Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (20 page)

P
agan reached for Ghett but his grasp met empty air. His hand fell back.

‘Am I so easily left?’ he asked her, rubbing his chest, remembering the way her lips had traversed it on a journey of such pleasure that Pagan felt his body stir at the mere thought of it. ‘Surely your lady will not want you yet.’ He rolled onto his side to watch her dress, her movements delicate, hands sure, just as they had been only minutes earlier when the whirlwind of love had them both in its grasp.

He patted the bed beside him. ‘Come, lie with me again.’

‘You, My Lord …’ she said, and though Pagan had no claim to the title it pleased him greatly to hear her address him thus, ‘… would wear me out.’ She frowned at him, yet her eyes sparkled and Pagan knew her to be teasing.

‘Inside and out,’ he agreed, patting the bed again, yet she merely continued to lace the bodice of her underdress, its fabric thin enough to reveal the darker colour of her peaked breasts beneath. Her nonchalance intrigued him and his resolve to have her strengthened. A parting kiss,’ he bargained. ‘You cannot leave me without a parting kiss.’

Ghett paused to glance at him. ‘One kiss before I leave,’ she said, her eyes warning him even as they looked into his with the promise of shared pleasure.

Pagan’s smile was all triumph. ‘One kiss,’ he promised, but did not add
and no more
, for he meant to have her again. ‘I am a man of my word,’ he added, for he would be sure to kiss her only once.

‘Then my virtue is safe in your hands, My Lord,’ she replied, and such seduction shone in her eyes that Pagan felt himself achingly ready to have her, a fact which was revealed when the bedding that lay between them was removed. ‘Although …’ She gazed at his form, her eye lingering on the readiness of his ardour. ‘… perhaps it is not your hands I should fear.’

‘You promised a kiss,’ Pagan said, the banter in his voice now edged with determination. Ghett was more woman than any he had bedded and he would have her again before she left him. How he cursed that he had not discovered her wiles before now. In a few hours she would be gone and he would be back to kitchen maids.

‘And I am a woman of my word, My Lord,’ she assured him, ‘but I would have you come to me.’ And with this she stepped back from the bedside and donned her dress, much to Pagan’s displeasure. Then she stood before him, tying its bodice laces as she spoke. ‘How I have dreamt of just such a kiss. I in my finery. You, My Lord, in nothing save your fine skin.’ Her gaze licked over him and Pagan felt himself more a man than he ever had before. That a woman of such skill and passion should dream of him naked. He did not know that women had such thoughts. ‘Many a night have I lain in bed,’ she said, her fingers busy with her laces, ‘dreaming of just such a meeting. Of the touch of your warm flesh against the thick brocade of my best gown. Your large hands on my bodice,’ her hands moved to touch herself there and Pagan slid to the side of the bed, ‘Your lips on mine …’ She looked into his eyes then and Pagan felt such fire in his soul as he would kill to have her.

‘Wait no longer,’ he said hoarsely, and in two steps he was upon her and they were pressed to the door, the kiss she had granted a furnace between them, on and on, dizzying Pagan’s mind as his hands took what pleasures they could find through the thick fabric of her gown. He was mad for her, and she seemed to be the same for him until he heard her gasp.

‘My Lord.’ She broke away, her eyes wide with apprehension. ‘I hear My Lady’s voice.’ And with a shove that surprised Pagan with its force, she released herself from imprisonment against the door and swung it wide to the corridor and the voices beyond.

‘Wait,’ Pagan called, but she did not, and lusty though he might be, foolish he was not. The concealment of the bed beckoned and Pagan dove into it, even as the door slammed shut behind her. The sheets of their joining still held her scent and he ached for what he could clearly not have. ‘Damnation!’ he shouted, then struggled into his own finery, the insistence of his ardour hampering his efforts.

Why should he wait for what would not return? Pagan was a warrior. He would hunt her down and bring her back, and be damned about the wedding party. Perhaps if she was not found when they left, she would have to stay in the Volcastle.

Quickly then, he made for the Banquet Hall to find her and offer some excuse to steal her from her mistress. But while striding down a darkened corridor which took him faster than the main hallway, he saw two people together and his steps slowed to a halt.

Ghett and Kert Sh’hale. Even in the shadows Pagan knew that form. As he watched, he felt his mouth dry and his heart beat an odd rhythm. Their stance was not intimate, yet as they continued to talk he had to assume they were acquainted.

Then he heard Ghett laugh, a low sound of shared humour, and he wondered what business lay between these two so that they should meet in darkness. It burned, too, that she should flee from his arms in an anguish of duty only to stand and talk to Sh’hale as though time was of no consequence.

Was she Sh’hale’s lover also?

Pagan turned away and left as quietly as he’d come upon them, damning his Guardian legacy. Why couldn’t his father have been born a noble with a castle and lands of his own? In truth, Guardians were revered and Pagan’s status was not below that of Sh’hale, but what woman would not choose to marry for a castle full of servants and a wardrobe of gowns, rather than take a man who must rely on his King for all his necessaries?

‘Ho, Pagan.’ Talis backed up a pace, startled to have been nearly knocked down by his cousin emerging from a side corridor into the main. ‘I came to look for you. I leave with the royal party and we have not said goodbye.’

‘Goodbye to you then,’ Pagan said and slapped his arm.

Talis frowned and looked at Pagan again. ‘What paltry farewell is this? Does something bother you, Cous? Did The Light’s maid escape your well-laid siege?’

‘I had her.’ Pagan looked away, ‘But she left my bed for the arms of another, the callous wench. Sh’hale’s is the next bed she’ll warm, I’m sure,’ he said, and was unprepared for his cousin’s swift reaction.

Talis snatched at his arm and said close to his face, ‘Do you speak of Kert Sh’hale dallying with Ghett?’

‘I do,’ Pagan said. ‘She steps into his bed still warm from my own.’

‘Where and when?’ Talis demanded, and too late Pagan saw the reasoning behind his cousin’s frenzied thoughts.

‘I do not know for sure,’ he corrected himself. ‘I only saw them together just now in a dark hallway. They had the look of conspirators. And they met to talk secretly.’

‘If he can be proved to have lain with another,’ Talis said, looking in the direction Pagan had come, ‘he must cease his suit for Lae. But here comes your maid,’ he whispered, his gaze over Pagan’s shoulder. ‘Ghett,’ he said and pulled Pagan to one side to let her pass. ‘Your lady calls for you.’

‘Still,’ Pagan added, unable to keep jealousy from his voice.

Ghett bobbed a curtsy to Talis and sent Pagan a glance that fired his loins despite his anger with her. ‘Then I must hurry,’ she said, and left them with a dry swishing of skirts.

Pagan fell back to the wall and closed his eyes. ‘The woman has more magic in her eyes than a Guardian in his blood.’

‘Do you think that she lay with Sh’hale?’ Talis asked.

‘There was not time,’ Pagan said, and found reassurance in the thought. Perhaps their conversation had been innocent. Talis was silent beside him and Pagan dragged his errant thoughts back. ‘I wish you good fortune in Be’uccdha,’ he said, ‘and look forward to standing with you at your own wedding.’

‘Close enough to bicker with my bride,’ Talis said, but a smile touched his lips to soften this accusation. ‘I go now to escort a radiant bride to her husband’s home.’ It was a joyous duty yet something sad lay in his words.

‘As your bride will be,’ Pagan assured him, to which Talis nodded.

They parted then but Pagan remained where he was long after Talis had disappeared from view. ‘Go to your betrothed, Cous,’ he said softly. ‘And do not fear your past, for I will uncover what lies in Sh’hale’s heart for both our futures.’

This he promised.

K
hatrene pretended to be asleep. Not something she’d ever imagined to do in Djahr’s presence. And yet here she was.

D
O YOU FEAR YOUR HUSBAND
? the voice asked her.

Should I?
she replied.

The roomy, cushioned litter that carried them from the Volcastle towards Castle Be’uccdha swayed gently as it had done since they’d left. Currently, it was close to dawn on the fourth morning. What was that? About … seventy-seven hours?

Without Mihale.

It felt like seven years.

Khatrene bit the inside of her cheek and struggled to keep herself from crying. How had she come to miss him so much? It wasn’t as though ‘goodbye’ meant forever.

It only felt that way.

The last thing she needed was to replay their parting scene in her mind, but suddenly there it was, Mihale pulling her away from Djahr to ‘talk to her privately’, something she could tell from the expressions of those around her was not only odd, but unacceptable — for her to be dragged from her new husband’s side. Khatrene had almost resisted, but her brother’s eyes had been so sad, welling with the same tears that plagued her now.

‘I’ve made a mistake,’ he’d said when he had her alone. ‘You must not leave me. Tell me you won’t leave me.’

Yet she had, with gentle words of comfort and assurances that they were doing ‘the right thing’. Not once while she’d been stroking his cheek and smiling into his sad eyes and offering any number of platitudes, had she thought he would suffer as she had.

As she did now.

Lonely? She hadn’t known the meaning of the word. And how was that possible when she was within arm’s reach of her new husband? Admittedly, she wasn’t allowed to touch Djahr. Yet. But she could look at him, speak to him, see the way he looked at her, the way he desired her. Yet now that she had lost Mihale, it wasn’t enough.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Was she doomed to always take things for granted until they were gone? And what of her marriage to Djahr? Would she spoil that longing for the company of her brother? It was ludicrous. If only she could talk to someone, find some perspective.

Of course, the logical person to confide a problem to, would be her husband, the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Only Djahr was still, in many ways, a stranger to her. Besides, wasn’t it an insult that his company wasn’t enough for her? She could hardly tell him that the moment his attention strayed from her, even for sleep, she found her thoughts with Mihale. Yet such was the fickle nature of her emotions that while Djahr was paying her attention and looking at her as though he couldn’t wait to ‘join’ with her, she was glad to be going with him. Happy to be his wife. Even looking forward to being pregnant straight away, which wasn’t something she’d have planned herself, if it hadn’t been her ‘destiny’.

What a mess.

‘My Lord, The Dark,’ a voice said quietly from beside their moving room.

Khatrene steeled herself to open her eyes, to smile at Djahr and pretend nothing was wrong. She couldn’t continue to be ‘asleep’ with a conversation going on beside her.

‘Mooraz,’ Djahr replied, and Khatrene heard no sleepiness in his voice. Had he been awake, watching her?

‘My Lord, we make the Plains this hour,’ Mooraz said. ‘I have sent a force ahead to clear our path.’

Khatrene liked Mooraz’s voice. It had a sound of assurance beneath his outward show of deference to his superiors, as though he had absolute confidence in his own abilities. She wondered if that was characteristic of Champions.

‘Ensure we are not disturbed, Mooraz,’ Djahr said, and Khatrene felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Why? Because he’d spoken more quietly than usual? She’d heard no menace in his tone, and yet …

Khatrene opened her eyes as the curtain beside Djahr fell back into place. ‘Husband,’ she said. Simply because it reminded her that they would soon be lovers.

‘Khatrene,’ he replied, and although his tone was intimate, she felt a fleeting moment of insecurity. Why did he never refer to her as his wife? Because she wasn’t his first? Khatrene knew Lae’s mother had died young. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to have the wife he had loved replaced in his heart by another. Was that why he had not declared his love for her?

Or was it simply because he did not love her?

Khatrene opened her mouth before she could stop herself. ‘Djahr, do you …’ Love me? No, she couldn’t ask that. ‘… are you … pleased to have married me?’ How stilted. How awkward. How vulnerable she’d made herself.

‘I could wish for no higher honour than to fulfil the destiny of The Light,’ he replied, and she nodded. Shouldn’t have asked. Knew she shouldn’t have asked. Loneliness welled up so big and bad she wanted to burst into tears.

And what had she expected? Undying love? Of course it was all one-sided. She’d known that from the start. Just hadn’t admitted it to herself.

F
OLLOW YOUR DESTINY
. Y
OU WILL FIND LOVE
, the voice said, and before she could reply, Djahr spoke to her again.

‘Yet I fear my motives in marrying The Light were not all of such high stature.’

Khatrene felt her skin tingle. There was something in his voice. ‘They weren’t?’ Her eyes strayed to his and were held there.

‘You were only a child and I was your elder,’ he said, ‘but I saw the beginnings of a woman I knew I must have for myself yet feared I would be too old to claim. War took you from me and a brother’s love returned you, no longer a child but a woman whose destiny made her my wife.’

Khatrene put her hand to her chest. Something was happening inside of her. An unfurling, as though her emotions were the petals of a flower seeing the sun for the first time.

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Djahr the wonder of what he had just given her but his finger on her lips stilled them. A small thing, that touch, but in waiting so long for any contact Khatrene had become so sensitised to his proximity that it was as though he’d shoved her up against a wall and kissed her.

They stared at each other, Khatrene’s breath caught somewhere in her upper chest. Slowly, Djahr removed his finger, letting it slide across her dry lips like a warm, strong hand down her body.

‘We will not speak of this again,’ he said, looking deep into her eyes, ‘yet we will know that what lies between us is more than the destiny of two paths which meet to carry a people forward. It is the joining of two souls who have lived half a life for the want of the other.’

Khatrene was nodding. ‘Absolutely,’ she whispered.

Mihale didn’t enter her thoughts for the rest of the day.

Talis saw Mooraz leave the side of the marriage litter to stride ahead with a group of The Dark’s most formidable warriors. The Plains were almost upon them and instinct told Talis he should be at the side of The Light, or at least to the fore where he could better protect her from attack. Yet here he trudged at the rear of the litter with the Be’uccdha household guard.

Beside him, Lae said, ‘Do you wish to know his purpose?’ nodding towards Mooraz. ‘Then hurry and follow him. Do not feel that you must accompany my every footstep, beloved.’

The endearment did not wound Talis as it might have days earlier. Time had seen him reconcile himself to The Light’s happiness, which was now hidden from his sight and gradually distancing itself from his heart. His stabbing jealousy towards The Dark, which had been all but unbearable on the day of their wedding, was now just a constant ache. An echo of the agony he’d suffered.

In Lae’s company he remembered the fondness he had for her and his future with her seemed less painful with each day. Kert Sh’hale’s spiteful claim on Lae had given him no option but to continue with their marriage plans. Despite his experience in the Forest of Desire and the knowledge that he could not love Lae as she deserved, Talis would not abandon her to a man who only wanted her for revenge.

Lae spoke again and he returned his attention to their conversation.

‘But mind you do not bring Mooraz back with you,’ she chided. ‘His conversation wears me out.’

Talis laughed at this, to imagine the pensive Mooraz in a competition with Lae for words. ‘I would rather stay and speak with you,’ he said, ‘for Mooraz is brief with me. No doubt he keeps his more interesting conversation for your company, My Lady.’ And here he mocked a bow.

Lae laughed and clapped her hands. ‘I wish you were my Champion, beloved,’ she said and took his arm. ‘That we might spend both day and night together.’

‘You would tire of me twice as fast,’ Talis said.

Lae leant her head on his arm and sighed elaborately. ‘I shall never tire of the nights,’ she said, and then added, ‘though you may grow tired,’ and laughed at her own joke.

Talis found discomfort edging his voice. ‘Perhaps such thoughts —’

‘The Light thinks this way about my father,’ Lae interrupted, defending her words, then she turned a fresh glance of worry toward Talis. ‘I see in her eyes a manner of seduction that does not befit a new wife. Do you think that even now while we walk behind them unaware she may be —’

Talis had to stop her for both their sakes. ‘I will not hear such things from you, Lae,’ he said firmly, and perhaps overloudly. A pout quivered a moment on her lips, but she held her peace. ‘Are you a child to speak badly of your new mother because of her place in your father’s affections? Or are you a woman who can be made a wife?’

To Talis’s relief her expression altered completely. ‘I am a woman who will be made a wife, and from this moment you will not hear me speak badly of my beloved mother again.’ This was said quickly and with seeming conviction. Talis was just nodding his satisfaction when she added, ‘If I see again that she has the eyes of a whore I shall keep such thoughts in my heart and not speak them aloud.’

Talis halted in his tracks and Lae frowned at him.

‘Am I not obedient?’ she demanded.

He regarded her a moment, then said, ‘Like the wind, which forgets from one day to the next which direction it is blowing.’

Far from offence, Lae laughed merrily at this and they continued their journey without further conflict, Talis with one ear for her happy chatter and both eyes on the litter before him.