Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (16 page)

Removing his uniform, he eased himself into the sand bath and burrowed deep into the healing silica of its warm grains, the coarseness sensual against his nude body. Though it was forbidden by The Law of J’aibeel to touch his roots, he thrust his hand to the juncture of his thighs and massaged first his primary root until it was hard as steel. His auxiliary root took longer to rouse but when it, too, was as stiff and sharp as a Saurian blade, he caressed himself into climax. Settling back in the sand bath, he closed his eyes and plotted the brutal things he would do to Cair Ghrian when that warrior was taken.

And The Black Sun’s capture was but a few weeks away.

* * * * *

“How many women have you brought to this love nest, milord?” Davan asked as she surveyed the rolled-up mattress lying beside the trunk through which Cair was rummaging.

“I’ve never brought any woman here but Liam was—” He stopped and a muscle worked in his jaw as he stared down at the blanket in his hand. He did not finish the sentence but rather turned and tossed the blanket to Davan then stepped over to the mattress and began unrolling it.

Outside the elements were lashing against the old fortress. Thunder rolled as the wind howled, bringing with it a squall that pelted the ancient stones.

“They say Finscéalta is haunted,” he told her. “That’s where it gets its name.”

“What does Finscéalta mean?”

“The full name of the fortress is Finscéalta na Amhantar. It means Legends of the Wind.”

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Davan looked up at the ceiling timbers that creaked with the force of the elements battering the fortress. She could well imagine the eerie sounds the wind made might have put its early inhabitants of a mind there were ghosts about.

“It was at Finscéalta where King Tristan Ghrian and his wife were murdered right after the birth of their first child Rory. Legend says neither of them ever got a look at the babe for Tristan was ambushed on his way up to be with Queen Gwendolyn as she gave birth. The queen was smothered by one of her ladies-in-waiting before the child was clear of her womb.”

“How awful!” Davan said, wrapping her arms around her. “Were the murderers ever punished?”

“King Tristan’s High Chancellor Lord Jarold Fitzhugh was behind the murders. He had great ambition and intended to run Amhantar through Rory Ghrian. He raised Rory to be the king he wanted him to be but when the young man took the throne at age sixteen, he had the high chancellor and his cronies beheaded. He’d been waiting all that time to mete out the punishments he knew they deserved.”

“He knew they had killed his parents?”

Cair took the blanket from her and spread it over the mattress. “The legend goes Tristan and Gwendolyn walked the halls of Finscéalta every night, searching for the son they never got to hold in life. They say you could hear Tristan moaning and Gwendolyn crying for her child. Their footsteps up and down the staircase were a common thing. On many a night, the boy’s servants would hear him talking quietly to someone but when they’d go into his chamber, there would be no one there. The talespinners say it was his parents who visited him late at night and who advised him to wait until the time was right to avenge them.” He held his hand out to her. Davan placed her hand in his and they sat down on the mattress. She was surprised to find it was more comfortable than it looked. “What kind of king did Rory make?” she asked.

“He was perhaps the best of them all,” Cair answered. “His people loved him and he ruled them wisely and with a fair hand. I can only hope to be a tenth as good a king as he.”

“I don’t think your people have anything to worry about,” she assured him. “The legend of The Black Sun is known far and wide.”

Cair frowned. “Aye, well, legends and reality don’t always mesh.”

“You have made a name for yourself in the Aduaidh Quadrant, Cair. Your ability as a warrior has never been questioned. What concerns you?”

“I know I’m a good fighter, wench,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the top of her hand. “I am confident of my combat skills.”

“But?”

He exhaled forcefully. “I never wanted to be king of Amhantar. That was always Bennick’s destiny, not mine. Never in my vilest nightmares did I think I’d be placed in a 91

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position to have to take the throne.” He shook his head. “Fight for it? Aye. I would fight to the death for my homeland, but rule it? That is something I fear more than losing you.”

Davan’s heart skipped a beat. “You fear losing me?” she asked. He reached out to cup her cheek. “I never wanted a full-time woman, either,” he said. “Marriage was definitely not something in the plans I’d made for my life, but you turned my world upside down in a short span of time. Now, I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Even though we got off on the wrong foot,” she teased.

“You caught me at a bad time,” he admitted. “Coming off a roaring drunk is not a good time for a man to meet the woman his mother chose as his lifemate.” He grinned.

“Especially when he doesn’t
know
she’s the woman he’s going to marry.”

“The woman he was going to be forced to marry,” she said quietly.

“Wench,” he said, exasperation making the word drop from his lips like a heavy rock. “If I did not want to Join with you, nothing my mother could say or do would make me. I might not have wanted to get married but I knew I wanted to be with you.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You came to the hot zone and you held me when I was at the lowest point of my life,” he answered. “You wanted nothing in return. You asked nothing in return. No woman had ever done that. Not even my own mother.”

“Well, if you can change your mind about having a wife, can you not change your mind about ruling Amhantar?”

“For the sake of my people, I hope so,” he replied. He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I
pray
so.”

Davan’s heart went out to this proud, strong man. Through no desire of his own, great responsibilities had been thrust upon him. She knew he would not run from those responsibilities now that he had accepted them. She also knew she would make sure there would never be a need for him to hide from the world again as he had in the hot zone. She hoped he would accept her to lean on and never again need the crutch of liquor to prop him up.

A sharp crack of lightning rent the air and Davan jumped. She hated bad weather. Grateful for the strong arms that automatically enfolded her, she lay down with Cair, and he held her to him, humming an old Amhantarean lullaby. The bodies were pressed closed together—she at his side and her face buried in the crook of his shoulder. His hands smoothed over her arm, her hair, stroked her face and when she lifted her head to gaze up at him, cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. It was the sweetest of kisses. His lips plied hers with gentle insistence—tasting and drawing upon their nectar—then with deepening passion.

She gave herself up to this powerful man. She felt small and fragile beside his honed warrior’s body and like putty in his knowing hands. 92

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Cair eased her to her back and slid his hand beneath the pullover she wore. His eyes widened a bit and his generous lips twitched when he realized she wore no bra to impede his touch.

“Brazen little witch,” he accused while the tips of his fingers explored the soft mound of her breast.

“Just thinking ahead, milord,” she corrected him.

His thumb slid over the peak of her breast and she arched up against his hand, purring like a kitten as he lightly tweaked the little nub until it became an erect bud beneath his tender ministrations.

As the storm raged beyond the portals of Finscéalta, they slowly undressed one another until they lay naked upon the rough, old blanket. He slid his hands over every inch of her body there in the dim light cast from the gray morning until he would have known her blindfolded. Likewise, she stroked his chest and back, thighs and calves and the sensuous rise of his hard, high ass. She straddled him and deeply massaged the tense muscles in his upper back.

When he could take no more of her gentleness, he flipped her over, covering her soft body with his and nudged her legs apart with his knees. He lay with his lower body rubbing against the heat between her thighs and drew upon her breasts with lips and a tongue that drove her mad with desire.

Her fingers thrust through his sleek hair and held his head as he suckled her. It was a delight she knew she would never tire of. His mouth was sending shockwaves of heat rippling through her lower belly and she squirmed beneath him, wanting the hardness of him connected to her softness.

He took her there as rain lashed against the old fortress and thunder boomed across the headlands of Amhantar. Their lovemaking was no less intense, no less powerful than the raging storm. The passion, which fed them, was no less potent than the lightning striking close by.

Cair shuddered as he came, his juices spurting over and over into her sweet body. So copious was his cum, he knew down to the marrow of his being he had seated a child of their blending inside Davan.

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Chapter Twelve

A royal wedding at Amhantar Keep was a glorious affair with statesmen from as many worlds as could safely make their way there during the violent war that shook their universe in attendance. The Grand Hall was decorated with flowers too numerous to name and all the golden accessories, lustrous china and fine Amhantarean crystal acquired by generations of the Ghrian clan had been brought out for the festive event. The kitchen was abuzz and the great repast being prepared for the feast after midnight filled the old castle with mouthwatering smells. Everywhere one looked, there were servants bustling about, and all the rooms in the sleeping chambers were being prepared for the dignitaries.

Standing in a beautiful white silk gown that had been worn by every Ghrian bride since the dynasty had been founded, Davan felt like a fairytale princess. The lovely creation being form-fitted to her measurements had triple rows of diamonds along the hem, neckline and at the tapers of the long, pointed sleeves. Her veil—reaching to the floor—was a gossamer-thin net of intricately knotted lace onto which diamonds had been lavishly sprinkled. With each movement of her head, fiery brilliance reflected from that stunning veil.

Eadan Shanahan, Davan’s sister, looked very pale in the light green dress, which marked her as Davan’s maid of honor. She still had a long way to go in recovering from her stay in the prison on Amerigen but though she looked tired and drawn, her smile was happy as she watched her sister. “Your husband is going to swell like a peacock when he sees you, Davie,” she said.

“Isn’t she lovely, though?” the queen asked.

“Mama would have been so proud,” Eadan said.

“Please lift your foot, milady,” the cobbler instructed and when Davan did as he asked, felt the softness of a silk slipper sliding upon her foot. When she glanced down, she saw more diamonds adorning the toes of the white footwear.

“Something old,” Queen Meg said as she fingered the precious gown.

“Something new,” the cobbler said as he placed the other slipper on Davan’s foot.

“Something borrowed,” Lady Anastasia Ghrian—the queen’s sister and Cair’s aunt—said as she clipped a diamond brooch to the bodice of the bridal gown. “This belonged to our great-great-grandmother and it has been worn on this very same bridal gown every since. Each of my five daughters has worn it at her Joining.”

“It is lovely.” Tears filled Davan’s eyes. “It is all so lovely.” She reached for Eadan’s hand—her sister gripped hers back and placed a light kiss on Davan’s cold fingers. 94

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“And something blue,” Queen Meg added in a soft voice as she stepped behind Davan, slid her hands under the veil, and then hooked a gorgeous sapphire pendant upon her soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s neck. She smoothed the veil down. “Cairnan picked it out himself.”

“Rode all the way to the mines at Dalreath Bay,” the cobbler put in. “Said nothing but the very best would do for his lady.”

Staring at her reflection in the mirror across the room, Davan reached up to touch the heart-shaped jewel. She caressed the stone and vowed she would never remove the pendant from her neck.

“We’re missing something,” Lady Anastasia said, frowning.

“A gilding for her shoe,” the cobbler said as he slipped a golden coin into the slipper beside Davan’s instep.

They all stepped back to view the bride.

“Stunning,” the cobbler said.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Lady Anastasia pronounced.

“A woman worthy of The Black Sun,” the queen proclaimed.

“Worthy of any man,” Eadan corrected.

Satisfied with her future daughter-in-law’s appearance, Cair’s mother shooed everyone but Eadan from the room. She sat down upon the settee and gazed up at Davan with a gentle smile.

“I knew you were right for him the moment I watched your mother delivering you,” she said.

Davan blinked. “Delivering me?” she gasped.

“I was visiting Breasal when your mother went into premature labor. She delivered you two months early.”

“I know but—”

“I took one look at you and I knew,” the queen stated. “I felt the connection the moment I touched your little hand. I would have stayed for your baptism but Evan wanted me home—the man was getting tired of having two little boys running under foot, I imagine.” She laughed. “I must admit Bennick and Cairnan were a handful.”

A slight chill ran down Davan’s spine. “You chose me for Cair’s wife that long ago?”

“Since that day,” the queen said, “I have been keeping tabs on you, Davan. As Catherine McGregor’s granddaughter, I knew you would grow up to be a strong and intelligent woman. How could you not with such powerful DNA within you? I watched you grow up and become the wonderful woman you are. You had all the attributes I wanted for my son. Why would I not want you as part of our family?”

“So pretending not to recognize me that first day I was on the
Foehn
was a ruse,”