Long before he was ready to release her, she wiggled out of his grasp. Lyolf resigned himself to wait until nightfall for his pleasure. For now, there was work to be done.
“What happened?” he asked, eyeing a bandaged cut on her tapered arm.
“We were attacked. They found us. Our whole village is destroyed. This is my family. When we escaped, they agreed to come to you.”
“Attacked by who?”
“Wolfric’s army!”
“Where was your village?” Lyolf asked, feeling his stomach sink into his toes.
“Near… um… what you call the Nar…”
“Narrow Sea.”
Athelyna nodded. Lyolf let out a ghostly sigh. Wolfric’s tactics had destroyed her home, and he was sitting in his barracks.
“We have a problem,” he continued.
“What? Are we not welcome?”
Lyolf spotted the beginning of tears in her dark eyes.
“You are,” he began. “But Wolfric is here, now.”
All five of the Lurran grimaced.
“We leave in the morning for battle. I’ll find a place to hide you away until he is gone. Then you’ll have rooms on the family level. You will marry me, won’t you Athelyna?”
She smiled, new tears spilling out over her eyelids. “Yes!”
Lyolf noticed the smiles spreading across the faces of the other Lurran as he grabbed her up in another hug. He ignored his audience as he kissed her deeply. Finally, Lyolf pulled himself away, worrying that his trousers might betray his need if he kissed her any more. Just as he set her back on the ground, Cred and Brid came running up to the growing group.
“Sir, what is…” began Cred, trailing off as he took in Athelyna.
Cred and Brid had been the heroes to help Athelyna escape Tolad and journey to Nava. From Nava she had travelled alone. Thanks to Cred and Brid, Lyolf had fallen in love with Athelyna. And gaging her recent response, she returned his feelings.
“Athelyna!” cried Brid, giving her a fierce hug, followed closely by Cred.
“Their village was attacked by Wolfric’s western army,” explained Lyolf before Brid could begin her famous hospitality. “I would like to hide them away in the city until Wolfric and I leave tomorrow. Athelyna has agreed to marry me when I return.”
Once again there were cheers and hugs exchanged.
“I know a place, sir,” said Cred. “I’ll take them there now. Brid, get some supplies and someone you trust and join us.”
Brid gave her husband one nod before turning back to the castle.
“I trust you two will keep this to yourselves,” said Lyolf, fixing his guards with a firm glare.
They both nodded before following Brid back to the castle.
Lyolf gripped Athelyna’s hand. “I wish I could join you, but Wolfric will begin to look for me. I’ll try to steal away tonight and come visit you.”
Athelyna gave him one last kiss before following Cred back into the city with her family.
Walking back to the castle was the hardest few minutes of his short life. Every step drew him away from Athelyna. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, never leaving her side again. Well, he would just have to survive the coming attack, then his fantasy life could begin.
Lyolf was just beginning to cross the bailey to the barrack that night—too late for him to visit Athelyna—when Cred ran up to him.
“Can you spare a minute, sir?” queried the captain.
“Oh, Cred, can it wait?” Lyolf asked.
“Not really, sir.”
“All right. What’s up?”
“This way, sir.”
Lyolf followed Cred back into the castle and down to the kitchen level where he and Brid had turned a few unused rooms into their family’s home. Brid stood in the central room, looking rather pleased with herself.
“In there, sir,” said Cred, gesturing toward the room he shared with his wife.
Lyolf frowned, beginning to guess at their intention. He stepped into the room, but no amount of guessing could have prepared him for the sight before him. The room was aglow with candles. Athelyna stood before him, garbed in a new gown with her hair piled on top of her head.
“What are you doing in the castle?” he asked, having a pretty good suspicion of her intention.
It was going to be an awkward conversation when he told her he wouldn’t sleep with her until they were properly married. He respected her too much to do that, especially with the risk of him dying on the battlefield.
“I came for you, of course,” she said, her eye flicking to the room behind him.
Lyolf turned to smile at the couple who had put this all together, only to find a third adult standing in the room. He recognized him as a healer from Nava. A sudden realization struck. Not only had they arranged for Athelyna and him to have a night alone, but had arranged for them to wed that very moment.
His beautiful bride stepped to his side and guided him back into the main room. Brid’s two little boys stood on the out skirts of the room, dressed in their best. The ceremony was short and simple, unlike the usual ceremony of a noble. The healer presented the document for the bride, groom, and witnesses to sign. Half an hour later, it was all over.
“Enjoy yourself,” Cred said with a knowing smirk as he ushered his sons into the other bedroom.
“But where will you sleep?” asked Lyolf.
“We’ll sleep with the boys,” replied Brid adding her own knowing smile.
Before he could reply, they disappeared into the other bedroom and closed the door. Lyolf turned to Athelyna, his sudden embarrassment showing in his red cheeks. To his surprise, she didn’t seem all that embarrassed. She took his hand and pulled him into their oasis, closing the door behind him.
Without waiting for him to collect himself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him soundly. It wasn’t long before Lyolf forgot his embarrassment, distracted by his growing desire. The rest of the evening was spent in sensual pleasure as they explored each other’s bodies, repeatedly sealing their love for each other.
As they lay panting late into the night, having just made love for the third time, Lyolf basked in wonder at the naked woman lying beside him. In all his dreams, he had never expected to marry for love. They had a long life of happiness ahead of them, if only he could return from the battle unscathed.
Lyolf rolled onto his side, his hand making gentle circles around her naval.
“What have I done?” he sighed, closing her eyes.
“I think it’s called sex,” she replied with a smirk.
Lyolf couldn’t help but smile, despite the weight in his heart. “I should have waited until after I got back.”
“Why?”
“What if something happens to me? I’ve taken your virtue.”
Athelyna smiled, no fear in her eyes. “You also married me. If… if something were to happen to you, I would be your widow. With rights and a secure home. And, if we’re lucky enough to have made a child tonight, that child will have an inheritance.”
Lyolf frowned. He had never thought of it that way. “I hope you’re right.”
“I hope nothing happens to you,” she said, pulling him down for another long, sensual kiss.
Once again, he lost himself in her willing embrace.
Lyolf woke early, knowing he had to be up and out of their small sanctuary before anyone grew suspicious. There were enough people in the know on their secret to risk Wolfric hearing of Lyolf’s new bride. Lyolf was just about to step through the door, fully dressed, when a soft voice called his attention back to the bed.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Lyolf turned back to gaze upon his beautiful bride. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Athelyna held out her arms. “Come kiss me goodbye.”
Lyolf shook his head. “If I come back to that bed, I’ll never leave.”
She gave him a wicked grin and climbed to her feet, displaying her naked body in all its glory
. Slowly swaying her hips, she sauntered over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You evil woman,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her one last time. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here,” she replied as he closed the door behind him.
Lyolf’s heart ached as he made his way up to the bailey. The castle was already alive with movement as the last group of soldiers prepared to leave. Cred was up, saddling Lyolf’s horse for him. Lyolf approached him.
“Much thanks, Cred,” he said as he patted his warhorse on the neck.
“Thought you might need to sleep in, sir,” Cred said with a poorly hidden grin.
Lyolf chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I’m not that old, sir.”
Lyolf laughed again, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. If anything happened to him, Cred would defend Athelyna to the very end, with Brid in full support. She would be safe with them. The workers in the castle may not have grown to trust him yet, but they would believe Cred’s word when he introduced her as their new mistress. Like Lyolf, they trusted Cred and Brid.
It only took them another hour of preparation before the group set off for the border. The sun was barely above the horizon when Lyolf looked on Nava one last time.
Chapter Nineteen
Pelor lounged in the king’s chair, for once refusing to join Mirabelle when she moseyed to their bedroom. He was ready to put his foot down with her, no longer fearing her complaining to her powerful father. It had been nearly a month since Wolfric left for the front. They had received one short letter informing them of his safe arrival, followed by a letter announcing General Drystan’s resignation. With the famous general out of the picture, Pelor felt certain none of the men would be returning from their attack, and even if they did, he could deal with them just as he had dealt with Cedric.
The few days following Cedric’s “accidental” death had been harrying to say the least. Briefly, suspicion fell on Pelor, but his dutiful wife wouldn’t hear of it. The man who had fought with Pelor was swiftly executed. Pelor felt a short-lived sense of guilt over that, but quickly buried it. What was one man against all those who would be saved from Wolfric’s tyrannical leadership?
To add to his success with Cedric, three distant governors had died due to the illness spreading through the peninsula. Pelor had spoken with the king’s counselors, ignored their advice, and assigned new governors based on the friends he had already made within the city of Tolad. They were eager to help him succeed in breaking up Wolfric’s dynasty. When the time was right, they would declare their small portion of the peninsula a sovereign state, and King Pelor—because Wolfric and his brats would be dead by then—would graciously grant it to them.
Pelor smiled to himself. Thus far, his plan was working brilliantly.
“Excuse me, sir,” said a soft voice from a few feet away.
Pelor glanced up at the pretty little slave. Once he knew of Wolfric’s death and had his wife pregnant, he would take a mistress. He was tired of fantasizing about someone other than the woman beneath him. This slave was pretty enough to make him consider starting now.
“Yes?” he asked, trying his best not to focus on her curves.
“Princess Mirabelle has asked for you.”
Pelor groaned as he rose to his feet. Today he would put her in her place. No more letting her set their sexual schedule. For once, he’d get a chance to initiate. Pelor smiled at the slave, remembering his goal of taking a mistress. He wanted a willing one too. No forcing for him. He wasn’t Wolfric, and he was determined the large nation knew that.
“Thank you, you’re dismissed,” he said waving her away.
Pelor climbed the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Mirabelle. Once the king and princes were dead, he’d take his own room too.
“There you are,” she said as he opened the door.
His wife was laying naked across their bed, taking up more than her share of the space.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she purred.
“Not tonight, Mirabelle.”
“And why not?”
“’Cause I don’t feel like it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m tired of sleeping with you morning, noon, and night. I’ll let you know when I want it, and you’ll be happy to give it like a good little wife.”
Pelor wondered at his words. Normally a husband was forced to demand more sex from his wife, not less. Still, whatever the issue was between them, he was determined to take control of their relationship. She may out rank him, but he was her husband. Like Wolfric said, he needed to put her in her place.
Mirabelle glared at him. “Need I remind you of who I am?”
“Need I remind you of who I am: Your husband? It is my prerogative to deny or demand intimacy from you, not the other way around.”
“Then maybe I’ll just take a lover,” she said as she climbed off the bed and wrapped herself in a dressing gown.
Pelor crossed the room in one swift motion, grabbing her shoulders and pressing her up against the wall hard enough to leave a mark. Mirabelle winced before shimmying her body against his. To his disgust, he reacted to her efforts, and she knew it.
“I hear of you taking a lover, I will kill him and punish you. Do you understand me?”
“How will you punish me?” she asked with a cocky grin, turning his threat into a game.
“Half rations for a month.”
This got her attention. If there was anything Mirabelle liked more than sex it was food.
“You can’t do that,” she snapped pushing against him.
Pelor held his ground, keeping her pinned to the wall. “I can do whatever I want. I’m the acting king and you are my wife. You will obey me.”
“And will you be taking a lover?”
“If I choose. If you fail to please me.”
Mirabelle glared at him, looking as though she were ready to spit nails.
“Do we have an understanding?” he asked, meeting her glare for glare.
“Yes,” she finally growled, not wanting to test his resolve for fear of losing her other enjoyment in life.
“Good. Now go to bed,” he ordered, releasing her from the wall.
Pelor hid a smile from her. That had been unusually fun.
Bethany heard the cries, even in her room where she sat reading. There wasn’t any work for her to do, now that all but one of her nieces and nephews had been laid to rest. Though many people still fought against the illness, no new cases had arisen. As far as they could tell, the illness was beaten.
What could this be? she wondered as she dropped her book and raced out of her room.
She met Erin at the base of the staircase, and together they ran out to the bailey, crowded by all the others alerted by the cries. It felt as though the entire castle population was squeezing its way through the large doors of the castle.
As she and Erin pushed their way through the crowd, the portcullis worked its way up. They reached the edge of the growing crowd, closely followed by Gilead and a few of his advisors. A group of slow moving men approached the gatehouse, clumped together in an awkward manner. Two men trailed the group, leading all the horses. Bethany began to recognize their features as they drew near. They were friends of Obadyah, mostly sons of nobles or wealthy merchants.
Bethany rose up on her tip toes, trying her best to see the numerous faces. Slowly, the truth sank in. Ob was not among the men. As they neared the gatehouse, Bethany lowered herself off her toes, and slipped her fingers into Erin’s strong hand. In the mob filling the bailey no one would notice the small gesture.
The princess didn’t need to be told that the men were carrying her brother’s body. She felt it in her heart.
Erin squeezed her fingers, reminding her that he was still there.
She was not alone.
“Quick!” called the leading man as he passed under the gatehouse. “Find the healer
. The prince is hurt.”
Bethany rushed forward. Her already broken heart had never thought that Ob could simply be wounded. Lately, life in her family had been surrounded by death. Bethany reached the clumped group and peered down at her brother.
While his face did bear a few scrapes, the majority of the damage was on his stomach. The men had packed the wound with a thin cloak. Bethany lifted it slightly to examine the wound. His gut had been deeply gouged.
“What happened?” she asked as she followed them into the crowd.
Erin and a few others were making a path through the mob.
“A wild boar. Didn’t even know it was near us until it burst from a bush,” one of the men said in a soft whisper.
Bethany bit down on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. She wasn’t about to tell Ob’s friends, but she knew there was no hope for her brother. The damage to his stomach was too great. No amount of stitching would put him back together again.
It took them an agonizing fifteen minutes to carry his broken body up to his room. The men laid him out across his bed while Bethany worked to adjust the pillows.
“What can we do to help?” asked the spokesmen for Obadyah’s friends.
“Nothing. Please leave,” she replied, working to keep her voice calm.
As the men left, Erin, Gilead, and Debowrah slipped into the room.
“How bad?” asked the queen mother.
“He won’t make it,” said Bethany as she watched her brother’s eyes flutter open. “Ob, can you hear me?”
He nodded feebly. “My gut hurts.”
Bethany fought back the tears, waiting to speak until she knew she could sound calm. “I know. I’m gonna get you something for the pain,” she said, waving her hand at her mother.
Debowrah understood the signal and slipped away. It wasn’t long before she returned with a cup of herbal tea. Through the opening of the door, Bethany spotted the young healer she had argued with when the refugees had been residing in the castle.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 75