Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (21 page)

Eyeing the cup warily, Axel asked, “Must I really drink that?”

As the duke pushed the goblet closer, his lips stretched into the smile of a toad. “I’m afraid you really must.”

* * * *

Jenna’s stomach knotted and her mouth went dry. William was standing on her new welcome mat with his thumb on the buzzer.

“What are you doing here?” she called out as she stepped toward him down the dimly-lit corridor.

Turning very slowly, he stared at her without speaking. She’d forgotten how handsome he was with his dark hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and square jaw. He wore a dark, well-cut suit and blue tie that made him look very smart. For a moment, the old longing to be wanted flickered in her heart. Luckily, her newfound self-respect put out the spark before it had the chance to catch fire.

“I got your e-mail.” His mouth twitched with something approaching a smile. “And, well…let’s just say, it didn’t take a degree in literature to read between the lines.”

She scowled at him. It was just like William to read something into her innocent and very straightforward message. “What are you talking about? I promise you, I have no hidden agenda. I only want my things…which I hope you’ve brought with you.”

“I haven’t.”

Displeasure furrowed her brow. “Why not?”

“I’d rather not discuss my reasons out here in the hallway.”

Jenna started forward, then stopped, still a few feet away from him and the door. Her chest felt tight and her palms were sweating. What reason could he have for coming to the Black Isle without her things? Only one she could think of—and he was already twisting her request in that way he always did to maintain the upper hand. He wanted to reconcile, but was pretending there was some veiled hint in her e-mail that she wanted him back, so he could act like he’d done her a huge favor by coming to Rosemarkie.

“And, frankly, I’d rather not discuss your reasons at all, William.” She pursed her lips. “I simply want my things back so I can get on with my life.”

“Come on, Jenna. There’s no need to be rude. I simply caught a bad case of the jitters, which I’ve since recovered from. Now, please. Open the door so we can discuss this over a cup of tea like two adults.”

So, he
had
come up here to try and get back together with her. The bigger part of her wanted to tell him where he could stick it, but a smaller part—the sensible, fear-driven part—saw him as a lifeboat she ought not to cut loose of its moorings just yet. As much as she hated the idea, marrying William would be better for her unborn child than trying to make it on her own. Not that she would ever choose him over Axel. Not for all the tea in Great Britain. But that was no reason to burn her bridges too hastily.

She approached him as if he were a stray dog she didn’t trust and, sidestepping his person, inserted the key already in her hand into the lock. When it clicked, she pushed open the door and led the way inside.

Her new apartment was even smaller than the cottage, but the furnishings were nicer. The cozy living room included a slip-covered sofa, two upholstered chairs, and a wood-burning fireplace with a pretty carved mantle. Through a doorway off the front room was an eat-in kitchen, which was surprisingly spacious and equipped with quality appliances as well as a full array of dishes and cookware.

“Make yourself at home.” She headed into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

When the tea was ready, she reemerged with two steaming beakers. She hadn’t needed to ask William how he wanted his tea because she already knew he liked it with milk and two sugars.

She found him with his back to her, perusing the bookcase where she’d placed her collection of classics and the items Axel had given her. Should she mention Axel? Much as she’d like nothing better than to rub William’s nose in the fact she’d replaced him so quickly—and with a superior model—it seemed imprudent to give too much away.

He touched the pouch containing Axel’s runes. “What’s in here?”

“Just some stones I’ve collected on my walks in Faery Glen.” After the way he’d reacted to her dream, she was not about to tell him about her new interest in things he’d only label Satanic.

“Yes, I saw that on the drive in.” He went on studying her collection of objects. “It looks like a pretty place.”

“It is. Very pretty. The cottage I rented for—” She stopped herself before she said “our honeymoon” and started over. “The cottage I was staying in before I found this place abutted the glen, so I spent a good deal of time there…thinking about things.”

“I’ve thought a lot about things, too.” His gaze remained fixed on the objects on her shelf. “And I’ve come to see that we should get married. It’s the only way I can save you from the darkness you’re too weak to fight on your own.”

Disgusted, Jenna scoffed and rolled her eyes. Was he kidding? “And what if I don’t want you to save me? What if I just want a husband who loves, respects, and wants me?”

Facing her at last, he took the lighter colored of the two cups of tea from her hand. “I do want you, Jenna, but I’m not an animal. As a man of God, I can fight temptation and control my desires. Unlike you—because you’re a woman, and women are weaker than men, and therefore more susceptible to Satan’s corruption. I forgot this when I ended our relationship. I forgot that a husband’s duty is to protect, defend, cherish, and spiritually guide his wife.”

Jenna fought the urge to throw her tea at him. She could never marry a man like William. Never, never, never. “What a load of misogynistic bollocks.”

Without replying, he took his tea to one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down. Jenna followed him, rage burning inside her. Fighting to maintain the appearance of being calm, she claimed the chair opposite his. “William, I need to be honest with you. I can’t marry you because I’ve already married somebody else. I also think I’m carrying his child.”

“That’s not possible. We only broke up a week ago. And no one in their right mind would marry someone they’d only known for a week. So, which is it, Jenna? Are you a liar, a raving lunatic, or a two-timing whore?”

“I’m none of those things, you self-righteous arse,” she bit out, refusing to let his insults hurt her. “Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?”

“Love at first sight is a lot of self-delusional claptrap perpetuated by the same instruments of Satan that promote immoral sex.”

“Oh, really? And what instruments would those be?”

“Movies and romance novels that paint love as a dance of passion that culminates in mind-blowing orgasms—not the long and often rocky road of passionless companionship long-term relationships more often turn out to be.”

“Well, given the choice, I’d take mind-blowing orgasms over passionless companionship any day of the week.”

“Of course you would.” The smugness of his tone made her want to slap his face. “Because you’re a woman who’s been brainwashed by Satan into valuing sexual lust over spiritual love.”

Jenna bit her tongue to keep from saying something cruel. Why did it have to be one or the other? With Axel, she had explosive passion and a deep spiritual connection. Because Axel loved and respected her—and all women—two things William’s gender bias made impossible.

She decided then and there not to give up on Axel. If she did, she was giving up on a life she’d only just discovered was possible. Grateful for her narrow escape from an emotionless life, she settled her gaze on William’s face. All at once, she didn’t find him the least bit attractive.

“I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing, but I’ve had a long day and think it best if you go now.”

Anger flared in his dark irises. “I’ll go when I’m damn good and ready, Jenna. And not one moment sooner.”

Once, the fire in his eyes would have scared her into submission, but no more. Now, she was free of his power over her. Free to be the person she was and to live the life she wanted. With Axel, she hoped, and without him, if she must. She could think of worse things than being alone for the rest of eternity—like being married to someone like William for even five minutes.

Rising from the chair, she strode to the front door and pulled it open. Leveling her gaze on him, she said with all the pluck of Elizabeth Bennett or Bathsheba Everdene, “Get out of my house. This minute. And never deign to darken my door again.”

At first, she feared he wouldn’t leave, but then, he got up and, without a word, hurled his tea at her. Sailing past her, the cup smashed against the foyer wall, splattering hot, milky liquid everywhere.

Though frightened by his violence, Jenna refused to be bullied by him another minute. “I said to get out. Now. Before I call the police and report you for assault and battery.”

William, eyes narrowed and lips tight, ambled toward her menacingly. She stayed her position, spine stick-straight, chin thrust out, and head held high. When he reached her, he stopped and moved his face within inches of hers.

Gaze boring into hers, he snarled, “You’re in league with the devil, and I’m lucky to be rid of you.”

“I’m the lucky one, you self-righteous piece of shit,” she returned with disdain.

Before he could zing her with another insult, she shoved him across the threshold with both hands and slammed the door so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if the loaves downstairs quaked on their shelves.

* * * *

On a pure-white pony borrowed from the queen’s stables, Axel set off across the channel dividing Avalon and the Borderlands. He felt numb inside. Numb and hollow. Once, he had longed for the thrill of battle above all else. Now, he pined for something infinitely more precious to him—the memory he could not bring forward.

Queen Morgan had taken everything from him. His freedom, his life, his heart—and now, she’d taken from him this treasure that hovered just outside his reach. He had worked so hard to be at peace with his unfortunate situation, but right now, in this eternal moment, he hated her with a passion bordering on madness.

As usual, the sky above was clear and deep blue and the water below aqua, crystalline, and calm. The horse’s silver hooves clinked like wind chimes as they trotted across the glassy surface. Taking a deep breath to cool his temper, he kicked the horse into a gallop.

Nearer the coastline, a strong, foam-laced current swirled under his pony’s hooves. A few strides farther, they reached the rocks rimming the shore—small lumps of granite deeply etched by the eons, slimed with seaweed, and splattered with gull droppings. Squeezing his knees, he urged his mount over the rocks toward the beach.

Once they reached the sand, he used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and surveyed the surrounding terrain. An undulating swell of grassy dunes lay between the beach and a thicket of lanky pines. A sinister energy emanated from beyond the treeline.

The pony grew skittish beneath him as they approached the forest. Then, Axel saw the reason. A few yards ahead, obscured by the shadows, stood what could only be a goblin.

He had never seen one before, but he had heard plenty of stories. This one matched their description right down to the hooked nose and toad-like skin covering his oversized head and wiry frame. A filthy, tattered plaid was pleated about his narrow waist and draped over one scrawny shoulder. A skeleton key dangled from a cord round his neck.

Axel wondered what the key might open. “Would you be Smort?”

“If I was anyone else,” the goblin returned, showing his tiny pointed teeth, “you wouldn’t still be on your horse.” His mirthless black eyes looked Axel over for several moments. “Did you bring my reward?”

“Aye.”

Axel had all but forgotten the pouch Cumberland had given him to pay the goblin for his services. Fishing it out of his saddlebag, Axel tossed the heavy purse down. Smort caught the bribe in his three-fingered hands, and with an expression bordering on orgasmic, he emptied the contents—a small fortune in ancient coins and precious gems—into his cupped palm.

As Smort studied his treasure, his breathing grew heavy, his mouth went slack, and his big black eyes rolled back. For a moment, Axel feared the little goblin would spill himself on the sand. Apparently, his kind did not just covet gold for its monetary value; possessing the precious metal gave them sexual gratification.

Axel looked away from the repellant sight, into the trees. He shuddered at the ominous feeling oozing from between the trunks. Though he had heard the Borderlands were frightening and dangerous, he never imagined they actually radiated evil. If only he had protective mail to wear, or—at the very least, a runic talisman. But, alas, he had no more than a gold-loving goblin to shield him from the evils dwelling within yon dark forest.

“How long will it take us to ride to Brocaliande?”

“That will depend upon who or what we encounter along the way.” Smort wiped a string of drool from his mouth. He had since put away the coins and gems, and had fetched his horse—a fat dapple-gray Shetland pony—from its hiding place among the shadows.

After mounting in silence, the goblin led the way into the trees. As Axel followed, spiders on icy feet scurried up his spine. The forest was dark and damp and stank of swamp gas and rotting vegetation. Thick, swirling mist seemed to open unwillingly before them and close forbiddingly behind them.

After riding for almost an hour, slowly and in silence, they came to a tall iron gate that stood across the path with no visible means of support.