Rise (36 page)

EIRA LAY AWAKE, WAITING
for Bosque. She didn’t care for it—the waiting. Abandoning her bed in frustration, Eira crouched before the fireplace in her chamber. She stirred the glowing embers with an iron poker and tried to think of something other than the man she hoped would soon join her.

Love wasn’t something Eira had ever longed for. Nor was passion something she admired. Both struck Eira as wastes of strength and loyalty better spent on the battlefield.

So this new fluttering beneath her ribs, the sudden shortening of her breath whenever Lord Mar was near, troubled her deeply. Everything she’d dreamed of becoming since joining Conatus lay within her grasp.

But Eira had never dreamed of love. Now her body was subject to spikes of heat if Bosque so much as brushed against her. If she let his voice or visage enter her thoughts, her head was soon swimming as if she were drunk. Sometimes Eira feared she was losing control. When Bosque held her in his arms, she didn’t think she would have the will to deny anything he asked of her. But there were also moments when the headiness of his kiss and caress sated Eira like no food or drink ever could, and for the first time, she knew true joy.

But Bosque was often called away, drawn into his own affairs in the nether or the work with Alistair about which, before tonight, he’d remained so secretive, leaving Eira alone or, worse, in the company of her ever-sullen sister. In his absence, doubt crept into Eira’s heart, cold and slippery, making her unsure of her choices. With doubt came resentment, stirring deep within her like a restless beast.

When at last her door creaked open and Bosque’s tall shadow slipped into her room, Eira stood up, brandishing the poker like a weapon.

Bosque closed the door, smiling. “Did you think me an intruder?”

“It’s late.” Eira kept the poker aloft.

“I had to watch over Agnes while Alistair completed his experiment,” Bosque replied. He came forward, eyeing her makeshift weapon with amusement.

Eira shifted, her grip tightening until her knuckles were white. “You are often with Agnes.”

Bosque nodded, continuing his cautious approach.

“Tell me, Lord Mar,” Eira whispered in a dangerous tone. “How is it that our disgraced guest has come to trust you so much?”

One corner of Bosque’s mouth tilted up. “You’ve heard that she trusts me?”

Eira looked away, fixing her gaze on the charred, smoldering wood in the fireplace. “I’ve seen you walking together. A day rarely passes when you’re not with her.”

“That’s true.” He paused, Eira noted, just out of reach should she take a swing at him.

“And she looks up at you with a childlike trust that borders on adoration.” Eira chewed on the unpleasant words.

Bosque folded his arms across his broad chest. “You’ve been very observant. I thought you had little interest in Lady Morrow’s fate.”

“I care not of the girl and her bastard,” Eira replied. “I only ask why you show so much care.”

“I must say, Eira”—Bosque laughed—“jealousy becomes you. It puts fire in your blood and gives your skin a delicious scent. Honey and spice.”

Eira balked for a moment before she recovered, thrusting the poker at his chest. “I am not jealous.”

“You are.” Bosque grabbed the end of the poker, paying no heed to the fact that it was still hot from the fire and seared his skin. With a swift tug, he pulled Eira forward. When she was within his reach, Bosque gripped her left arm, holding her still. He wrested the iron poker from her right hand and returned it to its place by the fire.

Eira tried to wrestle from his grasp to no avail.

“Why are you wriggling like a snared rabbit?” Bosque grinned at her. “Are you so eager to get away from me?”

“I was trying to have a conversation,” Eira said. She stopped fighting him.

“You wanted to run me through with that iron rod,” Bosque countered. “I had no choice but to disarm you.”

Eira glared at him. “I did not want to run you through.”

“You did.” Bosque’s infuriating smile widened. “And all because of a pale-haired girl who looks upon me with doe eyes.”

“You admit it!” Eira snapped. “Now let me go and get out of my room.”

He didn’t let her go. Instead he lifted her up and carried her to the fireplace. Laying her on the sheepskin rug that was warmed by its proximity to the flames, Bosque held her still while he looked down at her.

“My lovely Eira,” he murmured. “You mistake gratitude for affection. Agnes is a sorrowful girl who has been ill treated by this world. My kindness is a refuge for her, that is all.”

“But why must you be so kind?” Eira asked. “Why not let Alistair care for the girl?”

“Alistair is too busy to attend to Agnes,” Bosque replied. “I took it upon myself to earn her trust.”

“To what end?” Eira frowned at him.

“You’ve seen it yourself,” Bosque said. “Agnes has a priceless role to play in Lord Hart’s cause with Ember. Agnes will be forever tied to us; thus, Ember will be bound as well.”

Eira turned her face toward the fire and away from his gaze. She shuddered when his fingers stroked her jaw.

Not wanting to admit how his light touch affected her, Eira said, “I’m cold.”

Bosque stretched his hand toward the fireplace and the smoldering embers roared into flames. “Better?” Bosque leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

She nodded.

“Why so many questions about Agnes?” Bosque took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “The truth, Eira.”

Eira swallowed hard, but answered honestly. “Agnes is young… and obviously fertile. She could give you the heir you desire. I—”

Bosque stopped her words with a kiss.

“Stop.” Eira pushed him away.

Stroking her hair, Bosque asked quietly, “Has your desire for me waned?”

“No. Never.” Eira shivered. She reached up to touch his mouth, tracing its shape. “You place so much faith in me. I worry I cannot give you what you need. I am older than most brides.”

“This wedding of Alistair’s has muddled your thoughts, I think. Do you long to be a bride like Ember? Shall I prove my love by marrying you?” Bosque laughed, catching her wrist when she tried to slap him for making fun of her.

“Your age means nothing to me.” Bosque rolled up to a sitting position, lifting Eira onto his lap. “And no other woman is suited to bear my child. Only you.”

“I do not wish to be any man’s bride.” Eira kept her eyes downcast. “But I would be certain of your feelings.”

“Have I given you cause to doubt?” Bosque asked. His arms were around her, warm and strong.

Eira shifted in his lap. “Does love hold sway in your world as it does here?”

Bosque was quiet until Eira looked up at him.

“In my world love is earned, proven,” Bosque said. “It is not proclaimed or professed.”

He smiled, pushing a stray lock of hair from Eira’s forehead. “And if you’re pestered by these questions, I have not done enough to prove my affection for you.”

Eira opened her mouth to protest, but he drank in her words with a kiss.

“How shall I prove myself?” he murmured against her lips. “Like this?”

Bosque kissed her again.

As he settled her before the fire, Eira asked, “And what of my love? Have I proven it to you?”

“With every breath, Eira,” Bosque said. “With every breath.”

ALISTAIR DIDN’T BOTHER
to seek his bed the night before his wedding. He knew sleep would elude him during the last night he had to suffer through before Ember would be in his arms. His wife. Belonging to him at last.

Forsaking his chambers, which were too full of anticipation to bear, Alistair sought distraction in the catacombs. He strode quickly down the tunnel, eager to be rid of his embarrassingly boyish fixation on his wedding night.

Despite the late hour, Alistair found Rhys awake. The young wolf was chewing contentedly on a large ox bone. When Alistair crouched beside the cage, Rhys looked up, his golden eyes intent.

“I would speak with you,” Alistair said. He unlocked the cage and opened the door.

Rhys left the bone and trotted to the door. He only shifted into human form when he was free of the cage. The boy smiled as Alistair sat on the floor. Rhys dropped into a cross-legged sitting position beside him.

“Soon you’ll leave your den,” Alistair told him. “Do you feel ready?”

Rhys’s brow knit together. “Where will I go?”

“Outside,” Alistair said. “With me, of course.”

“If you are there, Father,” Rhys replied, “I am happy to go. May I still sleep in my den?”

Alistair’s mouth twitched into a smile. The boy was so wolfish it was uncanny, but Alistair supposed it was only logical that he should be, given his origin.

“If you prefer your den, you may spend nights here,” Alistair told him. “But I’ll let you choose what you wish after you’ve seen the other places you might sleep.”

“A new den?” Rhys’s golden eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Alistair laughed. “Yes. A new den.”

Rhys shrugged, looking at his iron cage with a fondness Alistair couldn’t understand. “Maybe.”

“This den isn’t large enough to share with your brothers and sisters,” Alistair pointed out. “And they’ll be joining you soon. Are you ready to help me teach them?”

Rhys nodded eagerly.

“Good.” Alistair smiled. “Would you like to run through the catacombs?”

Instantly the boy was a wolf once more, wagging his tail.

Alistair jumped up and was about to lead Rhys from the room when he heard the boy’s voice.

“Is the lady coming back?”

Alistair turned, surprised that Rhys had shifted back to his human form.

“Lady Eira?” Alistair asked. “I’m sure she’ll visit again, but she’s very busy.”

“No.” Rhys frowned, his thick pewter-brown curls framing the rosy pout on his lips. “Not the serious lady. The other one who was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Alistair’s stomach clenched. “Of whom do you speak? Did she come alone?”

“I was sleeping.” Rhys nodded, wrinkling his nose. “But the scent of her fear was so strong, it woke me up. She was trying to get into my den.”

Alistair could barely hear over the roaring of blood in his veins. “Tell me, Rhys. What did she look like?”

“She was younger than the serious lady,” Rhys answered. “But she had the same fire hair, only darker.”

Alistair had to brace himself in the arched chamber opening.

Rhys whimpered. “What’s wrong, Father?”

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” Alistair said, forcing his panic down. The child was terribly sensitive to the moods of those around him, and Alistair didn’t want to distress him. “But you won’t be able to run now. I have to leave you.”

A wolf once more, Rhys whined. He lowered his head in submission.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Alistair reassured the wolf. “Go to your den. I promise that I’ll come to take you to run soon. And you shall run under the moon.”

Rhys stood up. He licked Alistair’s hand enthusiastically before returning to the cage and settling back in to chew the ox bone.

Alistair managed to lock the door and clear the main chamber before he began to run. His jaw was clenched so hard, the muscles shrieked in pain, but Alistair needed the throbbing ache to stay in control of his mind and heart. Every fiber of his body screamed that he should go to Ember’s chamber. He wanted to pin her where she slept and demand answers. But that was the impulse of a boy, and Alistair had to make the choices a man would. The knowledge that she’d been in the catacombs sliced Alistair’s hopes to ribbons. She’d seen Rhys, but what else had she discovered? Why had she been in the tombs to begin with?