Love's Call (5 page)

Avril’s tears were hot on his skin as her arms shot around his neck, and she pulled herself even closer to him.

After tucking her under his chin, he rested his cheek against her dark curls, inhaling her scent. Small, firm breasts pressed into his chest, and he threatened to lop off his manhood if it so much as stirred.

“You’re safe with me, I promise,” he whispered against her hair to distract his thoughts—and his blood—from diving into forbidden territory.

Blessed Spirit, he wished he was holding her under different circumstances.

Avril’s body shifted against his chest, as if she’d taken a breath, and she met his eyes. His fingers itched to wipe her tears. However, he didn’t want her to pull away from him, so Roduch kept his hands still.

“Will you really kill him?” she whispered.

“I would kill anyone who dared hurt you,” Roduch said.

A vow.

Does she understand?

Avril gasped. “Why?”

Roduch stared, his tongue thick. He couldn’t very well tell her of his visions. Magic was commonplace, but what would she think if he admitted he’d been dreaming of her for turns? Even if she had magic, she’d think he was daft.

“I will always protect you.”

Her cheeks went crimson again. Avril sniffed and swiped at her nose. She closed her eyes as if she was trying to gather her thoughts.

He beat her to it, words tumbling out of his mouth. “How old are you? You don’t even look old enough to have a husband.”

Making no move to leave his embrace, her lips twitched, and his heart skipped. It wasn’t like the brilliant smiles in his visions, but it was start.

“I’ve been eighteen for two months, but I married when I was four and ten.” Her voice shook, and she made a fist against his chest.

Fourteen? Married at
fourteen
?

He
would
kill the bastard. His blood simmered and he tamped a growl so he wouldn’t scare her. “Four and ten is not legally old enough to marry.”

“It is when your parents arrange it.” Her eyes narrowed.

For the first time, her voice had an angry edge.
Good.
He wanted her angry instead of weeping.

“They forced you?” he whispered.

Her eyes welled up again, and Avril bit her lip, nodding.

Roduch waited for her to compose herself. “You do not wish to stay married?”

“I have a choice? No one…has ever asked me that.” Avril sniffled and shook her head. “No.”

He swallowed the breath of relief he was about to release. She couldn’t know just yet what her answer had meant to him. “Good. You don’t have to remain married to him anymore.”

Chapter Four

What do you mean?” Heart pounding, Avril stared into the huge knight’s pale blue eyes. His heat surrounded her, but she forced herself to sit still. Instinct told her to burrow into him. He would keep her safe.
Forever.

She reared back, chiding herself for foolishness.

Am I crazy?

Maybe she’d finally lost her mind, like Tynan always accused.

Why was she practically on the man’s lap anyway? Letting him hold her?

Avril gulped, but couldn’t bring herself to scoot away. She hadn’t felt so safe in turns.
Four
turns to be exact. The very amount of time she’d thrown away to a husband who did nothing but abuse her.

And why had she admitted that to Sir Grantham? The words had fallen from her mouth. Like he’d used truth magic on her. She couldn’t
not
tell him. But she sensed no magic from the oversized knight.

She
always
sensed magic. Especially since they were touching. It was a part of her powers. The
blasted
part Tynan valued.

The only thing she had of worth, since she’d failed to give him children. Avril shuddered, slamming the door shut on those thoughts.

Sir Grantham studied her, as if he could tell he’d unsettled her. No, this man had good instincts but no magic.

His warm hand still rested on her back. He made no move to draw her closer, but she had to shout a mental command for her body to remain where it was.

She wanted to snuggle into a man she didn’t know.

What is wrong with me?

His pale hair resembled straw, shaggy, could use a haircut, but she liked it. Wide, sculpted jaw was in a need of a shave, but the growth new, he normally went clean shaven.

How could she know that about a handsome knight she’d never met? Avril looked into his crystal clear blue eyes.
Beautiful.
High cheekbones and a cleft in his chin that added to his attraction.

Attraction?

She’d never been
attracted
to a man. Experience spoke that men hurt, men controlled. Especially those who were physically large.

Despite the fact that he was sitting, she could tell he was very tall, broad shouldered. Being up against his chest told her his body was packed with hard muscle. Like a wall.

She’d look like a dwarf standing next to him. No chance of fighting him if he wanted to rape her.

No.

He wouldn’t do that. Confidence rose up and wrapped around her with a vehemence she didn’t dare question.

Avril had her own instincts. And they told her Sir Roduch Grantham had spoken the truth when he’d said he wouldn’t harm her.

“Do you live within the Province of Greenwald?” Sir Roduch asked. His voice was steady and even. Grounded her.

“Yes,” Avril whispered.

“You were married underage. Now that you’re eight and ten, you can declare yourself to your duke—Lord Jorrin Aldern—that you were unable to consent to your marriage, and you no longer want to remain married to the bastard.”

Bastard
was putting it mildly where Tynan was concerned.

“I can do that?” Avril croaked. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“Aye. It’s the law. He cannot force you to stay with him.”

Her vision wobbled as his words washed over her.

Tynan can’t force me to remain his wife.

She bit her bottom lip until the tang of her own blood greeted her tongue. Avril shook against the large man’s warmth, sucking in one breath, then two. Had he not been cradling her against his chest, she would’ve passed out.

“Avril. Avril. Avril.”

Swallowing a sob, she met those pale eyes. Her name on his lips was just as jarring as his revelation. Words evaporated, and she sank into his intense gaze, reading all sorts of emotions that didn’t make sense.

Feelings Avril refused to acknowledge.

You don’t know me
was on the tip of her tongue, but the phrase wouldn’t pass her lips.

When his hand restarted the slow soothing circles along the length of her back, she let him, moving closer instead of away. Somehow, she was helpless to do otherwise, resting her cheek against his chest.

Tynan had never tried to hold her—not that she would have wanted him to, even at the beginning.

Suddenly, everything clicked in Avril’s mind. Tynan had kept her virtually locked up since her birthday two months before. The beatings and rapes had increased. He’d been angrier with her, though she’d been a model wife, doing whatever he’d ordered. She’d stayed out of his way and not even met his gaze more than once.

She’d forced vision after vision, and done anything else he’d ordered her to requiring the use of her magic. Anything to keep his hands off her and his manhood out of her. Not that it’d helped—much. Her husband took her whenever he wanted. If she so much as whimpered, he reminded her that it was his
right
.

When her monthly had started yet again, he’d beaten her until her ribs cracked. The pain had made her pass out. She’d woken in a pool of her own blood the next morning.

She’d lost count of how many times that’d happened. None of the servants ever cleaned her up, lest Tynan’s rage be turned onto them.

Yet another month and Avril had still failed to conceive. There was no hiding it from him.

Avril had never gotten pregnant over the course of her marriage, but she’d thanked the Blessed Spirit every month when her bleeding started.

Tynan would eventually kill her. He was cruel to the servants he kept in his household and even to the animals he owned. His dogs cowered. Children would be no different, no matter blood ties. And he’d promised if she delivered him a girl-child the babe wouldn’t have more than one breath anyway.

She shivered, squeezing her eyes shut against Sir Grantham. He squeezed his arms around her, saying nothing. But he didn’t have to; she felt his steady heartbeat. It was as soothing as his caress.

Safe. Warm.

He would actually kill Tynan
.

Avril swallowed hard.

“I would rather make you a widow than have you renounce your marriage,” Sir Roduch murmured, as if he’d read her mind.

What could she say to that?

She could have justice. He was a knight, lived by a code. Avril had witnesses now to what had happened to her. There’d be no legal consequences if he killed Tynan.

Plotting a man’s death—her husband no less—should make her feel guilt, sorrow, something…but Avril was only greeted with relief.

Tynan would never hurt her again. Had she finally slipped into evil, also as the man had accused her time after time?

Heartless…frigid?

No
.

She wouldn’t let him be right about
anything
concerning her. Her husband’s death would be justice.

Wouldn’t it?

The door opened, and Avril flew out of the knight’s arms, heat creeping into her cheeks. An apology hovered on her lips when her back touched the wood of the headboard, but she couldn’t push it out.

Her body chilled without his warmth surrounding her.

Their gazes collided, and her face burned even more.

Sir Roduch’s pale eyes were wide, but he smiled gently. Something flickered in his gaze, and Avril’s heart skipped. But it was gone so fast, she’d probably imagined it.

She ignored the urge to reach for his hand, her stomach jumping.

“Oh, she’s awake,” a female voice said brightly.

Tearing her eyes away from her knight, she took in the older woman. Ample hips, graying brown hair in a long plait, and soft green eyes went well with her friendly smile.

Behind her was a younger woman, a girl really, not much older than Avril. She had dark hair in braided pigtails. She tugged the white kerchief on top of her head straight and curtsied.

Avril relaxed and let Sir Grantham take her hand when he reached for it. His calloused fingers brushed her wrist, and she felt a calming rush.

Her eyes shot to his. How had he done that with no magic?

His tentative smile made her squirm.

The older woman bustled around the room, pouring steaming water into a small wash basin. “Go fetch Lord Dagget,” she told the girl.

Her pigtails bounced with her nod, but she turned to Avril. “I’m Meara and I’ll be right back. I’m for you.” The girl grinned, flashing dimples.

“Oh, go, troublesome lass,” the older woman said, but the tone of her admonition was affectionate. “You’ll have time to visit later.”

Sir Roduch chuckled, the deep sound making Avril glance at him. The sound was appealing. She wanted…to smile.

He winked, and her cheeks seared.

“I’m Morag, Headwoman here. Your name?” The woman continued to move around the room, opening the heavy drapes over two floor-to-ceiling windows.

Avril squinted against the new brightness. “Avril.”

This woman was in control of her surroundings, duties.

Avril couldn’t refuse. As she watched her work, she sensed magic from the woman. Nothing specific to reveal what the headwoman’s main talent, but she felt heat, so the woman probably had a good handle on fire magic.

“Nice to meet you, Avril-lass,” Morag said. Her soft expression faded as she turned to Sir Grantham. “You can go now. See to your duties. The men are already about the yard.”

Avril bit back a wince. Headwoman or not, how could Morag order a knight about?

His jaw locked, and she shivered, tugging her hand out of his.

Sir Grantham let her go, without looking away from the older woman. Her earlier confidence that the large man wouldn’t hurt her danced into her mind. Would he get angry? Was the headwoman now in danger?

Panic rushed. But she chided herself when she recognized she wasn’t afraid Sir Roduch would hurt Morag—he wouldn’t.

She couldn’t fathom him leaving the room, leaving her.

A shout of
No
, threatened to jump out of her mouth.

“I’m staying here,” he said the moment she opened her mouth.

Avril’s breath exited on a whoosh.

He wouldn’t leave her.

Long arms crossed over his broad chest, his tone was even and calm. He wasn’t angry at the headwoman, just irritated. His fair brow was furrowed, his shoulders tight.

Tynan had lost his temper for much less. A woman ordering him about would have been a death sentence.

Morag tsked, but turned away from him, gesturing dismissively. “Anything you need, lass?”

Avril blinked. She pushed away the chaos relating to her knight.

Get it together, Avril.

She bit her bottom lip.

When was the last time someone asked her
what
she
needed? “I…” she cleared her throat. “I could use a privy.” Her voice shook. She wiped away tears when Morag smiled.

“Of course. This great brute didn’t show you where you can relieve yourself?” Morag asked, shaking her head.

The low growl Sir Roduch emitted shook her. When she met his pretty pale eyes, one corner of his mouth lifted. He was amused. The headwoman was just a fusser.

“Oh, leave off him, Morag. He’s been worried.” A dark-haired man stepped into sight, shaking his head and laughing. His embroidered, brushed leather doublet was dark brown, his breeches a shade lighter and the pale green tunic beneath had to be silk. Even his tan boots were impeccable.

“As you say, milord,” Morag answered, bowing.

The maid Meara came in whistling and carrying a heavily laden tray. The scent of fresh sweet bread and rich broth tickled Avril’s nose. Her stomach growled, and Sir Roduch smiled.

“You can eat soon,” he whispered, squeezing her hand.

“Come, lass. Lord Dagget can look at you when you’re done, then we can get some food into you,” Morag gestured for her to follow, and Avril scrambled off the bed.