Love's Call (32 page)

Ansley’s heart ached for a reason other than Leargan.

Her mother.

She’d been so young when she’d died. Flaxen hair and brown eyes, her mother had been tall and slender. Gorgeous. And her father had adored his wife.

Ansley nodded, chewing her bottom lip, unable to speak for a moment. After chiding herself to pull it together, she looked her father up and down, smiling. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain.”

Dressed in a fine dark brown doublet and matching breeches, he had a fancy decorative dirk at his waist instead of his usual broad sword, and his normally unruly red hair was straight and combed, bound by a leather strap at the back of his neck. Murdoch had even trimmed his beard. Her father looked turns younger.

Handsome.

“Thank you.” He gave a lopsided smile and offered his arm.

She stared, freezing in the doorway.

Leargan.

It was the other captain’s arm she should be on.

The man she loved.

Right?

His dark eyes had been full of so much pain that afternoon in the great hall.

Had it been real?

I miss you.
His words reverberated in her head and she fought the urge to close her eyes. Ansley missed him, too. So much.

“Are you all right, love?” her father asked.

His deep voice jolted her, and she reached for him, movements jerky. “Aye.” Ansley cleared her throat. “I’m fine, Da.”

“Love…”

Ansley swallowed a groan.

He didn’t continue until their eyes met. “What happened between you and Leargan?”

Her vision blurred and she averted her gaze until a large calloused hand gently forced her chin back around.

“Nothing, Da.”

“Nonsense, lass.”

Ansley clenched her jaw and pushed his fingers away from her face. “I don’t wish to discuss it now.”

Murdoch grunted, narrowing his eyes.

She squirmed. “Let’s just enjoy the feast. Can you let it go? Please?”

“For now,” her father allowed.

Her stomach fluttered.

That was too easy.

Sir Murdoch Fraser
didn’t
let things go.

Ansley stared into eyes that matched her own.

“You cannot avoid things forever.”
You will talk to me,
was implied.

Sighing, Ansley ignored the unspoken promise. She hadn’t bought very much time. “How’s Xander?” she blurted.

Murdoch harrumphed, but a ghost of a smile played at his lips. “The same mangy flea-ridden, oversized tomcat he always is.”

Ansley gave a genuine grin. Her father would never admit it, but the orange and gold striped cat she’d rescued thirteen long turns ago was more Murdoch’s cat than he’d ever been Ansley’s.

He’d attached himself to her father not long after she’d brought him home. Tolerated her as a child, but Xander had always been all about Murdoch. He always purred louder for her father than Ansley had ever coaxed even from lavished affection.

When Ansley had bonded Ali, Xander had totally ignored her. Then again, Ali had been rather obnoxious to the cat as a cub.

“I miss him,” Ansley said.

Her father grunted. “I don’t see why. He’s getting crotchety in his old age.”

She giggled and patted her father’s broad chest. “Even more like you, huh, Da?”

Murdoch threw his head back and bellowed a laugh. “I should have thrown him out of the cottage turns ago.”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Her father’s blue-green eyes danced when their gazes met. No doubt Xander slept with her father in his bed. But Ansley wasn’t brave enough to remark on it.

“Let’s go, Da.”

She did want to enjoy the evening.

Ansley would have to stick to her father like glue to avoid Leargan.

Ignoring the pain that threatened to cave her chest, she stood tiptoed to press a kiss to her father’s bearded cheek before they headed down the corridor.

Chapter Thirty-one

Ansley allowed her father to walk her to the dais, kissing him on the cheek again before he bowed to her, Cera and Aimil, then took his leave.

The duchess beamed, and Aimil waved as Ansley took her seat next to them.

“Hello there,” Cera said, grinning.

What was Cera up to?

Her expression was much too cunning, disguised by the friendly smile. As Ansley and her father had passed Leargan, she hadn’t missed that his dress doublet was dark green with stitched gold embossed accents.

They were matched.

Having couples dress alike was something Queen Morghyn was fond of doing.

Cera and was supposed to be on
her
side. Aimil, too.

They were
supposed
to be as mad at Leargan as Ansley was.

She’d gotten over her hurt regarding Cera knowing about the scroll rather quickly. After all, they’d been friends—more like sisters—since they were fourteen.

Cera and Aimil had taken turns holding her while she cried the first night, and then the second after Leargan had betrayed her.

Ansley’s stomach tightened and she swallowed hard.

Not now. I will have a pleasant evening.

“What’s wrong?” Cera’s whisper snapped her back into her own skin.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Both of her friends’ expressions spoke of their disbelief, which Ansley ignored. “Thank you for the gown. I truly love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two ladies also wore new gowns for the occasion, and of course, looked stunning, even seated.

Cera wore Greenwald colors. Dress pale green, with intricate silver lace lining the edges of her corseted bodice and waist.

Aimil’s garment also denoted her Province of birth; an Ascovan deep red gown with a navy blue sash at the waist, accentuating her pregnancy, but it just made her glow.

“Have you seen Avril? I put her in light blue since she said that was her favorite. I personally think it has something to do with the color of Roduch’s eyes. No matter, she looks gorgeous. As do you, Ansley.” Cera reached for Ansley’s hand.

“You both do, as well.”

Cera grinned and Aimil nodded thanks.

“Oh, there’s Avril,” Aimil said, gesturing toward the personal guard’s table.

Ansley smiled when the younger girl caught her eye and inclined her head. She returned the gesture.

Avril
did
look stunning in the pale blue gown. Happy. The dress shimmered, the material iridescent as it caught the light.

The duchess had done well for the girl.

She stayed close to Roduch, smiling when the large knight leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. Like Leargan, the blond warrior’s decorative dress matched Avril.

Ansley ignored Leargan, even as her eyes zoned in on him against her will. He was talking to Dallon and Alasdair.

“It’ll be all right, Ans.” Cera squeezed her arm.

Ansley bit her lip to stave off tears and met her friend’s gray eyes. She
had
to stop being so transparent.

Aimil smiled and patted her hand.

Ansley reached for a goblet and sipped wine, needing a distraction. Sweetness exploded on her tongue and warmth spread as she swallowed. “I will have a good time tonight.”

“Aye. We all will,” Aimil said. Her dark gaze wandered, and Ansley’s followed, resting on the duke and Tristan as they entered the great hall. Both wore doublets that matched their wives.

Ansley groaned.

“What?” Cera asked, eyes wide and a fair impression of innocence.

“Matching,” Ansley said.

Aimil giggled.

“As you well know, I stole the idea from the queen. But there’s no harm in matching those who belong together.” Cera’s eyes spoke volumes.

A lump rose in Ansley’s throat and her breath caught.

No.

Wasn’t Cera on her side? Hadn’t she been mad at Leargan just that morning? Why had her friend changed her mind?

Aimil cleared her throat, judiciously averting her dark gaze.

Aimil, too?

Ansley closed her eyes, sucking in air for the hundredth time that night. Her chest ached, heart pounded.

Am I on my own?

“Good evening, my love,” Jorrin said, dropping a kiss on his wife’s cheek when he’d stepped up to her chair.

Cera’s warm smile could have split her face.

“Hello, Ansley, Aimil.” Cera’s husband inclined his head and winked. Tall and broad, the pale green of Greenwald looked good on him, making the sapphire of his eyes even more startling. Tapered ears and high cheekbones added to his attraction. His dark hair was a little mussed, as if he’d come in from the wind.

The duke was beyond handsome, but the way he and Cera were looking at each other made Ansley hurt even more.

For one not born to nobility, Jorrin looked the part. However, from what Ansley had heard and seen since coming to Greenwald, her friend’s husband made a fine duke.

“Where did my husband suddenly disappear to?” Aimil asked.

Ansley was hit with a pang of envy, then berated herself as guilt crept up from the pit of her stomach. Her friends were
happy.

That really is a good thing
.

“I believe one of the maids had need of him for a sick child. He said he’d be right back.”

“Whose child is ill?” Cera’s tone was concerned.

“I’m not sure, but he or she will be healed shortly. No worries, love.”

“You’re right, of course. I don’t like the idea of any child being sick.”

“Tristan will make sure no one else falls ill,” Aimil said.

After everyone had gathered in the great hall, Jorrin stood and gave welcome for the king and his men.

King Nathal also spoke, and Ansley’s heart pounded with every word. Would he announce her betrothal?

She’d heard about Cera and Jorrin’s formal betrothal being decreed at a feast celebrating the defeat of Lord Varthan, and though it was common knowledge she and Leargan
had
been
betrothed, Ansley didn’t want the painful reminder of why her father and the king had come to Greenwald.

Before long, all of Morag’s women poured into the great hall with laden trays.

Ansley looked at the steaming cut of steak on her plate. The tempting scent teased her nose, and she couldn’t wait to enjoy it in her mouth. She glanced at her father, who was seated next to her, and exchanged a smile with him.

Reaching for her knife, Ansley made quick work of slicing the tender meat. She placed a piece in her mouth, ready to savor the flavor on her tongue. Bile rose and she fought the urge to vomit. After chewing quickly, she swallowed hard, unable to hold back a cough that sounded more like a choke.

Concerned gazes darted her way, and her father’s large hand swallowed her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

“Do you need me?” Lord Dagget asked.

Ansley cleared her throat and accepted the goblet of water Cera pressed into her hand. “No, but thank you,” she said at the same time her father barked, “Aye.”

“I’m fine, Da.”

She ignored his searching gaze as heat settled in her cheeks.

“Are you sure?” Murdoch asked.

“Aye. It went down the wrong way. Finish eating.” Ansley grabbed her fork. She wanted everyone to stop staring—especially Leargan. Although she’d not looked in his direction, she could
feel
the worry in his dark gaze.

He was seated next to the king, three chairs away and across the table. It didn’t matter how far away he was.

Ansley
always
knew where Leargan was.

Dammit.

She studied the contents of her plate, but her appetite was gone.

Cera patted her hand, and their eyes met. Concern wasn’t the only thing in her friend’s steel gaze, but Ansley ignored the obvious questions.

Her stomach rebelled against the two following attempts at eating the steak, so Ansley gave up.

What’s wrong with me?

Sipping water helped, and she was able to eat two slices of warm bread.

Laughter and lively conversation surrounded her, but Ansley sank into her chair, her body heavy and hungry, despite her lack of desire—or apparent ability—to eat.

Since when did she have a finicky tummy?

Cera kept shooting her looks, her expression calculating, but Ansley ignored her.

Over and over, her gaze collided with Leargan’s. Pain rushed her every time. His dark eyes were worried, hurt, but she didn’t let it affect her.

Ansley didn’t speak much, answering when someone spoke to her, and forcing a smile when required. Perhaps everyone believed she was having a pleasant evening.

When the music started, people drifted from the tables to the dance floor, couples holding each other close. She looked away from happy smiles and kisses pressed to cheeks, sweet looks passing between men and women, even those she called friends.

Pretended not to watch Leargan as he rose and pushed his chair in, slipping from the dais behind the king and her father. The three of them stayed together, stopping by the personal guard’s table to talk to Niall and his wife.

One of the younger men of the personal guard—Ansley thought his name was Teagan—stepped over to join them, one of the king’s men with him. The knight looked enough like Teagan to be his father.

Aimil’s giggle caught her attention as Tristan bowed lavishly and bid her to dance. Cera and Jorrin also headed to the dance floor, exchanging a loving smile that made Ansley feel even worse.

So much for a nice evening.

“Mistress Ansley.”

After meeting leaf green eyes, Ansley managed a genuine smile for the young knighted mage. “Sir Lucan.” She inclined her head.

His cheeks went pink. “I was wondering if you would dance with me?”

“Aye, I’d like to dance with you.” She rose and placed her hand in Lucan’s.

His blush deepened, but he gave a half bow and led her to the dance floor, stopping not far from Jorrin and Cera. The duchess caught Ansley’s eye over the lad’s head and winked.

The song was a slow love ballad and Ansley looked away from her friend, tucked into her husband’s chest, his arms holding her close. She focused on the lad trying to pull her to him and gave Lucan an encouraging smile.

His awkwardness was endearing. Ansley took his hand and gently settled at her waist. Lucan jumped, but moved closer as they swayed. He averted his gaze, and Ansley grinned.