Sword's Call (40 page)

And Lucan’s budding attachment to Cera was already evident. Jorrin’s wife missed her sister, and in a way Lucan filled the place of a younger sibling—not a replacement for Kait of course, but a younger brother she’d never had.

The boy was already fiercely loyal to Jorrin and King Nathal. Having someone with as much magic as Lucan was something to keep on one’s side, though they didn’t anticipate trouble.

Besides, Lucan was reveling in being Sir Lucan, knight and head mage of Greenwald. At three and ten turns old, it was quite an accomplishment.

“She’s probably the best qualified to teach the archers, Jorrin,” Tristan said.

“Really?”

“No jest. Aimil says Cera can beat
anyone
with a bow. Even the captain of the King’s Riders, Sir Artair Moray, who happens to be one of the king’s best archers.”

Leargan let out a slow, appreciative whistle. “I’ve seen him in action. There’s none better.”

“She’s beaten Sir Moray more than once in competition, and not only Riders’ Games . . . the king’s open competitions as well,” Tristan said.

Leargan’s eyes widened, and Tristan nodded for effect.

“It’d keep her busy for a while,” Jorrin said thoughtfully.

Leargan chuckled. “Out of trouble.”

“Not touching that one.” Tristan grinned.

Cera reined Ash in and dismounted. One of the personal guard, a fair-haired man named Roduch, bowed to her and took the stallion’s reins, leading him to the other horses. Jorrin heard her thank him and saw the big man flash a smile.

When she met Jorrin’s eyes, Cera gave him a brilliant smile that had his heart pounding.

“Husband.” She inclined her head.

Cera grinned impishly at Leargan as she said hello.

To his credit, the captain didn’t react other than to nod back, but Jorrin chuckled.

“Lord Dagget,” she said, bowing.

Jorrin fought a grin. It wasn’t often he saw her so proper, even with Morag constantly hounding her.

Tristan also inclined his head and looked as if he was fighting a grin.

“I have a proposition for you, wife,” Jorrin said, trying to sound serious.

Cera looked curious, but said nothing.

“What are you doing for, oh, let’s say the next several months?”

She cocked her head to one side and shrugged. “Training archers?

Jorrin grinned.

Tristan and Leargan laughed out loud.

“I suspect that could be arranged,” he said casually.

Cera threw herself into his arms.

He chuckled as he caught her up, half expecting ribald remarks from his men.

All of whom suddenly forgot that they were supposed to be training, having been paired off by Leargan’s Second-in-command, Niall—to duel with swords and spears.

However, even Niall was looking in the direction of the Lady of Greenwald, no doubt wondering what she was doing on the training grounds.

Jorrin had confidence she could hold her own, but was worried about what they’d think of a woman training them.

Most of the men-at-arms were locals who’d come from poor backgrounds. They’d come to Castle Ryhan for a steady job as well as for a place to live.

Not many of them would be used to seeing a woman do anything other than marrying and bearing children, especially a noblewoman.

He’d have no problems correcting any assumptions with challenges if necessary, though hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. As soon as Cera fired off a few arrows, they’d see she was for real.

Either way, she’d shatter their images of a highborn lady.

“Leargan, please have the first group of archers line up. I want to inspect their equipment,” Cera said from the comfort of Jorrin’s arms.

“Aye, my lady.” The captain bowed and took his leave to organize the men.

Tristan was not far behind, stating he was going to further classify the men, separating those who claimed knowledge of the bow.

“Promise you won’t change your mind?” Cera whispered.

“Why would I do that, love?” Jorrin looked into her gray eyes.

Uncertainty seeped into his magic from her.

Was Cera being shy?

He squeezed her against his chest, dropping a kiss on her mouth.

She flashed a smile. “I have a secret, but I won’t tell you until you promise I can still teach the men. It won’t interfere.”

“A secret?” Jorrin quirked an eyebrow.

“Promise, Jorrin,” Cera half pleaded, half ordered.

“Oh, all right, I promise, but I have a feeling I won’t like it.” Jorrin grimaced.

Should I brace myself?

“I’ll train the men for a few months . . . then I’ll be busy with something—someone—soon after.” She blushed.

Jorrin’s heart started to pound. “What—who—will be keeping you busy, love?”

Cera smiled again. It was a tender smile he couldn’t help but return. “Us . . . keeping
us
busy.” Her voice was soft. “Our baby, Jorrin. We’re going to have a baby.”

Lifting her up, he swung her around.

Cera laughed, hugging him tight.

He covered her mouth in a tender kiss, forgetting their audience.

Jorrin heard the laughter of his men and pulled away, but had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat.

His heart tripped over itself.

He was going to be a father. Cera was giving him a child.

“Are you happy?” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“More than happy. A baby, love?
A baby.
When?” Jorrin smiled at the wonder in her expression. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. About seven months, I’d guess.”

Seven months?

That meant—the ruins. Cera’s first time.

“But this does change things, love.”

Cera wiggled out of his arms and glared, hands on her hips. “No. You
promised,
Jorrin Aldern.”

Trikser wuffed, as if he was speaking up for his mistress, but neither paid him any notice.

“But, love . . .”

Shaking her head, she grinned and grabbed her bow and quiver from where they rested with a variety of other weapons.

Cera jogged away from him, her wolf on her heels.

“Ceralda Aldern, come back here!”

She beamed over her shoulder and started to inspect the first archer’s bow, ignoring his bellow.

Jorrin growled.

“Looks like you’re on the losing end, today,” Tristan said, his tone far too amused for Jorrin’s liking as the lord appeared at his side.

“She tricked me into promising she can train them before telling me some news.”

“She and the baby are very healthy, Jorrin.”

“You knew? Before I was told?” He scowled at his friend.

“Only because she came to me as a patient. I
am
still a healer.” Tristan’s expression was apologetic.

“I see. I suppose I have to forgive you, then, but not her . . . for tricking me.” Jorrin gestured to his errant wife, trying to glare.

But as he watched her teach, he had to admit Cera was her element, her glorious red hair in the wind as she took aim. Her arrow hit dead center.

The men gasped.

The rest of the guard stopped to watch.

Pride washed over Jorrin.

“I’ll watch over them, I promise,” Tristan said.

Meeting his hazel eyes, Jorrin nodded. He trusted the healer completely. “At the first sign . . .”

“Aye, at the first sign.” His friend’s agreement was firm.

“I’m going to be a father,” Jorrin whispered.

“You’d gathered that, did you?” Tristan chuckled.

Jorrin shot him a mock-glare, then grinned so wide his face hurt. “Let’s hope the Blessed Spirit doesn’t let him be as stubborn as his mother.”

“Oh, aye, because his father isn’t stubborn at all.” Tristan wore an unabashed grin.

Jorrin ignored him, thinking of a little boy with dark red curls, big gray eyes, tapered ears . . . and perhaps . . . a little magic.

THE END

C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She is married and has a bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice. She works with kids when she’s not writing. She’s always wanted to be a writer and is overjoyed to share her stories with the world.

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