by Faye Avalon
She didn’t know what to say. What to speak of. Was this how it was after a man and woman had done the things they had? Was it normal to mourn the loss of the joining? The closeness? Since she had no idea, she remained silent. As did he.
Having put on his breeches and draped the wet tabard across Thunder’s back, Caelan prepared the horses for the journey back. Lahna busied herself gathering parsley, cotton root bark. And flowers—the tiny blue ones which flowered in abundance, and some pink ones for contrast which were harder to find. She added lush green foliage that looked like mini palm fronds, and fashioned the flowers into tiny bouquets before fastening them with long reeds from the pool.
Holding the horses’ reins, Caelan stepped up beside her. “What are you doing?”
Despite his curt tone and the strange hurt that filled her chest, she kept her smile easy, non-committal. “These are so pretty. I thought the maids would like them.”
She didn’t tell him the flowers were a thank you gift for those who had attended her, and a goodbye gift, too. Because, despite what they had just shared, nothing had really changed. She had obviously displeased him in some way, even though he seemed to enjoy what they had done every bit as much as she had.
Indeed, he was an enigma of a man. Which only served to confirm her fears that he might change his mind about her use to him if at some point Limani became independent again. In which case he might discard her, throw her back in the king’s path.
Which meant her plan to leave remained as crucial as ever.
“There are servants for such duties,” Caelan snapped. “You have only to ask.”
“Why would I ask another to perform a duty I can do well enough myself?”
When he shrugged and moved away, Lahna had to resist making her feelings known to him. He was acting in a most disagreeable manner. Surely this wasn’t the way of things between two people who had known each other in such an intimate fashion. He had been so thoughtful while he had touched and pleasured her. So very gentle when he had pushed inside her and made her a woman.
She would not lower herself by allowing him to think his reaction bothered her.
Caelan helped her onto Darla, then mounted his own horse. “As soon as we get back I will set plans in motion for an official announcement of our betrothal.”
Lahna nodded. He could do as he wished. By the time it became common knowledge, she would hopefully be long gone.
A feeling of trepidation rose in her stomach, but she pushed it down. She had no other choice but to take to the ocean again. It was her only chance of living in freedom. If she might die in the effort, that was a risk she would willingly take.
It didn’t matter that the thought of leaving fostered contrasting feelings. It didn’t matter that she might mourn a life that could have been hers. A life at Caelan’s side. As his wife. His consort.
How wonderful that might have been. But if she stayed, it wouldn’t be as a wife or consort. It would be as a captive. A slave. A servant to Caelan’s needs. And while she knew he had found pleasure in sharing their bodies, it was apparent he felt no real affection for her. Without that foundation, she could never trust how he might react if one day she became superfluous to his needs, or to his plans.
A sudden hysteria brought her up short. It seemed she was forced into repeating a pattern. Once again, she was forced to flee from another man who wanted to enslave her. The only difference was that, unlike when she had fled from the king, this time she would take feelings of regret with her when she left Caelan.
Regret. Not for the loss of her girlhood. She did not regret lying with Caelan. How could she? He had made her feel so incredible and she would always remember what they had shared.
But unlike him, she had felt the stirrings of affection for the man who had schooled her so tenderly in the ways of the flesh. Whatever her fate when she left Limani, she would always remember the time she had spent with Caelan.
Regardless, she was not going to live her life incarcerated. Being unable to roam freely while being told what she could and could not do. This was something she refused to accept.
While knowing her feelings for this man could so easily grow and blossom, she would not be kept his virtual prisoner. To live with the realization that the man she cared for thought nothing of her outside the marriage bed. She was an answer to a problem for him. It was that simple. And when the problem no longer existed, there was every chance he would discard her. What would become of her then? If he didn’t send her back to Zomotia, he might well send her to the Doe Park.
Oh, she could not tolerate that.
The journey back was a largely silent affair, since it seemed they were both lost in their own thoughts. By the time they arrived at the royal quarters the sun was dipping low. Caelan helped her dismount, then handed the horses over to a stable hand who hurried forward. He retrieved the flowers Lahna had picked and handed them to her. They seemed a little worse for the journey, but they would soon revive when she placed their stems in a bowl of water.
“Perhaps you would care to join me for supper,” Caelan said, his tone indicating that he cared little one way or the other if she accepted.
The thought pushed Lahna’s already disintegrating mood into the depths of wretchedness. Perhaps it was because she would again soon face the vagaries of the sea, but she suspected it was more to do with Caelan’s dismissive attitude.
“If we are to wed,” Caelan went on when she didn’t answer him, “we should at the very least show the court that we enjoy spending time in each other’s company.”
She hated that his request was spurred only by the need for pretense, but then she supposed she was indulging in a little pretence of her own. Allowing Caelan to believe she was actually going through with the nuptials.
“I understand,” she said with as much conviction as he had displayed in asking her. “And I will be happy to join you for supper.”
Caelan nodded, held out his arm indicating that she should precede him into the enclosure. He escorted her to her rooms, inclined his head, and turned sharply to stride down the corridor to his temporary quarters.
Lahna watched him, her heart plummeting to her feet. There had been no smile. No embrace. No kiss. Oh, Goddess of Maidens, what was happening to her? What sort of silly woman would allow her feelings to be pummeled so badly by a man who had enjoyed her body but considered her true value to him lay in political gain? Had she lost her senses along with her maidenhood? Did a woman give herself to a man in more ways than just the physical when he entered her body, took possession of her feminine center?
Lahna shook her head, hoping that some modicum of intelligence would return to her muddled brain and she could think clearly again. She went into her room, determined to shake thoughts of Caelan from her head, and went straight to the window.
Today, the ocean was calm and only a light breeze tickled across its surface. But she knew it could as easily turn into a ferocious and unforgiving force. This time she would be prepared for all eventualities. She would need as much food as she could gather, warm clothes, several blankets. And she had to find a way to transport all that down to the fishing port where the boats were moored, and to find a hiding place for it until she was ready to leave.
She turned away and began steeping the parsley tea. She took it back to the window, and between sips she chewed mindlessly on the root bark as she mused on the tasks that lie ahead of her.
When a maid came in and started to light candles, Lahna realized how long she had been standing there. She quickly hid what was left of the root bark down the top of her tunic, pleased that she had done so when Tansa walked in and gave her a disapproving look. Lahna had seen little of the older servant since the day she had arrived on the island and Tansa had tended her. Now the woman surveyed her from head to toe. “If you are to dine with the prince, we had better find you something suitable to wear.”
About to say that she needed no help, Lahna looked over to the still open door that led to th
e wide corridor. Two guards stood outside, their backs to Lahna’s door and swords sheathed to their sides.
Lahna’s hopes and plans shattered into tiny pieces. She had thought—hoped—that Caelan’s plans to have her constantly guarded would only take effect after she had become his consort. How would she manage to get away with her supplies now? How would she escape when the time came?
Everything inside her sank beneath the weight of her predicament. How was it that the fates could be so unkind? A few more days, she thought, just a few more and she might have been able to leave. But now? She might really have to go through with the marriage to Caelan. She might have no choice but to become his bride.
His bride. His wife. His captive.
Chapter Nine
Caelan paced the dining hall, irritable and impatient. His conversation with the elders about his decision to take a bride had only added to his irascible mood. They had insisted that he delay the ceremony in order to observe the due process of pomp and tradition associated with royal nuptials. He only hoped the delay would not impede his plans to begin talks with the island chiefs, and that his betrothal would stand him in good stead.
But that wasn’t his only concern. Lookouts had sighted a Zomotian ship sailing close to Limani waters, presumably on its way to the outer islands to commandeer more supplies with which to swell their greedy coffers. It angered Caelan that the Zomotian fleet insisted on sailing so close to Limanish waters, even though he suspected that it was a deliberate act by a king who wished to taunt and inflame Caelan with a demonstration of his power.
While his hands were tied regarding his impending marriage, Caelan intended commencing those talks with the island chiefs regardless of the delays. Surely the islanders could not survive this constant theft of their food and resources. Things were hard at the best of times, and while Limani had tried to supplement the supplies of the other islands when shortages occurred, it was becoming impossible to keep up with the constant plunder of resources by a rapacious king.
By all the gods, Caelan wanted to act. And act now. He wanted to seize power back from the king, reunite the islands, and restore peace, stability and abundance to the people.
He would show the island chiefs that he was a leader to trust, capable of rallying fighting armies from the islands and from allied territories to the north who would no doubt pledge their support. Capable of reasoning and politicizing for the benefit of his people. A steadfast and resolute prince with a beautiful consort by his side to provide a steady, stable and supportive environment from which her husband could rule with intelligence and zeal.
His thoughts returned to Lahna. Since they had joined that afternoon by the waterfall, when she had so passionately returned his ardor, he had been fighting the realization that his need to make her his wife wasn’t only for political gain.
Recognition of that need served to add another level to his irritation. Desire for Lahna would eat at his control, it would change the balance of things. Already, he was becoming consumed with thoughts of her. Craved her like no other. He was incensed that royal protocol demanded they remain in separate quarters for the period from the official announcement of the betrothal until after the marriage ceremony. How was he supposed to abstain from having her again and again? How was he to wait the several moons until after they were wed?
Dragging a hand through his shoulder length hair, he exhaled a long, frustrated breath. The gods. It was as if a damn had burst. He wanted her. Again. And again. His loins burned even now, his cock hard and throbbing.
For Lahna. Only Lahna.
He burned with thoughts of her, of their lovemaking. Her soft, lush body, so warm and pliable, opening to him, taking him in. Her wet heat enveloping him, sucking him dry.
How was he supposed to deny himself until she became his princess?
Damn the weakness of the flesh that made a man so beholden to a woman. He had never felt himself so beguiled, had never experienced such craving for one particular woman.
Had this been the way his father had been so mesmerized?
For the first time, Caelan understood how easily a man could forfeit his wits and reasoning in his desire for a woman. His father had fallen foul to a calculating witch with a devious and destructive nature. Five years married to the vixen had been enough for her to spin her vicious web, to suck his father under a spell.
Thankfully, Caelan had always managed to be the voice of reason, counseling his father back to what would benefit the people rather than his conniving wife. Until the Limanish army, led by Caelan, had been summoned by allied troops to fight an aggressor in the southern waters, more than two weeks’ sail from the principality.
During Caelan’s absence, his father had fallen victim both to fever and to his cunning wife. Offered riches enough to turn any woman’s head, she had become the king’s ally and had tricked her husband into signing away Limani’s freedom. But those ill-gotten riches had been short-lived, and Caelan had shed no tears when a loyal Limani soldier had sliced her throat from ear to ear.
Once he had suspected Lahna capable of devious means, but now had cause to question that assumption. Would such a woman take time to pick flowers as gifts for her maids? Or risk injury in order to set free a frightened rabbit from a snare? Or cry his name with such wonderment as he brought her to completion?
As if he’d summoned her with his fevered thoughts, the door opened and Lahna walked in flanked by two of his personal guards. The gods! Had she been sent by mischievous deities to taunt him so?
She wore a light gown of sheer fabric which fashioned around her curves and highlighted the green of her eyes. Her long fair hair was drawn back over her shoulders with ribboned fastenings intertwining her silky tresses that matched the color of her gown.
Caelan swallowed, his throat dry and burning. Until he saw the venom firing from her eyes.
She waited, turning to look over her shoulder as the guards left them alone. Then she turned back to him. “Is it not enough that you have placed guards at my door? Am I also to be escorted everywhere by them? To have my every moment monitored and controlled?”
“It is for your own protection.”
“Here? In royal grounds?”
“These are troubled times. You are to become my princess. As such, it befits me to protect you at all times.”
Before she could respond, two servants arrived carrying bread and wine.
They took their places at the table, Caelan at the top and Lahna seated to his right. Only when they had been served wine, and Caelan had taken several throat-moistening swigs, did he speak again.
“The elders have agreed that our betrothal will be announced at first light,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant even though his blood was currently storming through his veins as Lahna’s breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, reminding him how plump and soft those breasts felt in his hands, in his mouth. How the taut nipples felt around his tongue, his teeth.
His cock jerked and throbbed, but Lahna seemed impervious to the effect she had on him, offering a weak smile to the servant who placed soup and nut bread on the table in front of her.
After the servants left, he sat back. “It will be several days before we are wed. It seems there are certain rules of propriety that must be observed beforehand.”
Lahna said nothing, but sipped her soup delicately and without much interest.
“You are to be prepared for your duties as royal princess of Limani,” he continued. “This will involve learning our traditions and customs.”
“And who will prepare me?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “An armed guard?”
He might have laughed at her derision, but she seemed too sad, too despondent. “Your ladies will attend to you.”
Now she looked up. “My ladies?”
“You will have several attendants who will school you in matters of dress, propriety, and etiquette.”
She looked as if she was about to speak, but then placed her full attention on her s
oup again.
“Does something concern you?”
Still focused on her soup, she shook her head. “It will be wonderful to be immersed in matters of such foolishness.”
He frowned at the derision in her tone. “Most women would welcome such a life.”
“To be little more than a figurehead? To spend day after day concerned with niceties? What meaning would such a life have?”
“And what, may I ask, would you consider a meaningful life?”
“To be free. To make my own decisions. To live in peace with a family I love and who love me. I don’t need riches or recognition for my deeds. I just want a simple life where I can share my thoughts and dreams with someone.”
“Our lives will not be simple. Many challenges will face us in the future, but you can certainly share your thoughts and dreams with me.”
“And it will be one-sided,” she said firmly, pushing away the bowl of soup. “You will not share your thoughts and plans with me.”
He tensed for a moment, remembering that once he thought her capable of scheming and treachery. Now? No anger rose in him, no suspicion. Could it be that she spoke the truth? He wanted to believe it. But at the same time, he cursed himself for a fool. Yet, his instincts had rarely deserted him, and now they assured him that she was not what he had first believed.
“You wish me to share my thoughts with you?”
A flicker of something lit her eyes, and softened what vestiges of doubt he might still have harbored. “Should that not be the way of a husband and wife? Surely there should be a sharing of everything, not just of our bodies in the marital bed.”
She lowered her head, charming him with her demure countenance. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her eyelashes covered her beautiful green eyes. After what they had shared that afternoon, her coyness enchanted him.
Had the same enchantment overpowered his father? Had his father shared his thoughts and plans with the shrew he had married? Plans that had led to the downfall of Limani?