Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove (7 page)

“We shall. I’ll meet your sleigh in the village outside my estate and we’ll have a discussion before you meet the children.”

My sleigh?

“Now, I’m away,” he murmured, turning to leave, his cape swinging out behind him and it was cool, that cape and how it moved with him, and weirdly hot at the same time.

But I couldn’t think about how cool and hot his cape was because I was beginning to lose my temper.

“Apollo!” I cried, taking two more steps toward him.

But he turned back, his cape wrapping around him, his eyes leveling on me.

When I saw what was in his eyes, I quit moving, quit talking and stared.

He didn’t stare.

He spoke.

And when he did, his voice was a low, angry rumble that felt like it shook the room.

“You know of her and yet you seem not to understand how difficult this is for me.”

I was following, but I wasn’t.

I mean,
he
was the one who brought
me
here.

“Of course I understand,” I said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean—”

Again, he didn’t let me finish.

“Just gazing on you, it feels like brands searing into my eyes.”

Oh God.

That sucked. Seriously sucked. That had to kill and I felt for him. I really,
really
did.

But still.

“I understand that,” I kept my tone low and gentle, “but—”

“You look like her. You sound like her. You even smell like her.”

That sucked too.

Big time.

I pressed my lips together.

“But you are not her,” he finished.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But
you
brought me here and you knew I wouldn’t be her. And right now, it seems urgent things are happening. Things I don’t understand in a world I don’t understand and you’re responsible for bringing me into this world. Now you’re leaving me alone in it without even giving me time to ask questions, the answers to which might help me to know how to conduct myself, what I’m dealing with, both giving me a hint of peace of mind.”

“And I explained, my men will answer.”

“Okay, that’s great, but we have things to talk about regarding my future here and—”

He was back to interrupting me and he did it by saying, “And I explained that as well. We will talk when you reach Lunwyn, before you come to the estate.”

Was he crazy?

My understanding was that would be two freaking months from now.

“I’d like to do it now,” I requested carefully.

“And I don’t have time now,” he denied me, not carefully.

I took in a deep breath and held his eyes.

Then I shared, “It’s important, Apollo.”

“It’s important for me to get back to my children and make haste in getting them to safety. Your future here is secure. That’s all you need to know”—he paused— “for now. Now, I’m away.”

Was he serious?

He turned and started toward the door.

He was serious.

“Wait!” I called, going after him.

He didn’t wait.

He kept going.

I kept following, crying, “Apollo! Hang on a second!”

His legs were longer than mine so I had to jog to catch up.

This I did at the front door.

And when I did it, I made a mistake.

I said his name and wrapped my fingers around his bicep.

The instant I did, he pulled it forcefully from my touch, rearing back. And with my history, he did it appearing like he was preparing to strike

Instinctively, I lifted a hand in front of my face, palm toward him, and backed up, tripping on my train but managing to right myself before I went down. I yanked it from under me and took another step back, my eyes glued to him, my body prepared for anything.

I stopped moving back, suddenly breathing heavily. When I noticed he was not preparing to strike, I dropped my hand to press it to my chest.

Through all this, his eyes were also glued to me but I couldn’t read them.

And for some reason, we stood in the preposterously elegant foyer of his preposterously fabulous country house situated in the preposterously beautiful countryside of a parallel universe and we stared into each other’s eyes, not speaking. His thoughts were cloaked. Mine, I doubted, were the same.

Then he shared his thoughts.

And if his earlier comment was an insult that landed an invisible blow, this one delivered a kill shot.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered, his eyes locked to mine as I drew in breath. “You might get it.” He put his hand to the doorknob and finished, “And not want it.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter Four

I Was Used to It

It was safe to say I was pissed.

It was the next morning after Apollo dealt his death blow.

I was in another gown that was very pretty but didn’t fit me. I was bathed, watered and fed. And a maid who didn’t speak my language had just come to my room, gesturing in a way I knew I was being summoned for something.

I’d heard horses’ hooves on the stone outside so I figured my guard was there.

But I didn’t care.

I hadn’t slept. Not a wink.

This was because, at first, I was hurt.

No.

Wounded
. Wounded was the word to describe it.

Wounded
deeply
.

I didn’t know why. I just knew I was.

Deeply.

Then I started to think on things and I got mad.

Sure, one could say I didn’t want to go back to Pol and endure a life with him, walking on eggshells, taking my beatings whenever whatever was in his head would snap and he’d lose it. Then planning my escape and escaping, only to be found, beaten, dragged back and starting the process all over again and doing all this not very fun stuff until the day I died.

That didn’t work for me. As in
really
didn’t work.

But I’d been transported by a freaking
witch
to a freaking
parallel universe
by a man grieving his wife who was my twin. Then he got me, held me in his arms as I slept (and seriously, what was
that
all about?) and for some reason decided he didn’t want me (not that I wanted him, either, for God’s sake). And finally, he threw me to the proverbial wolves.

Not that there were wolves, as such. The staff seemed nice, smiling, friendly, solicitous, and it wasn’t like I was in a prison with nowhere to sleep but on cold stone and nothing to eat but moldy bread and fetid water.

But still!

So, needless to say, this all meant I didn’t sleep. Which didn’t help with me being pissed.

But I did force a smile at the maid and followed her, though I did it stomping and even that pissed me off because I still was barefoot so my stomping wasn’t very effective.

I saw him when I was halfway down the stairs and, not surprisingly, he was tall, blond, built and preposterously good-looking.

He was also wearing romance novel guy clothes.

Exhausted and in a bad mood, this annoyed me more.

As I descended the stairs, his eyes lifted to me and his mouth dropped open.

He knew the other Ilsa.

Whatever.

He snapped his mouth shut and wiped his face blank.

I’d seen that before.

Again.

Whatever.

I stomped to four feet away from him and stopped.

“I take it you’re my guard,” I guessed.

His eyes moved over my face, lingering on the bruise at my cheek (whatever!) before stopping on mine. “Yes, madam, myself and the seven men outside.”

Seven men?

That seemed like a lot which didn’t bode good things.

I didn’t share these musings with him.

I introduced myself, of a sort. “I take it you know I’m Ilsa.”

“I do,” he replied.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Derrik,” he answered.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I snapped.

His eyes lit and his lips twitched.

I found this a bizarre reaction, so I asked, “Is that funny?”

“Yes, seeing as you said kind words you so obviously didn’t mean and I’m not entirely certain what I’ve done in the last three seconds to earn your ire, having done nothing but stand here and greet you,” he shared.

Crap.

He
hadn’t
done anything. I was being rude.

I wasn’t averse to being rude if a situation warranted it, say, a telemarketer called during dinner…or ever
.

But mostly I was averse to being rude.

Therefore, I decided to explain.

“I’m annoyed,” I told him. “Not at you,” I added hurriedly. “At your master, or leader…or…whoever.”

He dipped his chin and looked at me from under his brow, his voice gentling. “I am of the House of Lazarus. I trained under the House of Ulfr. Apollo and I grew close, shared a bond that was strong enough that when I would have returned to my own House, I elected to stay with him and command his men in his stead when he’s absent. I’m not in line for the Head of my House therefore it’s a good position.” He grinned and lifted his chin, not letting go of my gaze. “And the women of the House of Ulfr are more pleasing to look at and not one of them is my cousin or sister.”

At his words, I felt my own lips twitching and surmised, “So you’re his second in command.”

“Yes,” he affirmed.

I decided to take this as good, Apollo leaving his second in command. I was guessing by the way this guy’s shoulders looked in his shirt, his thighs looked in his breeches, and the casual way he carried that sword at a slant in his back, he was no pushover.

So at least the jerk gave me something.

“Do you speak French, or…um, Fleuridian?” I asked.

“Haltingly, but I can make myself understood”—he paused— “eventually.”

“That’s not much of an interpreter,” I mumbled, looking at my feet.

“I’m not an interpreter, madam, I’m charged with your safety,” he returned and I looked back at him to see he looked peeved.

“Sorry,” I said quietly. “I just don’t speak
any
Fleuridian and it seems I’m going to be here a while so I was kind of hoping you or one of your guys could help out.”

The peeved look faded and he replied, “One of the…
guys
can help. In fact, three of them can.”

Finally, good news.

I smiled.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and pain chased its way through them before he shuttered it from me.

Yes, he knew Ilsa.

“You know who I am,” I whispered.

“I do,” he agreed and his eyes may have been shuttered, but he couldn’t quite mask the vein of grief in his voice.

“Does it hurt you to look at me?” I asked. “If so, I can—” I started to offer, beginning to take a step back but he lifted a hand, palm up toward me.

“I cared for her. She meant much to me. Her loss is still felt by all who knew her. But you are not her. Apollo told all the men who you are and where you’re from. He warned us how this would feel. We’re prepared.”

I took this as indication the other Ilsa was beloved by his men and thus, obviously, had been around to meet them.

More questions flooded my brain but now was not the time to ask them.

Then again, I was thinking there would never be a time. Not with this lot.

“Prepared or not, I’ll try to keep myself to myself,” I told him.

“That’s not nec—”

“Please,” I said softly. “I can imagine how this feels for you. If you’d do me the kindness of trying to imagine how it feels for me, simply standing here talking and breathing causing people to re-experience grief. It doesn’t feel nice and, not to be rude or anything, I’d rather not be around it.”

He took in a short breath and nodded.

“Can you tell me one thing before I leave you be?” I asked.

“Of course,” he answered.

“The staff in this house,”—I swept a hand out— “did they know her?”

“Apollo acquired this house after she left us, madam,” he shared.

I nodded.

That I also decided to take as good, not to mention indication that the clothes I was wearing were most likely not hers.