Sabine (7 page)

“Mating bonds.” Sabine breathed the words without thinking, sure in her gut they were true.

Ciar was there at once, his head butting against her hip as reassurance flowed from him.
“Then I'll mate you again.”

It didn't take being privy to his thoughts to read the action, and Maris's eyes narrowed. “By all means, dissolve it. Give my son a chance to rectify his mistake.”

The growl that rumbled free from Farran should not have been possible, given his human form. “Hold your tongue, woman, if you have sense in your head.” He turned his fierce gaze on the witch. “Get on with it, then. Take your magic from her and prepare to beg for your lord's mercy.”

The witch seemed torn between relief and confusion. Both gave way to fear as she faced Sabine and bowed her head. The hands she lifted trembled, and magic gathered in the room, coalescing into a tangible pressure around Sabine.

For a moment there was nothing but that pressure, the hair-raising stillness that preceded a storm. It tickled uncomfortably over her skin, and Sabine opened her mouth to ask what came next. What to expect.

But she had no breath and realized that pressure was growing within her as well as without, and she started to panic. Then the pain started, a dull throb that grew into piercing barbs of agony. She twisted, turned, but there was no escape.

When she was sure she could bear no more, the magic vanished. Everything, even the niggling shreds that had dogged her heels for the last few years. She'd felt them flare each time someone had turned a blank gaze her way, showing no hint of recognition.

Gone.

She wanted to weep with relief.

Sabine opened her mouth to speak, but the magic returned with a roaring vengeance. The torment swelled, crested, and Sabine's knees gave as she sank into the welcoming blackness.

 

 

Instinct drove Ciar's change, fast and frantic. Sabine tumbled toward the ground and he found himself human again, with arms to catch her.

Her body slumped against his as panic crested, cut only with the relief that he still knew precisely who she was. Ciar knelt on the floor, drew her lax form tight to his chest and cast his gaze toward the witch who trembled a few paces away, face sallow with exertion—and fear.

As it should be.

“What have you done to her?”

She had to draw a deep breath to speak. “It is not an easy thing to remove so much magic.”

Threading his fingers carefully into Sabine's hair, he turned her face toward his chest, cradling her head gently. “How long until she wakes?”

“I do not know, my lord.”

“Should I fetch a healer?” The soft, hesitant voice barely carried across the room. Iloria, the woman his mother had chosen for him. Nothing but concern filled her brown eyes, and a sweet innocence that made him feel guilty for wanting to turn his temper on her.

The girl was nothing more than a pawn in his mother's game, and he of all people knew how adeptly she moved the pieces. He didn't trust himself not to frighten her, so he spoke to his friend instead. “Farran, send one of the guards for the palace healer.”

“But don't leave,”
he added silently, using the warrior bonds.
“Keep your eyes on the witch.”

“And your mother,”
Farran replied as he turned toward the door, his heavy boots scraping roughly over the sitting room's delicate rug.
“She's a viper, Ciar.”

Ciar knew, which was the tragedy of it all. His mother had not always been grasping and controlling. He had memories from childhood of her ready smiles and vast heart. The people of the forest had loved their lady every bit as much as she'd loved her lord—until Ciar's father had died, and taken his mate's heart with him.

Now she tried to steal her son's heart just as surely, and his compassion wouldn't save her. “You did this,” he whispered, finding his mother's gaze. “You unleashed this cruelty on the woman I love.
Why?
”

Maris's throat worked. “You cannot afford to indulge boyish infatuations, Ciar. Not as our High Lord.”

Sabine lay so still in his arms, and it lent his voice a vicious edge. “That is not for you to decide. I protected my people. I fought and bled so we could live at peace. Don't speak as if my life is one of idle indulgence.”

“She isn't
noble
. She's a—”

He let his displeasure evidence itself in a warning snarl. “Choose your words very carefully.”

“Fine, follow the foolish vagaries of your heart.” She sat back and tilted her head at Iloria. “What of her? Before his death, your father promised her she would have a place of honor in this kingdom. In this
palace
. If you turn her away now, where will she go?”

Ciar followed his mother's gaze to the girl. Poor Iloria looked miserable, as if she'd give anything to be gone from the room. But it wasn't just misery in her eyes—he also found the first stirrings of anger. At least she had spirit.

A spirit Ciar must not have been the only one to notice. Farran cleared his throat and stepped forward. “She can marry me.”

Maris blinked at the declaration. “What?”

“I'm the First Warlord of the Forest, Maris,” Farran grated out. “I'm rich, I'm damn near royal, and I need a wife.”

He was also losing his temper, something Ciar could see clearly from long experience. As valuable as the man was as a warrior, he didn't have the patience or ability to deal with diplomacy or polite conversation. He didn't even possess the decorum to address Ciar's mother correctly, calling her by her first name, though no one would dare challenge him over his breach of protocol. “Enough, Farran. You've made the offer. Lady Iloria can withdraw to her rooms to consider it in private. See that one of the guards escorts her.”

She practically fled, not that Ciar blamed her, and Maris sputtered a futile protest.

“Enough,” Ciar said again, this time to his mother. “You played your hand and you lost. Either Sabine will make it through this to become my mate and your new High Lady, or she won't…” He couldn't let himself believe it, but fear laced his voice regardless, and he put his rage into the words as well. “You'd best pray to your gods that she does.”

He could see an argument forming, but she subsided with a deep bow. In this moment, she was not his mother, but another subject, one who had incurred his wrath. “By your leave, my lord?”

There would be years to make peace. For now she could stew, and suffer a fraction of the unhappiness she'd forced upon Sabine. “As these are your rooms, I'll leave them to you and your witch. I'd suggest you both remain until I send word otherwise.”

The guards hurried to swing the doors wide, and Sabine stirred as he lifted her and headed down the hall. “Ciar.”

“Shh.” His mother's suites were not so far from his own, and he could trust Farran to ensure his orders were obeyed. “Rest, Sabine. You've been through too much.”

“Where are we?”

“The palace.” Another guard slipped by him and rushed ahead, fumbling with the oversized doors that led to the until-recently vacant rooms of the High Lord. “What do you remember?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “The spell.”

“It's broken now, darling.”

She stiffened in his arms before exhaling on a shaky sigh. “It
is
gone, isn't it? But so are you—I can feel it.”

“Shh,” he whispered again, gathering a little power and letting it wash over her in a soothing wave. “It's fine, love. Now you can choose me again—because you want to, this time. Not because you have to.”

“I never had to, Ciar.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “I never
had
to. I always wanted you, more than anything.”

Without being told, the guard pushed open the door to Ciar's private rooms, and they only made it two steps over the threshold before it closed with a soft
thud
behind him.

Good. For the time being, no one existed in his world but her. “You can have everything. I'll give you that, Sabine.”

Her eyes flew open. “Even though you're free now?”

“I've never been free. Not since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I don't wish to be free.”

A feral spark of possession ignited in her gaze. “You wish to be mine.”

Such simple words to thrill him so. “I am yours, Sabine. Magic could not wipe you from my heart, even when it stole you from my memory.”

The first hint of a smile curved her lips. “I dreamed of this. Every moment of every day.”

“You believed in me.” The vast expanse of his bed beckoned. He hadn't slept it in yet—he hadn't spent a single day at the palace once he'd realized Sabine was missing. It was fitting that she be the first one to lie on the beautiful hand-stitched quilt. “As well you should, sweet Sabine. In case you've not yet heard, I'm a hero.”

“Mmm, yes, the High Lord who brought peace to the land,” she whispered.

“Who fought alongside lions to do so.” Ciar stretched out beside her and laid his hand over her chest, just above her heart. “Once things have settled here, perhaps I'll take you to visit the High Lord of the Plains. Malrion is a decent sort…for a lion.”

“And I hope he says the same of you—that you'll do as an ally, even if you are a wolf.” Sabine reached up and stroked her fingertips along the angle of his jaw. “This is real, isn't it?”

“It's real.” He turned his head and nipped at her fingertips as, for the first time, he let himself truly relax. His mate was safe. Alive. Nestled in his bed, from which he might allow her to rise—in a few days. “Choose me, Sabine. Mate with me. Rule the wolves, be the High Lady of the Forest. We can raise a dozen children together and they'll never have to go to war.”

She didn't hesitate, and no doubt clouded her expression. “Yes. A dozen.
Two
dozen.”

“Perhaps not two dozen…” He tasted her lips, licked them until they parted on a gasp. “I want some time alone with my mate.”

Her hands slid to his shoulders, clenched in his shirt. “Ciar…”

He must have spent too much time around lions, because the breathlessness of her voice made him want to purr. “Yes, Sabine?”

Her breathing hitched, and she arched under him. “Make love to me.”

“Now?” His cock stirred at the thought of it, but worry lingered. “Are you strong enough?”

“I feel fine. Whatever she did, I don't think it was physical at all.”

“It still hurt you.” Ciar sank his fingers deep into her hair and fisted his hands in the loose strands. “Take me, Sabine. Mate me.”

She rolled him with a quick, playful growl. Her hair spilled down around them as she kissed him, soft at first and then deep. Needy.

Perfect.

They'd survived war and separation, had survived curses and magic. The day-to-day trials of life and love would be bitter and sweet in turn, but with her, they'd be everything.

She was everything. And she was his.

Forever.

Epilogue

Sabine tugged the heavy brocade curtain out of the way and peered out the coach window. “Are we almost there yet?”

“Almost.” Next to her, Ciar laughed. “We should have run.”

She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Somehow, I don't think two wolves showing up on her doorstep would have had the same effect as a royal retinue.”

“But it would have kept you too busy to worry.” Ciar's fingers found that stray lock of hair and tugged at it. “Are you having second thoughts?”

She should have been. The last time she'd seen her mother, she'd walked away heartbroken. Forgotten. But now… “Even if she doesn't remember me, I'd like to tell her…something.” What, she didn't know, and she never would have attempted it without the High Lord by her side. His authority alone would keep anyone from relegating her to the ranks of the ranting insane, no matter what she said.

She stopped short and laughed. She herself was the High Lady, and her word was law, just as Ciar's was. “I keep forgetting we're married now,” she admitted.

Another tug, and he wrapped the lock of hair around his finger and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “A mighty feat indeed, when your wedding day was the obsession of half the kingdom.”

And not only because of her own humble circumstances of birth. The First Warlord had wed the same day, taking as his bride the noblewoman who—it was rumored—had been meant for Ciar himself. “Perhaps, when we leave, we can travel to the eastern lands. I would like to visit Farran and Iloria.”

“All in good time.” His lips tickled the corner of her mouth. “Talk to me, Sabine. You can't hide your heart from me, not anymore.”

“I'm worried,” she whispered. “My mother may not remember me still, and that will hurt, but at least her ignorance will shield her. She cannot miss me if she doesn't know I exist, and I will survive, as long as I have you.” She bit her lip. “Your friend, however, will not have the comfort of blissful oblivion. I worry that his allegiance to you drove him to act rashly.”

Pulling back, Ciar lifted one hand to cup her cheek. “Farran is a miserable, lonely man whose allegiance to me begins and ends at the battlefield. If anything drove him to act rashly, it was desire and concern for Iloria.”

“Then I'll put it out of my mind.” Though it was hard to forget the other woman's stricken, shocked expression. What had transpired at the palace might not have put Farran in a difficult situation, but Iloria was quite another matter.

“Sabine.” He tilted her head back. “Farran is not an easy man, but he is a good man. Once we've exhausted your mother's patience, we'll impose on them for a week or two, and you'll see all is well. Iloria made her choice, after all—perhaps she has good reason to wish to be away from her family and the court.”