Destiny (35 page)

‘She died.’

She had not expected this and Hela now felt terrible for asking. ‘I sense you carry that sadness still,’ she said gently.

‘You are correct.’

‘No other women?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Ah,’ she answered reflexively to his direct response. Her thoughts were roaming and she found herself erratically wondering what it might be like to be his lover. His body looked hard and fit and she also noticed his hands were meticulously cared for; in fact everything about him was neat and ordered, smart and precise.

He surprised her by saying more when she thought the conversation was over. ‘None who could touch my heart.’

‘I have never known a love as deep as that.’

‘Love of this nature should be treated with caution. It can mean pain more than joy, as in my case.’

‘Would you prefer not to have known her, then?’

His eyes opened now and she felt impaled by the hard grey gaze of Kyt Cyrus; a look which used to strike fear into his men. ‘No.’ The single word seemed to chill the room.

‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I meant nothing by it.’ She felt her cheeks burn. She had done nothing but apologise to him since entering this inn. Light! This man was unnerving. His eyes were closed again and his glass empty. She took the chance of tiptoeing to the table, fetching the carafe and refilling his glass. She also took the opportunity to light a single candle which cast new shadows around the room.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

‘And family?’ She hoped this was safer territory to tread. They had a whole long night to get through and conversation was clearly all they would share.

‘A son.’

‘Is he grown?’ She sounded surprised. How could he have left his own child to raise someone else’s?

‘He died with his mother…soon after his birth.’

Now Hela wanted to bite her own tongue out. She gulped down the zabub, scalding her mouth. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her.

‘I have made you uncomfortable.’

‘Yes, you have.’

He looked suddenly amused. ‘It is a special gift I have.’ She found herself grinning despite her discomfort.

‘I’ll recover,’ Hela finally said, liking that this enigmatic man could amuse her at the height of such awkwardness.

He sipped. ‘Perhaps we should start again. Why don’t you tell me about your life while I finish this carafe of Morriet?’

And she did. She described her early life in a sleepy hamlet of Cipres before she ran away from home with a man who turned out to be no good. The promise of marriage disappeared as soon as their money did and Hela explained that she was fortunate to have been taken pity on by one of the courtiers at the palace. He wanted her body enough to find her a position on the Queen’s personal serving team. She told Cyrus about life on Sylven’s staff, describing how over the years she had climbed the ranks of the servants to become a personal maid to the Queen and finally her aide and companion.

‘We were close and I know she would have liked you, Kyt Cyrus,’ she said.

‘Why is this so?’

‘Because you are something of a mystery.’ She noticed how he smiled at that. ‘I think most women would find
that compelling, but as much as Sylven would have loved to unravel your secrets, I believe she would have been mostly engaged by your complexity. It is a quality many women can find threatening, to be honest.’

‘But not Sylven.’

‘No. She would have thrived on it.’

‘Do you find me threatening, Hela?’

She was cross she hesitated. ‘No. I find you to be remote.’

‘Is that so?’ he said, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She felt her heart skip. Slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched towards the fire and his shirt slightly undone, this man looked very desirable indeed and the conversation was headed towards dangerous territory. Behind him was the double bed towards which her eyes flicked uncharacteristically nervously now, betraying her thoughts, her desires.

She took a deep breath. ‘But I think it’s contrived, sir. I don’t believe for one moment that you are not a warm and affectionate man.’ She shrugged. Might as well say it all. ‘I just think you deliberately hide behind a wall of remoteness, and layers of mystery. It’s safe. Your wife and son died. Your heart broke. You believe you can never mend that heart and give it to another and so you make love to many but love none. It ensures you can remain at a distance from women.’

She held his gaze and noticed his eyes had strangely darkened.

‘You seem to know a lot about me.’

‘I know only what my own senses and instincts tell me, sir.’

He stood. ‘Time for our rest, I think. You take the bed. I’ll go out for a walk until you are settled.’

Hela felt disappointed with herself. She had not handled him at all well and men were her specialty. She liked this one; not that she expected anything to come of it but she genuinely felt she had somehow failed him this evening. Their mission was dangerous and small pleasures such as quiet conversation, perhaps just getting close to someone, would be brief, if even at all possible. Tonight was a chance for her to forget their perilous life and simply get to know more about an intriguing person and yet all of her charms with men had abandoned her.

‘Damn him!’ she muttered. He had made her feel like a cheap whore. And yet he did not even want her. When it boiled down to it, what was truly frustrating her was that Kyt Cyrus had showed no sexual interest in her whatsoever. She watched him leave without another word and felt hollow. She knew men desired her. If Hela had to describe herself the word ‘worldly’ would spring to mind together with ‘provocative’ and ‘erotic’. It disturbed her greatly that these qualities appealed not to Kyt Cyrus.

She stripped, washed her undergarments and blouse and hung them discreetly on the balcony to dry for the morning. She untied her hair, lamenting the lack of a brush and fingered through it to loosen it. Slipping beneath the fresh sheets, she thanked her luck that Cyrus had good enough taste and purse to ensure such a decent inn for them—a small consolation after a desolate evening—and then fell into a fitful doze awaiting his return.

Cyrus had to get out of the room. He inhaled the crisp night air and walked, no particular direction in mind. He linked with Rubyn who said they were fine but not especially sleepy. Cyrus felt the companionship with Sarel was good for Rubyn.

Be careful, lad. Remember you are in the presence of a Queen.

See you in the morning
, Rubyn replied and cut the Link.

The old soldier was rarely troubled by his charge’s contained manner. Rubyn had been like this since he was old enough to talk; nothing had changed. If anything he rather admired Rubyn’s manner; it sometimes reminded him of himself. However, he would be the first to admit that the boy needed to grow and experience the world. They had led such a quiet existence all of these years that he realised both of them desperately needed to mix with people again, women especially. Which is why he found himself strolling the beautiful streets of Ildagarth—he had been intimidated by a woman and that was a new experience for Kyt Cyrus, the self-assured, arrogant and brilliant former commander of the Tallinese army. Men and women had worshipped him in his glory days but he had called no man friend—except perhaps Torkyn Gynt—and had only ever loved one woman. She had departed his life without warning, leaving him bereft, he now realised, of the ability to love another.

He had permitted Gynt to get under his skin but they shared more than friendship. They shared the
Heartwood and its secrets and now they shared Rubyn. Although Cyrus never allowed himself to admit it, Rubyn was as good as a son. He had cradled him as a newborn in his arms and since that day, Rubyn had rarely been out of his sight or his care. They were as close as a father and son could be and yet Rubyn belonged to another man who had recently come to claim him and put him in danger. That alone was alarming.

And the conversation with Hela had served to unsettle him far more than he had first thought. He had initially decided to leave her because he thought their conversation was headed in a direction he might regret. It was obvious the woman was lonely, desperately in need of some male companionship, and all it would have taken was a smile or a look from him and they would be rolling between the sheets right now. He hated his having deliberately set out to undermine her, make her feel uncomfortable, but he realised she was more than just one of the vast array of women he had bedded in his time. Hela possessed a razor-sharp mind and she had countered his comments and come back quick as lightning with her own, which took his breath away.

Why? Because she was right. Hela had nailed his uncertainties and insecurities as effectively as Corlin had once nailed him between two trees. For all his posturing as a brave son of Tallinor, Cyrus knew he was a coward. A coward when it came to affairs of the heart, that is. The pain experienced at the loss of his wife—a woman so gentle, so serene and so perfectly matched to him—had been too much for him to bear and so he had ignored his agonising memory of her. Locked it away.
Never allowing it to surface. He had almost forgotten the curves and lines of her face.

He knew he had never really resurfaced into the light of day from the moment of her death, for ever walking within a private haze of darkness—her legacy.

He enjoyed women but kept them purely as objects of lust. Once he was satisfied, he was courteous and always gallant but he rarely saw the same woman twice and despite knowing it might hurt her feelings he never looked back nor made any apology for his ways.

But Hela had touched him somehow. Learning her story he had to admire the tough exterior she too had built around herself for different reasons. She was so different from the courtly, elegant young women who had all but thrown themselves at him when he was Prime. From such a young age Hela had needed to fend for herself and she was courageous and loyal —qualities he personally admired so much he had to look away from her when she was retelling the story of their escape from Cipres and later from Goth. It was Hela who had kept Sarel strong and Hela who would hopefully restore the Queen to her rightful throne. The Cipreans owed much to this small, resourceful and very desirable woman.

That he desired her was not in question. Her dark features and petite, curvy build spoke to him of satisfactions between the sheets he had perhaps not experienced. It would be so easy, but Hela seemed to look into him; saw him for what he was and that was unsettling. To share a deeper touch such as a kiss and all that it might lead to frightened him and Cyrus was not a man to be easily frightened. And so he walked without purpose for more than two hours until the moon was
fully risen, the people on the streets thinning and he found himself standing on the landing outside their room once again.

He hoped she was sleeping. Hoped they had nothing more to say to one another and could start afresh in the morning knowing the circumstances they found themselves in this night would probably not be repeated. He opened the door with caution and stepped soundlessly inside. Cyrus held his breath but he let it out quietly as he could see Hela asleep; her dark hair loose and tousled on the pillow. He could hear her rhythmic breathing and relaxed. All was well. No demons to confront this night.

The fire burned gently now and would die to embers very soon. In its soft glow he studied her face. It was not arrestingly beautiful like Alyssa’s, nor did it have the high, superb cheekbones of his wife which had given her a serene, chiselled look.

Instead her face seemed to be a collection of nice enough features which formed a pretty arrangement. And yet the darkness of the features was extraordinary. Long lashes lying against her cheek; the hair soft, shiny and long; the sleeping eyes feline and dark—so dark as to be almost black.

He sighed softly and then, watching her face for any sign of waking, dragged together the two armchairs—wincing at any noise—not very comfortable but it would do. He pulled his shirt over his head and stretched tall, turning away from Hela now to gaze from where he stood by the fireplace out of the long windows.

Hela had always been clever at deception. Pretending to be asleep was one of the easiest of all ruses and she
knew she had capably tricked Cyrus or he would not be so relaxed in front of her. She opened her eyes to slits and stared at him stretching. She had been right. His body was hard and muscled, still very lean for an older man and no sign of the paunch of age and prosperity around his belly. For one of the few times in her life, she was confused over a man. What to do? She wanted to somehow put things right between them but she did not know how and Hela did not want them to go to sleep on the awkwardness which lay between them. To do that would mean waking within the same unresolved atmosphere and, with all that was ahead for them, she could not bear the thought of it.

So Hela turned to her cunning. She used her best attribute and hoped it might win the day. Stirring, pretending not to notice him she sat up in bed and stretched herself, allowing Cyrus a perfect view of her full breasts as she pulled her hands up over her head and then allowed her hair to fall lazily down her back. She could hear his sharp intake of breath and knew he was trapped and semi-naked himself now by the fire. She continued the pretence of not realising he was there, faking that she was sleepy and still in a dreamy state as she moved her legs from the bed to the floor.

She pushed the sheet away, feeling very vulnerable in her full nakedness but determined to see where this might lead. Hela yawned and sat there a moment or two, swaying slightly as though still needing to find full consciousness and then she stood.

This was it. He would either give in to her or cut her to the quick by making some sharp comment which
would have her rushing back to her sheets and covering up. She was ready for it.

He said nothing. The silence was deafening but she ignored it.

Hela took the chance, opened her eyes, still not turning towards the fire, and walked to the small jug of water near the window. She knew now she was giving him full view of her delectable back in all of its curvy, naked loveliness and she let him enjoy it for as long as she considered one might possibly linger over a few sips of water.