It took four men and Cilean and Jura to put the long thick slab of marble between the two buildings, forming a slide. It was precariously positioned and the slippery surface made it dangerous.
“I will go first,” Jura said, but Rowan pulled her back.
“I will test it. Take care of your brother. He is waking.”
Jura only gave a quick glance to Geralt as he sat on the floor and began to rub his aching head as Rowan slid across the marble slab to the safety of the other building. When he was across, one by one, the others followed him.
Geralt refused to go with them. “I will stay here. This is where I belong,” he told Jura. “I will not be second to that Englishman.”
“He is more Lanconian than you are,” she said. “Thal knew what he was doing.”
“I am betrayed on all sides,” Geralt said grimly. “Go with him. I will stay here and bring order out of this chaos.”
Jura was already on the marble slab but she didn’t release the windowsill as she watched her brother straighten his shoulders and head back toward the women.
“Jura, come on,” Rowan shouted behind her.
She made a decision. “I must go after him,” she yelled to Rowan, then threw her leg back over the window.
Rowan allowed himself a few precious moments of cursing, then he untied his boots and went up the inclined marble. The only way he could hold on to it was with his bare feet. Behind him the others begged him not to go, but he ordered them to leave the city as fast as possible.
There was no sign of Jura or Geralt in the corridor but there were several Ulten women removing tapestries from the walls. They paused and glared at Rowan in hatred. Yesterday he had been a god and today he was demon.
He gave the women a tentative little smile and hurried past them. It wasn’t difficult to see Jura and Geralt, since they were a foot taller than the Ulten women. Jura was bodily protecting her brother and trying to talk to the women, but no one understood her.
“Marek is getting away with the gold!” Rowan shouted in Ulten, but got no response. “Marek is taking the children!” He had to repeat himself a few times as he pointed toward Marek’s quarters in the north end of the palace, but he was able to turn the crowd’s attention away from Jura and Geralt.
“I knew you would come,” Jura said, smiling at him. “You should have gone with the others but I knew you would not.”
“Follow me,” Rowan ordered, “and do not do anything foolish.” He gave an angry look at the sword she had taken from the walls. “Do not hurt any of my people.”
“These people tried to kill me,” Geralt said. “I think—”
“Quiet!” Jura ordered. “And follow King Rowan.”
Rowan blinked a couple of times at her words, then began to lead them through the shoving women. Every time a group of women stopped and stared at them, Rowan yelled, “Marek,” and pointed toward the bowels of the castle.
They made it almost to the city gates before the women turned on them.
“There are two of them!” a woman yelled.
“They have kept us prisoners. They have denied us husbands and children. We will kill them and free ourselves.”
The women stood in front of the open gateway while other women tried to shove the heavy gates closed.
“Run!” Rowan ordered, “and kill no one.”
Jura was not attacked but the men were. Out of instinct, she protected Rowan’s body with her own as the women used what weapons they had. Rowan had his head down, trying to protect himself from the blows and so did not see Geralt knock one woman after another down. Jura knew that Rowan’s love for his people extended to protecting them at the cost of his own skin.
They made it through the gate and the women chased them for a while but not for long as Jura, Geralt, and Rowan made their way toward the mountains.
After nearly an hour of running, they stopped for breath. “We must find the others,” Jura said, and only then did she look at Rowan. His pale skin was white and beneath his cloak was a growing bloodstain. And his bare feet were also bleeding.
Jura put her arms around him in a motherly way and bade him to sit down.
“I must—”
“No,” she said softly, “you have done enough for now. It is time that you allowed others to help you.” She looked up at Geralt. “Go ahead and find the others. Tell them that our king is injured and tell them to send Daire to find Brita.” She looked back at Rowan. “If that is what you think we should do. I mean—”
Rowan leaned forward and kissed her. “It is my idea also, and since we are one it does not matter who says the idea.”
“Jura, I—” Geralt began.
“Go!” Jura snapped. “You have caused enough trouble. Tomorrow you may thank our king for your life.”
Reluctantly, Geralt turned away, up the path to look for the others.
“Jura, I am not hurt so much,” Rowan said softly. “You can bandage me and I can travel.”
Tenderly, she used Rowan’s knife to cut away his tunic and examine the shoulder wound he had received from an ax blade.
Rowan put his hand to her face. “You have called me king and Lanconian. Do you mean to say that you love me? Do you hope for my death so that you may marry Daire?”
She looked long and hard into his blue eyes. “I was raised by Thal to think of war first and I loved Daire because he caused me no conflict of interest. With Daire I would have chosen Lanconia over my marriage. But you have always confused me. You have shown me real love: a love for my country that goes beyond war and a love for a man that is…”
“Is what?”
“A love that permeates me.” She put both hands on his face. “Rowan, my husband, if you were to die, I think my soul should die too. For every drop of blood that comes from your wound, my heart sheds an equal amount. This…this pain I feel when I am near you, I did not know it was love.”
He kissed her softly. “I feel I have earned your love, Jura. I have suffered and bled and withstood great abuse to gain your love.”
“That is not so,” she protested, then a bit of a smile touched her lips. “It has been worth it?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I thought I wanted a woman like…like these Ultens, who would soften my life, but you are more than a wife to me. You have helped me, Jura. You have helped me to understand the Irial way.”
She pulled back from him. “Helped you? I have kept you from being killed. You would never have done what you have without me. If I hadn’t been unconscious, I would not have let you enter this Ulten city alone. You trust too much. You believe everyone is full of goodness.”
“Except you, Jura. You’re full of fire and brimstone and you take credit for everything. I am the one who has united Lanconia. I am—”
“With my help,” she said loudly.
Suddenly, Rowan smiled. “I guess we work well together. Perhaps we should continue to work together. Now are you going to let me bleed to death or are we going to stay here and let that stupid brother of yours go after Brita and start a war?”
“Geralt is not stupid. He is…”
“Yes?” Rowan asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Perhaps we should give him a tiny corner of Lanconia and tell him it is his own kingdom. He could cause much trouble to us as we unite the rest of the tribes, and we don’t want him angering the Zerna men when we give them the Ulten women.” She began tearing the bottom off her tunic to bandage Rowan’s shoulder.
“What! Give those sweet little Ulten women to the Zerna men?”
“Those ‘sweet’ women as you call them nearly worked Cilean and me to death, and one of them took a whip to me.”
“Yes, but—” he protested, but Jura kissed him, and, as always, he thought of nothing else, not Lanconia or the Irials or where Brita was. He had loved Jura from the first moment he saw her and he would always love her. And now they had years ahead to unite the tribes and to love and argue. He smiled against her lips and hugged her to him. He was happy
.
Over the top of the ridge came Cilean and Daire, and they paused when they heard the raised voices of Rowan and Jura.
Cilean smiled. “I think they are unhurt.”
“Jura loves him,” Daire said, and there was finality in his voice but no regret. “I think she would give her life for him.”
Cilean looked at Daire. “It hurts you to have lost her so completely?”
“I feel like a protective older brother losing an adoring little sister. I know now that Jura and I never…lusted for one another.” He smiled in memory. “Not like the Ulten women.”
“So!” Cilean said coldly. “You like those soft women who do not know a sword from a hair comb?”
Daire looked at her in surprise, then his eyes warmed. “Cilean, I love the way your breasts move when you throw a lance. Shall we go down to our king and queen? The sooner we get out of here and find Brita, the sooner you and I can get married.”
He started walking down the hill, but it took Cilean a moment to recover herself. Then, smiling hugely, she followed Daire.
Epilogue
BROCAIN DID NOT demand Rowan’s life in payment for Keon’s death. By the time Rowan saw Brocain again, nearly all the tribes were united, with Rowan as their king. Brocain wisely knew that if he harmed Rowan it would be the death of him and all the Zernas. So, in exchange for Rowan’s life, he took a hundred of the most beautiful Ulten women.
Brita married Yaine and the two of them fought each other for power so fiercely that they were little trouble to Rowan. On Yaine’s death, Daire and Cilean inherited what little wealth the Fearens had.
Rowan declared the rulers of each tribe to be dukes, and today in Lanconia, they are still the ruling families. Aria, in The Princess, is a descendant of Rowan, and J.T. is descended from Rowan’s squire, Montgomery de Warbrooke.
Books by Jude Deveraux
The Velvet Promise
Highland Velvet
Velvet Song
Velvet Angel
Sweetbriar
Counterfeit Lady
Lost Lady
River Lady
Twin of Fire
Twin of Ice
The Temptress
The Raider
The Princess
The Awakening
The Maiden
The Taming
The Conquest
A Knight in Shining Armor
Wishes
Mountain Laurel
The Duchess
Eternity
Sweet Liar
The Invitation
Remembrance
The Heiress
Legend
An Angel for Emily
The Blessing
High Tide
Temptation
The Summerhouse
Published by POCKET BOOKS
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Books eBook.
* * *
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to non-historical figures are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such non-historical incidents, places or figures to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 1988 by Deveraux Inc.
Cover art copyright © 1988 Al Pisano
Inside cover art copyright © 1988 by Lisa Falkenstern
Border art copyright © 1988 Marlene Moore
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-5446-9
ISBN-10: 0-7434-5446-4
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonandSchuster.com
Jude Deveraux, The Maiden
(Series: # )
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends