Love's Call (30 page)

The fair-haired knight bowed in front of her and kissed her knuckles after she’d set two baskets of sweet rolls on the personal guard’s table.

With a giggle, the girl blushed and twirled away, a wide smile on her face, flashing dimples. Laith regarded her with a grin and his brother, Merrick, slapped him on the back.

Even Laith has a woman?

Envy curled in his gut.

Searching Ansley out against his will, his gaze collided with hers, but she looked away so fast her long, red plait jolted like a whip.

She was clustered close to Ladies Cera and Aimil, and the Duchess of Greenwald shot him a glare before squeezing Ansley’s forearm.

Damn,
he had to fix things.

Lady Cera had summoned him to Jorrin’s ledger room last night for a sound tongue lashing that had made him feel about five turns old.

Leargan had sat there and taken it, because he didn’t have the guts to admit the embarrassment that had come hand in hand, or the lack of desire to speak to
the
Lady of Greenwald about his very personal problem.

What was he supposed to say?

Jorrin—the traitor—had stood in the corner, a cringe on his face the whole time. Silent.

Coward.

At least there hadn’t been any other witnesses.

King Nathal dominated—by sheer size and booming voice—as he entered the great hall of Castle Aldern, a smile on his bearded face. His tawny hair was helm-mussed, but the men with him were as just as boisterous, laughter in conversation as they strode forward to meet everyone.

The man who’d raised him was in a good mood.

The king wore no armor, but was covered in the bright blue of Terraquist—breeches and tunic. He wore a silver doublet with his seal stitched into it. The lion was roaring, surrounded by a shield and a blue flag. He was dressed for a celebration.

Leargan groaned.

His wedding.

Sir Murdoch wasn’t far behind, along with the rest of the men—which numbered about a dozen. Not all of them were the king’s personal guard, of course.

King Nathal had left probably half in Terraquist to protect his family while he was away. Leargan would do the same, if he and Jorrin had to leave for any length of time.

Loud voices along with pats on shoulders and backs ran rampant as the king’s men greeted Leargan’s. They hadn’t seen each other in some time, and both Kale and Teagan—two of the knights of the Greenwald personal guard—were saluting their fathers.

A smile played at Leargan’s lips despite the pain in his heart. Family reunions were a good thing.

No one had approached him just yet, where he stood by the dais, but he surveyed the crowd. The king was hugging Lady Cera.

Leargan’s eyes rested on Avril and Roduch. She stood by his side while the big warrior clasped the forearm of Renen, one of knights of the king’s personal guard. The man was bloodkin to Roduch. His friend had squired for the older knight when they were lads.

Avril stood shyly next to Roduch, their hands entwined. Her mess of dark curls had been tamed, intricately braided, a pearled comb and flowers woven in. It made her look even younger. Beautiful and innocent.

Roduch slipped an arm around her shoulders. Even from the distance he was standing, Leargan saw the blush light her cheeks as the big man introduced her to his cousin. But her smile was sweet, welcoming. It was good to see no fear in her expression.

She still stayed away from men other than Roduch, but she was warming up slowly, and Avril did spend time with the ladies of Greenwald.

The girl was safe now.

The trial would help—hopefully. The bastard would pay. Perhaps the king would require gelding as a part of his punishment. King Nathal had always been an outspoken protector of women. Tynan Mont would be punished. Severely.

Avril and Roduch were gazing at each other before Renen as if they were the only two in the room. Roduch’s cousin had a smile of indulgence on his bearded face.

Leargan’s heart skipped and he frowned.

When would he stop hurting?

Never.

A glimpse of red hair caught his attention and he glanced away from Roduch and Avril.

Ansley darted across the great hall, practically throwing herself into her father’s arms.

The big man caught her up, his face a mask of surprise as he pulled her closer to his massive chest. His tunic only partially muffled her sobs.

Oh, hell.

Leargan gulped.

Chapter Twenty-eight

As Ansley pressed ever closer to his chest, Murdoch tightened his arms around her. His daughter had never been one for frivolous tears. She wasn’t crying out of the joy of seeing him; it hadn’t been long since they’d last parted.

She buried her face against him, and he rubbed her back, waiting for her to calm so he could meet the blue-green eyes that matched his own.

Find out what had upset her. Destroy it.

Murdoch caught Nathal’s eye. The king stared, a fair eyebrow arched. Murdoch gave a half-shrug, pulling his little girl even closer. “What’s wrong, love?” he whispered just above her ear.

Ansley shook her head, her thick plait jumping across her back and brushing his wrists.

Feeling eyes on them, Murdoch looked up, inadvertently meeting the eyes of his only child’s intended.

Sir Leargan Tegran’s face was a mask of pain only seconds before the young captain schooled his expression and inclined his head.

Murdoch narrowed his eyes, growling deep in his throat.

The lad had made his Ansley cry.

He’d always been fond of Leargan.

Blessed Spirit, I hope I don’t have to kill him.

“Not now, Da,” Ansley whispered.

Murdoch looked down, their gazes collided. Tears stained her cheeks, and he frowned.

“I’m all right, Da, really.” She nodded for effect, but he didn’t believe it for a second.

After tucking her into his side, Murdoch strode forward, giving his daughter the choice of moving her feet or getting dragged.

“Da!”

He ignored her squawk and kept walking. Murdoch would get to the bottom of things.

Now.

“It’s good to see you, Sir Murdoch,” the lad said, thrusting his hand out for a shake.

Murdoch looked Leargan up and down, not acknowledging the younger captain’s courtesy. “It’s yet to be decided if the same can be said of you.”

“Da!” Ansley’s sharp admonition came with a gasp, but Leargan didn’t react.

Nor did he squirm as Murdoch stared him down. In that, he respected Leargan a touch.

His daughter pulled on his arm, but Murdoch didn’t look away from the young man he’d practically raised. “What have you done to my daughter?”

Ansley sputtered.

“I want to marry your daughter, sir.” Leargan’s tone was even; calm. The lad looked away from him, staring at Ansley, but she averted her gaze.

“That is why I have come.”

“She’s refused me, sir,” Leargan said.

Why in the world would she refuse the lad she was in love with?

Raising an eyebrow, Murdoch spared Ansley a glance.

She glared back, defiance flaring in her teal eyes. His daughter slipped from his grip and squared her shoulders, her mouth a hard line.

Who was this girl—this woman—standing before him?

Certainly not his daughter.

Ansley had always been on the timid side. Confident and capable of fulfilling her duties as a Senior King’s Rider, but not aggressive. That was what had made the decision for him to get her a bondmate—Murdoch didn’t worry so much when she was away knowing Ali was at her side.

Timid
was absent in the female before him. Ansley looked ready to give him a piece of her mind. Something she’d never done before.

They had a rather open relationship, but his daughter had always been respectful, dutiful. Never raised her voice, or spoken crossly to him. It was good to see she had some of her mother’s fire after all.

“Daughter, is this true?”

Lifting her chin, Ansley narrowed her eyes. “Aye. I won’t have a husband forced on me. I’ve no use for a man who doesn’t want me.”

The lad snorted.

His daughter scowled at Leargan.

“Hmmm…” Murdoch looked from one to the other, stroking his beard. “What has happened here?” he muttered, more to himself than to Leargan or Ansley. “Well, I have come for a wedding, and a wedding we shall have.”

Making eye contact with his only child, he dared her to contradict him.

Pain marked her beautiful face, and Murdoch’s chest tightened. This was real, not his little girl being stubborn. She was hurting.

Leargan’s expression mirrored his daughter’s.

What the hell had happened between them?

“I need some time to sort this out,” Murdoch said.

“Good,” Leargan said

“There’s nothing to sort,” Ansley snapped at the same time.

****

Scheming.
The look on his face told Ansley her father was scheming.

Like King Nathal, it put him at his most dangerous.

She’d rather face him with a sword than let him meddle in her love life—or lack thereof.

Sir Murdoch had never been a man to be trifled with.

If she was Leargan, she would’ve been shaking in her boots when the large man regarded her with the keen stare he currently appraised her former betrothed with.

Ansley sucked in a breath at the reminder that things were irrevocably damaged with Leargan. She trembled, planting tight fists at her sides.

“Neither of you will speak?” her father asked.

Ansley met Leargan’s eyes, ignoring the pain there and averting her gaze.

Her heart thumped.

His agony was as real as hers.

Why?

He doesn’t love me.

How could
he
look so hurt?

He’d betrayed her, not the other way around. And her father was
mistaken,
if he thought she would still marry Leargan.

“There’s nothing to say,” Ansley whispered. She’d pull him aside later, explain to her father in privacy of her intentions.

Ansley would appeal to his heart. After all, he’d loved her mother. He wouldn’t force her to marry a man who didn’t love her.

No matter how
she
felt.

Murdoch knew how she felt about Leargan. Ansley had been furious—still was for the most part—with him for his role in her delivery of the scroll and the king’s order.

No doubt the whole damned thing was his idea.

She’d been determined to give him a piece of her mind, hold it together long enough to do what she needed to do. But when her father had entered the great hall, hurt had assaulted her, and she
needed
her da. Needed him to hold her, comfort her. So she’d run into his arms like she hadn’t done since she was a small child.

His surprise had been evident, but Murdoch had held her tight without question. That was always her da, though. He’d be there for her no matter what.

Ansley’s mother, Marael, had been the love of her father’s life. She’d passed away when Ansley was only eleven from a mystery fever that had stumped even royal healers. Murdoch had been devastated.

Not fully understanding why she’d lost a parent, she’d clung to the only one she’d had left. Murdoch raised her on his own, and they’d grown very close. At fourteen, she’d joined the King’s Rider’s. Her father had been so proud of her.

“I will speak to the king.” Her father’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts, and Ansley locked gazes with him.

“Da…”

He didn’t pause. Turning on his heel, he left her with Leargan.

Alone.

After frantically glancing around, Ansley failed to locate anyone who could save her. Cera was directing maids, Aimil stood arm in arm with her husband, speaking to two of the king’s knights.

Panic rolled over her. Ali whined from the hearth, but Ansley sent her a quick thought-send to stay put.

“I miss you.” Leargan’s pained whisper bought her head around.

Their eyes met and held.

Angry tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them away. She would
not
let him see her cry again. “Even if you get your way, I will hate you for the rest of our lives. It won’t take you long to resent me, either. Marrying me to follow
orders
isn’t good for either of us.”

She tried not to remember the terror that had hit when Cera had told her Avril’s former husband
attacked
him when they’d arrested him.

Ansley made herself look away from the urge to search his forehead for a mark, even though Tristan had long since healed him. It hadn’t been serious, and Leargan hadn’t been otherwise harmed, anyway.

You don’t care.

But she did.

Leargan’s dark eyes blazed with anger and he made a fist. “It’s not like that, Ansley. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip to stave off more tears.

Anger.
She needed to be angry. It wasn’t working.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he insisted.

Ansley closed her eyes, ignoring his urgent voice. “You lied about the scroll.”

He stepped toward her; she could feel the heat coming off his body and ached for him, cursing her traitorous desire. For his arms around her. For his lips against hers.

“No. I told you the truth about it. I only regret that it wasn’t from the start.” Leargan grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry for the things I said out of anger.”

Yanking away from his grasp, Ansley glared. “Don’t touch me.”

Leargan dropped his hand to his side, his face a mask of undisguised pain. “I’m sorry. No matter what you think, I
am
sorry for what I said.”

Ansley shook her head.

Gazes scorched from all directions, and a hush had fallen over the great hall.

Everyone
watched them.

Heat burned up her neck and seared her cheeks as embarrassment threatened to swallow her whole.

Their very private situation was now
public
.

The urge to flee was overwhelming.

“Leargan.” The king’s booming voice made her jump. “Come speak to me, lad.”

With one last glance filled with accusation and hurt, Leargan left her side to obey his king.

Again.

Ansley ran from the great hall, tears scalding her cheeks.