by Andersen,Kai
Giselda suddenly bolted upright. “Didn’t Merry say that she was going to erase our memory? How come I can still remember that Firelight is really Amber, and that Lila had been enchanted in the Castle of Night?”
“I don’t know.” Rodin sat up with her and wrapped his arms around her. His voice was a husky whisper against her ear as he said, “That has worried me, too. I don’t think Merry is the type of person to forget such an important detail as this. I think, though, that whatever her reason, we shouldn’t mention any of it to anyone, not even your father.”
She leaned against him. “I’m glad, though. I don’t want ever to forget what I’ve learned about myself.”
“I doubt that you will. You’ve changed, Giselda, though you may not be aware of it.”
“I am. I’m aware of it. When I think back to the person that I was, I don’t see how you could --”
“You weren’t as bad as you thought yourself to be.”
“Maybe so. But you saw the best in me.” She turned to face him, though their tent didn’t allow much of the waning light to shine in. “And even dared me to be better than I am. In the Castle of Night, I saw what I had become, and it was you who held me back from continuing down that road of destruction. All that I am becoming now is because of you.”
“Damn! I wish I could see you,” he muttered just before his lips touched hers. About a lifetime was spent in renewed mutual exploration and whispered endearments. “I want you again.”
“And again and again.” Her hand slid down his chest in slow motion and caressed his hips before coming forward to cup that part of him that grew hard at her touch. Desire flamed in her veins. She was that easy.
His hand covered hers, stilling her movements. “Is it only passion, Giselda?”
She knew what he was asking and how much it meant to him to hear her answer. “Remember that maid I discovered you with? I wanted to tear out her hair and teeth. I wanted to cut off her limbs and hack her to pieces. The thought of you with any woman made me so sick, the only way I could recover was to remember that you’re here now, with me. So tell me, Rodin, is it only passion?”
“Gods, I hope not. I hope I’m not interpreting it wrongly.” The fervent sound of hope rang in his voice and touched a deep core within her.
Her other hand reached up to caress his face. “I want to live where you live, go where you go. I will follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“Giselda --”
A raucous sound from outside the tent stopped him. “Hey, look what we have there!”
A second voice joined the first. “It’s glinting, master. It may be gold.”
Coarse laughter erupted. “Good, good! Gold for one more night of drinking and wenching --”
The voice was drowned out by the loud sound of big things crashing through the narrow path that led from the wide main road to the camp they had made. From the moment Rodin heard the sound, he moved with alacrity and grabbed their clothes, quickly helping Giselda to put on hers before dressing himself.
“Stay here,” he whispered before slipping out of the tent.
“Be careful,” she whispered back, but he was already gone. Her heart in her throat, she found herself clasping her hands together and her mouth muttering words she had never uttered before.
She heard Rodin’s calm, strong voice asking, “Who are you? We don’t have any gold, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“No?” A challenging voice answered. “What’s this -- By the gods, it’s not gold!”
“What do you mean, it’s not --”
That voice. There was something familiar about it ...
“Your highness.” It was Rodin’s stilted voice that made the greeting.
Frederick? But it didn’t sound like Frederick --
Her heart gave a leap. She jumped up and ran to the entrance of the tent. “Michael!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rodin felt sick straight to his gut.
Why did the bastard have to come now? Couldn’t he have waited until a later time -- say, ten years later -- when Giselda’s feelings for Rodin had solidified? Although she had implied that she cared for him, she’d never said that she did or that she loved him. He could be interpreting her words wrongly --
No. The real reason for this desperate, hopeless feeling that seemed to be lodged permanently in his heart and somewhere lower was the look of utter gladness on Giselda’s face when she had flown out of the tent and hugged him. Then, she had dragged him into the tent, which was where they had been until now.
The deepening gloom had reached them, and they were now in total darkness except for the weak light of the moon, the campfire, and the distant fires of Halcyon. The prince’s two bodyguards were lounging beside the dying campfire, where their conversation was interrupted intermittently with short bursts of raucous laughter.
When he had gone out of the tent, his first thought was that they had been set upon by brigands, notorious thieves who preyed on helpless women or children. Though they were reported to be skilled with a sword, Rodin had no doubt that even if the three before him were to attack him simultaneously, they were no match for him.
He had not recognized the prince’s close retainer, a skilled bodyguard who had first served under the prince’s father, in the non-liveried clothes that he wore. It was only when the prince had appeared that recognition had struck. He would remember the prince’s smarmy face forever because Rodin had longed to rearrange the prince’s features into something that resembled nothing even vaguely human.
All right, stop prevaricating. Was this how he taught his men a true warrior should act?
She doesn’t love me.
He felt the pain of that statement straight to his guts.
It was all wishful thinking on his part. All she probably wanted was just more sex, and she was using his weakness for her to get what she wanted. He remembered that she’d had her hand on his cock before he’d stopped her.
He groaned and dropped his head against the nearest tree.
He remembered her impassioned declaration, how she desired to be free of the trappings of poverty. He recalled her desperation and her determined resolve, and knew that even if she did agree to spend the rest of her life with him willingly, he could never subject her to such a fate again.
In managing the ranch for Frederick, he would be by no means poor, but neither would he be rich, at least not in the style and comfort that Giselda was accustomed to. No, she would be better off with the prince, who could provide her the material security that her soul seemed to crave. She also seemed to have a lot of things to say to the man, judging from the long period of time they had been ensconced in the tent.
Rodin found he was clenching his fists. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth.
No, he would never be free of this. His love for Giselda was a burning fire that consumed him every day. But as he loved her, he also wanted her to be happy. If the prince could bring her that happiness, he would not take it away from her.
He would not.
He would not interfere.
No, he would not.
Even if it killed him.
He whirled around sharply and crashed through the underbrush, the loud noise sure to attract lurking predators on the hunt for unwary prey. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. His life had been over from the moment she had chosen Michael over him.
He bowed under the weight of his grief. He sank to his knees when he reached the riverbank. So lost was he in regrets and what-ifs that when the slight sound of twigs cracking underfoot registered in his brain, it was too late.
Something heavy smashed into the back of his skull, causing his vision to waver and black spots to appear in front of his eyes. He fell to the ground.
His training took over. He twisted to catch the foot of his assailant, hoping to bring the person down with him before he totally lost consciousness.
Heavy blows hammered his body. He grunted and doubled over, relaxing his
hold on the boots. The black spots grew larger as his assailants landed another blow to his skull and dragged him somewhere.
Two. There were at least two of them.
His last thought was of Giselda before he hit the water.
Then ...
Darkness.
* * * * *
“You’re so brave, my love, for coming to rescue me,” Prince Michael murmured as his head began its slow descent.
Giselda turned her head at the last possible second, so that his lips landed on her cheek.
“Do you forget our passion so quickly?” He laughed. “My little bride is suddenly shy after an absence of what -- fifteen, twenty days?”
A lifetime. So much had happened, and so many things had changed. She had dragged him into the tent for one reason and one reason only: to talk. To tell him that she had changed her mind about marrying him, and to compensate him for his troubles. She was sure her father wouldn’t mind paying whatever it was Michael asked for, within reasonable limits, of course.
“Michael, we need to talk.”
“Talk? There’s plenty of time for talk later.”
And it has been thus for the past many minutes. She lost count of the number of times she had started a conversation, only to have him brush it aside with his eager urgings for a physical union.
A scene from her past flashed before her eyes, of the time when she had tried to talk with him, to share with him about Randalin and the important things in her life, and he had brushed it aside. He hadn’t been interested in her, not at all. How had she thought that this marriage would work?
Giselda struggled to be free, but as he was holding her by her arms, it was easy for him to stretch her arms toward her back and anchor them there with one hand. He brushed a finger across her lips and held her chin steady as he kissed her.
His eyes gleamed when he lifted his head. “Still as sweet as ever, I see.” He started to unbutton her blouse with his free hand.
She screamed and thrashed and kicked at his feet to prevent him from undoing all her buttons. She hit him once on his thigh, near his groin.
“You little bitch!”
The slap came as a surprise. Her face stung as she looked at Michael with renewed eyes. Has she ever known him at all?
“Michael, why are you doing this?”
“Why?” He laughed. “I’ve been without a woman for many days because of you, because of this stupid quest your father sent me on! Don’t you think it’s time you show your gratitude in more tangible ways?” His eyes reflected a dark lust as he gazed at her exposed upper body. “I seem to remember once upon a time when you were eager for me to get into your panties.”
“Really?” With scorn in her voice, she called him a liar. “What about those nights of wenching and carousing that I heard about in Halcyon?”
She had not expected him to admit it.
His gaze was calculating as he said, “So you heard about that. If you know, my dear, I was just testing out a theory.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she did anyway. “What theory?”
“I was quite the celebrated lover in my hometown. The women rhapsodized about my sexual prowess. Odes were written, alluding to my skill. But I was perplexed as to why I couldn’t excite my bride-to-be. Why she stayed stiff as a statue beneath me.” His eyes mocked her. “So I decided to conduct an objective experiment to find out with whom the fault lay. And guess what my conclusion was.”
“That you are impotent?” she asked sweetly. How had she ever thought his bedroom skills would improve with time? Arrogant ass that he was, he wouldn’t think there was anything he needed to improve on.
He jerked hard on her arm so that she was almost bowed, with her breasts thrusting out prominently as if offered up to him as a sacrifice. “You impertinent chit! I’ll teach you to obey me when we’re married. When I say I want it now, I expect you to get down on your knees and wait for me!”
His touch didn’t inspire lust this time, but fear -- fear at the terrible knowledge of his words, fear at what she might suffer at his hands. She suddenly realized how dangerous it was for her that there were only the two of them in the tent. Oh, why, why hadn’t she thought to bring Rodin in with them?
Even though she knew it was futile, she fought back. “Let me go!”
His mouth closed over her breast and sucked deeply. He pushed her away in disgust, so that she was unbalanced and fell to the ground. “A man can’t even get a decent mouthful.”
That stung. She rose and dusted off her clothes. “You used to love my breasts. You said they were beautiful.”
He shrugged. “That was before. If a few praises could make you pliant and willing, why not?”
“So you don’t want me pliant and willing now?” She didn’t even know why she was asking.
“Oh, I still want.” He grinned lasciviously. Capturing her hand, he brought it to his straining erection. “See how much I ache?” He guided her hand to caress and rub across his hard length. “But I have a feeling you won’t be so easily fooled now. You’re a different person now, Giselda, and I’m not yet sure if that is to my advantage or not.”
“I’m not marrying you!” She flung at him.
He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. “But my dear, you are marrying me, if I have anything to say about it. Anyway, you’re ruined now. Who will want you if they know that the prince of Ermont had you first? Your father would surely not want that. My father, on the other hand, would be honorable and insist on a wedding as reparation for my actions.”
“Why?” she asked in a bitter tone. “You obviously don’t care for me. You don’t even desire my body. What do you hope to get out of this?”
The answer dawned on her just as he answered, “An alliance with Mithirien. If I don’t get the alliance, I’ll be disinherited and the position of crown prince will go to my younger brother, the pig!” He snarled, “I have wanted to be king for as long as I know. I can’t give up now that it’s almost within my reach.”
It was terrifying to look into a face that mirrored her own desires and ambitions, her greed, and the lengths she would go to attain her dream. But she had not turned out that way. She had changed midway, and it was all because of Rodin, her saving grace.
She glared at him defiantly. “You won’t get your way in this, Michael.”
His face twisted in an ugly expression. “And why not?” He surprised her as he pulled down her trousers in one quick move and cupped her mound. “What is to prevent me from taking this pussy?” He slid a finger into her and thrust in and out, his progress impeded by her dryness. He pushed in roughly, and she cried in pain. “Or from making you mine again?”
She clamped his hand between her legs, drew in her breath, and shrieked. She shouted, “Rodin! Help, help me! Rodin!”
Michael couldn’t hold on to her as he doubled over with laughter.
Giselda didn’t stop to ponder, but pulled up her trousers and rushed out of the tent, shouting for Rodin. Her way was blocked by Michael’s two bodyguards. She danced from side to side, trying to find an opening to push her way through.
“The matter has been taken cared of, master.” The bodyguard on the right addressed a point above and over her right shoulder.
Michael laughed again, a laughter that chilled her. “Well, Giselda, your bodyguard is now at the bottom of the river.”
The blood rushed to her feet. She rallied in defiance. “I don’t believe you!”
Michael burst into renewed laughter. “She doesn’t believe me!” he informed his guards, who chuckled with evil menace. “What can we do to convince her?”
The taller one handed something to Michael. “Here, boss. This might help.”
Giselda swayed when she recognized the object. It was Rodin’s sword, the sword that was always by his side, whether awake or asleep.
“No!” Her despairing cry echoed in the night.
Michael chuckled in feigned sympathy. “Poor Rodin. He was so brave, defending his princess a
nd her betrothed, taking on the giant troll by himself so that the rest could escape.” He sighed theatrically. “He’s a bloody hero.”
“Rodin!”
Grief and desperation lent strength to her limbs, and she was able to push past the surprised guards and dashed in the direction of the river. She couldn’t see anything in the dark, but mainly made her way through instinct and sheer recklessness. Nearing the riverbank, she tripped and fell to her knees. She crawled forward as great, tearing sobs were ripped from her throat. She beat the ground in fury with her small, clenched fists.
She would never know the strength of those arms again, never hear the deep sound of his voice calling her “my princess,” never experience his intense lovemaking, never share thoughts with him, never grow old with him. What was life worth without him?
She was about to jump into the river after him and allow herself to be dashed to pieces by the craggy rocks at the bottom, when something shifted within her, a knowledge that rose to the fore and stole her breath away.
She was with child.
Her hand crept down to her abdomen, even as wonder and a bittersweet joy filled her.
Rodin’s child.
She still had something of Rodin after all.
The crashing behind her made her realize she had some quick decisions to make.
The baby. Her foremost thought right now should be for their child -- their son -- that he would grow up healthy in all aspects -- physically, mentally, and emotionally.
The crashing grew louder, and suddenly Michael stood before her, short of breath. “How touching,” he sneered. “But then, I forget that even Frederick treated his servant like a trusted friend. So, what is it to be, Giselda? Do you marry me willingly, or do I force your hand?”