Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  She appreciated her Ali’s silent support, and buried her hand in the she-wolf’s thick black fur as they walked.

  A wave of nausea hit as soon as she stepped foot in the bright warm room. Ansley ran forward, clutching her stomach and covering her mouth with her free hand. Looked for something to throw up in.

  “Here,” Cera said, tossing a small wooden bucket.

  She caught it, righted it, and vomited twice. Ansley panted and slid into a seat as the duchess took the bucket away.

  Thank the Blessed Spirit Cera was the only one in the room.

  Ali whined, circling Ansley’s chair, but Trikser made a wuffing noise from the hearth, and the she-wolf headed over to Cera’s bondmate, lying down beside the white wolf.

  Ansley thought-sent, admonishing Ali stay there. She asserted she was fine and wiped the moisture from her eyes, glancing up at Cera.

  Her friend said nothing, but her gaze was keen. Cera handed her a linen handkerchief and a goblet of water.

  “Thanks,” Ansley said, sipping water slowly. Her stomach didn’t roil or reject it.

  Good, a start.

  “How long are you going to let this continue?” Cera cocked her head to the side as she took a seat across from Ansley.

  “What?”

  Her friend gave her a long look, one brow raised. “The king and your father have been here for over a fortnight, Ansley. That would make you what…about a month—a month and a half at most—pregnant? You’re already sick almost daily. As soon as they get back, tell Leargan and be done with it. Marry the man you love, the father of your child.”

  Ansley scowled. “No.” It was no use denying anything. Cera was much too observant.

  “You can’t avoid things forever, Ans,” she said gently. “I know you’re hurt because he kept the scroll from you. And you have every right to be upset at the meddling king—I know I was—but it’s only a matter of time. Leargan has had many talks with your father, and Jorrin told me he’s made his intentions to both Sir Murdoch and the king very clear. He wants you.”

  “He doesn’t want me; he’s following orders. And besides, he’s not even here now. He left. He volunteered to lead the men.”

  “Ansley.” Cera crossed her arms over her chest.

  Ansley winced. The duchess had seen right through her lame attempt at deflection. She wasn’t really upset that Leargan had led Tynan Mont’s way to prison. It was his job.

  “You well know what duty is and you’d never fault him for it, so nice try. You can’t blame him for wanting to see that bastard punished, either. But remember, Leargan does not lie. If he said he wants you, he wants you. Let this go. Marry him. Be happy. We can even plan the wedding for the day of their return.”

  Ansley shook her head vigorously.

  Cera rolled her eyes. “Your fate is sealed now, anyway. Don’t you realize it? Neither the king, nor your father, is stupid. They’re both fathers as well. They both know what’s going on when a woman can’t hold any food and is apparently otherwise healthy. I think you risk Leargan’s wellbeing by not being honest. Everyone knows your father’s penchant for decorum equals his temper.”

  Her temples throbbed, and she rubbed them.

  Blessed Spirit, Cera’s right.

  Leargan wasn’t a liar. But when he found out about their baby, he would insist on marrying her. It was even worse than before.

  Duty. Obligation.

  Ansley didn’t want him like that. She wanted him to want her. Needed him to love her. Her eyes smarted and she sighed. No more tears. “He told me he would take my child from me.”

  “He would never do that to you,” Cera said evenly, not even phased by the serious threat. The duchess took a breath, leaning forward to take Ansley’s hand. “What do you know of Leargan’s childhood?”

  “He was raised by King Nathal, at Castle Rowan, in Terraquist.”

  “Right. But, what do you know of his parents?”

  “Nothing,” Ansley said.

  “King Nathal brought Leargan and several other orphaned boys back to Terraquist after the battle of North and South Ascova. The skirmish was quashed quickly, and the control of the Province was put back into Aimil’s family’s hands, as it should’ve always been. There were many deaths, including Leargan’s parents. His father was a farmer, not a warrior, and only wanted to see his family to safety. Unfortunately, he was struck down. Leargan’s mother ran with him in her arms, but didn’t get far. She shielded Leargan with her body, saved his life. When King Nathal found him, he was covered in her blood. He was barely four turns old, Ans.”

  “How do you even know this?” Ansley whispered.

  “Jorrin told me.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “I want you to know how important family is to Leargan. He lost his at such a young age. King Nathal raised him, but he’s never had a family—blood—of his own. He’ll want his child—your child—to have both parents.”

  Ansley averted her gaze. She hated how much sense Cera was making. Ignored how her heart hurt for Leargan. Why hadn’t he ever told her about his parents?

  “Leargan is hurting as much as you are,” Cera whispered.

  “No, he isn’t. He doesn’t love me.”

  “Has he told you he doesn’t love you?” Her friend’s gentle tone brought tears to Ansley’s eyes all over again.

  “No.”

  “I think he does love you. I also think the way he feels has everything to do with his volunteering to be away from you for a sevenday or two. He’s hurting, Ansley. I don’t have to be an empath to know it.”

  “Then he could have told me instead of lying about the scroll.”

  “When you confronted him, did he lie to you?” Cera asked.

  She growled, meeting her friend’s gray eyes. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  Cera quirked a half-smile. “I love you both. You’re both miserable. It’s unnecessary. The moment they get back, tell him you love him, Ans. Please.” She squeezed Ansley’s hand. “Stress is something you don’t need. You risk the new life inside you. Do you want this baby?”

  Ansley couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

  She wanted her baby—and his father—more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  “Good. But your baby will need his father.” Cera smiled softly.

  She looked down as guilt rushed her. Even before learning about Leargan’s past, how could she even have contemplated keeping the man’s child from him?

  It was wrong.

  Hurt over words he’d flung in anger would never justify it. Besides, Leargan had already tried to apologize for what he’d said, the day her father and the king had arrived in Greenwald.

  Cera was right, about everything, and Ansley hated that.

  “Is your stubbornness worth life-long unhappiness?” Cera’s voice was just above a whisper. “I know you too well. Even if you left tomorrow and never came back, you’ll always love him.”

  Ansley sighed.

  What can I say?

  “Think about your child,” Cera urged. “Would it be fair to keep him from Leargan? He is a wonderful man and will be a fantastic father.”

  She winced, feeling another rush of guilt. “When did you get so wise?”

  Cera laughed and rubbed her shoulder. “I don’t know about being wise. But I love Jorrin and Fallon more than I ever thought possible. I can’t imagine my life without either of them. I think about my parents and sister all the time, but Jorrin and Fallon are my life.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Walk up to him and shout I love you? I haven’t really spoken to him since before my father arrived.”

  “I said some awful things to Jorrin when King Nathal told us to marry and I found out he’d be named Duke of Greenwald. I also made some assumptions that were very wrong. I know admitting you were wrong is tough, but at least it’s only to Leargan. He won’t say I-told-you-so; he’s not the type. And I’d bet my best gold coins he loves you. I wouldn’t
say it, if I didn’t think it was true.”

  “Then why didn’t he tell me that night?” Ansley whispered. “I asked him why he wanted to marry me, and he couldn’t answer me. He stared, dumbfounded.” Tears spilled, drenching her cheeks. “It…just about killed me. If he loves me…and he’d told me, it would’ve fixed everything. Instead, he threatened to take my child from me.”

  Cera scooted her chair closer and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe he didn’t know. Sometimes it takes losing something to tell you how badly you need it…” Their eyes met, and Cera wiped the tears from Ansley’s cheeks. “I mean, we are talking about a man.” The duchess grinned.

  One corner of Ansley’s mouth lifted.

  “Oh, look. That was almost a smile.” Cera patted her cheek.

  Ansley didn’t say anything, but their silence was companionable. She sighed and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. “When we made love, he told me he needed me. But I need more than his body. I know he’ll love our child. I’m jealous, can you believe it? Leargan will love our baby, but not me.” Shrugging, she blinked away new tears.

  Cera’s smile was tender. “Yes, I believe Leargan will love your child. But he loves you already.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Why hadn’t he remembered just how damn far away Dalunas was?

  They’d been gone a whole sevenday.

  The further from Greenwald they’d gotten, the further Dalunas had seemed. Leargan could have sworn the roads had moved.

  He missed Ansley.

  Distance was more torture than reprieve. She might not be speaking to him at Castle Aldern, but at least he could lay eyes on her.

  Sleep had been elusive every night they’d stopped. When Leargan had managed to drift off, she haunted his dreams. He’d woken in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, arms empty and aching for her.

  Their party entered Dread Valley’s heavily armored gates, passing over two separate draw bridges, a high defense wall, and more than two dozen well-armed guards and marshals.

  No one was leaving the place that wasn’t supposed to.

  The only satisfaction Leargan had was Tynan Mont shrinking down in the prison cart he rode in, lowering his body so only the top of his head was visible through the iron bars.

  Avril’s former husband was lucky to have made it to the penal territory in one piece. He’d run his mouth the entire way. Gagging him hadn’t helped, either.

  Roduch’s original desire to kill the man wasn’t a bad idea.

  All Leargan’s men, including the normally jovial Merrick, had wanted to pound him into the ground. And Leargan had had to threaten Roduch with shackles and disarmament to keep him in his saddle and away from the little bastard.

  Waiting in the office for the Provost—a burly dark-haired man named Malcolm Graham—to read Tynan Mont’s sentencing proclamation was nerve racking.

  Leargan was exhausted. His limbs were as heavy as his heart. He wanted to hand Mont over and get out of Dread Valley. The place made his skin crawl. Wanted to seek a bed. The venue didn’t matter as long as the linens were clean and there was a real pillow.

  Malcolm Graham read the mile-long parchment twice, his shaggy brow knitting tighter with each word. At King Nathal’s direction, Gamel and Keir had detailed the man’s crimes.

  “So your main talent is blackmail? Murder, too.” The man scratched his ebony beard, gaze boring into Tynan Mont’s stooped form. “And you like to torture and rape innocents who are dependent upon you, do you?”

  Shoulders caving even further, the sorry excuse for a man lowered his head, his shackles clinking together. Tynan Mont said nothing.

  Leargan smirked.

  Coward.

  Where was the brazen mouth he’d opened freely during their long journey?

  The gates of Dread Valley had made Tynan Mont a mute.

  “Very well. We have a special hell for trash like you,” Provost Graham said, motioning two of his marshals forward.

  Dallon and Merrick shoved Tynan Mont.

  He stumbled, falling to his knees before Provost Graham.

  The burly man looked down at him, one corner of his mouth lifted.

  The marshals each grabbed Mont by an arm and yanked him to his feet. Avril’s former husband yelped, but cut it off quickly. He flinched as the provost’s men jerked him and they started to walk away. If he didn’t move his feet, the shorter man would be dragged.

  Roduch harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest as Mont threw one last look over his shoulder at Leargan and his knights. “Funny, he has nothing to say now.”

  Provost Graham smirked as he stepped forward, eyes darting to Roduch before meeting Leargan’s gaze. “Thank you, Captain Tegran, and thanks to your men and your mage, Sir Lucan, for seeing the prisoner here safely.” He bowed, a smile on his bearded face. “We shall take over his care.”

  “It was our duty,” Leargan said, inclining his head.

  “Shall you need lodging for the evening? I can recommend the Rusty Nail in Dalunas Main. Funny name, but good food and the prettiest wenches in the Province.”

  Leargan swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. He didn’t need a wench. He needed Ansley. “Thank you. We’ll consider it.” His voice cracked.

  “Mention my name to the innkeeper, Belton Scalar. He’ll give you a good rate and his finest rooms. He’s my brother-by-marriage.”

  Their task accomplished, Leargan’s men were rowdy as they mounted up.

  Dallon, especially, was grousing about their long journey. He declared fine drink and the arms of a willing woman would fix all his troubles.

  Leargan glowered from Fia’s saddle, trying not to think about Ansley as his brothers quipped at each other on the ride into Dalunas Main.

  He glanced around the noisy tavern, pushing away the half-eaten bowl of stew. Leargan hadn’t even tasted it anyway. His tired body’s demands for food had made him shove as much sustenance past his lips as he could stand, but he’d stopped as soon as his stomach had ceased growling.

  Two pretty lasses, a redhead and a blond, had draped themselves all over him as soon as he’d taken a seat with his men, but he’d dismissed them quickly, ignoring pouty lips and low bodices.

  He couldn’t even look at the girl whose locks reminded him of Ansley’s. She’d taken the hint and gone to another table when Merrick, Laith and Roduch also ignored her attentions.

  Should he feel better or worse that all three of his brothers were also thinking about women back in Greenwald?

  Dallon had snatched the blond barmaid around the waist, and she currently resided on his lap. Alasdair had already retired with a beautiful brunette. Knowing Alas, Leargan’s fellow knight had known of the tavern and the lass long before they’d even set foot in the place.

  He’d wasted no time pulling her into his arms and planting a kiss on her when they’d walked into the Rusty Nail.

  She’d kissed him back enthusiastically and practically dragged Alas up the stairs that led to the finer rooms.

  Lucan was looking around, wide-eyed and pink cheeked at all the bosoms on display. The women in the tavern were indeed pleasing to the eye, just as the provost had said.

  Leargan smiled at the lad. Then he thought about Alasdair dragging him into taverns when he was Lucan’s age and cringed. Lucan was a sweet lad. He needed to hold onto his innocence for a while longer—perhaps turns—until he met the girl he wanted to marry. It meant more that way.

  Fighting the urge to close his eyes as pain crept up from his gut, Leargan reached for the stein of ale in front of him and chugged. It burned on its way down his throat, but it was already warm and unappetizing. He ached for Ansley.

  A feminine laugh took his attention, and he glanced at Dallon and the lass in his arms. The girl’s blond curls were swept up and piled on top of her head. She had big dark brown eyes and not much of a dress on. She stared at Dallon, and he looked right back. They were quite pleased with each other. As the knight had planned, Dallon w
ouldn’t be sleeping alone—if he’d be sleeping at all.

  “Are you sure none of your friends need a good woman tonight?” the lass asked, winking and looking at Laith and Merrick in open appreciation.

  The fair-haired brothers were no stranger to wenches in taverns, but neither had shown any interest in any women since they’d left Greenwald.

  “Sorry, but I have my Meara back in Greenwald,” Laith said, downing the last of the ale in his mug. He winked and the girl smiled.

  “Daicy would part me with something I am rather fond of, if I used it elsewhere.” Merrick grinned, swaying in his chair. The knight’s head was going to ache all the way back to Greenwald with as much as he’d imbibed.

  Roduch and Dallon chuckled and Laith rolled his eyes.

  Leargan snorted. Seeing how protective Daicy had been of Ansley, there was no doubt that the petite maid would part Merrick from his bollocks if he used them elsewhere, as he’d said. She definitely had a temper.

  The girl would also probably not wish it public knowledge that she was sleeping with Merrick, but his friend must care for Daicy. Merrick had never been a one woman kind of man. If he wouldn’t touch another lass, it meant something.

  Good for them, he wished them happiness—Laith and Meara, too—he just hurt for himself and Ansley.

  “What about the little one? Vera, just over there, has a fondness for virgins.” She gestured to a brunette that was currently bending over a young man in an obvious display of her body.

  Lucan blushed scarlet and shook his head vigorously.

  Dallon’s lass smirked, but no one commented on the young mage’s virtue or his denial.

  “Hmm…” The girl looked directly at Leargan, and he swallowed a groan. She sized him up, her gaze moving up and down his face.

  Could she not take a hint?

  “Your captain is a bit broody, but I’ve a girl in mind,” she said, glancing at Dallon before looking back at Leargan.

  “He’s attached, as well,” Dallon said, making eye contact with him.

  Pain clenched his gut as Ansley’s face danced into his mind. Leargan tightened his grip on the stein as the girl on his friend’s lap shook her head and gave an over dramatic sigh.