It seemed a lifetime ago that Rennalf had cornered her in Whitehill’s solarium the first time. He’d held her under Command and raped her very deliberately, chuckling as he did it, and had left her boiling with a fury directed as much at herself as at him, horrified that she’d neither fought nor cried out. The fact that she’d been under Command seemed no excuse. She felt defiled as never before. And ashamed.
It had seemed not to matter that he had done the same many times when she had been his wife. Somehow that time had been different. He had taken her twice more, the last time in her own home in Springerlan. That had been the worst. And when she’d realized five weeks later that his seed had rooted and she was carrying his child, she had tumbled down a dark shaft of depression from which she’d feared she’d never emerge. For what man would ever want her now? Least of all one who was First Minister of Kiriath?
She had tried to rid herself of the child, to no avail. Eidon had decreed her to bear it, though she wept and cursed and railed against him. Why did he always slap her down? Everyone else he blessed. Why was she alone left out?
Foolish, self-absorbed, small-minded questions, she saw now. For eventually Eidon had broken through her darkness in the same way as this morning’s sunrise had broken through the gray dawn, beams of light spearing across the heavens, glorious heralds of a new day.
Conal shifted in her arms, drawing her gaze to him. His eyes were closed, long auburn lashes splayed against apple cheeks, his tiny hand resting on the swell of her breast. His thatch of fine auburn hair had shocked them all when he’d been born. Red hair! Who’d have thought? None of her other children, the ones who had died, had had red hair.
She stroked it, smiling as he sucked erratically, falling in and out of sleep. She hadn’t expected him to be so beautiful. Hadn’t expected her heart to swell with this much love. It still amazed her, especially after all the months she’d spent preparing to hate him. Yet he was as much a victim as the rest of them. More than that, he was
hers
. Strong and healthy and thriving.
“A Kalladorne,”
Abramm had said.
“And bastard or not, he will be
raised a Kalladorne. . . .”
But in the end, even that had been transformed into something greater. For two days after they’d escaped Kiriath, the Duke of Northille had asked her to marry him, and she had astonished herself by agreeing. It was what Abramm had told them he wanted them to do. What he hoped they would want to do, and of course Trap had complied. As he always did.
When Conal was born a week later, Trap had taken him as his own: Conal Abramm Felmen Meridon. Indeed, with his red hair, the only ones who knew for certain he was not Trap’s own offspring were his parents.
An act of grace for them all. Now here she sat, safe, comfortable, the child of her dreams in her arms. Sometimes the marvel and the gratitude simply took her breath away.
She heard the door open and close behind her, a sound she’d been awaiting, and her pulse fluttered with anticipation as the familiar footsteps approached. Trap came around the far side of the empty chair beside her and set his tray of jug and cups on the low table before them, his eyes flicking to Conal and away. “Good morning, my lady,” he said softly, averting his gaze as he straightened. It was the same every morning. The same greeting, the same ritual, the same strained politeness.
As always, she pulled the blanket up over Conal and her shoulder to cover herself, disappointment bitter in the back of her throat as she said her part: Good morning, sir. I trust your day has gone well thus far.”
“Very well, thank you.” He turned to face the window, where he would wait, as he always did, until she finished with Conal. “
She was, in fact, finished now, but she made no move to transfer the babe, pleased to sit here, holding him close and looking at the man she’d somehow managed to fall in love with, despite knowing her love was not returned and likely never would be.
Savior and protector, Infidel and First Minister, her dead brother’s best and most loyal friend, a man of inestimable integrity and strength, who loved Eidon as few ever did. She loved his soul first, and most fiercely. But lately, she’d found her eyes roving hungrily over his form, as well—whenever she thought he wouldn’t see her—taking pleasure in the way the red hair curled on the back of his neck, in how his shoulders filled out the silk doublet so splendidly above a waist still trim despite the approach of middle age, and in the freckled, sword-scarred hands whose tender touch she longed to feel.
Their marriage was one of duty and protection, though, and they had both agreed to it. Except for an occasional peck on the cheek, and the obligatory arm offered in escort, he was careful never to touch her. She’d been happy with that at the start. But she knew now she’d not been thinking clearly. Shocked by grief and terrified of what the future held, she’d planned to hand the child off to Cooper and Elayne to raise. But suddenly Coop was dead and Elayne missing, Abramm was gone forever, and Carissa herself was en route to a country whose people hated her. Who else was there? And so she’d said yes.
She knew now it was a mistake. Not just because he didn’t love her and it was unfair to bind him to her like this. Nor because of the ultimate irony to be found in the fact she’d argued against this very thing in Abramm’s case, only to enter into it herself. No, the mistake lay in the fact that she’d never expected to feel this fierce, hot longing, this desire for him that shook her to the core and made her hands shake and her heart ache with a physical pain.
She felt Conal sigh and snuggle closer, but still she did not move, savoring both the son in her arms and the man who stood with his back to her only a few strides away, hands clasped behind him, unaware of her admiring gaze and desperate longing. She wondered if she had the same soft-eyed look of hopeless adoration with which Maddie used to gaze at Abramm when she thought she’d never have him.
Maddie had been wrong about that in the end.
Maybe I’m wrong, too. Oh,
Father Eidon, let it be so. Please . . .
But she didn’t see any way she could be. She was married to the man, after all. He could have whatever he wanted from her—she’d give it to him eagerly. But after six months of marriage, he’d shown not one hint of interest.
Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder, and Prisina immediately stepped forward to take the babe while Carissa saw to refastening her gown. Trap had the routine timed perfectly. As soon as she finished getting her clothes in order, he turned from the window and set to stirring the pot of cocoa, then poured her a cup.
“Thank you,” she said as she took the vessel from him, careful not to touch his fingers.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said as she took a sip.
“You enjoy it, do you not?”
“Aye. I enjoy it, but . . .”
“It pleases me, as well.” His brown eyes came up to meet hers, dark and soft with affection that triggered a heat of hope and response within her. But he only smiled slightly and turned his gaze to the cup in his hand. “So why should I stop?”
Truthfully, part of her never wanted him to stop. But another part urged her to bring out into the open what they both seemed so intent on ignoring. The selfless part of her, the part that truly loved him, should set him free of this self-imposed bondage.
“You have so much to do.”
“And spending a few quiet moments with my wife should be at the bottom of my list?”
She felt the heat rise again, wanting to believe there was something there, reminding herself it was only Trap. Of course he would be gracious. Of course he would be kind. She knew he liked her. She wanted him to love her.
Why
can’t I ever be satisfied? Why is there always something more that I want?
She sipped her cocoa. “Your sword practice went well?”
“It did.” He held his cup in both hands as if warming chilled fingers. “Conal seems to be doing better these days. No more of the crying fits, I understand.”
She smiled. “No, thank Eidon. Whatever pained him seems to have faded.”
“And you’re getting a good night’s rest finally. I can see it in your face and the brightness in your eyes.”
She blushed and looked at her cup. That she had chosen to reject the wet nurse and see to Conal’s feedings herself had not been well received in the Chesedhan court. One more distasteful eccentricity of the Kiriathan barbarians, it would seem, but he was far too precious to her to pass off to some stranger whose dialect was so thick she could hardly understand it. The downside was that she’d been roused from her sleep every night now for months, sometimes for hours at a time when he was fussy.
She looked up at him. “You’ll be lunching with Darnley and Hamilton later?”
“I thought to, yes. I also have to drop by the auction house and see if I can pick up the money they still owe me. And then there’s the problem of those lost bales.”
She smiled at him. “And you wonder if there’s something more you could have done to save them. Something more you could do now to make up for it.”
His eyes twinkled as he looked up at her. “You know me well, my wife. . . .”
My wife . . .
Did he have any idea how those words made her heart melt? She shook her head and smiled again. “You are not so different from my brother.”
Which was, she saw at once, the wrong thing to say. The grief rolled across his face like a cloud. Stark and raw. He looked down at the cup in his hand, shielding his face from her as he wrestled his emotions back under control.
She kicked herself for her stupidity and tried to think of something else to say as the silence stretched out between them.
Then, “I miss him,” he said. “Sometimes more than others, but today . . .” His voice choked as he blinked several times and turned his face to the window. She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “Even after all this time it’s hard to believe he’s really gone.”
Her own throat tightened.
“And the boys,” he went on. “I had so hoped Channon would come through for us. . . . Now I fear he’s been taken, too. Or perhaps there was simply nothing to be found. That more likely, I suppose. We both know what they did to—” His voice cut off then, and he swallowed hard and exhaled a short, hard breath and stood there, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose as the nightmarish images of baby Ian being hurled against the cliff wall flashed through Carissa’s mind. A moment of silence ensued; then he puffed out another short breath and turned back to her.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard how Maddie’s meeting with Ronesca went?” he asked.
Carissa shook her head. “It would only just be ending now, I’d think.” She sipped her cocoa. “I can’t imagine it went well.”
“No.”
Rumors had run wild through the court of late, both of Maddie’s unexpected pregnancy and of Ronesca’s outrage that her sister-in-law could be six months along and the crown princess not know of it till now. Other uglier rumors speculated on who the father was, and none cited Abramm as a likely candidate. “She never should have tried to hide it,” Carissa said. “If she’d announced it immediately, she’d have nipped all the jailer nonsense in the bud.”
“Maybe,” Trap said. “Or maybe not. I think the Chesedhan court would rather it be a jailer’s bastard, actually. I know Ronesca would—easier to get out of the way so they can get Maddie married off to the highest bidder.”
Carissa frowned at him, uncomfortably aware that what he said was likely true. “You’re aware she’s planning to retire early again this evening?” Carissa asked.
“Aye.” He paused and she felt a sudden deepening of the tension. Then, in a voice tight and forced, he said, “I was wondering if you might like to take advantage of your night of freedom and have supper with me at that inn on the river I was telling you about.”
She looked up sharply, frowning at him. The only inn he’d ever told her about was the one where Maddie had secretly taken employment as a serving girl in a wool-brained scheme to gather information on the war. Both Carissa and Trap had sought to talk her out of it, but there’d been no stopping her. It was by Eidon’s grace alone Ronesca had not learned of that yet.
In any case, since Maddie refused to take an escort when she went to “work,” Trap had taken it upon himself to follow her, just in case.
“It would do you good to get away from the palace,” Trap said, his words coming rushed, as if he had to force himself to get them out. “A change of scene, a change of cooking style . . . no servants sneaking about trying to pry into our business. Well, except for one.”
He meant Maddie, and he meant it for a joke, but Carissa had been thrown into such a state of emotional turmoil she could not respond to it, could only stare at him with a feeling that bordered on alarm.
She could hardly believe he would ask her to accompany him, and had no idea why he would. Was he embarrassed by the rumors circulating that their marriage was a sham? That he had married her only to save her reputation? A well of conflicting emotions, the primary of which was terror, boiled up in her, and before she knew it, words were tumbling from her mouth. “Oh no. I can’t. I’ll have to feed Conal, you know, and I’m just not comfortable leaving the palace yet. But you go ahead. The Gilded Ram is the inn where the rivertraders come up from Peregris, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll gather a good measure of news, and you don’t want me intruding on that.”
She wasn’t sure if the look that came into his expression was alarm or horror, but it was only there for a moment. Then his lips tightened and he nodded stiffly. “Of course.”
Stagnant silence pooled between them.
“It’s all right,” she said then. “I don’t feel bad that you go without me. And if you wished to spend some time with other . . .” She exhaled suddenly and stared at her lap, her face flaming. “I know this isn’t a real marriage. I never expected it would be. You’ve done so much for me as it is, I’ll never be able to repay you. But all this other, the cocoa, the invitations . . . You needn’t pretend what we have is anything more than duty. I would feel more comfortable, in fact, if you didn’t.”