Dawn Of Desire (6 page)

“No,” she confided in a hushed whisper. “That would be devious, and I merely wish to learn what she revealed.”

Taking that for a blatant lie, Egan cursed under his breath and resumed pacing. He would never forgive himself for failing his father in his time of desperate need, and as the guilt raged within him, he spoke to unburden himself rather than out of any desire to confide in the beauty whose honeyed voice had always warned of doom.

“Ula swears she fell ill and suffered such violent pains she begged to die. Father summoned her Druids to cast their spells, but though they succeeded in curing her, when he fell victim to the same torment, their incantations failed to save him. Several others fell ill and died, an ancient Druid among them, but apparently my half brother, Kieran, felt no more than a slight twinge and recovered fully.”

Egan abruptly ceased pacing to stare accusingly at Oriana. “I hate Kieran all the more for that.”

Touched by the depth of his anguish, Oriana again extended her hand. “Come. Sit down with me,” she invited.

“I am now the king!” Egan shouted back at her.

Clearly he was so angry that he longed for a fight with anyone who’d respond, but Oriana was far too wise to fall into that unfortunate trap. “Yes, I understand, and even if I am not among the Dál Cais, I am in your home where you won’t do anyone else’s bidding. But please, sit down with me, and let’s consider what you’ve learned.”

Bewildered by her sensible request, Egan reluctantly slid his hand into hers and sat beside her at the foot of his bed. “Ula tells nothing but lies, so we’ll never know what really happened.”

That he had included her in his anguished reply gave Oriana a moment’s pause, but she grasped his hand fondly in both of hers. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to clear her mind. The suspicion Egan’s father had been poisoned grew strong, but she knew if she spoke that fear aloud, Egan might well respond with a murderous rage that would leave both Ula and Kieran dead. Killing his remaining family was no way for any king to begin his reign, and the consequences among the Dál Cais would surely be dire.

Though the need to protect him surprised her, she did not doubt its value. “You may hate me, Egan,” Oriana began slowly, “but I would like to remain here with you for a few days.”

Egan was feeling too hurt and guilty to think clearly. He had sought her out when he should have been home to care for his father, and her presence cut him as sharply as any knife. Filled with revulsion, he hesitated, but then haunted by the strange voice only he had heard, he thought better of sending her away.

“First swear you aren’t responsible for the voices I heard,” he ordered.

“You have my word on it. I’ve never thought you a fool,” Oriana replied thoughtfully. There was a whole string of uncomplimentary names she still thought applied, but fool was certainly not among them.

“If I’m to remain, however, I’ll need my own chamber,” she added.

“No,” Egan replied, much too swiftly. “It will be better for us both if everyone believes you are my mistress.”

Deeply insulted, Oriana drew back slightly. “It matters not at all what others may assume, but I’ll never be your mistress, Egan. I absolutely refuse that high honor.”

Egan yanked his hand from hers and rose to his feet. A disdainful sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. “With my father’s body barely cold, do you actually believe I’d seek to lose myself in you?”

He looked thoroughly disgusted with her, but Oriana
rose gracefully to face him. “Perhaps not tonight nor on the morrow, but the time may soon come when the prospect will hold more appeal, and then I’ll have to take my leave. You must agree to that condition now.”

Egan’s scowl deepened. “And must I again remind you not to give me orders? You’re the one who can see the future, but to crave your affection I would have to forget that I was off chasing you while my father lay dying. That day will never arrive, but perhaps you would rather I pay you now than wait for me to be overcome with lust?”

Oriana was as offended by the reference to pay as she was to that of lust, and shook her head. “I didn’t ask to be paid for my help, Egan. I asked only that you slay Duncan.”

Egan waved her off. “Do not speak his name again. Now come to bed.”

Oriana’s eyes widened as he reached for his belt. “Surely you do not intend to sleep nude.”

“We’re no longer traveling, Oriana. We’re home, and the king may sleep in whatever manner he chooses. Sleep in your gown if you must. Tomorrow I’ll have Ula’s seamstresses begin fashioning your new wardrobe. The king’s mistress ought to own far finer garments than you possess. Your worn and patched rags are an embarrassment.”

“My gowns are not rags!” Oriana contradicted through clenched teeth. She would not argue that her garments were comfortably worn, but none could rightfully be described as ragged.

Egan shot her a dark glance before he spit on his fingers and snuffed the candles. The last embers of the fire lent his finely sculpted profile a soft glow. “Rags,” he repeated scornfully. “You’ll burn the lot as soon as the new gowns are ready.”

“No. I think not,” Oriana replied proudly. “I’ll have a long walk home, and wouldn’t want the dust of the trail to ruin the fine gowns you’ve so thoughtfully provided.”

Egan sat down to remove his shoes, then stood to shuck off his tight-fitting trousers. He slipped beneath the furs and stretched out. “You’ll take Brute with you and ride.”

Oriana had no affection for the big brown horse, and briefly considered refusing him, but then decided she could sell him in the first village she entered. She was briefly cheered by that prospect, but it failed to ease her fear of sharing Egan’s inviting fur-heaped bed.

The sense of evil in his home gave her chills, but as she stood stiffly at the foot of the handsome man’s bed, she was at last struck by the threat he posed to her emotions. Recoiling at that dizzying truth, she hastened toward the chair to take in the lingering warmth of the hearth while she considered the great lack of wisdom in their latest bargain.

Her reluctance elicited a low, taunting laugh from Egan as Oriana’s lithe presence began to ignite the very passion he had sworn she would never arouse.

Early the next morning, Ula burst into Egan’s chamber without bothering to knock. She swept across the threshold with the force of a fierce storm off the sea and began to swear in a vicious hiss. “Get off the bed, you lazy slut. Egan demands that you be dressed in our softest wools and finest linens, but I refuse to grant you even a frayed handkerchief of my own.”

Abruptly awakened by the harsh clang of the heavy door’s iron handle against the stone wall, Oriana was as shocked to find herself in Egan’s wide bed as she was by Ula’s rude greeting. Because she would never have sought the comfort of his muscular arms on her own, she was certain he must have plucked her from the chair after she had fallen into an exhausted slumber. That he would so blatantly disregard her wishes was annoying in the extreme, but for the moment, her uninvited visitor presented a far more vexing problem.

Striving to appear dazed, Oriana peaked through her tousled curls for a glimpse of the petite woman she assumed must be Ula. The diminutive beauty’s furious scowl narrowed her dark eyes, but scarcely diminished her exotic appeal. That in her youth she could have charmed Egan’s father, or any man, was easy to imagine.

Oriana had failed to give Egan’s stepmother any
thought, and she now required a moment to decide upon her best course of action. One option was to act so docile that Ula would dismiss her as being of little consequence. She and her mother had been so adept at escaping notice, they could vanish into a crowd at will. Since her mother’s departure, Oriana had refined that art, and she could now walk through a small village without arousing a ripple of curiosity.

“Are you mute as well as stupid?” Ula chided before taking up a poker to jab angrily at the thick log burning brightly on the hearth. After creating a brilliant shower of sparks, she dropped the iron implement with a noisy clatter.

Thinking Egan must have added fresh wood before leaving his chamber, Oriana accepted the gesture as a sign of concern for her comfort. He was a perplexing man, but not one who would be drawn to a woman lacking in spirit. With that thought in mind, she quickly shoved aside the fur robes and rose to face Ula.

“If anyone is stupid here, it is you, madam,” Oriana responded with clear distaste as she proudly drew herself up to a regal height. She knew from experience that she possessed a disconcerting gaze and deliberately turned the full force of its brilliance upon Ula.

“I had been led to believe that you would be in deep mourning,” Oriana continued with a dismissive sweep of Ula’s bright green gown and flowing black hair, “but obviously I was misinformed.”

Ula had expected some silly wench Egan had snatched from the roadside, not this defiant flame-haired creature who would be impossible to either control or banish. The shock gave her a moment’s pause, but she quickly recovered.

“I will grieve for my dear Cadell forever,” she breathed out, “but I will never welcome his son’s whore.”

“It is now Egan’s home,” Oriana reminded her with a taunting smile, “and you may swiftly find that you are the one who is unwelcome here.”

“How dare you?” Ula shrieked, and she lunged to claw Oriana with a vicious swipe.

With her much longer reach, Oriana easily caught Ula’s wrist before the irate woman’s nails grazed her cheek. Then with a sharp twist to her arm, she propelled the venomous widow toward the open doorway and released her with a shove.

“Do not disturb me ever again,” Oriana ordered darkly, and promptly swung the massive door closed.

“What a distasteful episode,” she murmured under her breath.

She brushed her hands as she turned away from the door, and having no intention of cowering in Egan’s chamber, grabbed her bag to choose clothing. Only her comb and the ornate pouch containing her collection of unusual stones tumbled out. Spilling from its container, the new amethyst glowed in the fire’s leaping light, but Oriana was far too enraged to appreciate the stone’s rare beauty.

That Egan would steal her clothes, and then order his hateful stepmother to fashion a new wardrobe for her was unforgivable. Before she could finish cursing him, however, there was a perfunctory knock at the door and in he strode.

Seizing the moment, Oriana shook her now empty travel bag at him. “What have you done with my garments?”

Egan widened his stance and rested his hands on his hips. He had bathed, shaved, and dressed in a fresh tunic and trousers that morning, but the improvement in his appearance failed to extend to his mood. He regarded Oriana’s sleep-creased gown with a scowl.

“I’ll not repeat what I think of your drab wardrobe, but you needn’t fret that I burned it. Instead, I gave the whole lot to Ula’s seamstresses to cut apart for patterns. That will guarantee a superb fit to their creations.”

Thoroughly exasperated by the man’s unending arrogance, Oriana chucked the amethyst back into its pouch, then shoved the smaller bag into her travel satchel and
flung it upon the bed. Anxious to make him understand how wrong he’d been, she gestured with quick jabs as she began to pace with a long, restless stride.

“Do you expect me to thank you for disregarding my wishes not once, but twice? I had no desire to share your bed last night, nor to wear whatever clothing Ula’s seamstresses might create. As for Ula, after the wretched scene she just created here, she’ll undoubtedly forbid her seamstresses from sewing a single stitch for me.”

Caught off guard, Egan took a hesitant step toward her. “Ula has already paid you a visit?”

Chilled by the memory of their encounter, Oriana grabbed a fur from the bed and draped it around her shoulders. “Only long enough to call me a lazy, stupid slut. I threw her out.”

Oriana’s glorious curls were a tangled mess and her gown a pleated web of wrinkles. Barefoot, she could not have looked more pitiful, but she still moved with a dancer’s grace, and Egan fought to maintain a deliberate scowl to mask the admiration in his gaze.

“I did not anticipate the two of you ever becoming friends,” he confessed crossly, “but this is most unfortunate, indeed.” He grabbed the chamber’s single chair, swung it around to face Oriana, and then settled down with his back to the fire. “Perhaps the fault is mine.”

The softening in his tone surprised Oriana; she would have preferred him to remain hostile and aloof. Too anxious to follow his example and sit, she continued to pace. “Did you actually describe me to her in such coarse and uncomplimentary terms?” she challenged.

“No, of course not. I said only that I’d brought home a woman who was in need of a new wardrobe, which I expected to be fashioned from our finest fabrics and lace.”

“Which was totally unnecessary,” Oriana admonished. “I may have asked to remain here a few days, but now I would prefer to take my leave. I’ll wear your cast-off garments if I must, but the prospect of remaining here another hour is intolerable.”

Egan sat back to observe her with an incredulous stare. “You’d look ridiculous in one of my tunics. It would drag on the ground.”

“I’ll cut it off,” Oriana replied. Her shoes lay where she’d left them near the hearth, and she bent to retrieve them. “Anything old and ragged will do. After all, according to you, it’s what I’m accustomed to wearing.”

Oriana had carelessly strayed close, and Egan caught her hand and pulled her down across his lap where, thoroughly flustered, she struggled against his confining grasp. “Sit still,” he ordered, and then strengthened his hold until she complied.

“I still have need of your talents,” he scolded. “I didn’t expect you to meet Ula this soon, but other than an instant and obviously hearty dislike, what do you make of her?”

Trapped upon his tautly muscled thighs, Oriana was far too aware of Egan to consider anything else. She dared not rest her head against the smoothness of his cheek, nor gaze into his hazy blue eyes. She wondered how often had he yanked her against him. She had lost count of the times he had pressed her close to his chest on one ridiculous pretext or another, but until last night, she had merely rebelled at being confined, rather than tortured by his touch.

She breathed deeply to focus her thoughts elsewhere and instantly regretted the error, for he smelled of deliciously spiced soap, subtle aroma of which made her yearn to draw closer still. She held her breath to fight that traitorous impulse, but after a long moment released a tormented sigh.

He had asked about his stepmother, but there was more than animosity to her reaction. Poison was a woman’s weapon, and meeting the haughty Ula had strengthened her suspicion that Cadell had been murdered. She remaining unwilling, however, to endanger Egan’s life by sharing such a dangerous insight. Instead, as she so often did with strangers, she related only a portion of the truth.

“Ula is precisely what you know her to be,” Oriana began with deliberate care, “a woman who delights in entrancing men. She still has the beauty to achieve her desires now, but as time gradually fades her allure, she will lead an increasingly bitter existence. But you already knew there’s nothing about the woman to admire.”

Clearly ill at ease, Oriana was perched stiffly upon his knee, and yet Egan found her presence an unexpected comfort. He raised a hand to stroke her hair, and when she seemed not to notice, he coiled a long curl around his hand. What he felt then was a longing so intense he was immediately shocked to his senses. He quickly dropped his hands to Oriana’s slender waist and with a trembling grasp set her on her feet. Egan rose to cover his dismay and shoved the thickly padded chair back into its customary place.

“As always, your observation is correct,” he said brusquely, “but you must take care not to cross Ula again. She may already be plotting a means to disgrace you.”

Oriana’s brittle laugh discounted the significance of that threat. “I have no reputation to lose, other than as a woman with a view into the future. Because we’ve chosen not to reveal my talent, how can Ula possibly besmirch it?”

“Do not trifle with her,” Egan emphasized with a menacing glare. “Nor with me either,” he added darkly. “Now, I promise to provide you with adequate garments, and women’s garments at that, by the evening meal. I want you to meet my brother, and because he’ll wisely not trouble you by coming here, it will be your first such opportunity.”

Totally dissatisfied with their latest exchange, Oriana rocked back on her heels. “I shall look forward to it with eager anticipation.”

Her sarcasm stung, and Egan paused for a moment in search of an equally cutting reply. He watched Oriana
draw in a breath in anticipation of a vicious insult, and the enchanting swell of her bosom, even beneath her colorless, wrinkled gown, so clouded his mind, he was forced to show his displeasure simply by slamming the door on his way out.

Though jolted by the noise, Oriana was enormously relieved by Egan’s hurried exit, but she remained frozen in place until she was certain he would not return. It was now difficult for her to believe that only last night he had been sickened by the sight of her. She should have taken advantage of the opportunity to flee, even in the thick fog.

Feeling trapped, she crossed to the falcon tapestry and pulled it back to reveal three tall, narrow windows overlooking the sea. As she drank in the tangy air, the sun caught the constantly shifting waves with a near blinding sparkle, and the cloudless sky beckoned invitingly.

It was a haunting reminder that she was a creature of the forest and belonged outdoors on this beautiful morning. Egan had not forbidden her to leave his chamber, but she doubted it had even occurred to him that she might want to venture out into the countryside.

Disgusted to have nothing more than a single wrinkled gown in which to explore, she turned a curious gaze upon Egan’s carved chests. Believing they must contain at least one serviceable cloak, she took a tentative step toward them, but a soft knock at the door brought her to a guilty halt.

“I’ve brought you fresh clothing, my lady,” Myrna called out, and after shifting the bundle, she pushed the door ajar and peered in.

“Yes, do come in,” Oriana encouraged, and she rushed forward to receive the tiny servant’s burden.

When she unrolled it upon the bed, she found a deep green woolen cloak, three linen shifts, and two whisper-soft gowns with matching sleeveless tunics, one in a lovely shade of amethyst and the other an appealing blue-violet. She shook them out and held them up to
judge the length. As near as she could tell, the costly garments appeared to be a perfect fit.

“Oh, Myrna, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Clearly they aren’t Ula’s. Who’s lent them to me? I must thank her.”

Myrna held her hands tightly folded at her waist and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “There’s no one to thank, my lady. They belonged to Egan’s dear mother.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t borrow her clothes,” Oriana exclaimed, but they held such an enticing lavender scent, she could not bear to refold them.

Myrna shook her head. “She’s had no need for them in many a year, my lady. You have the same glorious red hair, and they’ll look splendid on you.”

Sorely tempted, Oriana still held back. “Won’t Egan forbid it?” she asked.

“Adelaine died when he was quite small,” Myrna confided wistfully. “He’ll not recognize her gowns, nor will anyone else. I am the only one left here who loved her.”

Oriana still weighed the wisdom of wearing Adelaine’s clothing, but it felt so soft and light in her arms, she hated to refuse. “If Egan should inquire, I’ll have to tell him the truth,” she worried aloud.

Myrna raised rough hands in a dismissive wave. “I tended him when he was a babe; he doesn’t frighten me now.”

“He was a handsome lad, wasn’t he?” Oriana asked without thinking.

“Oh my, yes,” Myrna assured her with a knowing smile. “It’s high time he was wed and making beautiful babes of his own.”

The impropriety of the little servant’s opinion brought a deep blush to Oriana’s cheeks, and she quickly ushered Myrna from the room. This time she took care to slide the bolt to prevent any further interruptions while she bathed and dressed.

There was a kettle of water warming by the hearth, and she used it to wash away all traces of the night. She
combed her hair and pulled on a linen shift, followed by Adelaine’s blue-violet gown and matching tunic. The clothes were much too fine for a stroll along the shore, but she rolled up her own gown and stuffed it into her travel bag.