The Queen's Consort (14 page)

             
He pulled Clairwyn around the obstacle. His Highland girl was quick on her feet and surprising good at keeping up with him. He gave her a quick, reassuring smile.

             
She rolled her eyes at him.

              He grinned. If the assassin had spent five minutes with her, he would've fallen in love with her, too.

             
That thought was distracting so he pushed it away. He'd never considered himself a man given to deep thought or introspection, but he was having increasingly disturbing thoughts more often. He blamed the armful of woman at his side. He'd have to take it up with her.

             
As soon as they were safely behind stone walls and another dozen or so Guard stood between her and danger.

             
Like the danger he presented to her?

             
Really, where were these thoughts coming from? It was a little late in life for him to grow a conscience, wasn't it?

             
He shoved a slow wheelbarrow out of the way and felt a little better when the peddler tumbled to the ground.

             
“Sorry!” Clairwyn called, spinning to toss the man some coins.

             
It was all her fault. She was too damn nice, and it must be rubbing off on him. Soon he'd be apologizing to people, too. Hah!

             
Finally they reached the Queen’s castle. Gladnys waited calmly at the open gate, as if she expected them.

             
“There are wounded,” Clairwyn said breathlessly as they rushed past.

             
“Of course, my Queen,” Gladnys said.

             
Clairwyn stopped running and dug in her heels. “Ansel,” she gasped, “we must stop.”

             
He didn't like it. He wanted her under cover and, preferably, under him. Now that she was safe a fierce desire roared through him. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off and lust flooded in to replace it.

             
She smiled, and again he had that uneasy feeling that she could read his mind. This time, as long as she shared his desire, he didn't care.

             
“I will only be a minute,” she promised.

             
He nodded. He could probably wait a minute. But he still didn't like it.

             
She turned to face the crowd. They were men and women from all trades and professions, from all walks of life. But they all looked at Clairwyn as if she was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

             
Ansel knew how they felt.

             
“Thank you,” she said to them, “for your help and your concern. Please, bring any of your wounded forward for treatment.”

             
A young man dressed in farmer's brown stepped torward her, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. “Ma'am, um, my Queen,” he said, “if it's all right with you, I really don't like that King Beaumont sending killers to our city. I'd like to join up with your army right now. That is, if you'll have me.”
              Clairwyn extended her hands toward the speaker.
Of course she would.
Ansel sighed. She really was too nice. He'd have to work on that, toughen her up a bit.

             
She walked right up to that young man. Ansel stayed close to her and glared at the boy to let him know how close to death he trod.

             
“I would be proud to have you march with me,” she said, and the youth straightened his long and gangly spine to an impressive height.

             
Probably infantry
, Ansel thought, eying the boy critically. With those long arms he'd have an impressive reach. That was, of course, if those wiry limbs were strong enough to hold a sword.

             
“Thank you, my Queen.” There was no weakness to the youth's voice now. Just a few words with Clairwyn and she'd made a man out of him.

             
And, just like that, it seemed as if a dam had broken. Eager recruits, male and female, pressed forward to join the Queen's army. She'd probably double her ranks today.

             
Soldiers pressed in from all sides, urging the unruly but eager crowd into orderly lines. They'd have a real army underway in no time, Ansel realized.

             
“Your work here is done,” he told Clairwyn. “Time for you to be safely locked away. And possibly tied up.”

             
She scowled at him and opened her mouth to argue.

             
He smiled down at her. “You have to get somewhere safe. Now. Or I'm going to snap. And then I'll toss you over my shoulder and carry you off.”

             
Her mouth snapped closed.

             
“That's better,” he said approvingly. “Now, Clairwyn the Beloved, are you going to walk or am I going to carry you?”

             
She put her hand on his arm. “I prefer to walk, Prince Ansel, if you please.” She smiled and waved as he led her up the stairs to the royal residence. As the doors closed behind them he almost sagged with relief.

             
“Ansel,” she asked, concerned, “are you—”

             
He snatched her against him and, without a care for who was watching, kissed her. He then pushed her to arm’s length and shook her gently. “Don't you ever do that to me again!” he yelled. It felt wonderful.

             
She blinked at him. “Have you gone crazy?”

             
“I might have! And it would be your fault.” He released her and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “For a moment there, Clairwyn, I thought he had you, that he was going to—” He broke off. He couldn't say the word. It stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him.

             
“I'm all right,” she said. She reached up to touch his cheek. “All is well.”

             
“Not yet. You have one more thing to take care of, my Queen.”

             
“And what would that be, my prince?”

             
He leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “Your consort,” he whispered, “is in dire need of comforting. He had a terrible fright today.”

             
“Did he?” She fought to keep a straight face. “Well. Perhaps my consort and I should discuss this further. In my chambers.”

             
“Excellent idea.” He whirled around and stopped a passing servant. “Have the kitchens send the Queen her dinner in her chamber. She's going to be there the rest of the day.” He shooed the servant off.

             
“The rest of the day?” Clairwyn asked, a smile peeking through her reserve.

             
“At least,” he declared, leading her through the halls. “It might take longer to settle my nerves.”

             
“Then we'd best get going.”

             
“May I carry you? It would be faster.”

             
“Thank you, my prince, but I prefer to walk.”

             
“If you must.” He pouted a bit. “Could you walk faster?”

             
“I could. But look—we have argued all the way to my chambers.”

             
“So we have.” He glanced up at the Guard. “Four of your comrades were injured,” he said to the man, “in an attack on the Queen.”

             
Alarm shot across the Guard's face. “But she is well,” the Guard said, looking her over.

             
“She is. But we need to increase her security detail.”

             
“Yes, sir.” The Guard saluted him briskly. “It shall be done immediately.”

             
Ansel blinked in surprise and exchanged a glance with Clairwyn before they entered her chambers.

             
Her shoulders slumped. “Increase my security?” she complained.

             
“Yes.” He turned her to face him. “Clairwyn, you had a really close call today.”

             
She scrunched up her face.

             
Ansel put his hands on her shoulders. “If not for your sake, beloved Queen, consider your Guard.”

             
That was the right argument to make. He pressed his advantage. “Four of your men were injured today, perhaps to their death.”

             
Regret colored her features.

             
She was too soft-hearted. It made her easy to manipulate. “Promise me that you will be more careful. If not for yourself, for the ones who will die for you.”

             
“You are right, Ansel. I will not be selfish.”

             
Good. He'd won that handily. Now to see to more important matters…. He pushed her back gently, snagging her heel with his toe. He caught her as she fell and twisted so he landed on the carpet under her.

             
“Ansel.” Surprise flared in her eyes and in her smile.

             
He rolled to pin her. “Clairwyn.” It gratified him to see her smile fade. “Promise me that you will agree to all the additional security measures that I'm going to implement on the morrow.”

             
Mutiny stained her features.

             
Ansel caught her hand and placed it over his heart. “If anything happened to you, I don't know, I'd….” He didn't have the words to explain how he felt. He didn't even understand how he felt. How could he explain? How could he make her believe?

             
She cupped his cheek with her free hand. “I promise,” she said.

             
Ansel didn't have the words, and he regretted that. But he'd always been a man of action and he did his best to show her what he couldn't say.

Thirteen

             
“Oh, Ansel,” she sighed, mourning over the sad remains of another shredded gown. “At this rate, I'm going to need a whole new wardrobe.”

             
He stretched languidly, smiling as her eyes returned to him and a hint of color flamed in her cheeks. She was getting much more comfortable—and skilled—with his body. He loved her growing confidence. It was sexy as hell.

             
And she was, too. He loved the long, strong curves of her body and the way she fit him perfectly. He loved her thick, dark hair, and he loved to wrap it around his fists as he taught her how to love him.

             
“Stop looking at me like that, Ansel!” She shook a handful of rags at him. “You can't possibly want to do...that...again already!”

             
“Of course I do.” He caught her ankle and dragged her, giggling like a schoolgirl, back across the bed. He crawled up her body, kissing and nibbling and touching as he went.

             
He pressed her down into the sheets. “The only time I don't
want
to do that to you is when I'm actually doing it to you.”

             
“You are insatiable.” She flattened her hands against his chest.

             
“It's your fault. You're irresistable.” He dropped his head to touch his tongue to that spot behind her ear.

             
She melted, as she always did for him. It was very gratifying. Her arms roped around his neck, pulling him closer. As if he'd ever leave her.

             
“At least I don't have to destroy a dress this time.” His lips skimmed over the shell of her ear. “But I don't like those frou-frou gowns.”

             
“Frou-frou?” Her giggle vibrated through him delightfully.

             
“Frou-frou,” he affirmed. “Highlander dress better suits my wild Highland girl.” 

             
“I am not wild,” she protested. “I've had nearly a decade of taming. You haven't seen 'wild' since I danced for you all those years ago.”

             
He reared back. “Dance?”

             
“No.” Clairwyn's eyes widened with alarm. “No, Ansel, I won't, I can't—”

             
“You can. And you will.” He climbed out of bed and dragged her with him.

             
She curled against him, her face pressed against his shoulder.

             
“Hey, now, don't be shy. You know you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, with or without clothes.”

             
She shook against him.

             
An unfamiliar tenderness twined through him, tightening his arms around her. “It's all right. I'll help you. We'll dance together.”

             
She lifted her head and he was relieved to see that she wasn't crying. She was laughing. At him?

             
He scowled at her. “You're my dancing girl. Bought and paid for. Now dance!”

             
Clairwyn rolled her eyes at him. “You didn't pay such an exorbitant sum to watch me dance, Ansel.”

             
He gasped theatrically in pretend shock. “Why, of course I did. What else could I possibly have wanted from you?”

             
She pushed away a little bit and gave him a prim look. “I know exactly what you wanted from me. It was explained to me at length—at great length, let me assure you—as Tristam spirited me out of your reach.”

             
“Tristam?” He didn't have to feign his scowl. “He was your guardian? And now he's Captain of your Guard?”

             
“Yes, of course.” She regarded him quizzically.

             
“I'm almost sorry I saved his bacon today.”

             
“You saved his bacon?”

             
“I did.” He almost said something about Clairwyn's performance but prudently held his tongue. Her magic was another thing they couldn't talk about. “And now I'm sorry I did. Almost.”

             
“What are you talking about?”

             
“He stole you away from me,” Ansel said with exaggerated patience. “It's all his fault. I'm gonna punch him in the nose the next time I see him. If he lives.”

             
“Oh, he'll live. My kinswoman Gladnys is a dab hand with healing, believe me. And she's got a sweet spot for Tristam. But I can't believe that you're mad at him for rescuing me from you.”

             
“Rescued? You should have been glad to be my dancing girl. I would have treated you like a princess.”

             
“I was a princess, Ansel. And my duty was here.”

             
Your duty is to me.
Again, he held his tongue. He was used to speaking his mind, but he also knew the value of prudence. And he was a master tactician. A full-frontal attack wouldn't win his Queen. He needed to breach her defenses by stealth.

             
So he schooled his features. His hands roved down Clairwyn's bare skin to her backside. “Dance for me, girl,” he growled.

             
She spun away from him and grabbed her robe, swirling it around her shoulders. With a demure look over her shoulder, she positioned her arms and legs gracefully. “I'll dance,” she said, “though it has cost us both dearly.”

             
More than I thought I could pay,
Ansel agreed. But, though he was still paying, she was worth any price.

*****

              “How did you get this scar?” Clairwyn traced a finger along his shoulder.

             
“A bandit's knife.” He watched her with amusement. She had her legs folded under her, the blanket wrapped around her, and a determined light in her eyes. “Courchevel is a dangerous country.”

             
“A bandit attacked you?” She frowned.

             
“No. I attacked him. Bandits aren't good for business. I was trying to make my country a little less dangerous.”

             
She nodded. “And this one?”

             
“A little disagreement with Durnham's men over the border between our estates. I won,” he said smugly.

             
“Of course you did.” She stated it as fact. “And what about this?”

             
“Ah.” That scar on his side dredged up some bad memories. “I got that in training.” His best friend had landed a lucky blow; Ansel's automatic, almost involuntary response had gutted the other boy. Ansel could still remember holding his friend as the life faded from his eyes.

             
She waited until he shook off the memory. “How old were you?”

             
“Twelve.”

             
She ran her hand through the light hair on his chest, skimming over the many other scars. But he wasn't in the mood to play anymore, and she seemed to sense that. She cuddled next to him, using his chest as a pillow.

             
“Your training started very young,” she said.

             
“I left my mother for the barracks at seven.” An accident had killed her shortly after, and he'd never seen her again.

             
Once again Clairwyn seemed to know his thoughts. “It must have been terrible to lose her,” she said, “especially that way.”

             
Confused, Ansel pulled back to look down at her. “She died in an accident,” he said.

             
Something unsettling flashed across Clairwyn's face, but she stayed silent.

             
“Why?” A heavy feeling settled in his chest. “Do you believe otherwise?”

             
“We have spies in Courcheval, of course,” she said slowly, reluctantly.

             
Every muscle in his body coiled. He'd had doubts about his mother’s untimely death, had heard whispers, but he'd never let himself listen.

             
“What did those spies say?” His tone was harsher than he'd intended. 

             
She winced. “I've read the report, Ansel. Our spy said Beaumont wanted to marry another woman and that he, uh, caused your mother's death.”

             
Ansel stared at her.

             
She squirmed uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, I truly am. I do not wish to bring you pain.”

             
He could see the truth in her words. Whatever the facts might be, she believed what she'd said. And she hadn't said it to hurt him.

             
With an effort he pulled himself together. “You mentioned a report. This is written down? You still have it?”

             
She nodded, obviously wondering where he was going with this.

             
His mind whirled. He knew himself and knew that he wasn't going to be able to just let it go. “Can I see this report?”

             
It was a lot to ask. She should deny his request to see her spy records. But her open, honest face didn't change. “Of course. I could send for it—”

             
“Is it here, in your castle? Could we go now?”

             
“Of course.” She pushed off the covers and rose. “Luckily I have a few simple gowns that I can wear around the castle.” She smiled. “I don't always have a dozen girls to help me dress.”

             
He didn't respond. He was busy dressing himself.

             
“And I can't forget. I need the key.” Clairwyn walked over to the bare wall behind the door. She pried up a loose board to reveal a hidden space. She reached in and felt around until she produced the key. “Ta-dah!”

             
She was trying to lighten the mood, and Ansel tried to respond. “Is that all you need?”

             
She nodded. “I'm ready.”

             
“Good.” He slid his swords into his belt. “Clairwyn.” Words weren't easy for him, but this required a special effort from him. “Thank you.”

             
She melted. “Of course, Ansel. I just hope that I don't make things worse for you.”

             
“I need to see this.”

             
The hour was late but four Guard stood at Clairwyn's door. Two of them peeled off to follow her.

             
“Really?” she asked. “Within the castle itself?”

             
“You promised you wouldn't argue.” Ansel was distracted by his questions but reminded himself—and Clairwyn—that he had taken charge of her increased security.

             
She didn't look happy, but she didn't argue. “We're going to the records room,” she said to the Guard. “I'll need someone to fetch Caine.”

             
“Very good, my Queen.” The Guard pulled on a newly-installed rope and, distantly, a bell rang.

             
Two servants and another pair of Guard appeared quickly. The servants were dispatched to fetch Caine. The new Guard were sent ahead to secure the records room.

             
Clairwyn set her face. “This is too much,” she said.

             
“They're in training,” Ansel said. “Because four of your Guard are still recovering from your last adventure.”

             
She looked mutinous but she stalked down the hall behind the men. Ansel and the other two Guard followed her.

             
The records room was actually stationed behind the Guard rally room, dormitory, and armory. Clairwyn paused to pull aside a tapestry. Behind it Ansel saw a door with two massive locks.

             
Caine, looking calm and unruffled despite the hour, walked into the room and pulled out his key. Clairwyn dug her key out of a small pocket. “I'm always afraid I'm going to lose it,” she said.

             
Caine smiled without humor. “Please take care, my Queen. When your brother lost it a team of locksmiths had to rebuild the entire door.”

             
“I've heard the story, Caine. Often. And I will take care, I promise.” She inserted her key into the lock and turned it.

             
Caine did the same, then twisted the knob and pulled the door open. He gestured for Clairwyn to precede him into the room.