The Warlock Page 8

  It seemed far more likely, however she appeared, that the seed had not fallen far from the tree from which she had sprung. Her façade of innocence was just that, a shell to hide the dark, treacherous thing inside. Deception, treachery, and cowardice were her birthright and he would find himself defeated as his father had been, by stealth, by trusting where he should not have.

  He had something his father had not had, however. He had his magic from his mother, honed and fine tuned by the grandmother who had snatched him from his dying mother’s womb.

  Unfortunately, he did not dare use it to probe her mind for the truth. To do so could cost her her sanity, or her life, and he was not willing to risk that so long as doubt existed in his mind.

  He was not above using it to take her will, however, and use whatever persuasions came to mind to try to coax the truth from her, for he was well aware that she was far from immune to him--and therein lay a good deal of the danger in that type of persuasion for he could as easily catch himself as her.

  Rhiannon looked at Daigon uneasily several times when he did not answer her question of what he’d come to speak to her about and she decided she disliked the look in his eyes. “It must be nigh on time to sup,” she said abruptly as she glanced out the window and saw that dusk was falling. “I should summon my ladies to dress.”

  “Not just yet.”

  Rhiannon glanced at him uneasily over her shoulder and reached for the bell pull anyway. In the next moment, she found herself plastered against the wall as she had been before, held there by invisible threads that prevented her from moving so much as an inch in any direction. The warlock now stood mere inches from her, his eyes dark, gleaming with something that was neither anger nor amusement. “You did not answer my question,” he said coolly, “but I confess I’m fond of this game myself.”

  Rhiannon licked her lips. Her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that it distorted his voice. “What game?” she asked uneasily.

  His lips curled into a smile. “What will it take to loosen your tongue?”

  His gaze skated downward, lingered for several moments on the mound of her breasts pushed up by her tight stays and then dropped lower. The girdle separated and fell to the floor at her feet. Rhiannon gasped, but the absence of the girdle made it no easier to drag air into her lungs, nor chased away the faint lightheadedness that had begun to assail her the moment she felt his nearness.

  “I told you--nothing,” she said a little desperately as he calmly proceeded to scoop her breasts from the neck of her gown.

  “Precisely. You told me nothing.”

  He’d begun tracing a pattern lightly across her breasts with one finger. His touch, light though it was, stirred heated currents that seemed to ripple outward from her breasts until they washed through her entire body. Her nipples puckered and stood painfully erect long before he neared them. Something tightened abruptly inside her when he began to trace a narrowing circle around the peaks of her breasts.

  “Because it was nothing,” Rhiannon managed to say on a breathless whisper.

  “Nothing? You were pale as ghost and shaking like a leaf.”

  Rhiannon swallowed with an effort. “You startled me.”

  He studied her a long moment. “I did,” he said finally, “but that had nothing to do with your state before I arrived.”

  Rhiannon’s breath caught in her throat as he cupped one breast and lowered his head. She stared down at him, waiting, wondering if it would feel as strange and wonderful as it had before. Her heart jerked several times, almost painfully, as his tongue glided across the sensitive nipple. She lost her breath when the heat of his mouth settled over the tip. For several moments she thought she would faint at the exquisite sensations his mouth created inside of her. Closing her eyes, she struggled to catch her breath, but that only seemed to make the sensations more intense, seemed to focus her entire being on that one point of delirious pleasure.

  A war of emotions erupted. She wanted nothing so much as to close her mind to everything except the fever of need that exploded inside her with the first touch of his mouth and built like wildfire until she was trembling with it. At the same time, she felt her vulnerability to his will and that of her own body’s craving for more. Reason was rapidly vanishing. She hardly knew where she was or what she was doing now. If he continued, she was liable to tell him anything. Summoning what little wit she still retained, she searched her mind for something to prick his hide. “You are no different from any other man save that you use your magic to take my will and give you the illusion of willingness, instead of the brutish force of a mortal man.”

  He released her abruptly--completely released her. Rhiannon was so weak from the fever in her blood that she nearly slid to the floor. Her heart was still pounding with excitement, but it almost stood still in her chest when she saw how furious he was. Before she’d completely assimilated the fact that the ‘prick’ she’d used had been more like a blade in his ribs, he slipped his arms around her, dragging her up tightly against him. Threading the fingers of one hand through her hair, he tugged, tipping her head back. His lips covered hers then and the heat of his mouth decimated what little wit remained to her. A thrill of heady excitement rushed through her. Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to steady herself against the whirlpool threatening to drag her down, clutching a fistful of his tunic. The rough caress of the fabric of his tunic against her bared breasts added another dollop of dizzying sensations as she leaned against him, mindlessly stretching upward to give him better access to plunder the amazingly sensitive inner surfaces of her mouth with his tongue.

  As wonderful as his mouth had felt on her breasts, it felt even more wondrous against her own. His scent and taste filled her with both delight and an unidentifiable hunger for more.

  Disappointment filled her when he broke the kiss, but vanished when he tilted her head further and traced a path down her throat to capture the breast he’d neglected earlier. An explosion of delight quaked through her when he suckled the tender nipple that set her to trembling.

  She’d only begun to nurture the enchanting sensations when he released her. This time, he moved away. She saw when she managed to lift her heavy eyelids that his breathing was nearly as ragged as her own. “I do not need magic,” he said harshly. “Your body sings to my touch.”

  Rhiannon blinked at him, steadying herself with an effort, curbing the urge to demand to know why he’d stopped. The realization that she hadn’t wanted him to stop coupled with his comments finally penetrated the heated fog that her brain had become, but before she could think of a suitable set down, he vanished.

  Stunned, Rhiannon looked around the room for several moments in disbelief while her throbbing body beat out want, need and finally anger at being denied. “Bastard!” she snarled at the empty room. “You delude yourself! That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever experienced in my life! You just thought I liked it because you were enjoying it so much!”

  He reappeared. “Is that a challenge?”

  Rhiannon gaped at him for a split second. Abruptly, she gathered her skirts and made a dash for the wardrobe. Slamming the door firmly behind her, she slumped to the floor and covered her face with her hands.

  Chapter Eight

  Rhiannon didn’t know whether to be more relieved or more sorry when the warlock allowed the matter to drop. She was certainly not up to challenging him, or making a liar out of him if he tried anything else.

  Embarrassed by her own lack of control, she was very tempted to remain in her room and not present herself for the evening meal. The reflection that she would only be feeding his erroneous belief that she didn’t trust herself around him forced her to straighten her spine and go anyway.

  To her relief, he behaved as if nothing had transpired between them. He was so distant, in fact, that it became obvious to her even in her disordered state that he was still furious. Briefly, she wondered if she might have wounded him and if that would explain his cold behavior toward her, but sh
e decided that was too egotistical on her part to seriously consider.

  She told herself she was glad, but she discovered she wasn’t particularly happy about being relegated to the status of distant stranger. As disconcerting as it had been for him to tease her, she hadn’t realized how much she’d actually enjoyed it until he stopped.

  Several days passed before it occurred to her that she’d succeeded far better than she’d anticipated when she’d insulted him. Not only had he forgotten to question her further, he did not bring it up again.

  Regardless, it dawned on her that his certainty that she had offered a challenge made it imperative that she seriously rethink the idea of escaping. If he caught her, and she knew he very likely would, and he decided to use his peculiar method of inquisition she had no doubt that her shaky defenses would crumple to dust. Perhaps even worse, he might get the mistaken notion that she had orchestrated the entire thing just to push him to that point.

  That thought naturally led her to question her own motives, to wonder if, deep down, she actually wanted to push him into doing something she both craved and dreaded at the same time, freeing her from responsibility of the results. She decided not to delve to deeply into the darker side of her nature, however.

  Directly after the incident, she’d been so shaken it was only fear and the realization that lack of planning would doom her attempt that kept her from lighting out immediately. After several days of more calm reflection, she began to realize that the entire plan was insane. Daigon was a scary man when he bellowed in anger, and even more scary when he spoke with soft menace, but he had done absolutely nothing to indicate that he was a monster or that she need fear him so long as she behaved within reason. He was not the sort of man one would consider betraying and she did not doubt that, given the right provocation he could be extremely dangerous, but he was not cruel. He was not without mercy and he treated everyone, from the lowliest servant to the highest in position, with respect for them as a human being.

  Two weeks into the reign of Daigon, son of King Rhainor, everyone began to feel a ray of hope that fate had smiled upon them the day that the warlock had come to their gates. As terrifying as the sacking of Castle Aradan had been, Daigon had offered quarter to everyone who’d lain down their arms and he had done nothing since to indicate he was not sincere in his determination to restore order and prosperity to Aradan. His justice was often harsh and swift, but he showed every sign of being scrupulously fair. Unlike Gerard, his predecessor, his justice did not seem to revolve around whim, or his disposition at the unfortunate moment that petitioners came before him seeking justice. He listened with attention to every detail of every case presented to him, questioned everyone involved thoroughly, and based his decisions upon the facts presented, and his punishment upon the crime. Fines were commonplace for smaller infractions, but so it had been in Gerard’s time, and Daigon rarely ordered a fine and corporal punishment and everyone was inclined to count their blessings.

  Rhiannon’s own fear and confusion abated after a while into mostly confusion. Despite the intimacy of their close proximity and the ‘games’ he’d instigated to bend her to his will when he’d questioned her, he made no further attempts to break through her resistance. He displayed no interest in taking her to his bed nor did he oust her from his room to take another woman to his bed, which shattered all of her preconceived notions about men in general and him in particular.

  At first, she was simply glad--a little disconcerted that he seemed to have no interest in her as a woman despite those moments that had so completely disrupted her senses, but on the whole, she was relieved. However tarnished her reputation might be because her presence in his room made it appear that she was his layman, she at least had the comfort of knowing it was not so. And since he was so obliging as to pretend nothing intimate had ever transpired between them, she worked hard to follow his example and made it a point to seek her pallet and pretend sleep before he retired for the evening. As the days passed into weeks and she became more accustomed to his presence and less unnerved, though, she began to become more curious than cautious and after a while it began to prey upon her nerves in an entirely different way to be so close to him.

  She’d seen him completely naked and she had liked what she had seen. She had felt wonder at his touch, and she discovered that no matter how tightly she closed her eyes, or how determinedly she tried to focus her mind elsewhere, she was acutely aware of his movements in the room with her at night and that was enough in itself to make her restless with need.

  She rather thought if the first incident had been the only time he’d touched her she might have been able to dismiss it. She might have been able to convince herself that he had used magic against her and that the feelings he’d evoked had simply been some sort of spell. He had not allowed her to comfort herself with that, though. He had removed the spell that had prevented her from actively resisting and forced her to see that the only ‘magic’ was his touch and the way he made her feel.

  She was contemplating that state of affairs one day and working half heartedly on her needlework when she heard a commotion outside that drew her attention. At first, she thought perhaps some accident had occurred. The men had been working assiduously at repairing the damage to the keep during the assault, restocking the arsenal, and training for battle. There was nothing in the shouts to indicate such a thing, however, and finally, when the noise continued instead of abating, she lay her needlework aside and moved to the door that opened out onto the balcony and peered down at the exercise field.

  The archers, she saw, were practicing. Rolling her eyes at the things men found so entertaining, she had already prepared to step away when Daigon strode into view. Her heart skipped several beats.

  He was bare to the waist and the sun glistened off of the moisture that had gathered on his body. She watched as he retrieved a handful of practice arrows and disappeared from view again. After standing at the door for several moments, debating with herself, she finally yielded to temptation and strolled as casually as she could across the balcony for a better look.

  She knew very well that she could not have possibly made enough noise to attract notice, and yet as casually as she had made her appearance, gazed into the far distance for some moments, and finally nerved herself for a better look, the warlock was staring straight at her when she glanced his way. Startled, she jumped and was thrown into such a state of disorder to have her curiosity about Daigon instantly noticed that she retreated into the apartment in complete confusion without considering that that behavior was enough in itself to give her intentions away.

  Daigon remarked upon it at dinner.

  Rhiannon reddened. “I’d only thought to get a breath of fresh air. I didn’t know it was forbidden,” she responded tartly.

  Daigon darkened at her tone, his lips tightening. “Since you can not fly, I certainly have no objection. I would imagine the view from the northern side of the balcony would be far more interesting, however, than a view of the men working in the keep.”

  Rhiannon stared at him blankly for a full minute before it dawned upon her that Daigon thought she’d gone out to watch the men and had been startled to discover that he was among them.

  It took no great leap of imagination to get from that point to one she found highly intriguing. He was jealous! Sucking her bottom lip in to hide the smile that threatened, she looked away quickly.

  “There is something in that to amuse you?”

  He didn’t miss much. “It was a grimace,” Rhiannon lied, focusing her attention on her trencher of food. “I caught my lip with my teeth.”

  To her relief, he seemed to dismiss it. After glancing at him several times, Rhiannon decided to see if she could appease some of her curiosity about him. Beyond his assertion that he was the son of King Rhainor and the fact that he was a powerful warlock, she knew almost nothing about him. He was surprisingly reticent about himself, which she found refreshing in a way, having been accustomed to men who l
iked nothing better than to talk about themselves, but it was annoying to have to try to wheedle the information out of him when she didn’t particularly want him to know of her interest. “I have wondered why it is that you only came now to reclaim the throne of Aradan?” she said on a questioning note.

  “Have you?”

  Irritating man! “It just seems curious that you would wait until you are quite--uh--young men tend to be so hotheaded. I was only curious to know why you had not tested your metal sooner.”

  She saw he was looking annoyed.

  “Old?”

  “Well, I am certain you can not be above five and thirty summers,” Rhiannon said, yielding to the impulse to be deliberately provoking.

  “It relieves me that you think so, particularly when I am not above thirty summers,” he said dryly.

  Rhiannon did not try to hide her smile that time.

  “You are a provoking creature.”

  Rhiannon saw when she glanced at him that his eyes were filled with amusement now. “And you are not?”

  His dark brows rose. After a moment, he signaled for a servant to remove his trencher and settled back in his seat, sipping at the wine in his goblet. “What would you like to know?”

  She would have liked more subtlety, Rhiannon thought with more than a touch of irritation. She had wanted to appease her curiosity without appearing to be too pointedly interested. “The sacking of Aradan?”

  He shrugged. “I grew up in a land far from here.”

  Rhiannon frowned. That told her next to nothing. “You said a witch had rescued you? She traveled so far with a newborn infant?”

  He frowned. “Zella was my grandmother--mother to my mother. As my mother lay dying, she begged Zella to take me and carry me to safety--which she did, but she considered the further the better. She was well known in Aradan and many of the surrounding kingdoms. An infant would have been noticed if she had lingered anywhere for long this side of the sea of Midea and it would not have taken a great deal of intelligence to figure out where the infant had come from. So she traveled until she came to a land where none knew her or had heard of her.