Dreams Made Flesh
Page 18
Jaenelle nodded, a mix of sadness and anger in her eyes. “I asked Luthvian to take you to the shops so that you could buy new clothes, and since I know her well enough to know she’d complain about spending any of her income on anyone but herself, I gave her enough gold marks to purchase those clothes. The fact that she chose to do otherwise . . .” She sighed. “Everything has a price. She made her choice, and the rest of the family will make theirs.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“You didn’t.” Jaenelle gave Marian’s arm a sisterly pat. “Get some rest. We’ll have a lovely dinner tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go to Dharo.”
Jaenelle was at the door before Marian managed to prop herself up on her elbows. “Dharo?”
Jaenelle grinned. “We still have to buy carpets, and there’s no one in Kaeleer who makes finer carpets than the weavers of Dharo.”
Marian stared at the door long after Jaenelle was gone. Dharo. Carpets. Another day of shopping.
She pressed her face into her pillow . . . and whimpered.
ELEVEN
Snarling softly, Lucivar paced the flagstone courtyard in front of his eyrie.
Where in the name of Hell was she? He’d told Jaenelle he needed two days. Two days. All right, fine. He understood—eventually—why Marian hadn’t come back last night. Maybe they’d finished their . . . whatever—he couldn’t remember what he’d suggested Jaenelle do as a way to keep Marian out of Ebon Rih—too late to come back last night. And he wouldn’t expect them at sunrise, since Jaenelle wasn’t someone you dared talk to until she’d had her first cup of coffee. But it was almost midday now, and his sister still hadn’t returned his hearth witch.
He missed her. He hadn’t noticed her absence too much while the men were working all around him, but at the end of the day, when he went into the eyrie alone . . .
She warmed the place, just by being there. When he stepped inside, he could feel the comfort of her presence. There were days when he thought she was really getting used to him, and they were two people who were interested in each other and moving toward living together instead of living in the same place. And there were other days when she withdrew from him for no reason, when the way she held herself made it clear that he was the Prince and she was the housekeeper.
He’d been careful. He kept a choke hold on his body’s response to her so that he wouldn’t touch her in a way that made her think he required sex from her. But he wanted an invitation to her bed, wanted to take her into his bed, just . . . wanted. Not knowing what he did that made her turn away from him put a dangerous edge of frustration on an already well-honed temper.
She needed time. He would give her time. She would be skittish until she really trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her. So he would be patient.
He. Would. Be. Patient.
He glanced at the empty stairs leading down to the landing place and snarled.
Where was she?
A few moments later, he felt her presence at the landing place, along with Jaenelle and . . .
He glanced up at the sky. What was Saetan doing here at this time of day?
His anticipation of having her home again suddenly tangled with an attack of nerves. What if she hated what he’d done here in the past two days? What if she was disappointed?
Then he saw her coming up the last few steps. She looked tired. She looked wonderful. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and hold on, just to be close to her. Because he couldn’t do that, he stood waiting, motionless.
Marian smiled at him when she reached the flagstones, with Jaenelle right behind her. Since his nerves were fraying, he directed a searing look—and his temper—at his sister. “You’re late.”
“Marian and I had been talking about books, and since we stopped at the town house in Amdarh overnight, we waited until the book shops opened this morning,” Jaenelle replied coolly.
Marian hurried toward him, stopping just out of reach. “It’s my fault. There were so many books to choose from, and I hadn’t realized you’d expected me back at a . . . particular . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the new stone wall and the wooden gate that opened off the courtyard. Silent, she went over to the gate, opened it, and followed the flagstone path Tarl had laid out around the beds that were bordered by stone or wood. She looked around, saying nothing.
“I don’t know what’s got you in such a snit this morning,” Jaenelle said as she came up beside him, “but whatever it is—” She stopped. Looked. “Oh. Oh, Lucivar.”
He watched her follow the same path, watched her touch Marian’s shoulder. And he felt a sharp stab in the gut when Marian turned and he saw tears in her eyes.
“You did well, Prince,” Saetan said quietly.
Lucivar turned his back on the two women now holding each other. “Yeah. I did so well, I made her cry.”
“Underneath her quiet nature, she is a woman of strong emotions. You gave her a gift that means something. Did you expect her to respond with a polite ‘thank you’?”
“I didn’t expect her to cry,” Lucivar muttered. Since he didn’t want to deal with weepy females, he studied the man. The pride, and approval, in Saetan’s eyes went a long way toward easing his nerves.
As Saetan walked to the other side of the courtyard to look at the walled yard and borders Tarl and the other men had planted, Lucivar noticed the slight limp that marred his father’s normally smooth stride. Which meant Saetan’s bad leg was bothering him—something it only did when he worked it too hard.
“Why are you here?” Lucivar asked.
“To complete my escort duties,” Saetan replied.
Lucivar frowned. “Why were you doing escort duties?”
Turning back to look at him, Saetan said dryly, “Because I’m your father.” He gestured toward the eyrie’s open front door. “Why don’t we give the ladies a few more minutes while we take care of the rest?”
The rest? Lucivar wondered as he followed his father into the eyrie. “The rest of what?”
“The furniture.”
“What furniture?”
Saetan just looked at him, his expression equal parts pity and amused irritation. “What, exactly, did you ask your sister to do?”
Lucivar resisted the urge to squirm. “Get Marian out of Ebon Rih for two days.”
“And Jaenelle was to accomplish this by . . . ?”
He didn’t know where this was leading, but he was certain he wasn’t going to like it. He shrugged, trying to find the arrogance that came naturally to an Eyrien male. That he couldn’t quite find it while his father stared at him worried him. A lot. But he finally remembered what he’d told Jaenelle when she’d asked him what excuse she should use for commanding Marian’s time for two days. “I told her to buy a carpet or a piece of furniture, something that would interest a hearth witch.”
“A carpet,” Saetan said slowly. “A piece of furniture. I see.” He sighed and raised his hand.
The room was suddenly filled with furniture, with barely enough room between the pieces for someone to squeeze by.
Lucivar stared. “What is this?”
“The furniture your sister purchased on your behalf. At your request.”
“But—”
“I’ll put the dining table and chairs in the dining room,” Saetan said, walking down the narrow corridor he’d left open.
“Table? Chairs?” Lucivar hurried after his father. By the time he reached the room, a table and eight chairs were tucked against one wall.
Saetan frowned. “Probably best to leave the carpets in here, too.”
“Carpets?”
A stack of rolled carpets appeared, filling half the room.
The prick of disappointment surprised him. While he’d had no real desire to endure the miserable task of looking at furniture, he’d wanted to buy his own so that the eyrie would feel like a home that reflected who he was instead of living in a place someone else had created. Not that he actually knew how to achieve that, but still . . .
“You did want to choose for yourself, didn’t you?” Saetan asked with too much understanding.
Lucivar shrugged. Jaenelle had spent the past two days doing this for him—and had dragged Saetan into it as well—so he would never say anything that would dim her pleasure.
“If it helps at all,” Saetan said, “Marian selected most of it, and what she didn’t select herself wasn’t purchased without her approval. With one exception.”
The prick of disappointment changed into a hum of interest as Lucivar returned to the front room and studied the furniture more carefully.
Marian had chosen these things. Which meant she’d be comfortable living with them. If she was pleased, that was enough to satisfy him.
Then he remembered the last thing Saetan had said. “What’s the exception?”
“Ah,” Saetan said. “You’re going to have to dig in your heels about this one.”
They retreated to an empty room. When Saetan called in the last piece of furniture, Lucivar just studied it, trying to figure out why this was different from the rest.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
Saetan lifted a finger. Doors and drawers opened. “It’s a sewing cabinet. To store supplies. Marian enjoys weaving in her free time, and she’s used to sewing most of her own clothes. She wanted this but couldn’t afford it—”
“She can buy anything she damn well wants to,” Lucivar growled.
Saetan nodded. “You know that, I know that, and Jaenelle knows that. Marian hasn’t figured it out yet, and I think her status as a lowly housekeeper is being reinforced on a regular basis.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“You didn’t.” Jaenelle gave Marian’s arm a sisterly pat. “Get some rest. We’ll have a lovely dinner tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go to Dharo.”
Jaenelle was at the door before Marian managed to prop herself up on her elbows. “Dharo?”
Jaenelle grinned. “We still have to buy carpets, and there’s no one in Kaeleer who makes finer carpets than the weavers of Dharo.”
Marian stared at the door long after Jaenelle was gone. Dharo. Carpets. Another day of shopping.
She pressed her face into her pillow . . . and whimpered.
ELEVEN
Snarling softly, Lucivar paced the flagstone courtyard in front of his eyrie.
Where in the name of Hell was she? He’d told Jaenelle he needed two days. Two days. All right, fine. He understood—eventually—why Marian hadn’t come back last night. Maybe they’d finished their . . . whatever—he couldn’t remember what he’d suggested Jaenelle do as a way to keep Marian out of Ebon Rih—too late to come back last night. And he wouldn’t expect them at sunrise, since Jaenelle wasn’t someone you dared talk to until she’d had her first cup of coffee. But it was almost midday now, and his sister still hadn’t returned his hearth witch.
He missed her. He hadn’t noticed her absence too much while the men were working all around him, but at the end of the day, when he went into the eyrie alone . . .
She warmed the place, just by being there. When he stepped inside, he could feel the comfort of her presence. There were days when he thought she was really getting used to him, and they were two people who were interested in each other and moving toward living together instead of living in the same place. And there were other days when she withdrew from him for no reason, when the way she held herself made it clear that he was the Prince and she was the housekeeper.
He’d been careful. He kept a choke hold on his body’s response to her so that he wouldn’t touch her in a way that made her think he required sex from her. But he wanted an invitation to her bed, wanted to take her into his bed, just . . . wanted. Not knowing what he did that made her turn away from him put a dangerous edge of frustration on an already well-honed temper.
She needed time. He would give her time. She would be skittish until she really trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her. So he would be patient.
He. Would. Be. Patient.
He glanced at the empty stairs leading down to the landing place and snarled.
Where was she?
A few moments later, he felt her presence at the landing place, along with Jaenelle and . . .
He glanced up at the sky. What was Saetan doing here at this time of day?
His anticipation of having her home again suddenly tangled with an attack of nerves. What if she hated what he’d done here in the past two days? What if she was disappointed?
Then he saw her coming up the last few steps. She looked tired. She looked wonderful. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and hold on, just to be close to her. Because he couldn’t do that, he stood waiting, motionless.
Marian smiled at him when she reached the flagstones, with Jaenelle right behind her. Since his nerves were fraying, he directed a searing look—and his temper—at his sister. “You’re late.”
“Marian and I had been talking about books, and since we stopped at the town house in Amdarh overnight, we waited until the book shops opened this morning,” Jaenelle replied coolly.
Marian hurried toward him, stopping just out of reach. “It’s my fault. There were so many books to choose from, and I hadn’t realized you’d expected me back at a . . . particular . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the new stone wall and the wooden gate that opened off the courtyard. Silent, she went over to the gate, opened it, and followed the flagstone path Tarl had laid out around the beds that were bordered by stone or wood. She looked around, saying nothing.
“I don’t know what’s got you in such a snit this morning,” Jaenelle said as she came up beside him, “but whatever it is—” She stopped. Looked. “Oh. Oh, Lucivar.”
He watched her follow the same path, watched her touch Marian’s shoulder. And he felt a sharp stab in the gut when Marian turned and he saw tears in her eyes.
“You did well, Prince,” Saetan said quietly.
Lucivar turned his back on the two women now holding each other. “Yeah. I did so well, I made her cry.”
“Underneath her quiet nature, she is a woman of strong emotions. You gave her a gift that means something. Did you expect her to respond with a polite ‘thank you’?”
“I didn’t expect her to cry,” Lucivar muttered. Since he didn’t want to deal with weepy females, he studied the man. The pride, and approval, in Saetan’s eyes went a long way toward easing his nerves.
As Saetan walked to the other side of the courtyard to look at the walled yard and borders Tarl and the other men had planted, Lucivar noticed the slight limp that marred his father’s normally smooth stride. Which meant Saetan’s bad leg was bothering him—something it only did when he worked it too hard.
“Why are you here?” Lucivar asked.
“To complete my escort duties,” Saetan replied.
Lucivar frowned. “Why were you doing escort duties?”
Turning back to look at him, Saetan said dryly, “Because I’m your father.” He gestured toward the eyrie’s open front door. “Why don’t we give the ladies a few more minutes while we take care of the rest?”
The rest? Lucivar wondered as he followed his father into the eyrie. “The rest of what?”
“The furniture.”
“What furniture?”
Saetan just looked at him, his expression equal parts pity and amused irritation. “What, exactly, did you ask your sister to do?”
Lucivar resisted the urge to squirm. “Get Marian out of Ebon Rih for two days.”
“And Jaenelle was to accomplish this by . . . ?”
He didn’t know where this was leading, but he was certain he wasn’t going to like it. He shrugged, trying to find the arrogance that came naturally to an Eyrien male. That he couldn’t quite find it while his father stared at him worried him. A lot. But he finally remembered what he’d told Jaenelle when she’d asked him what excuse she should use for commanding Marian’s time for two days. “I told her to buy a carpet or a piece of furniture, something that would interest a hearth witch.”
“A carpet,” Saetan said slowly. “A piece of furniture. I see.” He sighed and raised his hand.
The room was suddenly filled with furniture, with barely enough room between the pieces for someone to squeeze by.
Lucivar stared. “What is this?”
“The furniture your sister purchased on your behalf. At your request.”
“But—”
“I’ll put the dining table and chairs in the dining room,” Saetan said, walking down the narrow corridor he’d left open.
“Table? Chairs?” Lucivar hurried after his father. By the time he reached the room, a table and eight chairs were tucked against one wall.
Saetan frowned. “Probably best to leave the carpets in here, too.”
“Carpets?”
A stack of rolled carpets appeared, filling half the room.
The prick of disappointment surprised him. While he’d had no real desire to endure the miserable task of looking at furniture, he’d wanted to buy his own so that the eyrie would feel like a home that reflected who he was instead of living in a place someone else had created. Not that he actually knew how to achieve that, but still . . .
“You did want to choose for yourself, didn’t you?” Saetan asked with too much understanding.
Lucivar shrugged. Jaenelle had spent the past two days doing this for him—and had dragged Saetan into it as well—so he would never say anything that would dim her pleasure.
“If it helps at all,” Saetan said, “Marian selected most of it, and what she didn’t select herself wasn’t purchased without her approval. With one exception.”
The prick of disappointment changed into a hum of interest as Lucivar returned to the front room and studied the furniture more carefully.
Marian had chosen these things. Which meant she’d be comfortable living with them. If she was pleased, that was enough to satisfy him.
Then he remembered the last thing Saetan had said. “What’s the exception?”
“Ah,” Saetan said. “You’re going to have to dig in your heels about this one.”
They retreated to an empty room. When Saetan called in the last piece of furniture, Lucivar just studied it, trying to figure out why this was different from the rest.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
Saetan lifted a finger. Doors and drawers opened. “It’s a sewing cabinet. To store supplies. Marian enjoys weaving in her free time, and she’s used to sewing most of her own clothes. She wanted this but couldn’t afford it—”
“She can buy anything she damn well wants to,” Lucivar growled.
Saetan nodded. “You know that, I know that, and Jaenelle knows that. Marian hasn’t figured it out yet, and I think her status as a lowly housekeeper is being reinforced on a regular basis.”
