“Hasn’t he?”
“No. He is a friend and a trusted guard only.” She put a hand on his arm. “And he is no king.”
He took both of her hands. “Am I king enough?”
“You will be, in time.” She twined her fingers with his. “I confess, Braedan. I am growing fond of you as well.”
The sound of the banquet hovered in the background. Men in the watchtowers murmured in low voices, and in the distant woods, wolves called to each other. Braedan stepped closer to her. His hands went under the cloak and around her waist. His mouth hovered next to hers. Her breath quickened. He tightened his hands on her waist, pulled her closer, and pressed his mouth on hers.
Igraine’s knees went weak. She was no stranger to kisses, but Braedan’s mouth on hers was so sweet and hungry that she gasped. His hands ran up her sides and back under the cloak. Don’t give up too much—don’t let him have too much—but her body melted against his. She put her arms around his neck. He kisses as if he hadn’t kissed a woman in years.
It was some time before he pulled away from her. “You make it difficult to believe you are chaste, lady.”
He did not take his arms from her waist, and as she slid her hands down from his neck, she found herself regretful. “You make it difficult to deny you, my lord.”
“You vex me. I’ve never been so unbalanced by a woman.”
She found that satisfying. “Lady Olwyn—she doesn’t vex you?”
“Are you jealous?”
“No. You asked me out here, not her.”
He laughed. “Olwyn is not one I would want to share the throne with.”
“What about your bed?”
He shook his head. “I’ve seen Olwyn’s true nature. When I was nine, she and her father visited Torlach. I watched her whip a young horse bloody. She was only seven, but she ordered her servants to hold the horse still until she’d torn gashes in the filly’s side.” He laced his fingers in the small of her back. “What about Duncan Guinness?”
“What about him?”
He lowered his head for a moment and laughed. “You would make me beg? Igraine, tell me what favor Lord Guinness owes you.”
She considered withholding the information longer, but his face was earnest and open, and she took pity on him. “Duncan was widowed several years ago. My father was looking for a match for me, and he asked Duncan. I care very much for Duncan, but as a favorite uncle only, and he was in love with one of my ladies in waiting. I released him from his vow by refusing to wed him so that he could marry Cara. My father was furious, but Duncan and Cara got what they wanted. I took the brunt of my father’s anger.”
He pulled her closer. “Could you be my queen, Igraine?”
She hesitated and stared out toward the lake. “This place—it’s not Eirya.”
“Do you miss home?”
“I do. I miss familiar voices and the sounds of the market in the city—the accent of my people. I had hoped to go home one day, perhaps.” She closed her eyes. “But there are days . . . Sometimes, when I’m in the courtyard, I catch the scent of the sea, and I feel like I’m home, riding past the fishing village. Sometimes the mists hover over the tor, and I think of the low rocky peaks of Eirya. When I hear merchants haggle and one has the accent of home, I almost feel I’m there.” She stopped. “I sound foolish.”
“No. You sound like a woman who loves her country the way I love Taura.” He paused. “Do you like it here?”
She considered that. “I do. Here I have a purpose.”
“Then stay. Become my queen.”
“Braedan, I don’t know. Marriage, children—it’s not what I want.”
He tipped his head. “You suggested you might want me in your bed.”
“And I did and do, but as a lover, not a husband.”
“If I promise you more than just the life of a pampered royal, would you consent to marriage? To giving me an heir?”
Her heart raced. “What do you mean by ‘more’?”
“I’d let you keep your current positions. I’d never relegate you to serving as a queen who plays court and plans parties.” He pulled her closer. “I want to make Taura something better. I think I could do that with your help.”
She hesitated. “Such a thing would require more than just me giving my consent. I could defy my father in asking for a position within your government, but for a marriage, he will expect consideration. He will want a formal agreement. I can’t just run away and give you my consent.”
“We are seeing Lord Guinness tomorrow. We can discuss it with him. If you are giving your consent now, that is.”
I want to, but can you promise the one thing that means most to me? “I want your faithfulness. I won’t marry a man who can’t keep his breeches on when he’s away from my bed. No more chambermaids, no more whores. I’ll not be a silent trophy for you to trot out when you want to show how progressive you are. You can be a man who honors his commitments and his vows. I deserve nothing less.”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. She couldn’t tell whether he was mocking her or admiring her. “You want position, power, faithfulness. Anything else?”
“I want the sayas sent to Eirya, and I want the kiroks rebuilt in the duchies and the countryside. I’ll do what I can to see that the kirok builds them, but I want your guarantee that you won’t interfere with the kirok again once I work out the treaty with the elders.”
“Done. Do I have your consent to discuss your hand with Lord Guinness?”
Marriage. It’s too much. It’s not what I wanted. But though his ascension was brutal, he had listened to her and followed her advice on many matters, not just those surrounding the kirok. And I can’t deny the way he makes me feel. “I had hoped—if not for love, at least for affection or compatibility if I wed.”
He leaned closer to her ear and kissed her neck. His voice was low and strained, and he tightened his grip on her. “We could easily discover if we’re compatible, Igraine. And as for affection, I have developed a great deal of it for you.”
She closed her eyes. “Compatibility—are you asking—?”
He laughed against her neck. “No. Not tonight. I’ll prove to you that I’m more than a rutting goat first.”
She lifted her chin, and his mouth traveled along her neck as she suppressed a whimper of desire. “You have my consent.”
He raised his head and kissed her once more. “I will ensure that you never regret that choice, Igraine.”
He took her arm, and they turned back toward the main part of the castle. When they arrived at her bedchamber door, he kissed her once more and then stepped back and bowed. “Good night, your highness.”
She curtsied, tempted to ask him to stay. “Good night,” she finally said. Logan stood guard at her door. He opened it as the king walked away, and she stepped into her rooms and sighed. This was not what I expected. Still, it’s not unwelcome. Have I only needed the right man? Perhaps it wasn’t marriage I loathed.
She checked on her maids in the smaller bedchamber and then went into her own room and removed her jewels. A faint rustle from her wardrobe made her stop. Someone else is here. She picked up the small knife she kept on her dresser. Something’s wrong. “Who’s there?”
He gave her no time to shout. One hand flicked her knife away and gripped her wrist, and the other went over her mouth in a swift, sudden movement. “Try to cry out, my lady, and I’ll snap your neck before the sound leaves your throat.” He twisted her arm around behind her back and pushed her toward the wall.
He was dressed entirely in black, but she recognized the blue eyes and golden beard of one of the king’s guardsmen at once. She fought to breathe around the rag he held over her nose and mouth. Her free hand struck at him, but he simply stuffed the rag into her mouth and snatched her hand. “I’ve watched you, lady,” he said. “I’ve heard how you speak to the king.” He held both wrists behind her back in one massive hand. She struggled, but his grip was too strong to budge. He pulled
a rope from his belt and turned her around against the wall, pressing one knee into her back. “I wonder—how did you convince him to keep you alive, Igraine? Did you open your legs that first night?” She felt the rope slide over her wrists. “Did you tease him, make him wait, the way you’ve made me wait?” The rope tightened in one brutal yank, burning her skin and forcing a grunt of pain.
He turned her around again and pulled a dagger out of his belt. A heavy arm held her across the chest while he trailed the dagger’s point down her body. “I wonder what the king would say if I told him I saw you with Logan. I saw you in the stables, adjusting your skirts. I know you’ve been with him.”
She could only stare at the glint of madness in his eyes. Made him wait? I’ve barely noticed him. I don’t even know his name! Her eyes darted around the room, desperate for a weapon, an escape, a way to call for help.
He slapped her. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want you to see everything.” He pinned her shoulders to the wall and pushed his body up against hers. The cool steel of his dagger pricked her neck, and she hissed. He used the point of the dagger to slice the dress off her shoulder. “You wore my lace tonight. You know, don’t you? You understand. We’re two halves of a whole, Igraine. You’re the other half of me.” He put his mouth on her neck.
She remembered the small stand by her bed where she kept a pitcher of water and a book. She wriggled her leg free enough to kick it, and the stand toppled. The heavy book and pitcher, the goblets and candlestick, the table all fell with a crash.
The guard cursed and struck at her with the knife. She ducked and ran toward the door. She spat out the rag and screamed. “Gwyn, Logan—help!”
She tried to open the latch with her bound hands, but he pressed her against the door, the knife to her neck. “I said I would kill you. I told him I would. I can’t!” The flat of the dagger pressed into her skin. He closed his eyes, opened them, seeming to steel himself to do it. She tried to fight him again, but couldn’t move. He had her pinned.
“My lady!” Gwyn was pounding on the door. “Guards—her highness—the princess!”
A growl rose from the man’s chest, and he tipped his head back to howl in frustration. “I have to kill you!” The dagger pressed against her neck again. Blood trickled down her throat. She screamed.
He shoved her to the floor and ran for the window. The door crashed open. Logan was there, and Gwyn. The guard fixed his eyes on Igraine’s. “We’re one.”
Logan drew his sword and took three steps. Glass shattered, and the guard jumped. Gwyn screamed.
But there was no impact. Igraine struggled to her feet. “Where is he?”
Logan swore an unfamiliar curse under his breath. He pointed. “Look.”
In the distance, two great black wings rose into the sky to cross the moon.
Chapter Sixteen
For the man who serves Alshada faithfully, there is eternal rest in the golden city.
— Proverb of the Kirok in Aliom
Igraine twisted the cup of tea in her hands. Logan’s mouth was grim. Duncan’s eyes were tense, angry, and defensive. Gwyn’s face was pale and frightened. “I want him found,” she said. “Tonight.”
Logan’s hand tightened on his sword. “I’ve dispatched as many men as I can spare to look for him.”
Braedan watched her with a solicitous eye. “Are you certain you don’t want a sleeping draught?”
“No, I don’t want to sleep. What was his name? Matthias? I want someone to hunt Matthias and his creature down and kill them.” She sipped the tea. “What was that thing?”
“I don’t know, highness,” Logan said. “It looked like one of the Ferimin, but I didn’t think—” He bit off his words. “I saw Matthias land on the thing’s back. It was waiting for him. He could be in Espara by now. ”
She grimaced at her tea. It was some kind of herbal infusion Repha Felix had prescribed, and she’d insisted on adding a shot of oiska, but it wasn’t what she wanted. “I need straight oiska.” She put the cup down and Gwyn started to rise, but Logan put a hand on her shoulder. He fetched oiska and poured for Igraine. “How did Matthias get into my chambers?”
“I think he slipped in during the bustle of activity around the banquet, highness,” Logan said. He gave her the oiska.
She tossed the shot back in one swallow. The burn of the oiska soothed and warmed her. “I don’t care what you have to do,” she said to Braedan. “I want his entrails held high for all to see. Hang the rest of him from the city walls.”
His voice was regal and steady when he took her hands and spoke. “I will hunt for him, I promise you.”
“And in the meantime, if he comes back?”
“I will post additional guards around your room, including some at your bedchamber door, if you wish,” Logan said.
She nodded and let out a long breath. “I haven’t taken a bedmaid in years. I prefer to sleep alone. But until he is caught, I will have my maids sleep with me.”
“A wise precaution,” Duncan said. “May I have a word with her highness alone?”
Braedan kissed her forehead and stepped out of her antechamber with the others. When she and Duncan were alone, he knelt before her. “Igraine, go home. You aren’t safe here. I will ask your father to give you some position of authority in his court. I’ll see that he sends you to Aliom to treat for him if you’d like. But please, my lady. Return to Eirya.”
He doesn’t know—Braedan hasn’t told him. “Duncan, I can’t. I have given Braedan my consent.”
“Your consent?”
“To ask Father for my hand.”
His eyes widened, and he stood, slowly, his body tense. “You would be queen here? You would marry a usurper?” His voice carried an angry tremor.
“I would. He’s not what any of us thought. I think—I know I could develop some affection for him.” She paused. “I already have.”
Duncan turned back to her and sat. He laced his fingers together so tightly that the knuckles turned white. “Grainy, you will only bring yourself grief. Wedding him will only cause you tears.”
She stood. “You forget your place, Lord Guinness. I do not seek your counsel.”
Duncan stood. “This is a foolish course,” he started, his voice rising.
She whirled back to face him. “Foolish? You think to know how I feel? What I want?”
“I know you’re a pragmatist and a realist, and I know your passions run hot and cold with the tides,” he said. He waved away the beginnings of her protest. “No, for once, you should listen. You’ve already seen something tonight that shouldn’t even exist, something that had a hand in trying to kill you, and yet you would stay here? In this—this den of vipers?”
She raised her chin. “And you would have me return to Eirya to wed some lordling who can’t keep his breeches laced? To just retreat into the shadows and do my duty? Bear a dozen children for the crown, like a good Eiryan lady?”
He tipped his head toward the ceiling and muttered a plea for mercy. “Listen to me, Igraine. I know you don’t believe in unseen things, but after tonight, I feel I should tell you—Cara had a foreboding about this journey of mine for days before I left. When I boarded my ship, she wept. Cara doesn’t weep. She stood holding our son and weeping as if she would never see me again. She fears for you so that she cannot sleep.”
“You know I adore Cara, but she is with child, and her husband is far from her side. I cannot put too much weight on the fearful dreams of a woman with child.”
“Still, after what happened tonight, I would think you might consider returning. My ship can sail on the morning tide. You can correspond with the king from Eirya. If your affections are true, a few months of separation will do no harm. And it will give him time to bring this man Matthias to justice.” He paused. “Please, Igraine. I could not live with myself if something happened to you when I could prevent it.”
She put a hand on his arm. “I thank you for your concern, Duncan, but I will not be chased away f
rom my duties by one mad guard. I trust Braedan and Logan to keep me safe.” She held up a hand when he started to speak. “I will take precautions, I assure you. But I will not go home.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, and a rueful grin crossed his mouth. “You never change, Igraine. I should know better than to assume prudence on your part. Very well. But know that I’ll keep my ship ready to sail the moment you say.”
“Aye.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.”
“I will.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek.
He opened the door to the corridor. “Since I cannot speak sense into her, I’ll take my leave, majesty. May I trouble you for additional guards to see me back to my ship? I’ll stay there tonight. I can’t be certain this attack wasn’t aimed at Eirya, and I want to have my house thoroughly examined before I take up residence again.”
Braedan gave orders and stayed behind as the others dispersed. He poured another cup of oiska for Igraine and one for himself. She took her cup and drank the shot while he swirled his in its cup. “How can I make amends?”
“Draw and quarter the bastard where I can see it, and we’ll consider that a start.”
He smirked. He lifted his hand to her lip and ran a thumb across it. “He hit you?”
“He slapped me. I’m unharmed.”
“Your neck?”
“A scratch only.”
He set his cup down. “Duncan is protective of you.”
“He is my father’s friend of forty years. They once fought for my mother’s affections. My father was the upstart merchant and my mother the crown princess.” The oiska made her talkative and bold. “She was betrothed to Duncan, but she loved my father. The king proclaimed single combat to first blood to decide who could marry her. My father tricked Duncan, gave him a sting on his arm, and won my mother’s hand.”
“Tricked him?”
“My father had little training in how to fight back then. He fought like a street child. Duncan was a lord and had all the armor and training. My father didn’t even have a sword. He threw aside the one the king gave him and used only his dagger. While Duncan was obeying forms and rules, my father dashed in and stung him on the arm. Duncan shows off the scar as an example of what happens when a man becomes too arrogant in his strengths.” She poured herself another shot of oiska, and the warmth at last stilled her shaking nerves.
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 24