she realized what Magda had said. “Them? You can stall them?”
Sympathy filled the other woman’s eyes. “The High Lord and his mate.”
The High Lady, a lovely woman who would no doubt be immaculately groomed. “I don’t have time for a bath, but I would appreciate the time to wash up and change.”
Iloria didn’t wait, but she knew she didn’t have to. She hurried up the servants’ stairs near the kitchen and ran for her rooms.
Fortunately, Iloria still had plenty of gowns appropriate for receiving royalty. She managed to make herself passably presentable and hurried down to the parlor to greet their guests. “My lord. Lady. I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
“Nonsense.” Sabine stepped forward and took both of her hands. “We apologize for imposing with no warning. Thank you for having us.”
Ciar graced her with a sunny smile, the same one that had been fixed to his face since the moment he’d claimed Sabine as his own. “I apologize, Lady Iloria. I’m accustomed to visiting Farran when the mood strikes me, as he’s never felt obliged to make me welcome. I’m the one who forgot that times have changed.”
Aside from being the High Lord, Ciar was Farran’s oldest friend. “Nothing has changed. You’re both welcome anytime.” She waved them to the sofas as Magda sent in a tray of refreshments. “Though I fear Farran is afield at the moment. He may not return before dinner.”
“That’s convenient,” Ciar admitted as he led his lady to sit. “In all honesty, Iloria, we’re here to talk to you.”
“To me?”
Sabine gave her a far more serious smile. “There’s been a bit of a development at court.”
She glanced between them and finally opted for honesty. “You’re frightening me.”
Ciar didn’t waste words. “Several of the more eligible men in the kingdom have protested your abrupt removal from court.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that Farran committed a grievous offense by marrying you under false pretenses. Your family still knows nothing of Farran’s condition. The one of which, I presume, you have been made aware?”
“His curse,” she whispered. “Yes, he told me.”
“Unfortunately, he did not tell your parents.” Ciar’s lips pulled down into a frown. “You’re a beautiful, well-connected young woman. There is some jealousy at court, and a general sentiment that you and your fortune have gone to a man who neither needs nor appreciates either gift.”
The mere suggestion stiffened her spine. “Farran needs someone, my lord. If you’re as well-acquainted with him as I believe you to be, you must know that.”
“Of course I do.” The High Lord leaned forward. “I also know he’s not an easy man to handle. You should not consider it your duty to take sole responsibility for his happiness, not if his comfort comes at the expense of your own.”
Here it was, a way she could leave—if she so chose. If she’d had foreknowledge of the difficulties that awaited her upon her arrival at the estate, she might have jumped at this chance to flee. Even after she’d made the decision to try, she might have taken this opportunity to release Farran from his rash, impulsive decision to marry her.
Now, here was the High Lord, handing her a reason to pack her things and return to the palace, and all she felt was sick to her stomach.
Farran had known Sabine for years, from before the wars, when she’d been young and wild and Ciar had been as helpless before her as the beach beneath the tide. Pretty and blonde, there was nothing remarkable about her, he supposed, except that she had no fear in the face of powerful men. Not the High Lord, who’d mated her—
—and not his First Warlord.
That knowledge left him with little guilt at roaring at her. “He did what?”
“He came to tell your wife the truth,” she answered calmly. “And to ascertain whether you and Iloria were getting along. Be honest with yourself, Farran. Ciar had good reason, as did I, to wonder if you’d made yourself miserable for our sakes.”
He doubted Ciar would concern himself much over that, as Farran had never made himself miserable for anyone. “You mean he was worried that I would be tormenting Iloria, whether I meant to or not.”
“His concern is for both of you,” Sabine countered stubbornly.
The woman was impossible. Infuriating. Why Ciar had insisted on touring the grounds at Iloria’s side and leaving Farran to the less-than-tender mercies of his lady was beyond his understanding. “You are a thoroughly aggravating woman.”
“Coming from you, I consider that a compliment.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you want her to stay or go? It’s a fairly simple
question.”
“I want her to stay.” Panic gripped him. “Why, has she asked to leave?” Surely not. Not when things had turned around, when he’d done so well at following Talen’s exasperated advice, had even begun to forge a tentative bond between them.
Sabine covered her face with her hands and muttered something. “If you want to know Iloria’s feelings on the subject, ask her. And don’t stop there, for the goddess’s sake. Talk to her and tell her your feelings.”
He choked on a laughing snarl. “I don’t see why I should bother when clearly you’ve been talking enough for the both of us. Don’t you and Ciar have better things to do than rummage around in other peoples’ marriages?”
“Nothing,” she answered dryly. “Not a single damned thing in the world to do but meddle in your life, so aren’t you lucky?”
Damn the woman, it was hard to stay angry at her. “Go home and have some babies. They’ll keep you out of trouble. Or get you into it, knowing what a terror Ciar was as a child.”
“Watch the way you threaten others.” Her bland expression didn’t change. “Iloria’s parents took pains to assure me that women in their family are blessed with bountiful fertility.”
“Of course they did.” The words covered his alarm—and the sudden, intense longing that twisted inside him, the promise of the family he’d denied himself for so many years. “Her parents would have assured anyone of anything that would increase their station at their daughter’s expense.”
“Yes.” Sabine patted his hand. “Ciar came to tell Iloria of her other offers because it is his duty. I came to tell you that her most persistent suitor is the Second Warlord.”
Farran jerked away from her and paced the length of his study. When his rage didn’t dissipate, he did it a second time, carefully counting each step. It normally took twenty placid paces to cover the space between his desk and the wall. Now, with fury burning a hole inside him, it took only fourteen.
The Second Warlord, the man who had worked at his side for long enough to know and trust him, was trying to steal his wife. “I’ll murder the bastard.”
“No, you won’t, because the main argument he’s made is that you’re a violent man, unsuited to caring for a woman of Iloria’s delicacy.”
If the claim hadn’t held an unfortunate sting of truth, he might have been able to calm himself. “Does she look mistreated?”
“No.”
“Does she look uncared for?”
This time, Sabine hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment. “No.”
He couldn’t help his growl. “Say it, Sabine. Whatever it is, say it.”
She spoke slowly. Cautiously. “You haven’t mated her, Farran. It raises some questions. It also leaves the door open for these other suitors, and for her family’s belated protests.”
Farran drew in a deep breath. “I won’t be like my father. I won’t take a virgin to bed, knowing full well that my curse will bring on the mating frenzy. And if she’s too afraid to give in to the mating? If she’s not ready? It will happen every time.”
Sabine shrugged helplessly. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t come to tell you how to live your life. If you and Iloria are both satisfied with your situation and your marriage, Ciar and I will take our leave.”
“I’m satisfied,” he said, making the words firm. Final. “I suppose Ciar has taken my wife for a walk to find out if she is? Is this his idea of a deft strategy?”
The High Lady unbent enough to laugh. “I believe his goal was to avoid fisticuffs. To that end, it would seem he has succeeded.”
Yes, if Ciar had been facing him, he might well have planted a fist across his friend’s jaw. “So he sent you to tame the monster. If he expects to find my wife placid, he may be surprised.”
“Indeed.” Sabine grinned wickedly. “I warned him of as much, but he still may get slapped.”
Chapter Six
Farran had been acting odd all evening, but Iloria couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day that the leader of the wolves came to your home to ask if you wished to dissolve your marriage.
She clung to Farran’s arm and slowed her steps. The longer they took to reach her room, the more time they would have to talk. So far, they’d walked in silence, mostly because she had no idea where to begin.
“Dinner was lovely,” she said finally, immediately fighting a wince. Why was it so difficult to talk of the things that really mattered, that might determine her future? “I mean—”
“Dinner was not lovely.” A hint of humor tinged the words, dry though it was. “I was an irritated, difficult host, and Ciar deserved every moment of it.”
“He was only satisfying his responsibilities, Farran.”
“Fuck his responsibilities. I doubt very much that he’ll be visiting every newly wedded wolf in the forest to inquire as to how well the husband has bedded his wife.”
The words brought heat to her cheeks, and she looked away. “He said nothing of the sort to me.”
“Damn it.” Farran heaved a sigh and urged her to walk faster as they approached her suite. “I’m sorry. I’m taking out my frustrations on you. It isn’t easy, to be so horrific a beast that people feel the need to inquire after your safety. Harder knowing how many times I have made you unhappy.”
“No.” She dug in her heels and stopped in the hallway. “You’re not a beast, and I’m only unhappy when I think—when I think you may not want me.”
He stopped, as well. “I’m a bit of a beast,” he said quietly. “But I want you, with all my wretched heart.”
Iloria’s pulse pounded, but the last unsettled bit of doubt inside her calmed at the words. “That’s the first time you’ve said it,” she whispered. “You’ve told me that you didn’t expect me, that I surprised you, but you’ve never said you want me to stay.”
“Of course I have...” But the words trailed off, and a moment later he closed his eyes with another curse. “I am a beast. How do you tolerate me?”
Tolerate was a weak word, unacceptable when she could love him with every fiber of her being. “To my room,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I want my good night kiss, and tomorrow we can tell the High Lord he may leave us alone, and in good conscience.”
That made him smile. “You enjoy your evening kisses, at least.”
“How could I not?” She opened the door to her suite and tugged him into the antechamber. “I told you that first night that I enjoy having you touch me.”
“Mmm.” There was an edge to his smile tonight, a leashed danger as he slid his hand to her hip, turned her, and pulled her back against him. “So you did. And so you do.”
He was warm behind her, strong, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder. “I would enjoy having you touch me more.”
“Is that so?” He wound one large hand in her skirts and smoothed the other up to cup her breast. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, wife? Not even a little bit.”
“No.” She’d never worried for her safety with him. “You bring me only pleasure.”
He growled against her throat and tore the fabric of her overskirt like flimsy paper. “No one can take you away from me. Not if you want to stay.”
Her dress ripped again when she turned in his arms, but Iloria paid it no mind. Nothing mattered but the possession in his words and finding out whether it would be echoed in his kiss.
But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, his hand drifted up her back to tangle in her hair, destroying an hour’s worth of fussing by her maid. He used the grip to tilt her head back as his mouth found her pulse. “Do you desire this?”
She slipped her arms around him. “You know I do. Some nights, I can barely sleep for wanting you in my bed.”
“And yet the things I’ve done to you...” He bit her throat so hard that she sucked in a sharp breath. “Barely a taste of what the mating madness could bring.”
The rough caress didn’t diminish her longing for him. “I trust you not to hurt me.”
�
��Perhaps you should not,” he rasped, his hands shifting to the bodice of her gown. One violent pull and it fell away. “Not when others want to take you away from me.”
The sheer force of it kindled the first stirrings of concern, and she gathered the fabric and held it to her chest. “Farran, no one is taking me away.”
He dragged in an unsteady breath, his chest heaving as he stared at her with eyes gone a bit wild. “No one is taking you away.”
“I’m here.” The assurance seemed to calm him, so she eased the remains of her dress from her shoulders, let it fall, and stood there in her shift. “Kiss me.”
This time the hands that slid into her hair were gentle. He cupped her head and tilted it back, then feathered his lips against hers until she opened her mouth and let him in.
He kissed her with single-minded intent, a thorough exploration that left her trembling. Perhaps this would be the night he’d stay, when he’d peel off her clothes and show her everything.
The fantasy made her bold, and she licked his lower lip. “Take off your shirt?”
He nipped at her tongue with a warning rumble softened by a smile as he eased back. “If the thought pleases you, remove it.”
It wasn’t easy to loosen the garment without taking her mouth from his jaw, but she succeeded. She drew the linen up and over his head but halted with her gaze riveted to his bare chest. “I don’t know what to do first,” she murmured, then turned the words into a lie by touching her lips to the hollow of his throat.
“Yes.” His fingers clenched in her hair again, but this time it seemed more reaction than deliberate choice. “You may place those sweet lips anywhere that pleases you.”
“Anywhere?” She lifted her gaze to his as she traced her tongue over his collarbone. “Be careful what you offer.”
“Where would you put them, my sweet?” He leaned down, pressed his mouth to her ear. “Did your tutors tell you how to bring a man to his knees by taking his cock into your mouth?”
“There was some discussion of it.” Even her voice trembled, which certainly wasn’t the way to project a confident image. So she steadied herself and slid one hand down the front of his body. “Shall I show you?”