Bride by Midnight (13 page)

Blade was quiet throughout the meal, but their host was gregarious and welcoming. Hagan was a bit rotund and had obviously enjoyed many meals as hearty as this one. But his cheeks were rosy, and his sparse but curly white hair was shiny and combed. He was about her father’s age, she would guess, though of course it was impossible to be sure and would be rude to ask.

After a light dessert of dried fruit and a very fine cheese, Blade stood and almost abruptly said goodnight to their host. Trying her best to be a dutiful wife, one who would not dare to oppose her husband in front of others, she rose from her seat, thanked Hagan for inviting them to supper, and took Blade’s arm.

They were not in love, were not a true couple, but as they walked toward their own temporary home she decided that she very much liked being a wife. Maybe it was because she had waited so long to take on that designation or maybe because she was so relieved not to be alone.

But she was a temporary wife, of that she was well aware.

There was a fire in the fireplace. Hagan again, of that she had no doubt. Not that he would have built the fire himself, but he had surely directed a servant to make the cottage ready and welcoming.

She had not suffered any unusual awkwardness all day. Work had kept her busy, and then she’d made pleasant dinner conversation with their host, but now... now she and Blade were on their own. Just the two of them. Would they come together again tonight? She could not imagine sharing a bed with her husband and not. Even now, looking at him... maybe they did not have love. Maybe they had each married for their own selfish reasons, but when she looked at him, she felt something unexpected.

He stared into the fire. Not at her. Not at all.

“I suppose I’ll bathe and go to bed. It’s been a very long day,” she said.

Without turning to look at her, he responded with an almost distant, “Sleep well.”

It was a dismissal. A curt and emotionless dismissal. Not that she expected emotion from him, but still...

“Will you join me?”

“For the bathing or the bed?” His voice was too sharp, too cold.

“Both, perhaps,” she said candidly.

“I don’t think either is a good idea.”

“You really should look at me as you dismiss me so callously,” she said, more annoyed than hurt. A man she did not love, a man who did not love her, could not hurt her. She tried to convince herself of that, but didn’t quite believe it. Blade could hurt her; he was hurting her now. “I am not asking for your heart and soul, Blade. Just for your company.”

At that he did turn to look at her, his eyes cold as ice and his jaw tight. “My
company
. Is that what you call it? Now that you know fuck is a vulgar word, you are reluctant to say it.”

He wanted to scare her, to frighten her into scurrying away, but she could not allow that. “Call it what you will. I enjoyed sharing a bed with you. I would like to do so again, before we part ways.” Many times, but she couldn’t tell him that. It was probably unladylike to enjoy marital bliss so very much, not that she thought Blade cared much whether she was a lady or not.

Blade looked as if he’d eaten something bad. He didn’t quite turn green, but he certainly came close. “It is not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“This is a temporary marriage, and if you were to find yourself with child...”

“Not that again.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t mind having a child. As a matter of fact, I very much want to have babies. Don’t you want children? I thought all men wanted a son or two.” She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Do you simply not want a child with
me
?”

The suggestion seemed to take him aback. Clearly he’d been certain he could scare her into retiring for the evening without asking so many questions.

“I’m sure when the time comes you will be an excellent, if chatty, mother,” he said, his voice cold. “But raising a child alone is not easy, and I
will not
be here.”

She found she was rather disturbed to hear him say the words. It had been the plan all along, of course, that their marriage be a temporary one, and she did not think that plan had changed in less than two full days. But Blade had quickly become a part of her life. Maybe because she had a part of him inside her now. Still.
Always
. And what an odd thought that was.
Always
.

“Perhaps it would be difficult, but it does happen on occasion that a woman gives birth and raises the child on her own. Husbands die, they run off with brazen women. Sometimes they just disappear.” That would be the worst, she thought, to not know what had happened. “I would not be the first.”

Blade looked almost stricken, for a fraction of a second, and then his expression was emotionless once again. “No. I will not allow it.”

Some couples were together years before they had children, but Lyssa did not make that argument. She would not beg Blade to come to her bed. She did have a
little
pride left. “Fine. Good night,” she said sharply, trying to be as cold as he had been. “I suppose you can sleep on the floor in here, since sharing a bed with me is so abhorrent to you.”

He didn’t tell her that she was not repulsive, nor did he indicate in any way that he regretted not sleeping with her again. As she lit a candle and walked into her bedroom, she didn’t look back.

Chapter Ten

Blade tossed and turned in front of the fire. He needed to sleep while he could. As if he could get any rest with Lyssa a few feet away on the other side of the wall with an unbarred door between them.

No, there was much more than a door and a wall between them. He had to construct his own wall and keep it strong. Being with her had changed him, and he could not allow that to continue. She stole his resolve with a kiss, offered her body to him with abandon and a naive curiosity, and in doing so made him question his purpose.

If he continued to treat her as if she were a true wife, he would soon lose his passion for revenge. He could feel it fading already, a little more every time she smiled at him or even
looked
his way, and he could not let that happen. If she found herself with child he would be sucked into the role of husband and father, he would forget why he’d come to Arthes in the first place, and Volker would slip through his fingers. Worst of all... would he care? Would he allow Lyssa to steal away all that he had become? His purpose, his reason for living, was revenge. Justice. Nothing more.

Lying by the dying fire, in an almost dark room, he remembered too vividly the way he’d felt when Lyssa had wrapped her body around his. Her skin was so soft, her scent so sweet. There had been moments, wonderful, terrible moments, when he’d felt as if he could fall into her and get lost. He wanted her, and he could not have her. In the back of his mind, new thoughts teased him. Was it possible that he could kill Volker and escape with his life? That he could have his revenge
and
Lyssa?

Ridiculous. He was being led by his cock to even think that was possible.

He was finally drifting toward a restless sleep when she screamed.

His heart threatened to break through his chest as he jumped up, grabbed his dagger, and ran to her, throwing open the door to the bedroom and preparing to do battle with whoever—or whatever—had elicited that bloodcurdling scream.

No candle burned. The only light came from the remnants of the fire he had left behind. It wasn’t much, but he did make out her form on the floor by the bed, huddled into a tight ball. She was trembling so hard he could see it, even though there was so little light to illuminate her. He scanned the room. The windows were tightly closed; nothing in his line of vision moved.

“What’s wrong?” he snapped.

Lyssa lifted her head. “Is she still here? The woman who tried to kill me... where is she? Where did she go?”

Blade saw no one, but there were many dark shadows someone might hide within. He lit a candle and held it high as he searched the small room. There was no sign of an intruder and no indication that anyone had been here moments earlier, when Lyssa had screamed.

“A dream,” he said, relaxing. “It was just a dream.”

“It was not a dream!” Lyssa insisted. “I felt her hands on my throat, and she said... she said I had to die. She said I had to die before I ruined everything.”

She looked at him then, and after a short pause she gave him a small, weak smile.

“What?” he snapped.

“I have never seen a naked man wielding a dagger before. Please be careful with those sharp edges, husband.”

He had a candle in one hand and his dagger in the other. He’d been so alarmed by her scream he’d given no thought to his state of undress until she’d pointed it out to him.

“I told you, I sleep naked,” he said simply.

“Yes, I am aware.” With that, Lyssa rose to her feet. She remained unsteady. In spite of her teasing she was still unsettled by fear.

“I have had dreams that seemed real,” he said, trying to soothe her in the only way he knew how. With reason.

“It didn’t feel like a dream at all.” Lyssa gave into her wobbly knees and sat on the side of the bed, raising her hand to her throat. “I swear, my neck actually hurts.”

Blade stepped toward her. He dismissed his state of undress from his mind. She’d seen him this way before, and he would not pretend to be modest now. “There’s no one here, it had to be...” He stopped in mid-sentence, staring down at this woman who was his wife. He lowered the candle slightly, for the light. Just to be sure.

On the side of her lovely throat was a red mark that looked as if it might turn into a bruise by morning. A long, slender red mark, as if a finger had squeezed there.

He spun around to search the room again, wondering if he’d missed something. Or some
one
. Lyssa repeated his soothing words. “Just a dream.” And then she sighed. “Dear me. The view is just as enchanting from the rear as it was from the front, husband.”

***

Over the next few days Lyssa and Blade fell into a stale, frustrating rhythm. By day they both worked in the store with her father. Sinmora had once been a great help there, but she’d been ill several days this week and had stayed home. It was the baby making her ill, Lyssa reasoned. The baby her father and stepmother had not yet told her about. The son he had always wanted.

Supper was sometimes shared with Hagan Elmar and sometimes eaten in the guest cottage, which was beginning to feel like home to her. Blade was never inclined to indulge in conversation, whether there were three for dinner or only two. And after dinner... after dinner Blade Renshaw did his best not to even glance in her direction. He showed no interest in sharing a bed with her. Had she done something wrong? Did he dislike her so intensely?

She was disappointed, but she would not beg for her husband’s attentions. She’d survived the humiliation of four failed weddings, and she would survive this. At least no one but the two of them knew the truth of their situation. Her humiliation was a private one. Was she Bad Luck Lyssa still? Apparently so. Terrible Tempest? No, now she was Wretched Renshaw.

Blade put on a good show for her father, playing the devoted husband. He even went to church with her on the seventh day. Some Columbyanans believed in the One God, while others worshipped many. Lyssa knew that most sailors prayed to many gods—gods of the sea, the sky, the thunder—and Blade had once been a sailor. Still, while sitting in church, he’d seemed to listen to the priest. He did not squirm or doze off, as her Papa often did. But if he appeared to be a dutiful husband, she knew it was only so he could gain access to the palace. When they were alone, she might as well have been a stranger.

At least there had been no more dreams that felt to be more than dreams. No more waking feeling as if there were hands around her throat, no more sensation of the air being sucked from her lungs. That dream had been very much like the others, those old dreams of being alone in a cold, stone room. They were more real than any dream should be, with smell and touch and sound so true... how could they be mere dreams?

The day Blade had been waiting for finally arrived. There was a delivery to be made to the palace: specially ordered fabrics for the empress; sweets for the princes and princesses; spices for the imperial kitchen. As it looked as if Blade would one day be taking over the business, she mentioned to her father that it would be wise to acquaint him with their best customer. She felt guilty, keeping Blade’s secret from her father. He was not a true husband to her, and he had no intention of becoming a shopkeeper. If he had his way he would die exacting his revenge.

Of course, her father had his own secrets. He still hadn’t shared his news about the baby Sinmora carried. What else had he kept from her? Blade certainly had secrets, secrets he hid well. If the two men in her life were so skilled at deception, how could she trust... anyone? Perhaps she had been hopelessly naive all her life, believing that everyone around her was exactly as they appeared to be.

On this lovely, slightly cool afternoon, the three of them—Lyssa, her father, and her husband—walked toward the palace, each of them carrying goods to be delivered. Her heart beat too fast; her mouth was dry. Just because they were going into the palace, as Blade wanted, that didn’t mean he would get his revenge today. The palace was large, with multiple levels. Ten above ground and at least two below. On those levels there were many rooms, hallways, and people. There were even, she had heard, secret rooms and passages. He might not find the person he sought today. She so wished he would not!

The palace was in view, the sentinels guarding the entrance mere feet ahead, when Lyssa stumbled and then stuttered to a halt. As she had days earlier, she lifted her head and looked up at a window on Level Two. No one stood there, there was no sign that anyone occupied that room, but she knew—she
knew
—that the woman who had tried to strangle her was there. Watching. Waiting.

No, not a woman. A
demon
. Whispered words filled her head.
Witch. Death. Ksana. Darkness. Alone.
Every nightmare, every fear, was expressed in those few words that assaulted her. And Ksana... she had heard of those demon daughters called Ksana, but she’d never believed them to be real. They were said to be the worst of the lot; demon daughters whose mothers died in childbirth, unable to withstand the poisonous nature of their babies, demon daughters who could kill with a kiss. All beautiful, all deadly... She had thought the Ksanas to be myth, or at the very least an exaggeration. But no, they were real. She knew that now. And one was speaking to her now in a way she had never known possible.