The Lord of the Clans

  “It will be as you say, my dear.”

  The cold air outside made her shiver as she followed Alban back to the house he’d provided for them. True to his promise, he repeated his wife’s praise to the Lord of the Clans who looked unusually tired. She put the pot in the middle of the table, swept a chunk of wood aside, and moved her saddlebags out of the way. As soon as Alban left them alone, she observed his drawn features.

  “Are you all right?”

  Instead of delivering one of his witty remarks, he slumped onto the pallet. She saw the tension outlining his muscles when he removed his shirt and stretched his neck with cautious motions.

  “Yes. It’s just that I hacked trees and vines all afternoon to reach that damn temple. My arms are killing me.”

  “Let me take care of you.”

  “No. From what Alban says, you’ve done more than enough tonight. Better keep your strength for real injuries.”

  Seeing him a little less strong than usual warmed her heart. He needed her, although his pride forbade him from asking for help. Disregarding his refusal, she slowly came to kneel at his feet.

  “I said no, Ariana.”

  “Be quiet, my lord.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, a funny glitter crossing his gaze as she rolled her hands around his arms. He wouldn’t order her to stop now. She glided her fingers along the hard as stone muscles with deliberate gentleness. His eyelids fluttered, and he moaned with relief.

  “Your healing power is incredible, flower. By the Mighty Gods, you make me feel so good.”

  So good that she glimpsed the sudden bulge under his pants—a rapid swelling that sent her pulse knocking against her temples. This couldn’t start again. He’d take her into his compelling embrace and lie her down on the pallet, if she let him. Springing to her feet so fast that her head swam, she retreated to the table and indicated the pot.

  “Doireann made this for us.”

  “And?”

  “I’m starving.”

  Unable to tell if he bought the lie or not, she went to fetch plates before sitting down. She didn’t glance at him once, yet she perceived his edginess while he brought his lust under control. When he joined her at the table, his stoic air might have passed for detachment. She served them both, and they began eating in silence. But with the seer’s warning ringing in her mind, the silence couldn’t last.

  “Do you know that Doireann is a seer?”

  “Yes. What did she tell you?”

  Far from intending to reveal anything about their complicated relationship, she focused on the last part of the message.

  “That the darkness will devour us.”

  “Huh! She’s one for the dramatics, isn’t she?”

  The portentous premonition didn’t seem to trouble him in the least as he gobbled up his food like a famished man. Then again, he’d risked his life to follow her into the maze, and he had made it out of the Forest of the Dead alive without showing any emotion. A cryptic prediction was obviously not going to distress him. But it scared her.

  “You don’t believe her? What if she’s right?”

  “She’s a seer. Chances are she is right.”

  His plate empty, he helped himself to a few more spoonsful of stew while she looked at him open-mouthed.

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  He finally lost a little interest in the act of stuffing his belly to raise his gaze to her. Brow gathered, he sighed.

  “Whether some darkness is going to devour us or not, there’s nothing I can do about it as long as I don’t have facts or insights on how to fight it. So I don’t see the point in fearing an elusive menace that might turn out to be false. Each new day enlightens our paths, Ariana, not predictions.”

  Although he made sense, she had trouble getting rid of the sombre veil that had gripped her guts since Doireann uttered the sinister premonition. Dark and threatening. Still, his apparent conviction lulled her anxiety and allowed her to enjoy the contents of her plate. She was hungry, after all.

  Doireann might well view her cooking as simple, but she didn’t agree with her. As tender meat and delicious potatoes filled her with a sense of satisfaction, he pushed his plate back.

  “What else did she say?”

  That they were mates. That they were in love with each other, but this secret would never leave her heart.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Even when she did her best to appear above suspicion, her efforts fell flat. Lips parted, she took long sips from her goblet, reckoning she’d better whisk him away to less dangerous grounds.

  “Do you think the darkness is related to the disc and the square?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one who goes off-the-wall whenever of one these trinkets are around. You tell me.”

  His pleasant tone made up for his blunt opinion. Yet he had a point. Magic lived inside her. She might be standing at the centre of an intricate, cosmic design, and she didn’t have a clue.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Until you do, how about going to bed? It’s late.”

  The large pallet loomed at the corners of her vision. The very image of her downfall. Now that she had become the instrument of the Ancients, she wondered if they’d strike her down for her sins. A painful lump blocked her throat as she made every effort to find the right words.

  “I just want to sleep.”

  He stared at her till her heart pattered against her ribs. The flat grey of his eyes concealing the mysterious workings of his brain, he put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists.

  “Did you imagine that I had something else in mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Like what?”

  His question quickened her pulse. Belly rippling with a thousand prickles, she searched for the most tactful answer. The reply that wouldn’t send his pride down in the dumps, but he beat her to the punch.

  “Like delighting in the feel of your exciting body? But if I’m not mistaken, you enjoyed yourself too.”

  So much that the mere idea of his dominant cock ignited shivers up her spine and left her weak with desire. Her knees trembled under the table while she fought the tongue of fire flaring up her face, wetting the folds of her pussy. Although her body’s strong response to his deliberate provocation prevented her from coming up with a reasonable defence, nothing hindered him.

  “Quit your blushing, Ariana. What’s done is done.”

  “You don’t understand. We committed a sin.”

  “We did?”

  The surprise widening his eyes didn’t seem feigned. As he kept on staring at her without commenting, she braced herself.

  “When you... well, you know...”

  “No, I don’t. Tell me.”

  Dear Creators, why was it so hard to articulate her thoughts? Perspiration clung to the bottom of her pants. She fidgeted on the chair, feet tapping the floor, palms damp with sweat. But he didn’t help her. He waited her out, his intrigued gaze riveted to hers. As stalling wouldn’t allay her extreme embarrassment, she sucked in a long breath and took the ram by the horns.

  “What you did to me last night is only allowed between a husband and his wife. Otherwise it’s a sin.”

  “Mating isn’t a sin.”

  Now he must be doing this on purpose. For someone so quick, how could he not grasp her meaning? Features expressionless, he observed her like a fragile, clay object. She banged her palm against the table, frustrated with his supposed lack of understanding.

  “You licked my pussy. That’s forbidden.”

  Her high-pitched voice made him wince. Then a large grin spread across his face, and he laughed out loud.

  “Where in ether’s spirits do you pick up this kind of crap?”

  The genuine question halted her. Unable to remember where this piece of information came from, she suddenly wondered about its authenticity. Could she have been led astray somehow, or had she misinterpret
ed hearsay? Her healer friends must have talked too much, or not enough.

  “Is it not a sin?”

  “No, but I’m glad you enjoyed my tongue on your tight little cunt. I’d be more than willing to renew the episode.”

  A low throb toyed with her drenched slit as his deep tone ignited a longing in her she shouldn’t acknowledge. The wild craving coursed through her, flashing along her limbs like a bolt of lightning striking a mountain rock. Although she meant to voice her qualms, he didn’t let her.

  “Was it the first time?”

  “Excuse me?”

  His mischievous smile increased her awkwardness tenfold, and she pushed air out of her lungs when he leant forward.

  “Last night, was it the first time you reached absolute pleasure?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  How could she confess the devastating bliss she’d experienced under the beat of his cock? How, for the love of the Creators, could she admit that she had never felt anything like it before?

  His pride or self-esteem wasn’t in the balance, but the urgent need to safeguard her heart against her own uncontrollable emotions arose. Whatever scheme he devised to get the truth out of her, she wouldn’t disclose the orgasm had ruled her for the first time. No, she would not.

  “Yes.”

  She brought her hands to her mouth. She pressed her fingers against her lips as if the admission came from someone else, and dropped her gaze to observe a splinter of wood sticking out of the table. Across from her, he chuckled, and his bare chest tickled the corners of her vision.

  “There’s absolutely no reason to be ashamed, flower. Some women spend their entire lives without feeling any sexual gratification. If anything, consider yourself lucky.”

  “Lucky I met you?”

  She barely caught his swift movement. All of a sudden, he stood next to her, his hands already around hers. He pulled her up and slid his fingers along her arms, into her hair. His silver gaze cut through her soul, his erection pushed down on her belly. She gasped.

  Streaks of memory invaded her mind. The touch of his lips on her nipples, the sway of his tongue between her thighs, his hard body covering hers, his large cock penetrating her until she cried for release. She could have it all again. A single sign from her, and he’d make her writhe on the pallet. She placed both her hands on his broad chest and gently pushed him back.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  Even as the question hung between them, he disentangled his fingers. Then he moved aside, the heat of his body leaving her.

  “Because it’s best for us both. Don’t you remember what I said about my pledge to my promised?”

  “How could I not? That was some thunderbolt you dropped on me. Still, I don’t see the relevance.”

  “You don’t?”

  Her surprised tone prompted him to take another step back. He ran his hands through his hair, a sharp gleam lighting his eyes.

  “No. Unless you’re about to tell me that mating with me once... sorry, twice... is perfectly fine with your ethics, but doing it three times becomes betrayal. If that’s the case, I’d suggest you keep quiet.”

  Had he slapped her in the face she wouldn’t have felt worse. More than his words, his sudden harsh tone whipped up the harrowing guilt she'd been carrying for days. Tears blurred her sight, but she wasn’t sure if they were born from shame or anger. At herself.

  He didn’t deserve to be rejected out of indecisiveness. She should have drawn the line from the very first moment, or not at all. No, she had wavered. Torn between her duty to Kelton and her desire for the Lord of the Clans, she hadn’t made the decision.

  She was the only offender here, the sole person who should be blamed for her actions, and punished. Cutting right to the heart of her reflection, she also realized that she was now betraying him.

  A fragile silence settled over the little house. She watched him put his shirt on, sling his coat over his shoulder, grab his sword, and walk to the door. Had he resolved to leave her safe among his people and ride back to the Longrocks Mountains? The truth was, he’d be well-advised to do just that.

  He opened the door. A blow of bitter wind ruffled her stray hair as he stepped into the night. Her skin puckered and the lump in her throat thickened. In spite of her mortification, she needed to know.

  “Are you leaving me?”

  He turned around. His impassive features showing neither sullenness nor disappointment, he looked her in the eye.

  “I said I’d be your guide to Frahern, and I will. Good night, Ariana.”

  The sound of the shutting door tightened her guts. Unlike her, he’d be true to his promise. The tears she'd managed to keep in check burned her eyes. She let them flow freely, wet her cheeks, drain out the horrible feelings reeling inside her. Alone, cold without him, she went to lie down on the pallet.

  His strong embrace wouldn’t protect her this night. His warm, hard body pressed against hers wouldn’t chase away her fears and doubts. This was her punishment.

  The bedcover didn’t dispel the coldness, the hole in her heart, or the painful tears. Without restraint, she cried. Unable to imagine tomorrow would bring her any form of consolation, she cried herself to sleep.

  Encased in a frigid cast, she blinks. Ice bites at her skin, assaults her frozen limbs. Fear holds her prisoner. Surrounded by darkness, she tries to move, but her paralysed body doesn’t respond.

  This isn’t the dead of night. This feels solid, like a black, iron armour containing her. Utter silence reigns over utter nothingness. She wants to strike at the indestructible wall around her, but she can’t even lift a finger. The sinister threat has trapped her. Now it will kill her.

  Such painful frost doesn’t exist. Yet it seems so real that she feels her muscles solidify, her blood freezes in her veins. The end of her life, the end of her world. Panic grips her guts. Long past is the time for tears, for hope.

  She has failed. She hasn’t been strong enough to vanquish the darkness, and the light has gone out. Too late for regrets. The claws of death sink into her and she screams her terror.

  The agonising shout wrenching her throat jerked her out of the nightmare. A layer of sweat coating her body, heart about to burst, she hugged the bed cover. She clung to it, eyes enlarged, raspy breaths wheezing out of her lungs, whimpers resonating through her gritted teeth.

  She clenched the fabric with desperate fingers until the horrid vision began to lose vividness, and her brain kicked in. Although night still held onto its waning magnitude, she perceived the hopeful beginnings of a new dawn. With light, with blessed brightness.

  Slowly the tension wringing her muscles slackened. The frantic beat of her pulse decreased, and she was able to loosen her hooked fists. Pushing the cover away, she sat on the edge of the pallet as thirst claimed her.

  The feeble glow of dying candles showed her the way to the goatskin. She drank as if she'd just crossed a desert, water streaming down her parched mouth, flowing over her cheeks to land on the dry floor. The pure liquid quenched her dire craving and roused her energy. The darkness hadn’t killed her after all. She was alive and free.

  She spun around when a blast of chilly air hit the back of her head. Instantly propelled back into the nightmarish images, she let out a cry before realising the black wall existed only in her mind. No opaque gloom here, just the door opening.

  “What is it? Why are you scared?”

  Although he didn’t rush to her, she read the concern on his face. Dear Gods, she must look a fright for him to observe her with such disquietude. Warmed by his attitude, she nonetheless had to swallow.

  “It’s nothing. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

  “That happens.”

  Not to him. She bet he’d happily snored the night away beside Alban’s hearth while she had almost died of terror, cold and alone in a stranger’s pallet, but she wouldn’t complain. Instead, she gathered her belongings when she saw he remained standing by the door.


  “Since you’re up, I’d rather leave before first light.”

  “Of course. We wouldn’t want anyone to spot you.”

  Why did she feel the need to be bitter? She had rejected him, not the other way round. As he ignored her inappropriate comment, she put her cloak on, and followed him through the straw fence. The horses shook their manes in greetings, obviously eager to gallop toward a new day.

  Everybody seemed happy but her. A lingering aftertaste still clotted her mouth, although the freakish nightmare receded to the back of her mind. Dismissing the acid tang, she hopped on her mount.

  The drizzle began to fall a short while later. This wet spring sapping her spirits, she wished they’d ride through a forest so the canopy of trees might shelter them from the rain. They, however, kept to open grounds, which must have been the reason why he urged the horses ever faster.

  The kingdom of Borgom also had suffered from the war. In the distance, fields had been left unattended, and rotten fruit littered neglected orchards. Where were the people? The countryside appeared devoid of human life, though it was hard to tell with the steady rain tumbling down from the skies.

  She’d have to ask him. Up to now, she hadn’t given much thought to the war because she lived in a secluded area where invasion and battles seemed like a far off concept. They all knew a war raged between the kingdoms but, sheltered by the Longrocks Mountains, they’d never seen a trace of it. If believing wasn’t seeing, nobody cared much.

  She cared now. The sight of the devastated territory pinched her heart as she wondered where the farmers and their families had taken refuge. What did they eat? Who protected them?

  At some point, he called a halt. They refilled their goatskins in the river running along a massive cliff. The rain didn’t relent, curtains of water flooding the ground. As they huddled under an overhanging rock to share cold meat provided by Doireann, she shook water off her cloak.

  “What happened around here?”

  “The king of Borgom confiscated all properties when the war ended. People have either fled or been captured.”