Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove (22 page)

He watched her eyes blink and again, before she turned only her head on the pillow and stared somnolently up at him.

And it wasn’t lost on him he saw nothing but Maddie.

Nothing.

As he felt nothing but her last night. Her mouth on his cock. Her sex convulsing around him. Her eyes burning into him. Her little, inscrutable smile making his shaft ache.

He also tasted nothing but her either. Heard nothing but her whimpers, moans and cries. Her pleas for more. Or harder. Or faster.

Nothing.

But her.

He felt his cock twitch.

“Is it morning already?” her sleepy voice asked, taking him from his heated thoughts and he gave her another squeeze.

“Alas, it is, poppy, and you must arise as we must be away.”

She blinked again.

Adorable.

Gods, how he wished he had this for the next hour, the next day, as long as he could have it.

Not have it taken away when consciousness fully came to her and she understood the advantage he’d taken.

“I’ll call for a bath, breakfast,” he told her softly. “I’m sorry but you must prepare for us to be on our way. You can sleep in the sleigh.”

She lifted up on her forearm and asked, “If I’m asleep, how can I steer the sleigh?”

She wouldn’t have to. So she could rest, he’d be in it with her, if she allowed that, and he’d do it.

Torment would not like being hitched to the sleigh, but his horse would suffer that indignity for him. And with two horses dragging the load, they’d make better time.

“Leave that to me. Now, rouse yourself. I’ll give you time and be back.”

She blinked yet again and her head tipped to the side, but thankfully, understanding of his selfishness did not dawn and she nodded.

He bent and brushed his mouth against hers. Pulling away, she blinked again, her eyes and the skin around her mouth soft and he felt that softness gather around his heart, memorizing her look because he was sure that was all he’d have.

“Rouse, poppy,” he murmured.

She nodded and he left her in the bed.

He went to his socks and boots, pulling them on. He then moved to leave the room, glancing at her in bed.

She was up on her arse, the covers pulled up to her chest, the curls and ringlets of her hair tousled, gloriously framing her exquisite face and falling over her shoulders and down her chest.

She was gazing around, looking bemused.

That was adorable too.

But it would likely not last long.

A stone weighing in his gut, he unlocked the door and moved out of the room. His eyes cut through the door opposite but he walked down the hall and found a servant. He ordered a hot bath and breakfast for Maddie and one for himself in another chamber, bidding them to bring him fresh clothes from his trunk in their room.

He ended with, “And I want a boy in the hall. If the man in the room opposite approaches my door, I want to know immediately.”

The servant nodded and hurried away.

As he watched her go, he thought distractedly that he should have thanked her.

Then he thought no more of that and went on about his business.

The morning preparations took some time as the water needed to heat, and it was time that seemed to crawl. There was little to fill it that took his mind from the unpleasantness he was sure to encounter imminently.

Twice.

So he thought of nothing but his upcoming confrontations, except when he went to the stables and ordered the sleigh hitched and trunks brought down.

But eventually, bathed and fed, he moved back up the stairs. He saw the young boy who’d started their fire yesterday standing outside his and Maddie’s door.

He lifted his chin to the boy.

The boy dipped his and dashed by him to the stairs.

Apollo went to the door opposite.

He knocked quietly and within seconds, Derrik opened the door.

His clothes were rumpled, his hair in disarray, his eyes rimmed red.

He had not slept.

When he saw Apollo, his face went hard and his eyes went sharp.

“That didn’t take long, brother,” he clipped.

Yes.

He’d heard.

“We need words,” Apollo told him. “And not in the hall.”

“Is there something to say?” Derrik asked acidly.

“Yes,” Apollo answered. He made a show of twisting at the waist and looking meaningfully at the door behind him before he turned his eyes back to his friend. “But not in the hall.”

Derrik looked to the door as well before he hesitated and finally backed into the room.

Apollo followed him, closing the door behind him.

He noted the lamps still burning but the fire was just embers in its grate. He also noted the bed was disheveled but had not been slept in.

He then turned his gaze to Derrik.

“Would you like to explain what you’re doing here?” he asked, his voice low.

On his words, Derrik’s brows shot up, but his reply was to query, “Would you like to explain why your rough, long and
loud
bedplay with gods damned
Maddie
could be heard throughout the gods damned
village?
”

“We’ll not be discussing that,” Apollo told him.

“We won’t?” Derrik fired back.

“No,” Apollo said firmly.

Derrik studied him.

Then he stated conversationally, “Gods, man, if I didn’t think I’d murder you on sight, I would have gone over solely to warn you that your activities might break the bed or send you through the floor.” His tone degenerated when he added, “Or, perhaps, commend you on your bloody stamina.”

Apollo said nothing.

Derrik’s eyes narrowed. “How many times did you have her?”

Apollo remained silent.

“I counted twelve of hers, just nine of yours. If I were to tell the men, you’d be legend.”

Apollo kept his silence and Derrik lost his patience.

And his gallantry.

“By the sounds you made when she could not be heard, I can assume she has much talent with her mouth.”

Apollo ceased remaining silent.

“Careful, brother,” he warned.

He leaned in toward Apollo and his voice went snide. “By the sounds
she
made when
you
could not be heard, it’s a definite you share the same talent. Tell me,
brother,
does she taste as sweet as she promises?”

Apollo’s entire body grew tight for the second time that day. But this time, he didn’t keep as close a grasp on the threads that held his temper.

Derrik was a man, Valentine a woman. If Derrik did something that deserved it, Apollo would not hesitate to give it.

“Careful,” he growled.

“She isn’t Ilsa,” Derrik bit out.

Apollo blinked.

Understanding hit him; he crossed his arms on his chest and said quietly, “Gods, brother, I know that.”

At that, Derrik blinked.

“You—” he began.

“Lost my wife years ago,” Apollo interrupted him to say. “And came to terms with that only four months ago. The woman in my bed is Madeleine.”

“Madeleine?”

“The name she’s chosen for this world. A name chosen from what you and the men gave her,” Apollo explained and when Derrik didn’t reply, he shared, “She’s rather fond of it.”

Derrik looked to the wall behind Apollo, the hardness moving out of his face. Then he looked back.

“I’m in love with her,” he admitted, his voice gruff, his admission dredged from somewhere deep.

“I’m sorry,” Apollo replied and said no more for there was no more to say.

His friend may love Madeleine and Apollo may love his friend.

But he could not have her.

Derrik’s face grew hard again and he demanded, “Convince me you care for her.”

“That’s not yours to have,” Apollo returned and Derrik’s jaw got tight before Apollo finished, “It’s hers.”

At that, Derrik’s jaw went slack.

Apollo cared deeply for his friend but even so, he had no time for this. “I’ll remind you, she’s alone over there.”

Derrik’s back went straight. “If you hurt her—”

Apollo didn’t let him finish. “It will be my hurt to salve.”

Derrik kept trying. “She’s not—”

At that, Apollo spoke quickly, reining in his temper. A temper that had to do with the fact that Derrik more than likely knew much of what Maddie was and was not, whereas Apollo knew very little of both, and he didn’t like that. He further didn’t like the fact that it was
he
who orchestrated it.

“She may have shared her mysteries with you, but they are her mysteries to share. They are also now mine to discover.”

They locked eyes and neither man spoke for some time.

Apollo grew impatient with it and he was about to break it before Derrik did.

And he did it to announce, “I’ll be leaving Karsvall and returning to the Lazarus seat.”

Apollo’s gut got tight at this loss, but he nodded and requested, “I understand your need to do that but I’ll ask that you continue to see to the safety of my children at Karsvall until Madeleine and my return.”

Derrik flipped out a hand even as he didn’t quite successfully stifle this flinch at the words “Madeleine and my” and he muttered, “Of course.”

Again, the men locked eyes. But needing to face whatever Maddie cared to make him endure, Apollo broke it and moved to the door.

He opened it, stood in it and looked back to his friend.

“I understand your need to break from Ulfr, Derrik, but when that happens, know you will be missed and welcomed back should that desire return to your heart.”

Derrik made no move or noise. He just held Apollo’s eyes.

So be it.

Apollo moved to leave him but Derrik finally spoke.

“Take care of her.”

Again, he looked directly into Derrik’s eyes and when he said the words, Derrik knew him well enough to know what they were.

And what they were was a vow.

“I will.”

He left it at that and moved out of the door, closing it behind him.

In the step it took him to reach his own, he pulled in a deep breath and braced.

Then he opened the door and entered the room, eyes glued to Madeleine sitting at the table, a bowl of untouched porridge in front of her.

She was wearing a very becoming dress the color of the inside of a blood orange. He had her side but he could still see the deep cowl that dropped down her chest, likely exposing skin behind it. The sleeves were knitted to fit tight at her arms and her long skirt was belled out on the floor around her chair. Her hair, as it had been yesterday, was pulled back at her nape in a satin ribbon the color of a mushroom.

Normally, she would have been a vision.

But she had one hand wrapped around a forgotten cup of coffee and her other elbow was on the table. Her head was turned to the window but her back was bowed so she could hold it in her hand.

He felt his throat begin to close at witnessing her pose of defeat.

He closed the door and when she heard it, she jumped. As he took two paces in the room, slowly, she lifted from the table and turned her gaze to him.

He halted when he saw her beautiful eyes swimming with tears.

Gods,
gods,
he’d damaged her worse than he thought.

“Madel—” he started.

But she spoke over him.

Her voice trembling, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

That was not what he expected to hear.

“Pardon?”

“So, so sorry.” She kept whispering.

“Madeleine.”

She shook her head. “So, so, so, so,
so
sorry, Apollo.”

She
was sorry?

“My dove—”

“I’m selfish,” she stated and he stared. “It’s a weakness. Selfish and self-indulgent and thoughtless and stupid.”

Not liking her words, he took a step toward her but she sat back in her chair and lifted her hand his way.

“That tea was…” she started when he stopped moving. “I don’t know what it was. But you were trying to be nice. Trying to take care of me. Trying to be gentle. And I pushed it because I wanted something and…”

Suddenly, she looked away, her neck twisting so deep, he only had the back of her ear and head before she twisted back and he saw the tears chasing down her cheeks.

“As usual, I got what I wanted, damn the consequences,” she whispered brokenly and continued in her tortured voice. “Hurting you in the process.”