Allegra's Dream (Avador Book 4, a Books We Love Fantasy Romance) (14 page)

He finished the letter and sealed it; he would give it to Drummond tomorrow, to be delivered to the king. 

This evening, he wanted to leave early; Neala Dechtine had invited him for dinner at her apartment tonight. Sighing, he thought of Neala with mixed feelings. He wanted to marry again and needed a wife, no denying that. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dredge up any affectionate feelings for her. She was beautiful, no question, a knowledgeable and competent woman, good company besides. Was there something wrong with him, that he couldn’t accept and appreciate a woman with so many good qualities? Or was it that another woman’s looks and charms continually intruded on his thoughts, a woman whose coal black hair and violet eyes forever taunted his mind?

Outside, the sun was setting, and shadows crept across the office walls. He hurried to complete his tasks, get as much done as possible before he had to leave.

A knock on the door brought in the workman who lit the candles for any employees who stayed late.

Rowan shoved his chair back. “Let it go, Herne. I’m leaving now. Any other employees still in the building?”

“No, sir, everyone else has left.”

“Then you might as well leave, too,” he said as he bade him goodnight.

“Goodnight, sir.”

Rowan threw his wool cloak around his shoulders and walked out onto a cold, blustery day. He sighed again as he walked, missing Allegra so, like a physical ache. He hoped she was doing well in Fomoria and that the prince was good to her, might even eventually come to love her. She’s so easy to love. He wished her nothing but good, her happiness always on his mind.

A short while later, after washing up a bit and changing his clothes, he headed for Neala’s apartment, not far from his own. He passed friends and neighbors along the way, people going here and there on this cool evening. Tree branches tossed in a strong wind, the sky overcast. A few minutes later, he arrived at her door.

“Rowan, so glad to see you. Another busy day at the ministry?”

He smiled as he stepped inside. “Always a busy day. But I just want to enjoy myself this evening, not think about my duties at State.”

She sidled up close and patted his cheek. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He caught her strong musk scent, an aroma that all but overpowered him. Another memory flashed through his brain, of a lavender fragrance and an evening’s ride in a carriage, a party hosted by the queen and prince. Moonphases ago, but it seemed like years.

During the meal of marinated pork chops, washed down with elderberry wine, they talked about everything and nothing, inconsequential topics that helped him forget Allegra, if only for a short while. He found himself looking at Neala in a new light, recognizing her many admirable qualities, traits that would serve him well in all the entertaining he must do as Minister of State.

Complete darkness covered the city of Moytura, but a few candles in iron sconces lent a warm glow to Neala’s sitting room.

After clearing the table, she left the dishes to soak and excused herself. Rowan sat on the sofa, reliving the evening’s pleasant moments, resolved that tonight he would ask Neala to marry him. He knew he would never love her, but she would serve him well as his hostess and partner through life.

She emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later, a sheer black nightgown clinging to every curve of her body. Torn between arousal and shock at her boldness, he looked up at her as she approached. He caught her musk scent, even stronger than before.

“Rowan!” She sat next to him on the sofa, their thighs touching. She traced her fingers down his arm and wrapped them around his, then raised his hand to brush across her bosom, her breast soft and warm.

How long had he been without a woman in his bed? Too long, much too long! Passion, hot and wild, stirred inside him, a desperate need to take her to bed. He brought her close to him, her breasts cushioned against him.

Releasing his hand, she eased hers up his trousers and under his tunic. “You want me, don’t you?” she whispered close to his ear as she caressed him. “You know you want me.”

With a suddenness that caught him by surprise, she drew back. “Say, whatever happened to that little girl you took to the party?”

He blinked. “Little girl?”

“Yes, you know the girl you took to the queen’s party several moonphases ago, had dark hair.”

Ah, Allegra, the woman I love. “She was just visiting from Fomoria and has already returned.”

“Good. I’m sure she couldn’t please you in bed like I can, a little girl like that, barely out of the schoolroom. Or did you take her to bed?”

As if a bucket of ice water had been thrown in his face, his passion left him. He stood, rearranging his tunic.

“Rowan, what’s wrong?” Her bewildered gaze told him she really had no idea that her questions and assumptions had offended him. “You want me, don’t deny it.”

He smiled to take away the sting of his rejection. “You’re a lovely, beautiful woman, Neala.
Someday I hope you will find a man who loves you for all your admirable traits, your love of life. But I am not that man. Better to recognize that fact now, rather than marry and find we don’t suit well together.”

“Hah! Try finding another woman as pretty as I am, who could please you in bed as I can.” She smirked. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” 

“I’ll manage.” He realized now that she was an empty shell, lacking true womanly charm and substance. If he went the rest of his life without a partner to love, that fate would be far better than to be wed to a woman he didn’t respect.

Bidding her goodbye, he left her and headed back to his own apartment.

Chapter Eighteen

The days went by, days in which Allegra became better acquainted with Arnou, time for her to adjust to life in Fomoria, after an absence of so many years. While Arnou kept busy with council meetings, she explored the castle’s many rooms, refreshing memories from childhood. Cold and drafty, most of the castle’s rooms lacked a fireplace. She often wondered how the servants kept warm. Her bedchamber had a fireplace, as did the great hall, still a cold dampness permeated the rooms.

She and Arnou often rode horseback together. She gloried in these times with him, admiring his skill in the saddle, even if he didn’t quite measure up to Rowan’s ability. He wore gloves when he went riding; that’s how he kept his hands so soft, unlike Rowan, with his calloused hands. Time and again, she scolded herself for comparing Arnou to Rowan. Her former guardian was out of her life forever, and Arnou would soon be her husband. Best if she kept that in mind.

One evening shortly after her arrival, a servant approached the long trestle table while they ate dinner in the great hall. Looking annoyed, Arnou glanced his way. “Yes?”

The servant stepped closer. “I beg your pardon, sir, but you asked me to inform you as soon as we captured the traitor.”

“Ah, yes.”  He dabbed a napkin across his lips while Allegra looked from him to the servant. “Follow the usual procedure,” the king said.

“Yes, sir.”

After the servant left, she glanced at Arnou. “What traitor? I thought all the members of the war faction had been caught.”

He waved his hand. “This is something different. You mustn’t concern yourself with these matters.”

She persisted. “As future queen, I want to know about these so-called matters. Now tell me to whom the servant was referring.”

Arnou sighed. “Well, if you must know, one of the leading landowners has protested my taking the throne. He doesn’t recognize me as the rightful ruler, one of the reasons why I desire your hand in marriage.”

“So he was arrested?”

“Well, of course, what else would you do with a traitor?”

But merely protesting doesn’t make him a traitor. However, she wouldn’t argue that point with him now. Fast losing her appetite, she set her fork down. “And what did you mean by ‘the usual procedure’?”

A scowl crossed his face. “Inquisitive now, aren’t we?” He sighed again. “All I meant was that I wanted the man interro–er, questioned. I’d like to know if he has supporters who feel the same as he. After all, I don’t want to begin my–our–reign without the loyal support of all the people.” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” Put that way, it made sense. Why, then, did a feeling of unease grip her, as if he had left much unsaid?

He patted her hand. “Now, I don’t want you to worry your pretty head about state affairs. Let me deal with governing the country, and you can smile and look beautiful for all our subjects.”

Smile? Look beautiful? Indignation stirred inside her, but she would keep quiet for now. Later, she would have to deal with these concerns.

In the quiet that followed, she thought she heard loud sounds, like screaming, coming from below. The dungeon?

Apparently, Arnou noted her startled look. He laughed. “Servants, they get noisy at times.”

Has he no control over his servants? As if aware of her discomfort, Arnou discussed trivial subjects, relating gossip about the leading families of the country. She tried to respond, with forced laughter at his anecdotes, adding occasional bits of conversation.

Excusing herself shortly after, Allegra headed upstairs to her room. A throbbing began in her head, one of her rare headaches coming on. Since Elsa dined with the steward and his wife, she had no one to talk to. Too restless to lie down, she paced the floor, opening and closing her fists. Her sense of disquiet intensified, a definite suspicion that things were not as they had first appeared upon her arrival at the castle. She wanted to give Arnou the benefit of the doubt, yet his condescending attitude riled her. Some day before their marriage, she must confront him with her misgivings before she became his wife and queen of Fomoria.

The following day, while Arnou met with his council, she resolved to explore a part of the castle she had never seen, the dungeon. At one time earlier, Arnou had told her that murderers, thieves and rapists were jailed in the dungeon until their trials came up. That made sense, but it saddened her that the castle–indeed, the capital–lacked more humane facilities for holding criminals. From previous observation, she knew that the jailer rarely ventured below, and then only when a new criminal was captured.

While all the servants were busy with their tasks, and Elsa remained in her room, she headed for the dungeon, walking past the great hall and on down a long corridor. She hurried past the kitchen, catching the aromas of baking bread and onions, then followed another long corridor to her right that led to the blacksmith’s shop. Dressed plainly in a brown cotton dress, she hoped to avoid notice from any servants who might glance her way. She stepped lightly, lest her footsteps echo on the wooden floor. Reaching long, winding stairs, she descended one flight to the basement and on down another flight to the dungeon.

She took a deep breath before opening the thick wooden door to the dungeon. She wanted to see but remain unseen, for surely it would give the prisoners false hope to view someone at the door. As silently as possible, she eased the door open, thankful the hinges were well-oiled. The stench hit her like a blast of noxious air. Far worse, the sounds that came from the cells shocked and angered her–moans and cries, men praying for mercy. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the dark, then she saw every cell occupied, the men all looking like the lowest beggars. She closed the door and leaned against it for countless minutes as she shook all over, sickened by all she had seen and heard, struggling for composure.

She retraced her steps, determined to question Arnou about the prisoners. After searching for him to no avail, she found he had left the castle to visit a few of the leading families and would be away for several days. She garnered that bit of information from the steward, whose look of warm sympathy told her that he might become her friend. And she needed a friend besides Elsa, one who, she hoped, had influence with the king.

Day by day, she learned the names of the servants and the tasks assigned to each one.  She considered the castle to be well-run, the steward a great help without whose aid the castle couldn’t function. His wife, amiable and competent, supervised the servants. While grateful that the castle was so ably managed, Allegra wished she had more to keep her busy. She often used the library, enjoying the wide selection of books, but yearned for more worthwhile activities. Soon, when Arnou returned, she resolved to ask him for permission to attend the council meetings. For that matter, why should she ask him? As future queen, she had the right to add her opinion and contribute to the discussions.

The prisoners in the dungeon became a constant worry, and she suspected that there was more to their incarceration than what Arnou had told her. On another day during Arnou’s absence, she headed for the dungeon again, determined to discover if the prisoners still suffered such distress. Possibly they had been sickened by food poisoning on her earlier visit. That would surely account for the stench. Reaching the dungeon, she opened the door and caught the same stench, the same cries. She realized that her suspicion of food poisoning was far-fetched, yet she feared arriving at any other judgment. When Arnou returned from his visits, she would question him, even if it meant risking his anger. Could it be he wasn’t aware of the conditions among the prisoners? She had to find out.