The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (6 page)

   Cassandra came to herself with a start. Despite what her body urged, she couldn't afford to become pregnant. How could she have forgotten so easily the reason she'd married this man?

   She lay beneath him for a time, fighting for calm, until she finally nudged him to roll off her and he allowed it, landing heavily on the hard bed. Cass fought at the bed curtain until she found the opening, then slipped outside and into the cooler air of the room. She took a few deep breaths, fighting for her sense of self again. How had he managed to make her lose it?

   She looked down at her naked body in the firelight and grimaced. Thomas should have warned her about this. Should have prepared some defense against it. But how could he have known this cold elven bastard could light such a fire within her? She had never suspected her new husband would be such a gentle lover. Thomas surely wouldn't have.

   Cassandra waited, listening to the even breathing behind the curtained bed. Thank heavens, it sounded as if the general had drifted off to sleep. She wasn't sure she could withstand his attentions again. Her heart thrummed at the thought and she chided her body to behave itself. Went to her chest and put on her nightgown, then removed her bag of herbs and favorite teapot. She inspected the room as she hung the pot over the fire. She should have brought more of her belongings with her, by the looks of things. After she acquired some servants she would go shopping.

   She stoked the fire and her wedding ring glinted, the rose open to a full blossom. While she waited for her tea to steep she stared at the black curtain, wondering what type of man she had truly married. In public he treated her coldly, yet the moment he'd closed the curtains behind them he had touched her so gently. Had prepared her so skillfully for his lovemaking. She'd barely felt any pain and her shyness had fled with his ministrations.

   There appeared to be more to General Dominic Raikes than he allowed others to see. Could she possibly gain enough of his trust to allow her to use him?

   Cassandra's head spun in useless conjecture while she sipped her tea, then tucked the herbs back into her trunk and finally returned to the bed. She slowly parted the curtains, the glow of the fire revealing the nude body of her sleeping husband. Her breath caught.

   She'd felt every inch of him and yet hadn't seen him at all. That thick silvery hair of his—which had felt like spun silk in her hands—parted slightly over the tips of his ears and spread out around him like a sparkling halo. He lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head, his face softer in sleep, the angles less harsh. His pale skin appeared to glow in the darkness, highlighting the muscles of his chest, the ridges in his abdomen. The long sinews in his thighs. She averted her gaze from the part of him that had brought her so much pleasure, and blushed. She hadn't the boldness for that. Not after one night.

   Suddenly his lids flew open, that black gaze of his seeming to swallow her whole, seeming to know her every thought. The fire reflected in the crystalline brilliance of his eyes and Cassandra shuddered. He was so very beautiful.

   "You're cold," he said, his voice deep and low.

   She nodded and crawled into the shelter, lay down next to him as rigidly as her favorite parasol. Then she heard the bedcovers move and felt the heat of him against her back. He pulled her against him, his mouth nuzzling her hair, his arms enfolding her in a gentle cage of firm muscle. He sighed and slowly resumed the deep, even breathing of sleep.

   Cassandra lay awake for a long time, listening to that oddly comforting sound.

* * *

She awoke the next morning alone. Parted the curtains around the bed and squinted at the brilliant sunlight. It looked as if she'd slept half the day away, an unusual occurrence for her. She slipped from the bed, donned a robe, and padded through the rooms. No sign of her new husband, not even the slightest trace of a dropped glove or a dirty teacup. Faith, he did manage to take care of himself without need of a servant.

   She returned to the bedchamber and stared at the black velvet curtains. Had she dreamed it then? That night of lovemaking with a passionate yet gentle lover? If only he had been here this morning, she wouldn't be so confused. He would touch her with familiar intimacy and then she would know it had been real. Perhaps they could even… perhaps she could go find him and then…

   Did she so long for him to make love to her again? Had she no shame?

   Her breasts tingled and she crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently not. But she reassured herself it had nothing to do with the general or his extraordinary beauty. He had just introduced her to a new delight and her body craved more. Quite simple, really.

   A knock sounded at the door and she nearly ran to open it. But only Gwen stood outside in the hallway and Cass struggled to suppress her frown of disappointment.

   Gwen performed her awkward curtsy. "Morning, my lady. I got to thinking ye might need help with yer buttons. 'Cause how can ye come fetch me if ye can't get dressed proper?"

   "You were right to come," replied Cassandra, stepping aside to let the waif in. The child followed her to her trunks and watched with wide eyes as Cass pulled forth one gown after another, finally choosing an ivory sacque dress of heavily embroidered linen. Burgundy, pink, and lavender roses climbed up the loose skirt and pleated back, creating a garden of summer color. Cassandra loved it. Her father had exquisite taste in clothing, but she'd chosen it for its lack of buttons and ease of movement.

   Gwen found it difficult enough to lace Cass's stays, which remained looser than she usually wore them, and she could see the tip of the girl's tongue as she concentrated on lacing her stomacher to it. But in a surprisingly short time Cass was clothed and searching the trunks for shoes.

   "My dear papa," she said, tossing another set of high-heeled shoes over her shoulder, "provided a most fashionable wardrobe. But I refuse to wear"—and she tossed out another pair stitched with fleur-de-lis— "heels that I can barely walk in." Cassandra sat back, brushing her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Somewhere among these trunks are my sensible shoes."

   Gwen's crystal eyes sparkled with an ethereal light, a hint of gold within the hazel, and then she pointed to the third trunk on the left. "They's in there, my lady."

   Cassandra's eyebrows rose but she opened the trunk the child indicated, and down near the bottom sat her collection of low heels and slippers. "Your finding magic is most impressive, Gwendolyn."

   The girl beamed.

   "Now, then." Cass slid into her shoes. "I must find a vanity for my cosmetics, as I suppose I'll have to get used to using them now that I'm at court." She shoved her hair up off her forehead again. "And a hairdresser."

   Gwen practically leaped to her toes. "My friend May does weaving near as fine as ye can get."

   "I'm not sure—"

   "Oh, she does all the horses' tails for the grand processions. And," Gwen lowered her voice to a mere whisper, "I've seen her weave the sunlight, my lady. Truly I have."

   Cassandra smiled. "Magic appears to run strongly in the kitchens."

   "La, it does. The looks too." And Gwen preened her silvery hair.

   "Well then, let's go find your May and see if her talented fingers can be trained to a lady's coiffure." Cass ran a quick brush through her hair, twisted it into a simple bun, and then followed an eager Gwen from her rooms.

   Thank heavens she had the girl for a guide, for she couldn't yet make sense of the sprawling layout of Firehame Palace. It seemed to be designed purposely to confuse, and magical artifacts and items lay around every corner. Stationary walls appeared to breathe and shift, mirrors reflected imaginary scenes with her face floating inside them, carpets flowed like water, and ceilings trembled, threatening to come down upon her head. Gwen cautioned her not to touch this or that, and Cass could only wonder if the griffin statue would have come alive and pecked off her fingers if she had stroked that mighty beak. Or would it be capable of doing something much worse? The elven lord protected his palace in subtle ways and had an odd sense of humor, so Cass obeyed the young slave girl's advice.

   Her unusual companion drew only a few startled looks from the nobles they passed, but Cass still breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the basement kitchens. She must get Gwen suitably attired before any gossip spread.

   Cook stood nearly as tall as the general, a robust woman with red cheeks and matching hair. She wielded her spoon like a sword, but it seemed most of her helpers had acquired a certain skill at dodging it. Roasts stewed and pastries baked, and the delicious aromas made Cass think that Cook had a bit of elven magic herself.

   "So," she said, eyeing Cass with a frown, "yer the champion's new bride."

   Cassandra froze, feeling as if the other woman sought to strip her bare and expose her soul.

   "Ye just might do."

   "Indeed?" snapped Cass, refusing to let a servant weigh her worth.

   "No offense, my lady. It's just glad I am that the champion has someone to take care of him now."

   Cass's annoyance evaporated in the hopes of finding out more about her new husband. "I've never met a man
less in need of being taken care of, Cook
. Why would you say such a thing?"

   Cook leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, strands of red hair flopping over her forehead. "Have ye not heard that appearances can be deceiving? Haven't ye wondered what made the man so cold?"

   "It's the elven blood."

   "Aye, so do many think. But consider his father, lady, and why he might need to act the way he does. Ask the general about Jack… Nay, he wouldn't speak of his best friend. Ask him about Mongrel, my lady. He might talk of him."

   Cass's head spun. General Raikes had a friend? The elven did not make friends, possessed with such cold hearts. And Thomas had told her that her husband had no friends. Jack must be a part of the general's childhood, yet what had happened to alter him so in his adulthood that he now spurned all friendships? And who might this Mongrel be?

   "A dog," said Lady Cassandra. "General Raikes has a pet?"

   "Oh aye, he once had—" Cook spun and whacked a small lad with her spoon. "'Ere, now, none of that. I told ye to keep yer fingers outta the pudding." She cast her gaze about the kitchen suspiciously. "The champion once had many things, my lady. And perhaps ye will be the one to give them back to him. But, please, don't breathe a word of what I said to none other than himself."

   The big woman straightened and raised her voice. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but what with the champion's marriage guests, I don't have the time to sit and chat. Been cookin' near round the clock, I have."

   Cook had looked at the brick walls as if they had ears. Cass took the hint. "We've come only to find May."

   Cook's red brows climbed up her broad forehead. "Has she done somethin' wrong? That girl's forever neglecting her duties and—"

   The kitchen door flew open and an older girl with Gwen's coloring flew into the room. "Cook, look what I made fer ye!" And she held out a shawl that glittered in the morning sunshine flooding through the open door. Cass had never seen anything like the pale gray material before. May draped it over Cook's shoulders. "See there, it will not fall off while yer stirring the dough."

   Cook eyed the thing suspiciously. "What's it made of this time?"

   May's hazel eyes sparkled. "Spider's webs. Ah, they're tricky to weave, mind, but I managed to figure out how. Ye see—"

   "Ugh," said Cook, removing the scarf from her shoulders with the handle of her spoon. "Ye were supposed to be fetchin' parsley fer the stew."

   May's lovely face fell. "Oh dear, I forgot. I'll go back to the garden right now."

   "Never ye mind," huffed Cook. "Ye'll probably come back with a fine green hat fer me to wear. Besides, this here lady wishes to speak with ye." She turned back to her oven while May's eyes widened as she looked at Cassandra.

   But before Cass could speak, Gwen darted over to May's side and yanked on the older girl's ragged dress. "I told the lady that ye could fix her hair right fine and she wants to bring us upstairs to wait on her."

   May's eyes widened even farther. "But the servants—"

   "The lady says she don't see no servants in her rooms to bother with."

   "Gwen," admonished Cassandra, "allow me to get a word in. I find myself in need of assistance, Miss May, and if Cook doesn't mind, I would like you both to come and live in my new apartments."

   May gasped, wavered on her feet for a moment, then settled a wistful gaze on Cass's hair. "Oh my, ye have a lot, don't ye?" And her fingers began to twitch.

   Cook glanced up at the three of them and harrumphed. "Both of those girls are nothin' but a bother to me. If ye want them, I have no objection."

   Gwen ran to Cook and gave her a quick hug, then darted back to May's side, yanking at her hand. "Let's get our things afore either one of them changes their mind."

   Cass followed them to the back of the kitchen, into a small storage room that held two cots made of woven grass. She waited while they gathered their meager belongings, trying not to breathe too deeply of the musty smell of rotting potatoes. "Are you sisters?" she wondered aloud.

   Gwen shrugged. "No, m'lady."

   "You look so similar."

   "'Tis the elven blood. We both got too much of it in our looks." She sighed. "But not enough in our magic to be sent to Elfhame, eh, May? I wonder what it's like there, with trees that weep honeyed fruit and skies that rain wine and—"

   "Are ye sure we should be doing this, Gwen? What of the champion?"

   "Ah, May, ye know he doesn't give a fig 'bout anyone."

   "But he notices everything. And the steward knows he goes to the kitchens, so he makes sure we're tidy and have proper beds and Cook has clean kitchens…"

   Cassandra kept her mouth closed and let the girls continue to talk, although her mind spun with questions. Dominic had grown up in the kitchens, neglected by all accounts. Did he visit to make sure the other slaves weren't treated as badly as he had been? Or did he just come here from habit? Rumor had it he cared for nothing but the games, and yet his lovemaking had been so gentle. Was she trying to credit him with some human feeling because of that? What manner of man had she truly married?