by Brenna Lyons
“Yes, it is.” Tranol all but fled to the door.
Rienna returned and placed a key in Michael’s hand. “Room ten, sir. You and your bride have the top floor. The bath is stocked with all necessary toiletries.”
His smile widened as he pulled a second missive from his pocket. He placed it in Rienna’s hand. “This is a list of the things I require, Matron. We’ll need the food and lounging wear immediately, the rest as soon as possible.”
“On Captain Tranol’s account?” she asked.
I wasn’t Father’s heir.
“Yes, Matron. The captain’s account will bear up nicely.” Michael doubted Tranol would need money much longer, and Danellan’s portion of her father’s benefits would more than cover what he asked for on the list.
She bowed and left him.
Michael rose and returned to Danellan, pushing back the drape. She met his eyes, running a shaking hand over her mouth. Danellan was pale. She looked decidedly ill. Had she really worried so much about what her brother was capable of?
He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “Our room and bath is waiting. Food and clothing will be delivered shortly,” he soothed her.
Her eyes went wide. “An inn?” she squeaked.
“We are not hiding any longer, Danellan. Promise me you’ll take me as full mate.” She had to. Danellan wasn’t a cross-mate bred for him. Short of a contract, the child she carried was hers alone. If she walked away from him, he would have no rights to his own child and no means to convince her to stay. Michael wouldn’t survive that.
Danellan nodded. “You know I will.”
“Then let us prepare to meet my family.”
She nodded and stood. Danellan looked around the common room as if she expected her brother to be lying in wait for her. Michael kissed her cheek. He wanted to know why she feared Tranol, but this stress wasn’t healthy for her or their child. Michael would have to learn his answers another way.
“He cannot touch you,” Michael promised. “You have my vow that he will never harm you again.”
*
Jole looked at Pyter in confusion. “He says he can’t deliver it to you?”
Pyter shook his head. “Captain Tranol claims the message is for your eyes alone.”
“He’s from my father’s guard?”
“He is.”
“Send him in.”
The captain was about Jole’s age. He was pale and shaking, his bow so unsteady that Jole wondered if Tranol was intoxicated.
“You have a message for me?” Jole prodded him.
He scrambled to remove it from his jacket pocket and offered it to Jole with a stiff bow of his head.
“Who gave you this?” Jole asked in surprise as he broke the royal seal on the back. It wasn’t the seal his father typically used. This was an older seal, one from Kol Ri’s time.
“Your brother, Highness.”
Jole fumbled the missive to the desktop, his heart hammering. “You’ve seen Mik?” he asked hopefully. After all these weeks, had his brother finally contacted someone?
“Yes, Highness.”
“Where and when?”
“Three quarters of an hour ago in Lind.”
Only three quarters of an hour? Captain Tranol must have risked death to travel that fast. Jole smiled. “The Leaping Lamor?”
“Yes, Highness. He waits us there.”
“Us?”
The captain shuddered. “He said— His Highness said we had unfinished business together, but I can’t imagine—” He swallowed hard, looking even more peaked at the thought of facing Mik again.
Jole pulled the missive from its envelope slowly. It was in Mik’s hand.
Jole,
I have little right to ask for favors. The kindness you have shown me so far is more than I ever expected.
The ruins. He sank to returning there.
But, in this case, I find I must ask more from you.
I have found my peace and seek my home. If you can see past my mistakes and remember the boy you loved, the man I send to you will tell you where to find me.
Your brother,
Michael
Jole closed his eyes. Michael. Susan was right. He stood and pulled his uniform jacket over his tunic. He looked back to Tranol as he headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
Pyter cleared his throat. “How many men will you be taking, Jole?”
“None. I don’t believe this is a trick, but in case— You are responsible for Susan and my babies. I’ll be back shortly.”
*
Danellan smiled at the sound of Michael in the bathroom. He assured her that he’d let his beard grow in again for her, but he needed to make the appropriate impression with his family. She wasn’t sure precisely what he meant by that, but she assumed it meant that he would have to show a willingness to embrace the life he left behind.
He had been attentive in his lovemaking and in his patience. Michael didn’t ask her about Tranol. Rather, he said that he wanted her to relax completely and that their problems would be solved when the time came. She didn’t wonder at it. Whoever Michael was, his family name was enough to frighten Tranol, and that made her more than willing to put worry aside.
She ran a hand over the silin lounging robe she wore and plucked a bit of lamor off of the tray beside the bed, washing it down with warmed milk. Michael thought of every comfort. A brisk knock came at the door, and she crossed the room to answer it. “What else has the man thought of?” she mused. Already, they’d bathed and made love, eaten and been clothed in finery.
Danellan startled as she swung the door wide, taking in the royal uniform breathlessly, a scream of fear lodging in her throat. She relaxed slightly as she met Prince Jole’s piercing green eyes. She’d met the prince once on a troop inspection. He was a decent man. He wasn’t Kell Ri. She broke contact with his eyes, remembering her station, and bowed her head to him.
He stepped into the room without a word, scanning his eyes around as if he expected something different. A second man entered and closed the door behind them. She recognized the silver braid and insignia of a guard captain on his cuff and looked up in sick certainty of who accompanied the prince to their rooms.
Danellan backed off a pace in fear, her hand grasping at the bedpost to steady her. Tranol’s face erupted in a vicious smile. She pulled the robe tight around her chest, raising her chin and fighting back tears.
Her brother advanced on her. “The errant sister returns,” he drawled. “I can call my men in from Caran. Do you have any concept how much trouble you’ve caused me, little thief?”
“What you stole from me doesn’t begin to compare to what little I took with me,” she managed in a low voice.
He scowled. “An interesting situation you’ve created here,” he mused. “Will the prince decide to return you to me, or will he claim the destiny you ran from without my prize? Either way, I can rest assured that you will be delivered. The worst you have done is stolen my reward, but I can live without that, if I know your fate.”
She darkened. “I told you before I ran that I would never submit to that. I will die first.”
Tranol laughed harshly. He flicked the neckline of her robe. “I find you here in his rooms, half dressed and looking decidedly tousled. Yet, you have the gall to claim you’re not his bed maid?”
Danellan flinched, and her stomach fought to bring her mid-day meal back. Michael has offered a contract. I am not a bed maid. I was once, but that ceased to be. And, what has Prince Jole to do with this? Has Tranol betrayed both Michael and myself by bringing him instead of Michael’s family? She shook her head, shrinking back as Tranol reached for her again.
“Take your hands off of her,” Michael demanded.
Tranol backed off, his smile wavering as Michael slipped around Prince Jole’s shoulder and shoved Tranol toward the door. Michael placed himself between Danellan and her brother with his hand on Cro’s blade, pushed in the waist of his pants. The prince watched the interaction in surprise, his eyes narr
owing.
Michael drew her to his chest; his freshly-shaven chin locked in warning as he glared Tranol down. “This is what he did to you?” he asked. “Your own brother tried to force you into palace service?”
Danellan took a shuddering breath and nodded.
“Schente?” he persisted.
She glanced at Prince Jole and closed her eyes at his look of concern. “For Kell Ri,” she whispered. “Then for— I imagine for anyone who’d have me based on what he—” She shuddered at the memory.
“Have you any love for him?”
Danellan looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.” Did she care for Kell Ri? Michael knew the answer to that.
Michael cracked a smile for her. “Will you miss your brother if I kill him?”
She laughed in relief and considered Tranol’s faint appearance. “Death is too easy,” she decided.
Michael nodded. “Service for service. After he spends— How long did you run?”
“Nine weeks.” Danellan scowled at those long weeks. She was always cold, almost always hungry.
He nodded and kissed her forehead. “Ten weeks in a cold cell with quarter rations should suffice. I trust you’ll handle that for my bride, Jole.”
“Bride?” Tranol croaked.
Michael chuckled. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you for daring to touch her. And calling her a bed maid—”
But, Danellan found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Who was Michael that he addressed the prince so casually?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jole watched the interaction between Mik and his bride’s brother in amazement. He hadn’t seen Mik so relaxed in years, so at peace despite his anger with the captain. It was truly like watching him when he was a boy, before he became so competitive and angry.
The woman brushed her cheek against Mik’s bare chest. She was a beauty, though she was a bit on the thin side. Her hair was surprisingly short, shockingly so. Susan came from Earth. Her hair had been cut in the style of many Earth women of her culture, but it was unusual for a Keen female to have hair above the shoulder.
Mik finished his browbeating of the terrified soldier and returned his attention to the woman in his arms. Jole had seen only a single moment of murderous rage, when his brother had left his place in the bathroom doorway and headed for the soldier who dared touch his bride, who dared threaten her. Jole had backed away to let him pass, certain that Mik was beyond control, but he kept his bearings better than Jole could have ever anticipated.
The moments before Mik moved surprised Jole more than what Mik did when he did move. When his brother appeared in the doorway, Mik’s eyes narrowed at the scene before him. Jole was so stunned at the look of undisguised menace on Mik’s face that he barely heard the short argument between Captain Tranol and his sister. It was over in moments, with Mik making it clear that any further moves of Tranol toward his mate would end in the usual fashion. The captain was so stunned that he forgot himself. He still stared at the woman, inviting a ritual death at Mik’s hands.
Jole motioned to the dumbfounded captain. “You will wait for me downstairs. Do not attempt to escape punishment. I assure you, there is nowhere you can hide from my wrath.”
The captain paled. He left the room as if he faced Mik with a ceremonial blade within the hour.
The woman sighed in relief. Jole took a moment to study her. Her road had been a long one, nine weeks of cold and hunger to escape her brother and—
He glanced at Mik, as his brother calmed her. Their father was at the root of this? It wouldn’t surprise Jole to learn that Kell desired the young woman, but forcing her into service was deplorable. Why would Kell do that when he was never without women willing to fill his bed?
Jole shuddered at an unwelcome thought he would have to discuss with Mik at a private moment when he would not upset the woman. If Kell wanted her unwilling—He blanched at that thought. It wasn’t the Keen way.
Still, Kell had never shown honor in dealing with their mother. Jenneane had contracted for two mechanical implantations to keep him from touching her ever again. What treatment must a woman suffer to go to those lengths? In the time before Jenneane won freedom from his touch, perhaps Kell found he liked forcing women to his hand. It didn’t bear considering when this woman was his brother’s bride.
He moved toward them slowly. “Mik?” he called out.
His brother kissed his bride and left her to clasp Jole to his chest, missing the look of shock on her face as he did so. “Thank you, Jole. Thank you for everything you’ve done, brother.”
The woman sank to the bed, swallowing hard. “He really is—” she whispered. “I thought Tranol meant—”
Jole ignored her for a moment, needing to feel the solid reality of Mik in his arms. It had been a long seven weeks. At times, Jole feared his brother must be dead. No one could hide that well. Mik stiffened, and Jole saw the stark terror in his eyes.
“Does it matter?” Mik asked quietly.
She took a calming breath. “No. I told you it didn’t. I love you.”
Realization came slowly. She really didn’t know who Mik was until just that moment. This woman took Mik as her husband without the slightest knowledge that she was embracing her enemy’s son.
Mik’s expression eased, a sigh of relief rushing from him. “Thank you.”
She nodded slowly.
Jole clapped him on the back, laughing nervously, still in stunned disbelief. “We’ve all been worried sick,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you did this.”
Mik pushed back, meeting his eyes sadly. “I doubt that, but thank you.”
He cringed inwardly at the pain in Mik’s voice. “We were. I scoured every corner for word of you, and Susan has been restless.”
Mik backed off, shaking his head, a sullen expression making him look more like the Mik of recent years. “In fear, perhaps. That man is gone. He has been for a long time.”
“I know. Mik—You asked if I could forgive the past. You are the only one who cannot forgive.”
“Susan—”
“Worries when she sees that longing in you, sometimes. Susan spoke to you when you ran. Did she fear you then?”
Mik shook his head, pushing his hands in the pockets of his silin lounging pants. Jole surveyed him. Mik was lean, more muscular than he had been months ago. His bare stomach was packed tight. There seemed to be no fat left on him.
“You haven’t eaten well,” Jole noted.
Mik shrugged. “Commoners on the run don’t have comforts. Sometimes dried meat and redgrass root or cracker tack were the best life offered.”
Jole grimaced. That had to be horrible, but Mik talked about it as if it were a matter of pleasant conversation. “You could have called for me sooner.”
He crossed to the window and stared out over the snow-covered land. Mik furrowed his brow.
Jole locked on the movement. “You’re scarred.” He crossed the room and touched the scar that started within the inner corner of Mik’s eyebrow and angled slightly to a point half a finger width above the apex of his brow.
Mik cracked a smile. “It was a fair fight,” he quipped.
He fought back a laugh. “How many?”
“Six armed men. One highly trained. The rest—The usual rabble.”
Jole laughed heartily. “What did they do to deserve you in a rage?”
His smile disappeared. “They tried to take my mate unwilling. They took a dagger to her body.”
Jole sucked in his breath in shock. After what happened to Mik’s intended Earth-born cross-mate, it was a fatal error to cross Mik that way. Even when he had been near mad in his loss, it was a line Mik didn’t cross himself, the only reason Jole didn’t kill him when he finally got Susan back.
The woman grimaced, pressing a hand to her ribs in what could only be the spot they cut her. “I wasn’t your mate,” she protested weakly.
Mik went to her, his face tortured as he drew her onto his lap. “I wanted y
ou to be,” he assured her. “Even if I hadn’t wanted it—”
Jole continued for him. “That is not a fate my brother would consign any woman to. The fact that he wanted more from you only made him more determined.”
Mik nodded and kissed his mate’s forehead. Jole cleared his throat and waited for his brother to meet his eyes. He motioned to the woman and shrugged, suggesting a formal introduction.
Mik darkened. “This is my bride, Danellan, daughter of General Cro. Danellan—”
She smiled. “I’ve seen Prince Jole, Michael,” she chided him gently. Danellan sobered. “I’m sorry. What should I call you?”
“Michael. I’d like it if you’d call me Michael.”
“But why?”
Jole sighed. “It’s his name, Danellan. Mik was a baby name our mother used. His given name was Michael.”
Mik smiled, his eyes glittering in amusement. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember it,” he noted.
“I’ll try,” Jole promised. “Now. Tell me what you need from me.”
He nodded. “What magistrate do you trust?”
He didn’t need to be more specific. Jole understood Mik’s plan. He intended to be contracted and moved into his manor before Kell had a chance to object to the match.
“Por wrote my contract with Susan. I trust him. What provisions will there be?”
Mik nodded. “Fidelity from each of us. Full mates. Much like your contract.”
“Danellan?”
She took a deep breath. “If Michael tires of me—”
“I won’t,” he promised.
“If you do, our children are mine.”
Mik nodded. “And my retreat home, servants, and half of my personal wealth.”
Danellan’s eyes widened. “You don’t owe me—”
Mik kissed her passionately. “I never intend to let you collect it. If you tire of me—”
She dropped her eyes. “You owe me nothing.”
“The same split,” he whispered.
Jole smiled at her amazement. “You’re sure?” he asked.
Mik stroked her cheek. “Absolutely.”
“What else do you need?”
“Loan of some clothing until we reach my home and a doctor that you trust.”