The Warlock Read online

  Rhiannon uttered a squeak of fright, jumping almost a half a foot off the floor and whirling.

  The warlock stood at the foot of the massive bed. She’d been staring at him for nigh a full minute with her mouth agape and her eyes as wide as saucers, wondering if he had simply appeared there in a puff of smoke, before his comment finally made it’s way through her shock to her brain. Color started at her breasts and climbed upwards toward her hairline. She closed her mouth abruptly, studying him suspiciously for any sign that the comment had carried a double entendre.

  The gleam of amusement in his eyes assured her it had and wasn’t merely the product of an over fertile imagination and her fears. Embarrassment spawned irritation and fear fanned it rapidly to anger. “I had no intention of … of doing anything with your staff! I was merely curious … That is, I merely wanted to examine … uh …”

  His dark brows rose almost to his hair line, but the amusement in his eyes deepened. “You are certainly welcome to examine my staff, but you may only look. Touching it, as I said, could have consequences you are not prepared for.”

  Rhiannon’s lips tightened. “I can see this sort of sword play amuses you!”

  His lips curled upward at one corner. “I readily admit I find sword play very much to my liking.”

  “I meant verbal!” Rhiannon snapped testily.

  “That, too.”

  Realizing that she was no match for him, at the moment and under current conditions, Rhiannon changed the subject abruptly, stalking away from the bed. “Why are you keeping me here?”

  The amusement vanished. He studied her thoughtfully for several moments and finally settled on the foot of the bed. “You seem intelligent enough. I would’ve thought that much was clear.”

  Rhiannon blinked several times rapidly as the realization sank in that he’d misunderstood her. She did not want to get into any discussion regarding his purposes for coming to Aradan or her role in his quest for revenge. It was a cowardly attitude, she knew, and yet she didn’t think she was prepared at the moment to know what his long range intentions were. She had merely intended to challenge his careless regard for her reputation.

  “You are hostage for your uncle’s behavior,” he continued after several moments.

  Nausea washed over Rhiannon. If he thought for one moment that Gerard would be the least concerned for her treatment and safety he was very much mistaken. Torture and slow, agonizing death blossomed like a dark cloud in her mind as she imagined the two men taunting each other over her corpse. “I meant here--in your apartments,” she said a little weakly.

  The amusement returned. He leaned back on the bed, smiling faintly. “Why? Did you have something particular in mind?”

  Rhiannon stared at him, trying to command her mind to rational thought. Was he merely toying with her? Or did he actually have some interest in her body? And if he did, could she bring herself to use the only weapon she had to protect herself?

  Should she offer?

  Or would he spurn the offer, having merely been trying to goad her into making it?

  She didn’t know whether to be more disturbed by the realization that she was not entirely repelled by the thought of lying with him, or that the thought of rejection bothered her more than actually yielding up the use of her body to put herself in his good graces.

  She reddened. “I can not stay in your apartments without my reputation being shredded by the gossips,” she said finally.

  He frowned. “I could remove a tongue or two. That should quiet the rest.”

  Rhiannon stared at him in horror, wondering how she could have so completely misjudged the man. “That would make you no better than my unc….”

  His brows rose, but his expression was thoughtful. “Would it appease your sense of propriety to be housed in the dungeon then?”

  Rhiannon stared at him in dismay, realizing martyrdom didn’t seem nearly as appealing as she’d thought it might, not when faced with the possibility of becoming a permanent resident of the underworld of the castle. “Could I not be imprisoned in my own apartments?” she asked a little weakly.

  His lips tightened. “Either you have a much higher opinion of your charms than I do, or you think I am a fool to be so easily charmed by a pretty face and a pretense of innocence.”

  Rhiannon gaped at him. “I only thought….”

  “That I, ruler of a conquered people, would be so arrogant as to think none would defy me by helping you to escape?”

  Rhiannon was embarrassed, not the least because she realized that his keeping her in his apartments had nothing at all to do with an interest in her personally, but also because she’d been so focused upon her fears that she’d not considered there might be another, perfectly reasonable motivation, for his behavior.

  She decided, after several unnerving moments, that she was going to dig her grave with her tongue if she didn’t gather her wits about her. “I beg your pardon, Sire. I did not think that at all. It is only--I am naturally fearful of what you intend….”

  His irritation vanished. “Have I offered you any harm?”

  It was early days yet, but she decided not to point that out. “No, sire.”

  “Then you have no reason to fear.”

  “And none to trust that there is no reason for fear!” Rhiannon snapped before she thought better of it.

  To her surprise and relief, although anger sparkled briefly in his eyes, he seemed to have it well under control. “And I have none to trust you either.”

  It was a very good point, but she refrained from expressing her feelings on that matter. The truth was, she didn’t trust him and she was fearful, but neither emotion had so completely obliterated good sense as to encourage her to think she had any chance at all of slaying him in his sleep--or getting away with it if she managed the deed. Instead, she merely nodded and looked around the room. “Where shall I sleep then?”

  Amusement instantly gleamed in his eyes again. He patted the bed beside him. Rhiannon gave him a look. “I would rather not, Sire,” she said stiffly.

  “Daigon.”

  She blushed, but using the title ‘sire’ kept her a comfortable distance from him. Using his given name seemed too intimate by far. “I would prefer the floor,” she said stiffly, although she didn’t prefer the floor at all. Not that she expected him to give up the bed for her, but she rather thought he might at least make some arrangements for her comfort if he meant to keep her in his apartments.

  “I thought we’d established that you need have no fears of ravishment,” he said thoughtfully. “But I see your mind is still fixated upon it.”

  “It is not!” she disclaimed. “But I see no reason to test your … uh … restraint!”

  He chuckled out loud at that. “You have no confidence that I can control my lust for you? You are fully clothed. Surely that is armor enough?”

  Her lips tightened, but she refrained from pointing out that a gown was hardly ‘armor’ when all he would have to do was to toss her skirts over her head. She might be a maiden still, but she was hardly ignorant. Gerard had been a lecherous rogue and his court had followed his example. It would have been easier to count the number of times his feasts had not degenerated into orgies of the flesh than the times it had.

  “I’ve no reason to believe any man can control his lust and every reason to believe that convenience can be, and often is, taken as an invitation!”

  Chapter Six

  Daigon sat up abruptly, and this time there was absolutely no doubt in Rhiannon’s mind that he was angry, very angry.

  “And why is this?” he asked, his voice a soft, menacing purr that sent prickles of uneasiness chasing each other along Rhiannon’s spine.

  “What?” Rhiannon asked blankly, her mind scurrying around in circles while she struggled to figure out exactly what she’d said that had set him off this time.

  “You have experience of this?”

  Visions of having her chastity thoroughly inspected instantly swamped Rhiannon
in a rush of horror. “Not … not personally,” she said faintly, feeling her color fluctuate madly. “But you could not have failed to have heard that Gerard took much pleasure in matters of the … uh … flesh and his court was no different.”

  Daigon did not look particularly pleased by the information, but after studying her for several moments, he seemed to dismiss it. Rolling from the bed, he stalked toward the wardrobe in one corner and examined the contents. Apparently he did not find what he sought, for he closed it again and moved to the chest that stood at the foot of the bed. Dragging a heavy blanket from the deep chest, he tossed it to her. Rhiannon was too surprised to catch it and the blanket merely hit her squarely on the chest and fell to the floor. The pillow he dragged from the bed and tossed at her went the way of the blanket.

  Without a word, he began to disrobe while Rhiannon merely continued to gape at him in stunned dismay. When he was completely naked, he climbed onto the mattress and composed himself for sleep.

  The veiling of his stunning body by the coverlet he dragged across his waist broke the spell of stupefaction at last and Rhiannon dropped her gaze to the bedding on the floor at her feet as the candles in the room were abruptly extinguished as if by a gust of wind.

  Feeling entirely disconcerted by the turn of events, Rhiannon finally knelt to make a thin pallet and settled on it.

  Despite the fact that the results were less than wonderful, Rhiannon slept like a rock when she’d finally managed to find a reasonably comfortable position. Her ladies woke her the following morning when they came in bearing her personal belongings. Disoriented, Rhiannon merely watched them sleepily for some time, wondering why they were moving her things around. Their curious glances finally penetrated the remnants of sleep, however, and a thought occurred to Rhiannon that had not the night before--the pallet on the floor would not help her reputation if she was to sleep in the same room with the warlock. Almost as bad, maybe worse, the fact that she was on the floor, and not ensconced in his bed, made it look as if he had no interest in her.

  He’d said he didn’t, and she was actually quite glad that he wasn’t interested, but in retrospect she didn’t particularly care for the idea of everyone snickering behind her back because he’d relegated her to the floor.

  The manacles, she discovered with almost a sense of dismay, had vanished as before and she did not even have the comfort of that evidence to show that she was being held against her will, or to help her to win her lady’s sympathy.

  The wily bastard!

  With that thought, she rose stiffly to her feet, brushed as many wrinkles from her gown as she could with her hands and headed for the guardrobe. She was escorted by the guards stationed outside the door, which put her in a foul mood--or, more accurately, a worse mood.

  She was halfway through her toilet and still wearing nothing more than her under-shift when the warlock, Daigon appeared in the room. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably when she looked up to see his reflection. The maids gasped and twittered nervously at his sudden, silent appearance, like a flock of startled birds, but Rhiannon found she couldn’t comfort herself with the thought that her own reaction was entirely from surprise--some of it, yes. Part of it, though, was because it was the first time she’d looked at him without fear, distress, and anger clouding her vision and she saw that the impression he had made upon her was not false. He was an extraordinarily attractive man. No doubt his parents had been quite nauseatingly well favored to have produced such a splendid specimen.

  She wasn’t particularly happy that she’d noticed.

  “As you see, I am still here,” she said sweetly.

  His dark brows rose. “I hadn’t expected otherwise. It is my men who guard the door.”

  Her lips tightened, but he turned away and moved to examine the items the maids had brought in. “You might as easily have them guard the doors to my own apartments,” she pointed out.

  “I might--if I wished it.”

  Rhiannon swiveled around on the bench to stare at him, struggling with the impulse to demand why he’d kept her in his apartments when his primary argument had been to make certain the castle folk didn’t help her to escape. She’d been tired indeed the night before not to have considered it. She finally decided, though, that arguing with him in front of the maids probably wasn’t wise. He had been amazingly patient with her temper. He might not feel nearly as inclined to be patient if she challenged him in front of others.

  Instead, she summoned the maids to help her into the over gown she’d chosen, examining her reflection in the looking glass critically while they tightened the ribbons.

  She’d never actually studied herself with any curiosity about how others perceived her, particularly not men. It had not mattered. She was Princess Rhiannon. That was enough in itself to make her extremely desirable if she’d had a squint, a pitted complexion and a gimp leg. Very few of the men who’d petitioned for her hand had ever set eyes on her before hand. They had always seemed pleasantly surprised at her appearance, though--as if they’d expected her to be an eyesore. But did that mean they had actually thought her pretty? Or just that she didn’t look as bad as they’d expected?

  Daigon had said she had a pretty face--not in those precise words, of course. At best, it had been a backhanded compliment, but nevertheless he had seemed sincere.

  He had also said she was not to his taste, though, so perhaps he didn’t think she was pretty after all?

  Whatever he thought, she considered her figure good. Perhaps she wasn’t as voluptuous as he liked, but she was nicely rounded in all the right places and hardly a stick.

  “If you’ve finished admiring yourself, perhaps you would join me?”

  Rhiannon reddened. “I was checking the fit of the gown,” she said stonily.

  “It has shrunk since last you wore it?” he asked politely.

  She didn’t know who she wanted to slap more, him or the maids, who were trying not to look amused. Shooing the maids away, she decided to ignore the provoking remark. “I am ready. Where are we going?”

  He offered his arm and when she’d placed her fingers upon it, escorted her from the room. “The men have returned with the treasure. I would like you to check to see if they have recovered it in its entirety.”

  “Oh,” Rhainnon responded, feeling curiously deflated. “I have not broken my fast.”

  “Then I suggest you rise earlier tomorrow. It is nigh noon.”

  Startled, Rhainnon glanced up at him. “So late?”

  “Yes.”

  “I--didn’t sleep well.”

  “No doubt the bed would have been more comfortable.”

  Rhainnon glanced around self consciously but saw that they had left the guards behind when they had left Daigon’s apartments. “My bed would be more comfortable.”

  “Would you prefer that we remove to your apartments then? I’d thought Gerard had appropriated the best for himself.”

  “You know that is not what I meant,” Rhiannon said somewhat sulkily, realizing that it was no wonder the man found her so unappealing. To his mind she was stupid, self indulgent and lazy to boot to sleep till nearly noon.

  “I do, but I intend to keep you close so you waste your breath arguing the point.”

  Uneasiness lodged in Rhiannon’s chest. She couldn’t help it. The suspense of not knowing was beginning to weigh upon her. “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Truthfully? I haven’t decided.”

  That wasn’t very comforting, particularly when she couldn’t imagine any use he might have for her. He might not know she was useless as a pawn, but she certainly did--unless her uncle found it useful to bargain with some wealthy powerful lord to have her in exchange for help in recovering his kingdom and she somehow doubted she would be extraordinarily valuable in that sense. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she was such a prize that there would be many willing to expend so much only to have her, particularly when she would be the only prize, not her and the kingdom.


  The warlock did not seem to have any interest in her on a personal level, even for his comfort. And she could not think he would be terribly pleased to have her uncle laugh in his face when and if he tried to use her to control Gerard.

  That thought made her feel a little ill and she wondered if she should give some consideration to trying to escape after all. It would be dangerous, all the way around, but would it be more dangerous to stay? Or more dangerous to risk the hazards inherent in an escape attempt?

  “I’m not--I’m not at all certain that I can tell just from looking if anything is missing. I’ve only ever been in the vault once and if I had not seen my uncle and his men loading the bags I would not have known anything at all,” she confessed in a rush. “I feel sure there are records somewhere. Uncle Gerard was not terribly meticulous about most records, but he did have someone who kept accounts of taxes and so forth.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  She tried not to look as dismayed as she felt. She sensed a test was in the offing and she was bound to fail it simply because she truly did not know what her uncle had had before. If she said it was all there and it transpired that it wasn’t and her uncle had managed to keep enough to hire an army, it was bound to enrage the warlock that she had ‘lied’ to him. If she said it was not all there, he would send more men out and, once they’d tracked her uncle down, he might discover that she was wrong and decide she’d lied then for some nefarious purpose.

  She didn’t think he would readily accept ‘I don’t know’ since he was determined for her to look when she’d already told him she didn’t.

  She was cold with nerves by the time they reached the vault. When the guards had stepped aside and Daigon had unlocked it, he grabbed a torch from the wall nearby, pushed the heavy door open and ushered her inside. The gleam of precious metal and jewels nearly blinded her. Dazzled, she stood rooted to one spot as Daigon settled the torch in a wall sconce. Realizing finally that he was waiting, she shook off her stupor and looked around. The room seemed full almost to overflowing. It hadn’t looked this way by the time she’d arrived. Her uncle and his men had already stuffed much of it into bags.