by Jessi Gage
“There.” Riggs pointed to a glistening ribbon winding through a shallow valley not far away. “We’ll camp by that stream tonight.” He looked fondly at her. “We’ll make the forest by nightfall tomorrow. I know a place we can rest where I’ll be able to hear anyone approaching and get you away. We’ll keep the horses saddled and make no camp.”
The forest would be populated with hunters, Riggs had told her. They’d have to take great care not to be seen. Or heard by any sensitive wolf-man ears.
“You best get in all the tupping you want before reaching the forest then, since we’ll do well no’ to draw attention tomorrow night.”
He grinned. “I’ll never have enough of mating you. We’ll just have to do it quietly.”
A little shiver passed over her. It turned into a ripple of pleasure when Riggs cupped her behind her neck and kissed her.
His gaze tender on her, he let her go and started to ride down to the valley. His back went suddenly rigid. He reined his horse to a stop. “Shite.”
She followed his gaze to the top of a hill a furlong away. A rider crested the hill, followed by another. Two riders became four. While they watched, the party grew. No less than twenty men rode into sight. The riders in front carried a banner. Even from this distance, she could tell it was crimson and gold.
“King Magnus,” Riggs said.
“King Magnus? What would he be doing out here?”
“Don’t know.” His eyes were hard as he watched the king’s party ride closer. There was still a great distance between them, but they would have been seen. She kent as well as Riggs must, there would be no running away to hide.
A sense of foreboding snaked up her spine. Her horse fidgeted. “What do we do?”
“We go meet them,” he said.
She tucked her fingers into his hand and gave a squeeze. “Then let’s go.”
* * * *
Tension made Riggs grip the reins too tightly. His horse tossed its head. This was happening too soon. He wasn’t ready to face his king with Anya by his side.
He was afraid.
He’d done nothing wrong, but that wouldn’t be apparent until he’d had a chance to explain. While they rode toward the party, he worked out what he’d say.
When they were the width of a practice field away, six riders broke off from the group and cantered toward them. He recognized the rider on the lead horse, not because he knew the man personally, but because of his royal regalia. King Magnus. He scanned the other riders, hoping to see Neil’s war helm but not finding it.
His stomach dropped.
“Stay here,” he told Anya. He’d been tempted to tell her to run if things went wrong—her horse was fast, she could escape these men. But that would be foolish. Where would she go? She’d be safer with the king’s party than anywhere else. He should be thankful for this turn of events. Anya’s safety was as good as guaranteed.
He just hoped he’d be permitted to enjoy that safety by her side. That was far from guaranteed.
A peek over his shoulder confirmed Anya had her hood up and her head down. There was no telling she was a female. Unfortunately, their shared mating scent was all over him. The riders approaching would recognize it. Unless Riggs could explain himself quickly, he would be asked to show his breeding contract. Having no contract permitting him breeding rights to Anya, a female obviously of breeding age, he’d be arrested.
Knowing what he needed to say, he tapped his horse’s sides.
The king sat tall and commanding in his ornate saddle. He rode with imperial confidence and reined his horse to a stop neck to neck with Riggs’s. Two of the other riders flanked Riggs and the king. Close up, he noticed the brooches pinning the wraps of their war kilts across their leather armor. The brooches depicted a golden lion within a silver crescent moon. These two were among the twelve Knights of the Crescent Moon, the elite guard serving the throne of Marann, the most loyal of the loyal, the best of the best. Their gloved hands rested on their hilts.
King Magnus removed his helm and shook out shoulder-length, golden hair. He was called the great lion king. The description was apt. Even sweaty and matted, his hair and beard resembled a lion’s mane.
Riggs bowed his head low, taking care to keep both his hands in sight and far from the handle of his axe. Having this many men so close to Anya had his fingers itching for the feel of his weapon’s handle in his palm, but he’d lose a hand sooner than he could touch his weapon.
“You may rise.”
His show of deference was acceptable. He met the king’s eyes briefly, respectfully, noting his irises were the yellow-amber color of hardened tree sap.
The king took in Riggs’s battered face and torn shirt, his gaze moving with the quick alertness of a hawk’s. This man would not miss much. Thank Danu Anya had washed the blood out.
Riggs dropped his gaze to the king’s chin and waited to be addressed.
“Name and occupation.” The king spoke like a man who knew his word was law.
Being addressed meant he had permission to look directly at his king. Riggs sat tall and made his voice clear. “Your Majesty, I am Riggs the trapper, son of Hilda. I live near the border west of Figcroft and have with me a female—”
“It’s him, sire.” One of the four guards who had hung back spoke over him. He’d been about to say, female past her time of breeding, but hadn’t gotten the chance. “That’s the name the messenger gave.”
The other guards tensed and closed the circle tighter around him. The two nearest him, the knights, drew their swords.
King Magnus held up a staying hand. “I’ll hear his version of events.”
His version? Had news of Anya made it to Chroina? How? He tensed all over, waiting for the men to smell her on him.
The king addressed him. “A wounded messenger rode into the city yesterday. Claimed he witnessed a female captured by a Larnian patrol. Said a trapper by your name helped them.” He peered around Riggs. “Who is your companion?”
Protect. Mate.
He couldn’t stop the growl that rose in his throat. He cut it off, but it had to have reached the king’s ears.
“It’s her, isn’t it? My miracle.” The king’s nostrils flared, as if he tried to scent her from where he was. He went very still. Slowly, he turned those hawk-like eyes on Riggs.
“She’s not your miracle,” he answered. “She’s past her—”
“He lies,” interrupted the same guard who’d interrupted him before. Little shite. “It’s her. It has to be.”
“Silence,” the king barked.
Riggs tried again. “She’s past her time of—”
“I said silence.”
Frustration had him growling again, but the king’s intense stare made him clamp his jaw to keep from speaking again. Shite. This was bad.
The king inhaled again, this time with his attention firmly rooted on Riggs. His pupils shrank to the size of pins. “What have you done?” His voice was a menacing growl, the kind of voice a man used to strike fear into his enemies.
“She’s past her—”
He flicked his fingers toward his knights. “Arrest him for mating with a female out of contract.”
Danu curse it!
The king steered his horse out of the circle and rode toward Anya. The six men closed in.
He grabbed his axe to defend himself. He wouldn’t hurt any of the king’s guard, but nor would he allow himself to be arrested without explaining himself.
One of the knights shouted, “Stand down, trapper,” and sent his sword in for a wounding blow. Riggs hooked the blade with his axe and directed it down. It nicked his leg but didn’t come up again. The knight was experienced enough to know he meant only to protect himself. Thank the moon.
“No!” Anya’s cry made the hairs on his neck rise. Her voice was too close.
He returned his axe to a defensive posture and spun his horse in a circle to keep the guards at bay. He worked to keep them all in view while searching for Anya. There!
She steered her horse around the king’s and rode straight for him.
She threw off her hood and tried to penetrate the ring of men around him. “Leave him alone!”
“Get back!” he shouted. There were drawn swords all around her! She’d get hurt!
The king intercepted her, his sword sheathed. He held out a placating hand. “Easy, lady. It’s all right now. You’re safe.”
She drew her dagger. “Call them off. He’s done nothing wrong. Call them off!”
When he didn’t, she made a disgusted sound. She wheeled her horse to the side and rode around the king for the second time. Forcing her way in beside a young guard, she swiped at his armored arm with her blade.
Riggs recognized it for the warning it was. The guard didn’t. He snarled and closed a hand around her wrist.
She yelped and dropped the dagger.
Rage was like a fist punching its way out of his chest. He roared, but could do nothing. There were four sword points at his throat, and a knight had just snatched his axe away.
“Stand down!” the king shouted. “Stand down! Release her! She’s my miracle.”
The guard released Anya like he’d been burned.
Anya shoved her way into the circle until her horse stood flank to flank with Riggs’s. Their thighs brushed, and he breathed a little easier for the contact.
Her presence forced two of the guards to back off, leaving only two swords belonging to the knights at his throat. He trusted these two not to harm Anya, but still, the urge to get her safely away from this threat was a drumbeat in his veins.
“He’s done nothing wrong!” Her voice rang with conviction. She faced down six armed men, one of them a king, fearless as a sow with a litter.
His chest swelled with pride.
“If you hurt him, you hurt me. He’s my lifemate.”
Silence fell.
Lifemate?
He tried to catch her gaze, but she kept it defiantly on King Magnus.
Except for the two knights still holding him at sword point, the others looked to the king as well.
The king’s eyes blazed. His nostrils flared again as he took in their mating scents.
Is that why Riggs smelled himself more strongly on her than he’d expected? Is that the reason their finish went on so long when they joined together? Had he made her his lifemate? Was that even possible?
She wasn’t wolfkind. He hadn’t petitioned Danu for her. He didn’t even acknowledge Danu. Or rather, he hadn’t...until last night, when mating with Anya had forced him to believe in the divine.
It had been a full moon last night.
Wonder spooled through him as he considered the possibility.
“No,” the king said, a fierce denial.
“Aye,” Anya said with lifted chin. “A moment ago, you were ready to hear Riggs’s version of events. I say you interview us separately. If we tell the same story, you ken we speak the truth. But I willna be speaking to anyone as long as my mate is under threat.”
“I said, stand down,” the king said quietly.
The knights sheathed their weapons.
“Fetch Neil,” he said to one of the guards. “He can interview the trapper. The lady comes with me.”
Chapter 19
Anya sat on a boulder between two guards watching King Magnus wear a rut in the earth with his pacing. He was a tall man, though still half a head shorter than Riggs. Finely-worked armor protected his torso, forearms and shins, adding to his air of command. He wore a plaid of rich crimson and a cloak dyed black as night. The crest on the cloak portrayed in profile a golden lion reared up on its hind legs with one front paw resting on a book and the other turned upward to cradle an orb that might have been the full moon.
Here was the great lion king Riggs had extolled. With his mane of wild blond hair and amber eyes, he resembled the animal on his crest to alarming degree, especially with his agitated pacing and the brooding glances he kept flicking her way.
He was jealous. Of Riggs.
Probably because she’d blurted the first thing that had come to her mind that might get a half-dozen worked up men to take their weapons away from his throat.
Lifemates. As if such a notion existed outside of stories and legend. As if such a thing could occur between a wolf-man and a human.
But it had worked. The guards had put away their weapons. She only hoped she hadn’t gotten herself and Riggs in too much trouble. Mayhap she should have stuck with the truth and said they were pledgemates. But seeing Riggs surrounded by those soldiers, her mind had reached for the most sensational thing she might utter to get their attention. It might have worked too well.
The lie sat like lead in her stomach. She had to confess it. Had to explain. The king had no reason to be furious with Riggs. She was not who he thought she was. She never could be.
At length, he stopped his pacing and faced her. Fists on hips, gaze boring into hers, he said, “Lifemates.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. His lip curled. “It should be impossible. Yet I smell the truth of it.”
“I can explain—wait, you do?” How? Aye, a wolf-man’s nose might be able to detect Riggs’s seed on her, but according to the story of Aine and Gregor, the lifemate scent would be remarkable, unmistakable. ’Twould smell like more than mere mating scent. Surely the king, whom Riggs had told her took frequent lovers, wouldn’t mistake mating scent for somat else.
The king went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I am repelled by your scent. It wafts off you like the pungent gas of a stinkflower. It’s mating scent, but more. It’s him.” He waved an impatient hand in the direction Riggs had gone with the man who must be his uncle, the king’s war chieftain. Then he motioned to her as if to indicate her entire person. “All over you.” He curled his lip. “I should be drawn to you. You were supposed to be mine, and I don’t even want you.” He snarled and started pacing again.
She bristled and sniffed herself, smelling naught but her own mild scent and mayhap a bit of Riggs’s forest-fresh musk. She didn’t want King Magnus either, but no lass liked to hear a man describe her as repellent.
“Och, you’re no’ exactly appealing yourself, stomping about and havering over somat you ken nothing about.”
He wheeled on her. Anger made fiery slits of his eyes.
She instantly regretted her manner. She needed to be more contrite. After all, Riggs’s wellbeing rested in this man’s hands. If he truly believed they were lifemates, he might imprison Riggs like the king in Gregor’s time. Intolerable. She had to fix this. “Forgive me. I—”
“Know nothing? I know nothing about lifemates?” He thumped a fist on his chest. “I have studied every word ever written about the topic so I would know how to do it when I found you. I waited fifty years for you. Fifty! I have stored up gifts to bestow upon you when I pledged myself to you. I have petitioned Danu every full moon since my coronation to bring you to me so I could make you my lifemate. It should be my scent marking you. My musk wrinkling the nose of every male in the camp. You were supposed to be my miracle, and you’ve gone and bound yourself to a trapper. A nobody!”
She launched off the boulder. Her legs protested, but her ire superseded the pain. “Nobody? Nobody! He’s the one who saved me from being dragged off by a pair of Larnians when I first came here. He’s the one who carried me halfway across your bloody country. He’s the one who fought wolves for me, slew villagers for me, slew trackers who kept talking about bringing me to King Bantus. He’s fought for me. Bled for me. Where were you?” She closed the distance between them and jabbed a finger at his armored chest. “What have you done for me? Why should I be yours when Riggs has given everything for me? Why should I belong to you when my heart belongs to him?”
King Magnus grabbed her by the shoulders. He towered over her, terrible, fierce.
She’d gone too far. He was going to kill her. Fear made a snare around her throat. Leave it to her to be killed by a man she’d angered. When would she learn to harness her tongue?
&nb
sp; The fire went out of the king’s eyes. His hands went soft on her shoulders. He expelled a harsh breath from his nose. “What have I done? Forgive me, lady. My anger is not for you. Never for you.” He cupped her jaw with one hand and swept a thumb over her scars.
She jerked away from his touch. It should only be Riggs’s hands on her. Her pledgemate. Her husband.
She backed out of the king’s reach.
His hand fell to his side. He was a handsome man. He had strong cheekbones, a straight nose, a luxurious beard. His skin was bronzed from spending time in the sun. He had lines of wisdom around his eyes. He appeared older than Riggs, but not aged. If he were human, he’d be early in his fourth decade, but Riggs had told her he was seventy-five. If she were not besotted with Riggs and missing his presence after less than a half hour apart, she might have been attracted to this fine specimen. He was everything she used to desire in a man—comely, important, powerful, and he desired her—or he would have if she didn’t smell so offensive to his sensitive wolf-man nose. But she felt naught for him other than a strange sympathy. He’d thought he’d found his miracle when in reality, he’d merely found her.
She was no one’s miracle. But she was Riggs’s wife now. She’d given her heart and her body, such as it was, to the man who had earned them and earned them well. She would not apologize for it. Not even to a king.
His gaze roved over her, this time without the blaze of anger. He lingered on her scarred cheek. “You are not what I expected,” he said quietly, as if he were talking to himself more than to her. “It should be a paw print, not claw marks.”
“They’re no’ claw marks. They’re from falling into a crevice in the rock. And they’re no’ all that’s wrong with me. I can hardly walk. And I canna have bairns. I’m no’ who you’ve been hoping for. If I were—if I ever could be, I would have gone to you. Riggs wouldna have taken me for his own. Please have mercy on him. He’s done nothing wrong.” It didn’t hurt her pride one jot to beg for Riggs’s wellbeing. She’d do anything to protect her pledgemate.