Rogue's Pawn (22 page)

I hoped.

But he must have read the truth of it in my eyes, because he stood again, gazing down at me with aristocratic disdain.

“I saved your life,” he got out. “You owe me.”

“Oh yes, you certainly did.” I smiled, careful to look flirtatious. “But how is it my fault that you agreed to a bargain that supersedes the previous one?” That was a gambit—I wasn’t sure which took precedence, chronological order or immediacy. But it seemed he wasn’t going to argue that point.

“Don’t set yourself up to battle me, Gwynn. You can’t win.”

“I’ll settle for not losing, frankly.”

“You’ll stay here, surrounded by enemies, out of childish fear of the pleasure I can give you?”

“The pleasure you offer comes with a hell of a lot of strings, Rogue. Chains even. I haven’t heard you deny it yet.”

He drew himself together, holding still, but his fingers flexed rhythmically at his sides. I admired the long lines of him. At least I didn’t have to fake the interest.

“You won’t be able to resist me for long.”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“If you don’t get yourself killed. Or worse.” He gestured to my breast.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, yes,” he sneered, “you’ve been doing a fabulous job of that so far. You can’t even protect your own Familiar.”

I felt myself blanch. “That was a low blow, Rogue.” An accurate one. “But cloistering me in your fortress like some kind of Rapunzel fuck-toy is not what I consider a fantastic solution.”

Rogue folded his arms while color suffused his skin, angry blood filling in around the black lines. “You have a filthy mouth.”

“I told you from the beginning that I’m no lady. You were just in denial.”

“I know who you are, Gwynn.”

“Then why do you get my name wrong?”

He raised the eyebrow on the clear side of his face, but otherwise did not move. He appeared to be restraining himself from throttling me.

“I know who you are, far better than you know who I am,” he murmured. “Be careful not to underestimate me, Gwynhwyvar.”

I stood, bringing the gorgeous lily with me. I tucked it into the fold of his arms, then let my hand, one hand only, trail down his leanly muscled arm, dropping to his hip. Found the hard upthrust line of him under the velvet with my fingertips and rubbed lightly. Not so impassive after all. His eyes flared.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Likewise. Pleasant dreams, lover.”

And he disappeared. Right out from under my hand.

“Poof!” I said to the thin air. “Figured you could do that.”

I stared at the spot where he’d been, telling myself I’d done the right thing. That I wasn’t even the tiniest bit disappointed.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Détente and Circumstances

I awoke alone the next morning, having slept myself out. Last night’s threats to the “staff” to leave me undisturbed clearly had been effective. The morning had advanced along, bright sun shining in my open skylights. My body felt sluggish, blood pooled in all the wrong places.

Darling hadn’t returned, and both lilies had poofed along with Rogue last night. I wanted to take a bath, but I was too nervous that Rogue might reappear. I tried to distract myself with plans for wishing up something decent to get drunk on—whiskey, Chardonnay,
something.

Shockingly enough, trying to remember the chemical structure of alcohol didn’t do much for distraction from emotional turmoil.

As it was, I had lain in the dark while my mind raced. When I finally slept, it was one of those sleeps where you kept thinking you were still awake. Except that I was running around saving kittens from dragons, plucking them out of goo and trying to clear the stuff from their pink noses while they cried piteously.

No need to psychoanalyze that one.

Rogue hadn’t shown up yet to renew his assaults. Surprising, given the lateness of the morning. I’d even worn something to sleep in, which normally annoyed the hell out of me, just in case he did show. Couldn’t afford to have accessible skin around him. Though with the stakes this high, perhaps I could resist.

God, I hoped I could resist. I really did not want to find out what would become of me—and my maybe-baby—if I didn’t.

Hauling myself up, I stopped on the way to my clothing trunks to examine myself in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed under my eyes. I looked exhausted, the white cotton nightgown barely whiter than my pale skin. And I felt depressed. I had come far too close to getting Darling killed. White was the color of mourning in the Orient. I should start wearing white all the time. Better than black, that was for sure. Rogue needed no advantages.

“Regrets?” I asked myself.

“No,” I answered myself. “The price is too high and you know it.”

We both nodded, knowing it to be true.

I brushed out my hair. Wished some shine into it and added a bit of makeup. Time-tested female armor for bolstering oneself for a tough day ahead.

Then, casting a look around the tent once more for unexpected visitors—maybe I could make some kind of Rogue-keep-out spell? Now there was an idea—I unbuttoned the neckline of my nightgown and let it fall to my waist, so I could check on Falcon’s bite mark in the bright light of day. Rogue’s apparent concern—feigned or not—over the matter had me worried.

I felt like the breast-exam woman, standing in front of the mirror, hands on hips, studying the relative shape and size of my two breasts. Red dimples circled the aureole on the left side, but they didn’t look inflamed. The left breast looked as round and smooth as the other—no sign of necrosis, no red streaking of blood poisoning. The freshly brushed black strands of my hair streamed down, curving slightly, dark contrast to my white skin and icing-pink nipples. I could be the witch queen from any number of tales. The thought heartened me considerably. Better the villainess than the victim any day.
Don’t try to stick me in a glass coffin!

“No wonder Falcon wanted a taste.”

I squealed in a most unpowerful, very damsel-in-distress kind of way. I even clamped my arms over my breasts to hide my charms like any silly movie maiden.

“God
dammit
, Rogue! You can’t just appear in my private tent any damn time you please.”

He grinned easily at me, butt propped against the workbench, in his customary relaxed pose. “But, I
can,
ravishing Gwynn—see?” He gestured to himself and the tent.

“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.

I turned my back to him and, careful to face away from the mirror, slid my arms back into the nightgown’s sleeves and buttoned it up to the high neckline, silently thanking Starling and Blackbird for the modest sleepwear. Then I pulled a deep green velvety robe from the trunk and added it for good measure, though the late morning was a bit warm for it. Why Rogue hadn’t taken immediate advantage of my nudity, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t taking further chances.

“I see you’re back to your usual fine fettle this morning.”

Rogue shrugged, all nonchalance, but something dark shadowed beneath it. “I brought you a present.”

“Is it a hollow wooden horse?”

“I don’t believe you requested one of those.” With a flourish, he gestured to an enameled chamber pot sitting on my workbench.

I must confess I squealed a little. Maybe skipped a bit over to the bench and ran my hands over the rather gorgeous pot, shining brass and gold, with blue lilies all over. Of course. I lifted the lid and peered inside. It gleamed empty brass. I wanted to poke my finger in, find out if the metal felt the same from the inside.

“I wouldn’t do that. And don’t drop anything you like in it.”

“So I’ve been warned.” I contemplated Rogue, who looked decidedly irritated under the glib facade. The black lines on the sinister side of his face seemed darker this morning, and perhaps sharper. “And what’s the price tag on this?”

“It’s a gift, Gwynn, since you don’t like my flowers.”

“I don’t like the strings on your flowers,” I specified. Then added, to be perfectly clear: “Or on any gifts. Where are the strings on this?”

He sighed, brows forking down. I got the distinct impression that had he been a man of my world, he would have said “yada yada yada.” Instead, he said, “Titania give me patience.”

“The price?” I persisted.

“Not everything has a price, Gwynn.”

“You know, my experiences thus far in your world indicate otherwise.”

“Then give me something in return.”

“Aha. This is the part I was concerned about.”

“Alas.”

Too bad I hadn’t rummaged through the tribute tent yet. I glanced around, looking for something I could give him, something of equivalent value. He watched me in amusement, a lock of shining hair falling over his shoulder. Blue glinted in the black with the morning light.

“A kiss?” he suggested.

Here we go.
“Not a good idea—and a deal-breaker, recall?”

“A one-time exemption, no hands, lips only.” His eyes darkened and he tucked his hands ostentatiously behind his back. “Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

I studied him uncertainly. “Our agreement stands? This momentary exemption in no way alters any other standing bargains?”

“Agreed.”

“And in return for this one kiss, lips only, no hands, this one time, I get to keep this magical chamber pot, which will be wholly mine and not connected to you in any way.”

“Agreed. Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

“I can’t help but think this has to be a bad idea.”

Rogue simply regarded me steadily. His lips, the sweet Val Kilmer curve of them, drew my eye. It didn’t help that I wanted to kiss him. And the irony didn’t escape me that I had turned out to be the sort of woman seduced not by flowers but by convenient hygiene—along with an opportunity to study how he did the spell stabilization. But kisses—weren’t they magically potent? I flipped through stories in my head. Sleeping Beauty’s kiss, Snow White’s kiss. Judas’s kiss. Awakenings, pledges, betrayals.

“One kiss, as a thank-you. It means nothing else?”

“It might mean little to you, Gwynn,” he replied softly, not moving.

“What might it mean to you?” I jumped on the point.

But he only smiled, a slow curve of those enticing lips. “You have your parameters, Gwynn. A kiss, another gift of similar value. Or,” he added with a raised eyebrow, “you can owe me.”

“I don’t see how one lousy kiss has much value anyway,” I muttered.

“There you are then. Something you can easily part with. And it would go a long ways toward being flirtatious. Come give me a kiss, Gwynn.”

Even with his hands behind his back, Rogue looked dangerous. Tempting dark candy. Unable to shake the feeling this was a bad idea, but unable to intellectually pin it down to anything, I finally put my hesitation to fear of my own weaknesses. I stepped up to Rogue, who watched me gravely. His long legs crossed at the ankle made it difficult for me to get close enough—would I have to straddle him? No way.

I stepped in from the side, to reach him from that angle, but with a flash of his predatory grin, Rogue drew up his legs and opened them wide, so that I had no choice but to move between them. As I inched up enough to get close enough to kiss, I realized that, even with him partially sitting on the bench, I couldn’t match his height without leaning on him.

“You’ll have to lean forward,” I said, “for me to reach you with lips only.”

He obligingly angled toward me, his tail of hair sliding back over his shoulder as he moved. I felt awkward, with my hands fluttering in the air, no place to ground, so I finally folded them behind my back, too, and raised on my toes to place my lips on his.

Seductive and sweet, the soft steely heat of him moved through me. Sandalwood and Stargazers swirled in my head, and I kissed him longer than I’d meant to, angling my head to savor him better. He responded with a deep hum and opened to me, drinking me in, as he had before. During our other kiss, when my hands had also been behind my back, but chained there.

The memory brought up the flooding arousal and despair of that moment.

I broke away, stepping back with an abruptness that elicited a soft snarl from him, black lines spiking around his eye with a certain savagery.

“Let me have you, Gwynn,” he demanded.

I took another step back.

“No.” I tensed to run, because he seemed as if he might launch himself at me, but then he coiled the tension into himself.

“Don’t you have servants? The little faerie with the ridiculous wings?” Rogue was suddenly the insouciant courtier. “Refreshments would be appreciated.”

I struggled to catch up. “Um, what would you like?”

“Just some wine. Some food.”

Trying to move sedately, I walked over to unlayer the tent flaps and poke my head out. Larch stood sentry and Dragonfly crouched morosely at his feet.

“My lady sorceress!” She sprang up, knocking Larch in the side of the head with one stiff wing. He rolled his eyes in disgust. “How may I serve you?”

“Could we get a refreshment tray, wine, fruit, stuff like that?”

“Immediately, lady.” Dragonfly pranced off happily.

“Larch, your…liege is inside—you want to come in, get instructions maybe?”

He cocked his head, looked up at me from the corner of his eye. “I serve you, my lady.” Then returned his gaze to scanning the rows of tents.

Yeah, right. But I let him be.

“Okay, breakfast, brunch, whatever, is on its way,” I said as I came back in, to find Rogue pacing. A sign we were back to business then. “So where do you and I stand now? I’m losing track.” The kiss still hovered in the air, a tangible cord between us. I almost felt I could close my eyes and track the ripple of it.

“Falcon and I have arrived at an understanding.”

“Which is?”

“Boring. Politics are so dreary, don’t you think?” As he paced, he kicked a few pillows out of the way, which flickered into light as they flew.

“I think they get more interesting when your life and freedom hang on the decisions,” I said in a dry tone.

“Which you wouldn’t have to worry about if you’d just quit being stubborn and let me take care of you.”

“Oh yeah! And the price for
that
would be, what? Only the loss of everything I am? And everything my maybe-baby might be? Slavery in exchange for sex and security. I don’t think so.”

“Apparently your training did not make you any more biddable.”

“What?” Cold betrayal bottomed out my stomach. Some part of me had held out hope, apparently, that he hadn’t really known what they would do. “That’s what you wanted? This is truly what you want from me?”

“Given up on flirting with me, have you?”

I gritted my teeth, not only because he was right. “This situation is untenable.”

He closed the distance between us, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look into his face.

“Yes. Yes it is, obstinate Gwynn,” he whispered, frustration contorting his face. “And you have brought us to it as surely as I have.”

“Then you admit…”

“Enough.” He held one finger to my lips, lightly pressing them. I squelched the impulse to kiss it. Which only roiled me up further. How could I want so much and feel so repelled at the same time?

Dragonfly came capering in and I took the opportunity to walk away, supposedly to supervise her activities. For her part, Dragonfly made no effort to pretend she wasn’t enthralled by Rogue.

“Esteemed Lord Rogue,” she breathed, “you honor us with your presence.”

Rogue cocked an eyebrow at me, as if to point out the difference in our behaviors. Then turned his back to me to survey the blonde fairy. “Wine, lovely little girl,” he told her.

She poured some and walked on dancing feet to him, curls bouncing, head cocked coyly. She presented him the goblet from a deep curtsey, head bowed. When he took it from her, she shivered. I grabbed an apple-like fruit and bit in, trying not to roll my eyes.

Dragonfly remained folded at Rogue’s feet, a tumble of gilded pink against the stark black lines of him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, esteemed lord? Anything at all?” she breathed, looking up at him, her mouth conveniently close to his groin.

Rogue glanced at me, direct blue smolder.
Ah. A new game commences.
Oh no, I wouldn’t bite on this one.

“Hey,
mi casa es su casa,
apparently. If you want to molest the help, who am I to naysay you?”

Rogue thoughtfully fingered the midnight velvet at his waist while he sipped his wine, as if contemplating opening what passed for his fly. Dragonfly trembled in anticipation, visibly heating under his intense regard.

“I do find myself in need of relief. Something you are unwilling to give me,” he murmured.

“I thought that was Nasty Tinker Bell’s job,” I shot back.

He looked momentarily puzzled, then laughed. “No, Lady Incandescence serves me in other ways, nothing so pleasurable for her.”