Dreams Made Flesh
Page 35
“She said she was going to tell people Lucivar tried to force himself on her so that he would have to serve her,” Marian said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He’s an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince,” Jaenelle said. “How would she control him?”
Marian licked her bloody lower lip. “With a Ring of Obedience.”
Lucivar swore quietly, viciously, the memory of the pain that a Ring of Obedience could inflict shuddering through him.
“She’s a lying bitch!” Roxie shouted.
“Is she?” Jaenelle asked, her eyes never leaving Marian’s face. “There’s a simple way to tell. Are you willing to open your mind to me, Marian? Will you let me read your thoughts, your feelings, your heart? Will you open yourself to me, knowing that if what you said here is a lie, I will take you down into the abyss so deep it will shatter you, destroy you? Are you willing?”
Jaenelle, don’t do this, Lucivar thought.
Marian sat up straight. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll open my mind to you.”
Everyone in the tavern waited, hardly daring to breathe.
“And you, Roxie?” Jaenelle asked, turning toward the other witch. “Will you open your mind to me, knowing a lie will destroy you?”
Wailing, Roxie shook her head.
Lucivar suppressed a shudder when Jaenelle’s eyes pierced him. Her rage was a living thing, and it would take so little right now to set it free—with devastating results.
*I will deal with this, Lady,* he said.
*And you will report to me after you’ve dealt with it,* Jaenelle replied. *If Roxie’s taste for manipulating and controlling males has reached this point, it’s not just your life that’s at risk, Prince Yaslana.*
*I’m aware of that, Lady. I’ll deal with it.*
Jaenelle nodded. Then her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Marian. *She has no injuries that require more healing skill than you possess, but I can do the healing if you prefer.*
*My thanks, Lady, but I’ll take care of her.* He sent a touch of arrogance through the psychic thread. *Besides, she owes me for trying to kick my balls into my throat.*
*I see. Then you must be pleased that she learned the lessons you insisted on teaching her.*
*She still punches like a girl.* He rubbed his sore jaw. *For the most part.*
He felt a hint of amusement from her, which was exactly what he’d hoped for. Her rage had turned aside, but it wouldn’t take much to bring it back with lethal results. As much as he loved her, he breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out of The Tavern and caught the Winds to go back to the Keep.
Which left him with his muddy, bruised hearth witch and the sobbing bitch.
“You two,” he said, pointing to the two Warlords who had assisted Roxie into the tavern. “Escort Lady Roxie home and inform her father that I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I want her punished!” Roxie wailed as the two men hauled her to her feet. “She attacked me! I want her punished!”
And I want you dead, Lucivar thought. But we can’t always have what we want.
He waited until Roxie was gone before turning to Marian. “As for you . . .”
She shrank back in the chair, her courage gone.
Shaking his head, he hauled her out of the chair. “Come on, witchling. Let’s get you home while you can still move. You’re not going to believe how sore you’ll be by tomorrow.”
“Don’t you worry about setting a meal on the table, Marian,” Merry called. “I’ll pack a basket and bring up a few dishes in a little while.”
“Basket,” Marian gasped. “My carry basket. All my shopping.”
Taking the easy way out of this discussion, Lucivar dumped her over his shoulder, walked out of The Tavern, and caught a Wind that would take them home.
“I’m sorry,” Marian said, trying not to wince as Lucivar ripped her clothes off. They were past repairing anyway, and since she was the reason he was limping and had a rather impressive bruise blooming on his jaw, she figured she shouldn’t argue with him about the clothes.
“You’re not half as sorry as you’re going to be,” Lucivar growled as he knelt to strip off her boots. He led her to the steps at one corner of the heated pool—steps he’d never mentioned the first time he dumped her in there—and kept one hand on her arm to steady her as she descended. Then he stripped off his own clothes and joined her.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He called in a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and washed the mud off her face.
Gentle, thorough, grim. She watched his face as he tended each bruise, saw the flash of temper in his eyes when he came to a cut. Then he growled as he carefully checked her hands.
“Didn’t remember to put a shield around your hands before you threw the first punch, did you?” He probed her knuckles and fingers. “Of course, if you’d thought to put a shield around yourself in the first place, she couldn’t have landed a blow at all.”
She raised her chin. “You didn’t shield, either, when you waded into the fight.”
His eyes met hers. “I wasn’t expecting my lover to try to kick my balls down the street.”
My lover. The words warmed her more than anything else could. He’d never said he loved her, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil the easy way they were now living together by telling him she loved him. But she thought it, felt it, more with each day—and hoped that someday he would feel the same.
Then what she’d done finally sank in. She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders.
“Marian?” Lucivar’s voice was sharp, alarmed.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I caused a public scene. I’m sorry I embarrassed you by doing that.”
His finger rapped her chin hard enough to startle her into opening her eyes. How could he look grim and amused at the same time?
“Sweetheart,” he said, “it’s going to take more than a public brawl to embarrass me. Especially since I’ve initiated my fair share of public scenes.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Why did you this time?”
Anger spurted through her as she remembered the look on Roxie’s face, the things the woman said. “She wanted to hurt you. She wanted to take away everything that matters to you. I couldn’t let her do that.”
She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Soft. Hot. Something more, but she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Do I mean that much to you?” he asked quietly.
I love you. “Yes, you mean that much to me.”
He smiled, then brushed his lips over hers. “Do I mean enough to you that you’re going to let me fuss over you without snarling at me today?”
“I—” She frowned and studied his lazy, arrogant smile. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He kissed the bruise on her cheek. “But you can snarl at me. I like the sound of it.”
His mouth drifted to her neck, and his soft snarl as his teeth scraped over her skin made her float on a wave of desire.
“Lucivar,” she whispered, wrapping arms that felt liquid and heavy around his neck. “Lucivar.” She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open anymore.
She felt him shift her, felt him sheath himself inside her. Hard. Hot. Something more.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lucivar whispered as he moved inside her. “That’s it. Take all of me. I want to give you all of me.”
I want . . . Nothing to do but ride the last crest that left her floating.
She was vaguely aware of being lifted out of the pool, of being dried off and tucked into bed, but she couldn’t rouse herself enough to shake the warm contentment that was pulling her down to a quiet, deep place.
“You put a sleep spell on me, didn’t you?” she grumbled.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” Lucivar replied, kissing her temple.
I love you.
“That’s good to hear, witchling, because I love you, too.”
She was dreaming. Of course she was dreaming. But she smiled and let the dream take her.
Lucivar made a pot of coffee, then rummaged through the cold box for something to eat. Ah. There was the rest of the country casserole Marian had made for dinner last night. After putting the dish in the oven to heat, he started to look around for something to go with it, but the garden caught his attention, drawing him to the kitchen window.
Still plenty of snow out there, but where the sun had melted the snow and warmed the earth, he could see the green shoots. She’d been so delighted when she’d seen that her spring bulbs had survived the winter.
Jaenelle had reacted the same way.
Was that why Marian pulled at him the way no other woman did? She and Jaenelle were so different in some ways and so similar in others. Hearth witch and Queen, but the same qualities that made them both exceptional women, each in her own way.
And she loved him.
Lucivar smiled.
Did Marian realize she’d said it out loud? Had she heard his reply?
He called in the jeweler’s box, opened it, and studied the two rings inside. When he’d bought Marian the amber necklace for Winsol, he’d also had Banard make these rings. Amber and jade set in a gold band for Marian. A plain gold band for him.
Marriage rings. He wanted to slide that ring on her finger, wanted to wear that gold band that was a symbol of commitment, partnership . . . and love.
“He’s an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince,” Jaenelle said. “How would she control him?”
Marian licked her bloody lower lip. “With a Ring of Obedience.”
Lucivar swore quietly, viciously, the memory of the pain that a Ring of Obedience could inflict shuddering through him.
“She’s a lying bitch!” Roxie shouted.
“Is she?” Jaenelle asked, her eyes never leaving Marian’s face. “There’s a simple way to tell. Are you willing to open your mind to me, Marian? Will you let me read your thoughts, your feelings, your heart? Will you open yourself to me, knowing that if what you said here is a lie, I will take you down into the abyss so deep it will shatter you, destroy you? Are you willing?”
Jaenelle, don’t do this, Lucivar thought.
Marian sat up straight. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll open my mind to you.”
Everyone in the tavern waited, hardly daring to breathe.
“And you, Roxie?” Jaenelle asked, turning toward the other witch. “Will you open your mind to me, knowing a lie will destroy you?”
Wailing, Roxie shook her head.
Lucivar suppressed a shudder when Jaenelle’s eyes pierced him. Her rage was a living thing, and it would take so little right now to set it free—with devastating results.
*I will deal with this, Lady,* he said.
*And you will report to me after you’ve dealt with it,* Jaenelle replied. *If Roxie’s taste for manipulating and controlling males has reached this point, it’s not just your life that’s at risk, Prince Yaslana.*
*I’m aware of that, Lady. I’ll deal with it.*
Jaenelle nodded. Then her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Marian. *She has no injuries that require more healing skill than you possess, but I can do the healing if you prefer.*
*My thanks, Lady, but I’ll take care of her.* He sent a touch of arrogance through the psychic thread. *Besides, she owes me for trying to kick my balls into my throat.*
*I see. Then you must be pleased that she learned the lessons you insisted on teaching her.*
*She still punches like a girl.* He rubbed his sore jaw. *For the most part.*
He felt a hint of amusement from her, which was exactly what he’d hoped for. Her rage had turned aside, but it wouldn’t take much to bring it back with lethal results. As much as he loved her, he breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out of The Tavern and caught the Winds to go back to the Keep.
Which left him with his muddy, bruised hearth witch and the sobbing bitch.
“You two,” he said, pointing to the two Warlords who had assisted Roxie into the tavern. “Escort Lady Roxie home and inform her father that I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I want her punished!” Roxie wailed as the two men hauled her to her feet. “She attacked me! I want her punished!”
And I want you dead, Lucivar thought. But we can’t always have what we want.
He waited until Roxie was gone before turning to Marian. “As for you . . .”
She shrank back in the chair, her courage gone.
Shaking his head, he hauled her out of the chair. “Come on, witchling. Let’s get you home while you can still move. You’re not going to believe how sore you’ll be by tomorrow.”
“Don’t you worry about setting a meal on the table, Marian,” Merry called. “I’ll pack a basket and bring up a few dishes in a little while.”
“Basket,” Marian gasped. “My carry basket. All my shopping.”
Taking the easy way out of this discussion, Lucivar dumped her over his shoulder, walked out of The Tavern, and caught a Wind that would take them home.
“I’m sorry,” Marian said, trying not to wince as Lucivar ripped her clothes off. They were past repairing anyway, and since she was the reason he was limping and had a rather impressive bruise blooming on his jaw, she figured she shouldn’t argue with him about the clothes.
“You’re not half as sorry as you’re going to be,” Lucivar growled as he knelt to strip off her boots. He led her to the steps at one corner of the heated pool—steps he’d never mentioned the first time he dumped her in there—and kept one hand on her arm to steady her as she descended. Then he stripped off his own clothes and joined her.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He called in a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and washed the mud off her face.
Gentle, thorough, grim. She watched his face as he tended each bruise, saw the flash of temper in his eyes when he came to a cut. Then he growled as he carefully checked her hands.
“Didn’t remember to put a shield around your hands before you threw the first punch, did you?” He probed her knuckles and fingers. “Of course, if you’d thought to put a shield around yourself in the first place, she couldn’t have landed a blow at all.”
She raised her chin. “You didn’t shield, either, when you waded into the fight.”
His eyes met hers. “I wasn’t expecting my lover to try to kick my balls down the street.”
My lover. The words warmed her more than anything else could. He’d never said he loved her, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil the easy way they were now living together by telling him she loved him. But she thought it, felt it, more with each day—and hoped that someday he would feel the same.
Then what she’d done finally sank in. She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders.
“Marian?” Lucivar’s voice was sharp, alarmed.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I caused a public scene. I’m sorry I embarrassed you by doing that.”
His finger rapped her chin hard enough to startle her into opening her eyes. How could he look grim and amused at the same time?
“Sweetheart,” he said, “it’s going to take more than a public brawl to embarrass me. Especially since I’ve initiated my fair share of public scenes.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Why did you this time?”
Anger spurted through her as she remembered the look on Roxie’s face, the things the woman said. “She wanted to hurt you. She wanted to take away everything that matters to you. I couldn’t let her do that.”
She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Soft. Hot. Something more, but she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Do I mean that much to you?” he asked quietly.
I love you. “Yes, you mean that much to me.”
He smiled, then brushed his lips over hers. “Do I mean enough to you that you’re going to let me fuss over you without snarling at me today?”
“I—” She frowned and studied his lazy, arrogant smile. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He kissed the bruise on her cheek. “But you can snarl at me. I like the sound of it.”
His mouth drifted to her neck, and his soft snarl as his teeth scraped over her skin made her float on a wave of desire.
“Lucivar,” she whispered, wrapping arms that felt liquid and heavy around his neck. “Lucivar.” She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open anymore.
She felt him shift her, felt him sheath himself inside her. Hard. Hot. Something more.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lucivar whispered as he moved inside her. “That’s it. Take all of me. I want to give you all of me.”
I want . . . Nothing to do but ride the last crest that left her floating.
She was vaguely aware of being lifted out of the pool, of being dried off and tucked into bed, but she couldn’t rouse herself enough to shake the warm contentment that was pulling her down to a quiet, deep place.
“You put a sleep spell on me, didn’t you?” she grumbled.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” Lucivar replied, kissing her temple.
I love you.
“That’s good to hear, witchling, because I love you, too.”
She was dreaming. Of course she was dreaming. But she smiled and let the dream take her.
Lucivar made a pot of coffee, then rummaged through the cold box for something to eat. Ah. There was the rest of the country casserole Marian had made for dinner last night. After putting the dish in the oven to heat, he started to look around for something to go with it, but the garden caught his attention, drawing him to the kitchen window.
Still plenty of snow out there, but where the sun had melted the snow and warmed the earth, he could see the green shoots. She’d been so delighted when she’d seen that her spring bulbs had survived the winter.
Jaenelle had reacted the same way.
Was that why Marian pulled at him the way no other woman did? She and Jaenelle were so different in some ways and so similar in others. Hearth witch and Queen, but the same qualities that made them both exceptional women, each in her own way.
And she loved him.
Lucivar smiled.
Did Marian realize she’d said it out loud? Had she heard his reply?
He called in the jeweler’s box, opened it, and studied the two rings inside. When he’d bought Marian the amber necklace for Winsol, he’d also had Banard make these rings. Amber and jade set in a gold band for Marian. A plain gold band for him.
Marriage rings. He wanted to slide that ring on her finger, wanted to wear that gold band that was a symbol of commitment, partnership . . . and love.
