by Anne Bishop
“Out in the open, in full sight of people on the street,” he finally said, reluctantly yielding to her plea. “You promise?”
She should have agreed immediately. Making a promise to someone so much younger rankled enough to have her hesitate.
“Jillian, whatever you’re planning to do? Don’t,” Daemonar said. “You’ve already made a promise to Auntie Surreal, and she’s half Dea al Mon. Your friend’s life won’t be worth anything if you break your promise to her.”
Jillian swallowed the lump of fear that suddenly blocked her throat. “I won’t break my promise to her or to you.”
She watched him walk into the shop. A boy had given a prime roast to the Scelties for breakfast, but the young Warlord Prince who walked into the butcher shop didn’t sound like a boy.
٭Jillian.٭
She rounded the corner and stopped, checking that she would be seen easily by anyone walking along the main street. “Dillon?”
He appeared in front of her. Then he grabbed her hand a moment before she felt a whisper of power surround them.
“Sight shield,” he said. “Should have thought of it the last time.”
Before she could protest, before she could warn him, he pushed her against the wall, covered her mouth with his, and thrust his tongue between her lips. Startled, she did nothing, not sure if she liked the sensation or not.
Then fear cleared her head. She pushed him away, breaking most of the contact between them. But he still held her hand.
“Stop it,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You have to drop the sight shield now.”
“It’s all right.” He moved in on her—or tried to.
She pushed back, her hand on his chest.
“Don’t you want to be with me?” He sounded hurt, vulnerable. “If you loved me, you would want to be with me as much as I want to be with you.”
She felt the gentle brush of his thumb over the knuckles of one hand. Of course she loved him, wanted to be with him. But . . . She shook her head, struggling to remember why it would be wrong to have this private moment. Why it would be dangerous. “There’s not much time. You have to listen.”
“Kiss me first.”
Dark Opal power slammed against Dillon’s Opal sight shield. That power struck again, breaking the shield.
“What in the name of Hell . . . ,” he began.
٭No touching!٭ Khary’s voice boomed in the alleyway for everyone to hear.
٭He was touching!٭ Morghann’s voice, equally loud.
٭Bad dog! Grrrrr.٭ Tagg’s barks were loud enough to start a rockslide.
That brought a whole lot of people running to find out what had upset the Scelties—including Daemonar. And standing in the street, his hand around the hilt of his fighting knife, was Lord Rothvar.
“We’re fine.” Jillian gave Daemonar a pleading look and then glanced in Rothvar’s direction, but she didn’t dare meet the Green-Jeweled Warlord’s eyes. “Just a misunderstanding with the Scelties.”
Daemonar turned and went back to the butcher shop. Rothvar studied her a moment longer before continuing on his way. Everyone else went back to their own concerns, since she didn’t need help.
Everyone except the Scelties.
“Lord Dillon was just touching my hand. That’s allowed.” At least, that was all he’d been doing when Khary broke the sight shield and everyone could see them.
٭Daemon said no touching,٭ Morghann said stubbornly. At least she wasn’t telling the whole village now. ٭He didn’t say no touching except for hands.٭
“I need to speak with Lord Dillon.”
They stared at her.
“Privately.”
٭No,٭ Khary said.
It wasn’t lost on her that Khary outranked everyone standing in that alleyway right now, and if provoked, the Sceltie Warlord could hurt Dillon.
“You three stay here. Dillon and I are going to walk down there and talk for a minute.” Jillian pointed to the end of the alleyway.
Turning, she walked away. Dillon trailed behind her.
“Hell’s fire, Jillian,” he hissed. “What’s going on? What are those things?”
“They’re Scelties. They’re chaperons.”
“You’re joking.”
She shook her head. “Everyone is upset about what happened the other day.”
“I thought that was settled when I made nice at the cake shop.” Dillon did not look or sound happy.
“What was settled was that we can see each other and spend time together. Public outings with a chaperon present.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
Dillon stared at her.
“You can come up to the eyrie,” she said.
Now he smiled. “Oh, yeah?” When he reached for her, she took a step back.
He looked hurt. And maybe something else. “I thought you wanted to be with me.”
“I do.”
“You can’t let Yaslana dictate your life. He’s not your father.”
The words made her uneasy, even though she had almost said the same thing to Lucivar herself. “But he is the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, and everyone who lives in this valley lives under his hand. And that includes visitors.”
“If I don’t kowtow, what’s he going to do?”
Dillon sounded defiant. That he would be willing to defy an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince to be with her was thrilling—and terrifying. Had Dillon ever had personal dealings with a Warlord Prince before, let alone a man as powerful as Lucivar Yaslana? “He is the law in Ebon Rih. He could banish you from his Territory. Or he could kill you.”
“For a kiss?”
She wasn’t sure Yaslana wouldn’t, so she said nothing.
Dillon sighed. Then, tossing a defiant look at the Scelties—and Daemonar, who now stood with them—he held out his hand.
Feeling like she had to draw her own line of how much she would let someone interfere with her choices, she took his hand.
Dillon stepped a little closer, turning his back on the Scelties and the boy. Warm excitement filled her.
“I’m sorry I . . . Well, the thought of not being able to spend time with you made me a little crazy.”
“I told you. As long as we follow Lady Surreal’s rules, we can spend time together. You can visit with me at the eyrie when there is an adult present, or we can have a public outing together, with chaperons. But, for your sake, we have to follow Lady Surreal’s rules.”
He nodded. “Fine. I’ll make nice. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Now he looked embarrassed. “Remember when I paid the bill at the cake shop? I wanted to make a good impression because I didn’t think Lady Surreal thought much of me. And now I have a bill that I have to pay, and I can’t.” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “Do you think you could . . . ? Just to tide me over.”
“Oh,” she said when she finally caught on to what he was asking. Pulling her hand out of his, she called in the embroidered pouch she used as a wallet and removed all the marks. “This is what I have. You’re welcome to it.”
He started to smile until he ruffled the marks. “This isn’t enough to cover what I owe. Is there any way you could get a bit more? Maybe borrow a bit from your sister’s cashbox? Or from the Yaslana housekeeping money?”
She felt as if he’d thrown ice water into her face. “That would be stealing.”
“If they’re as rich as everyone says, they wouldn’t notice if a few gold marks went missing.” When she took a step back, he laughed and touched her hand. “Hell’s fire, Jillian. I was only joking. If you loved me, you’d know I was joking.”
Of course he was joking. He wouldn’t ask her to steal from her sister or from Marian. And since his family was aristo, he would know that things were put on account, not paid for immediately, so housekeeping money wouldn’t be lying around.
“That would—”
“Jillian,” Daemonar called. “If you want to stop at the library, it’s time to go before someone comes looking for us.”
A warning, since they both knew who would come looking.
Dillon vanished the marks and gave her a warm smile. “Will you give me the honor of escorting you to the library, Lady Jillian?”
“Thank you, Lord Dillon. That would be pleasant.”
She took the wrapped roast from Daemonar, relieved that the butcher had put a cold spell in the paper to keep the meat fresh. Then she vanished it and strolled to the library with Dillon beside her and Daemonar and the three Scelties trailing behind.
* * *
* * *
Rothvar stepped into Lucivar’s study, then nodded to Daemon before focusing on the man he served. “If you could spare a minute, Prince?”
“I’ll get out of your way.” Daemon started to push out of the chair but settled again when Rothvar raised a hand to stop him.
“Appreciated but not necessary,” Rothvar said. “Figured you would know about it anyway—or hear about it.”
Daemon sighed. “What did they do, and who should I compensate?”
Lucivar said, “Shit.”
Rothvar laughed. “Nah. If you’re talking about those Scelties, they caused a stir, but no trouble came of it. They were just helping some of the grocer’s customers select the best fruit, is all.”
Daemon groaned. “He’ll start thinking, ‘How clever. If I had one of those dogs around all the time, customers would flock to my shop instead of the fellow on the other side of the village, because who else would have such a unique helper?’ But Scelties herd. That’s what they do with unflagging passion. First the Sceltie will help customers select fruits. Then he’ll want to know why they didn’t buy fruit one week, and the person will brush off the question as they might do with another human. And because he’s small and furry, people forget about the Jewel he’s wearing, mostly because it’s hidden in the fur, and they forget that the nose that can pick out ripe fruit also picks up all kinds of interesting things. And if he’s helping that person select fruit and he can tell she’s unhappy, he’ll want to know why. So he’ll start digging into why she’s unhappy, and if he can’t do it by himself, he’ll have some Sceltie friends help him—or some of the kindred horses that come from Scelt, or an Arcerian cat, because, despite their having distanced themselves from humans once more, the cats have maintained a bond with the Scelties. And a Sceltie will not hesitate to publicly scold a man—or woman—for indulging in sex outside of the marriage bed and will not hesitate to announce, loudly, who the person slept with, because, of course, he can smell that too if the other person gets within range. But if the unhappiness is caused by someone else hurting one of his chosen people . . . Like I said, the Scelties and Arcerians still work together, and a big cat who is hungry doesn’t see any point in wasting the meat.”
“Mother Night,” Rothvar breathed. Then he shook his head and laughed. “You’re having me on.”
Lucivar wagged a thumb at Daemon. “He co-owns a few businesses with Scelties on the Isle of Scelt here in Kaeleer and a couple of farms in Dena Nehele and Shalador Nehele in Terreille.”
“Why?” Rothvar sounded horrified—a sentiment Lucivar shared wholeheartedly.
Daemon’s smile was bittersweet. “I continue what my Queen began, and in this way I serve.”
“If you’re not here because of the Scelties, that leaves the two children,” Lucivar said.
He listened to Rothvar’s account of seeing some “buzz” around the grocer’s and gliding in to take a look. Then Jillian walked into an alleyway and disappeared for a minute before the Scelties voiced their disapproval loudly enough to bring merchants and customers running to find out what was wrong.
“Things are still new with Nurian and me,” Rothvar said. “She hasn’t allowed a man to cross the threshold that way since Falonar hurt her and Jillian, so I’m careful around the girl. Not that Jillian is any trouble, but it’s not for me to be drawing any lines, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Lucivar replied.
“Nurian said Lady Surreal had laid down some rules so that Jillian could spend time with this boy?”
Lucivar nodded.
Daemon crossed one knee over the other and steepled his fingers. “If you toss Dillon off a mountain or kick him out of Ebon Rih, he’ll be a romantic, tragic, flawless figure—the boy who would have loved her like no other boy ever will, if the grown-ups hadn’t been mean and sent him away. Right now he dazzles her and she believes she’s in love.”
“She’s not a child anymore, but she’s not grown up enough for any of that,” Rothvar said hotly.
“Physically, she’s not yet ready,” Daemon agreed. “Emotionally?” He raised an eyebrow. “Which is why Jillian is accompanied by chaperons.”
“You can’t square off with Jillian,” Lucivar told Rothvar. “That would bring up bad memories for her and for Nurian. If any rules get broken, let the girl argue with Surreal. But you should spend more time at Nurian’s eyrie, in case someone is thinking about enjoying some private time with Jillian. And if that boy shows up at the eyrie when he thinks an adult won’t be there . . .” He smiled that lazy, arrogant smile. “Nothing says you can’t draw the line with him.”
“Where is Jillian now?” Daemon asked.
“Last I saw her, they were all walking toward the library.”
“I hope she remembers she’s carting around the meat for tonight’s dinner,” Lucivar said.
“Finished my sweep around Doun, but I can do another,” Rothvar said.
He shook his head. “No need. Go home. Sharpen some knives.”
Rothvar smiled. “I’ll do that.” He nodded to Daemon. “Prince.”
Lucivar waited until he no longer felt Rothvar’s presence in the eyrie. Then he looked at his brother. “Well?”
“Who else knows about the money you put aside for Jillian?” Daemon asked softly.
“You, Marian, and your man of business, since you and he helped me set up the trusts for all the children. I should tell Nurian at some point. But Jillian can’t use any of it until she reaches her majority, and you set things up so she could take the interest but couldn’t touch the principal without your permission or mine.” Discussing money always gave him a headache, which was the reason he’d asked for Daemon’s help when he made provisions for his wife and children—including the child who had no actual connection to him except for heart. “There is no reason anyone would think Jillian had money beyond what Marian pays her for her help around the eyrie, so that can’t be a lure.”
“Young aristo males think all kinds of things. But I don’t think it’s occurred to Dillon yet that he’ll be old enough to be a grandfather, maybe even a great-grandfather, before Jillian is old enough to have her Virgin Night and take a lover afterward.” Daemon paused. “He could have genuine feelings for Jillian. Affection rather than lust.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I haven’t met him. However, based on how you found out about him, no, I don’t think so. Which makes me wonder why he’s playing this game.”
* * *
* * *
“I told you,” Terrence said. “I told you not to tangle with Prince Yaslana.”
Dillon slouched in a chair in the parlor, feeling everything sliding out of control. Again. “She’s not related to him. Why is he making such a fuss about me courting the girl? And those damn dogs!”
“Scelties.” Terrence leaned forward, looking eager. “You hear stories about them. Are they really bossy and opinionated?”
Dillon gave his cousin a sour look. “Why don’t you come with me to that part of the village and see for yourself.”<
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“All right.” Terrence hesitated. “But I thought you didn’t want company.”
He didn’t. Since he wasn’t going to have a choice, Terrence’s presence might reassure everyone that his intentions were honorable. If nothing else, it would divide the damn dogs’ attention between them.
Of course, Terrence’s presence would interfere with a business arrangement, but he’d been reluctant about that from the start and wouldn’t have agreed to it if he hadn’t needed the “commission” he received. Having his cousin with him would give him an excuse to withdraw from the arrangement.
Terrence was a young man with an unblemished reputation, and, in truth, he still had an innocence when it came to the distaff gender that Dillon felt oddly compelled to protect. “I would be glad of your company.”
TWENTY-THREE
Flustered by the past couple of days and the sharp scrutiny of everything she did and everywhere she went—an unsettling experience that made her feel tethered when she’d been free to come and go as she pleased for so many years—Jillian needed a few quiet minutes to herself before she helped Marian prepare breakfast for the children. Juggling an armload of books, she used Craft to open the glass doors that led out to the yard and was so focused on reaching the small table and two chairs that were used for “quiet play” that she didn’t notice Prince Sadi until she almost dropped her load of books on his mug of coffee.
The mug lifted and slid to one side, so smoothly the coffee didn’t slosh.
“My apologies, Prince,” Jillian stammered. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here. I just wanted to . . .”
“Look at your books without being pestered?” Daemon said with a smile. “If one child can ask a thousand questions in a day, how many can three children ask?”
“A million. When questions overlap, they spawn new questions that are usually unrelated to anything that was initially asked.”