Nora Roberts's Circle Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  “The castle has stood more than twelve hundred years,” Larkin told her. “Built here, at the order of the gods, on this rise known as Rioga. Royal. All who have ruled Geall since have ruled from here.”

  Blair glanced back at Glenna. “Makes the White House look like a hovel.”

  Blair wouldn’t have called the room they entered any sort of parlor. It was huge and high-ceilinged, backed by a hearth tall and wide enough for five men to stand in. The fire already roared inside, and over it was a mantel of lapis blue marble.

  Overhead, a mural depicted what she assumed were scenes of Geallian history.

  There were several long, low seats with jewel-toned fabrics. Chairs with high, ornate backs stood at a long table where servants were already placing tankards and goblets, bowls of apples and pears, plates of cheese and bread.

  Paintings and tapestries covered the walls while patterned rugs spread over the floor. Candles flamed in chandeliers, in tall stands, in silver candleabras.

  One of the servants, a curvy one with a long spill of gold hair curtseyed in front of Moira. “My lady, we thank the gods for your return. And yours, my lord.”

  There was a glint in her eye when she looked at Larkin that had Blair’s eyebrows raising.

  “Isleen. I’m happy to see you.” Moira took both her hands. “Your mother is well?”

  “She is, my lady. Already weeping with joy.”

  “Will you tell her I’ll see her soon? And we need chambers prepared for our guests.” Moira took her aside to explain what she wanted.

  Larkin was already heading for the table, and the food. He broke off a hunk of bread, hacked off a wide chunk of cheese, then mashed them together. “Ah, this tastes like home,” he said with his mouth full. “Here now, Blair, have some of this.”

  Before she could object, he was stuffing some in her mouth. “Good,” she managed.

  “Good? Why it’s brilliant as starshine. And what’s this?” He lifted a tankard. “Wine, it is? Glenna, you’ll have some, won’t you?”

  “Boy, won’t I.”

  “Little changes,” came a voice from the wide doorway. The man who stood there, tall, well built, his dark hair liberally threaded with gray, stared at Larkin. “Surrounded by food and pretty women.”

  “Da.”

  They met halfway across the room, and with bear hugs. Blair could see the man’s face, the emotion that held it. Then she could see Larkin in the eyes of tawny gold.

  The man caught Larkin’s face in his big hands, gave his son a hard kiss on the mouth. “I didn’t wake your mother. I wanted to be sure before I lifted her hopes.”

  “I’ll go to her as soon as I can. You’re well. You look well. A bit tired.”

  “Sleep hasn’t come easy these past weeks. You’re injured.”

  “It’s not to worry. I promise.”

  “No, it’s not to worry. You’re home.” He turned, and he smiled—and again, Blair saw Larkin in him.

  “Moira.”

  “Sir.” Then her breath hitched and she was running to him. Her arms clamped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I took him from you. I’m sorry I worried you so.”

  “You’re back now, aren’t you? Safe and whole. And you bring guests.” He set Moira back on her feet. “You’re welcome here.”

  “This is Larkin’s father, and the brother of my mother. Prince Riddock. Sir, I would present my friends to you, the best I’ve ever known.”

  As Moira introduced them, Larkin stood behind his father’s back, signalling the others that they should bow or curtsey. Blair went with the bow, feeling foolish enough.

  “There’s so much to tell you,” Moira began. “If we could sit. Larkin, the doors please? We should be private.”

  Riddock listened, interrupting occasionally to ask Moira to repeat or expand. Now and then he directed a question to his son, or to one of the others.

  Blair could almost see the weight of the words press down on his shoulders, and the grim determination with which he bore it.

  “There have been other attacks, at least six, since—” Riddock hesitated briefly. “Since you left us. I did what I could to heed what you wrote to me, Moira, to warn the people to stay in their homes after sunset, to not welcome strangers in the dark. But habits and traditions die hard. As did those who followed them these weeks.”

  Riddock studied Cian across the long table. “You say we must trust this one, though he is one of them. A demon inside a man.”

  “Trust is a large word.” Idly, Cian peeled an apple. “Tolerate might be smaller, and more easily swallowed.”

  “He fought with us,” Larkin began. “Bled with us.”

  “He is my brother. If he isn’t to be trusted,” Hoyt said flatly, “neither am I.”

  “Nor any of us,” Glenna finished.

  “You’ve banded together these weeks. This is to be understood.” Riddock took a small sip of his wine as his gaze remained watchful on Cian. “But to believe a demon could and would stand against his own kind, to—tolerate—such a thing, is more than a swallow.”

  Cian only continued to peel his apple, even as Hoyt started to his feet.

  “Uncle.” Moira laid a hand over Riddock’s. “I would be dead if not for him. But beyond that, he stood with us within the Dance of the Gods, traveled here by their hands. Chosen by them. Will you question their will?”

  “Every thinking man questions, but I will abide by the will of the gods. Others may find it more difficult.”

  “The people of Geall will follow your orders, sir, and your lead.”

  “Mine?” He turned to her. “The sword waits for you, Moira, as does the crown.”

  “They will wait awhile longer. I’ve only just come home, and there’s much to be done. Much more important matters than ceremony.”

  “Ceremony? You speak of the will of the gods one moment, and dismiss it the next?”

  “Not dismiss. Only ask that it waits. You have the trust and the confidence of the people. I’m untried. I don’t feel ready, not in my heart or in mind.” Her eyes were grave as they searched her uncle’s face. “Awhile longer, please. I may not be the one to lift the sword, but if I am, I need to know I’m ready to carry it. Geall needs and deserves a ruler of strength and confidence. I won’t give it less.”

  “We’ll talk further on it. Now you’re weary. You must all be weary, and a mother waits to see her son.” Riddock got to his feet. “We’ll speak more in the morning, and we’ll do all that needs to be done in the coming days. Larkin.”

  He rose at his father’s bidding. “I wish you good night,” Larkin said to the others. “And soft dreams on your first night in Geall.”

  He looked briefly at Blair, then followed his father from the room.

  “Your uncle’s an imposing man,” Blair commented.

  “And a good one. With him we’ll raise an army that will send Lilith back to hell. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your chambers.”

  It was a little hard to settle down and sleep, Blair decided, when she was spending the night in a castle. And in a room that was suited to royalty.

  Before they’d arrived, she’d been expecting something a little more Dark Ages, she supposed. Tough stone fortress on a windy hill. Smoky torches, mud, animal droppings.

  Instead she got something closer to Cinderella’s castle.

  Instead of a cramped room, something like a barracks with rushes—whatever they were, exactly—on the floor and a lumpy cot, she had a spacious chamber with whitewashed walls. The bed was big, soft and draped in a blue velvet canopy. The thick rug had images of peacocks worked into its soft wool.

  A check out the windows showed her she looked down on a garden with a pretty spurting fountain. The window seat was padded with more velvet.

  There was a small writing desk. Pretty, she thought, not that she’d be making much use of the crystal inkwell or the quill.

  The fire was simmering, and its surroun
d was blueveined white marble.

  It was all so fine she could nearly overlook the lack of modern plumbing. The closest the place came to it was the chamber pot tucked behind a painted screen.

  She had a feeling she’d be making use of the great outdoors in that area quite a bit.

  She stripped down to her underwear and used the basin of water provided to clean the scratches on her leg before dabbing on some of the balm Glenna had given her.

  She wondered how the others were doing. She wished it were morning so she could be doing.

  When the door opened, she picked up the dagger she’d set beside the basin. Then put it down again when Larkin stepped in.

  “Didn’t hear you knock.”

  “I didn’t. I thought you might be sleeping.” He closed the door quietly behind him, took a quick scan of the room. “Does this suit you then?”

  “The room? It’s rock star. Feel a little weird, that’s all. Like I walked into a book.”

  “I understand that, as I felt the same not long ago. Your wounds, do they trouble you?”

  “They’re nothing. Yours?”

  “My mother fussed over them. That made her happy, as did weeping all over me. She’s anxious to meet you, all of you.”

  “I guess.” Awkward, Blair thought. Why was it all so awkward? “I, ah, it never really computed before. You being royalty.”

  “Oh well, that’s not much to do with me, really. It’s more ceremonial than anything. Honorary, you could say.” He cocked his head as he moved toward her. “Did you think I wouldn’t come to you tonight?”

  “I don’t know what I thought. It’s all pretty confusing.”

  “Confused, are you?” A smile flirted around his mouth. “I don’t mind that. I’ll just confuse you a bit more, seduce you.”

  He traced his finger along the edge of her tank, just teasing the skin.

  “You spend a lot of time on seductions? Say, working that on the blonde with the breasts? What was her name? Isleen.”

  “Flirtation, all in good fun, never seduction. It’s not proper or fair to take advantage of one who serves you.” He leaned to her, brushed his lips over her shoulder, nudged the strap down. “And while I might have dallied in the past, you weren’t here. For it’s the God’s truth there’s not another woman in Geall to compare to you.”

  He brought his lips to hers, just to nibble. “Blair Murphy,” he murmured. “Warrior and beauty.”

  He played his hands down her back, deepening the kiss just a little. Then just a little more. And when his lips cruised over her face, along her throat, he all but crooned to her in Gaelic.

  The sound of it, the feel of him nearly had her eyes rolling back in her head.

  “I keep thinking this is a mistake. But it feels so damn good.”

  “Not a mistake.” He caught her chin with his teeth while his thumbs slid up, circled her nipples. “Not at all.”

  Part of the journey, she told herself as she melted into him. They’d take something good, something strong for themselves along the way.

  So she met his lips with hers now, sank herself into him, the warm, solid flesh. There was sweetness in those easy strokes of his hands, and a shivering thrill whenever they found her secrets.

  When he lifted her into his arms, she didn’t feel like a warrior. She felt conquered.

  “I want you.” She pressed her face into the curve of his throat as he lay her on the bed. And just breathed him in. “How can I want you so much?”

  “It’s meant.” He lifted her hand, kissed the cup of her palm. “Ssh,” he said before she could speak. “Just feel. For tonight, let’s both of us just feel.”

  She could be so soft, he thought, so pliant, so giving. In surrender she made him feel like a king. Those eyes, the drowning blue, watched him as they moved together. They blurred with pleasure as he touched her, tasted her. Those hands, so firm on the hilt of a sword, trembled a little when she drew his shirt aside to find him.

  Her lips pressed against his chest, against the heart that was already lost to her.

  They took each other slowly, quietly, while the firelight shimmered over their bodies. There were murmurs and sighs instead of words, and a long, lazy climb instead of the frantic race.

  When he slipped inside her, he watched her face, watched her as they moved together. As everything in him gathered for that final leap, he watched her still.

  And at the end of it, he thought he’d simply fallen into her eyes.

  Chapter 13

  The guy was a snuggler. He just curved in, body to body, with an arm hooked around her waist—the way she imagined a kid might hold on to a teddy bear.

  Blair just wasn’t used to having someone hang on to her at night, and couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. On one hand, it was sort of sweet and sexy to wake up with him wrapped all over her. Everything was all warm and soft and cozy.

  On the other, if she had to move fast, get to a stake or a sword, he was dead weight.

  Maybe she should practice breaking loose, rolling out, reaching the closest weapon. And maybe she should relax. It wasn’t as if this was a permanent situation.

  It was just…convenient.

  And that was a stupid attitude sunk in bullshit, she admitted. If she couldn’t be honest inside her own head, her own heart, then where?

  They were more than a convenience to each other, more than compatriots. More, she was afraid, than lovers. At least on her side.

  Still, in the light of day she had to be realistic. Whatever it was they were to each other, it couldn’t go anywhere. Not beyond this. Cian had spoken the pure truth in Ireland, outside of the Dance. The problems they faced were a lot bigger and more important than one person or their personal needs and wishes. And so their personal needs had to be, by definition, temporary.

  After Samhain it would be over. She had to believe they’d win, that was essential, but after the victory dance, the backslapping and champagne toasts there would be hard facts to face.

  Larkin—Lord Larkin—was a man of Geall. Once this was done and she’d completed the mission, Geall would be for her, in a very real sense, a fairy tale again. Sure, maybe she could hang around for a few days, have that picnic he’d talked about. Bask a little. But in the end, she’d have to go.

  She had a birthright, she had a duty, she thought as she touched her fingers to Morrigan’s cross. Turning her back on it wasn’t an option.

  Love, if that’s what she was feeling, wasn’t enough to win the day. Who knew better?

  He was more than she’d ever expected to have, even in the short term, so she couldn’t and wouldn’t complain about her luck, or her destiny, or the cold will of gods. He accepted her, cared for her, desired her. He had courage, a bone-deep loyalty, and a sense of fun.

  She’d never been with a man who possessed all that, and who still looked at her as if she were special.

  She thought maybe—it wasn’t impossible—he loved her.

  For her, Larkin was a kind of personal miracle. He would never walk away from her without a backward glance. He would never shove her aside simply because of what she was. So when they parted, there could be no regrets.

  If things were different they might have been able to make a go of it. At least give it a good, solid try. But things weren’t different.

  Or, more accurately, things were too different.

  So they’d have a few weeks. They’d have the journey. And they’d both take something memorable away from it.

  She kissed him, a soft and warm press of lips. Then she poked him.

  “Wake up.”

  His hand slid down her back to rub lazily over her ass.

  “Not that way.”

  “’S the best way. Feel how firm you are, smooth and firm. I dreamed I was making love with you in an orchard in the high days of summer. For you always smell of tart, green apples. Makes me want to take a good bite of you.”

  “Eat enough green apples, you get a bellyache.”

  “
My belly’s iron.” His fingers trailed up and down the back of her thigh. “In the dream there was no one but us two, and the trees ladened with fruit under a sky painted the purest of blues.”

  His voice was all sleepy and slurry, she thought. Sexy. “Like paradise? Adam and Eve? An apple got them in big, bad trouble, if memory serves.”

  He only smiled. He’d yet to open his eyes. “You look on the dark side of things, but I don’t mind that. In the dream, I gave you such pleasure you wept from the joy of it.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. In your dreams.”

  “And sobbed my name, again and again. Begging me to take you. ‘Use this body,’ you pleaded, ‘take it with your strong hands, with your skilled mouth. Pierce it with your mighty—’”

  “Okay, you’re making that up.”

  He opened one eye, and there was such laughter in it her belly quivered in response. “Well, yes, but I’m enjoying it. And see there, you’re smiling. That’s what I wanted to see when I opened my eyes. Blair’s smile.”

  Tenderness swamped her. “You’re such a goof,” she murmured, and rubbed her hand over his cheek.

  “The first part of the dream was true. We should look for the orchard one day.” He closed his eyes again, started to snuggle in.

  “Hold on there. Shut-eye’s over. We have to get started.”

  “In a hurry, are you? Well, all right then.”

  He rolled onto her. “I didn’t mean—” And slipped into her.

  The pleasure was so deep, so easy, that her breath caught even as she laughed. “I should’ve known your mighty would be up and ready.”

  “And always at your service.”

  After a later start than she’d planned, she pulled on clothes. “We need to talk about some basics.”

  “We’ll break our fast in the little dining hall.”

  “I’ve never known you to have a fast to break. And I wasn’t talking about food.”

  “Oh?” He looked mildly interested as he belted his tunic. “What else then?”

  “To get really basic, bathroom facilities. Elimination, hygiene. The chamber pot deal’s okay for emergencies, but I’m going to have a problem with it on a regular basis.”