The Queen of Swords: A Paranormal Tale of Undying Love (21 page)

He shot a wary glance at the house
. How to tell Benedict? It wouldn’t be right to run off to Scotland without informing his friend of Branwen’s unfortunate demise. Thankfully, she hadn’t turned back into her human form like all those shifters on the telly. The sight of her torn limb from limb would have been more than he could bear. He’d known her a long while, after all, and wasn’t completely devoid of feeling. She just hadn’t known how to take no for an answer.

He loaded the dogs and his suitcase into the Range Rover, pulled around to the front, and got out, giving Cat a wave before going back into the house. His gut was
tight as he climbed the stairs. Would he find Benedict alone? How would his friend take the news? The O’Lyrs had been stingy with the details of their lives, but in a couple of drunken moments, Benedict had mentioned being from Wales and of royal blood.

There was an old folktale about a lass named Branwen who was given in marriage by her brothers to the king of Ireland. Because of some perceived insult, the king abused the sister and, when the brothers learned of this, they attacked Ireland. All but a handful died, including one of Branwen’s brothers. He wondered sometimes if the O’Lyrs
might be they.

Upon reaching Benedict’s bedchamber,
he knocked softly. He heard movement inside and a few minutes later, his friend opened the door, hair tousled, face engraved with sleep.

His eyes widened in surprise as he beheld Graham.
“I thought you’d gone to Scotland.”

“Aye well,”
he muttered, dreading what he came to say. “That was the plan. But your sister had other ideas, didn’t she?”

“Who is it, baby?”
It was a female voice from inside the room, which he recognized as belonging to Cat’s saucy housemate.

“It’s only Graham,
dearest. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep, all right? Not that you need any beauty rest.”

Graham made a face at the syrupy and completely out-of-character exchange. Was Benedict actually smitten with the lass? If so, it would be a first.
The
gancanaug
h stepped into the hall and shut the door. Should he tell him about Avery’s overture as well as his sister’s death? Probably not. Avery’s faithlessness was against her girlfriend, after all, not her lover, who she’d only just met at the time. Besides, the
gancanaugh
could more than take care of himself where the other sex was concerned. If anyone needed warning, it was probably Avery. But she was on her own.

“It’s about your sister
.” Searching for his next words, he raked his fingers through his hair. “She attacked me just now…out in the yard…in her raven form...and, well,”—he heaved a sigh—“it grieves me deeply to have to tell you this, but...I’m afraid the dogs got her.”

Benedict’s brow creased. “The dogs?”

“Aye.” He swallowed. “My dogs. And it wasn’t pretty.”

“Is she
...?”

“Aye
. I’m afraid so.”

Benedict, wearing a pained expression, reached out and touched
his arm, a reassuring gesture. “It’s all right, mate. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Aye, well.
Be that as it may, I’m still off to Scotland on the morrow…but now taking the lass along. Would you be a pal and let Avery know?”

“Of course
,” Benedict said, his expression solemn.

Swallowing,
Graham extended his hand. “I guess that’s it then.”

They shook, biting back their feelings. Graham had never been one for emotional displays. Besides, with any luck, he’d be back for the rest of his things one day, so this wasn’t necessarily the end of their friendship.

“What shall I do with her...remains?”

“
Leave that to me.” Benedict heaved a sigh. “I went to war for her once, you know, against a king who would make a scullery maid of his own queen over some perceived slight.” He sighed again and shook his head. “Branwen was a lovely, sweet-tempered lass back then. And knowing how many brave lads gave their lives to avenge her honor was more than she could bear. On the voyage home, she died of a broken heart. To save her, I summoned Morgan La Fey and traded my soul for my sister’s life. Back then, she was worth the sacrifice...but too many years and disappointed hopes turned her into a cruel and covetous creature.” He paused to lick his lips. “It grieves me to speak ill of my own flesh and blood, but I believe what’s happened is for the best.”

So, he’d been right about the O’Lyrs. They had been the brother and sister from the folktale. “Aye, well
.” Graham had to force the words through his thickening throat. “I’m still sorry, Benedict. Truly.”

Benedict
shrugged. “It sounds to me like she had it coming.”

Pressing his lips together,
Graham stepped away and turned toward the stairs. She did, actually, but it still seemed a bloody shame.

Chapter
17: Masturbation is a Mortal Sin

When Cat opened her eyes, the room was bright enough to make her squint. Head still fuzzy from sleep, it took a moment for reality to dawn. She was in her own bed. Branwen was dead. She’d followed him back to her place after he’d broken the news to Benedict. He’d been with Avery, who she’d almost forgiven. Almost, but not quite. Graham seemed down when they got back and disinterested in physical relations. Not that she blamed him, given all he’d endured.

But where
is he now?

Pushing up on an elbow, she looked around.
Judging by the hush, he wasn’t in the room or the flat. Alarm prickled.
Oh, no
. Had he left for Scotland without her? The tingling became a sharp stab. Leaping out of bed, she pulled on her robe and dashed into the hall. He wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. She looked out the window overlooking the back garden. There was no sign of him. Tears threatened, tightening her throat. She sucked in a breath to steel herself. With it came the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.

Rounding on the coffee pot, she saw the
full carafe. Relief doused the fear burning in her belly. If he’d left without her, would he have made coffee first? Deciding he wouldn’t, she relaxed a little and poured herself a cup. Taking it to the front window, she peered out. The sight greeting her triggered an onrush of relief. There he was on the front lawn playing with Wallace and Bruce. A smile bloomed across her face. One of these days, she’d have to buy them a special treat as thanks for getting rid of Branwen. Now, if only they could do the same with Gerard Fitzgerald.

As she sipped her coffee and watched him romp with the dogs, she began to daydream about the future.
Would they get married? Would they move to his castle? She’d rather enjoy living in a Scottish castle, but what would they do for money? He must have something to live on, but was it enough to support the two of them? And what about her career? Could she get a teaching job in Scotland? She let out a sigh. Their future together still hinged on defeating Fitzgerald and breaking his curse, so she mustn’t get too far ahead of herself.

Seeing
him heading back inside, she went to the door to greet him.

“Good morning.
” She lifted her cup. “Thanks for making coffee.”

“
You’re welcome.” He crouched to unleash the dogs, which panted hard from the exercise. They were so adorable, she couldn’t help grinning at them. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well, yes.” She sipped her coffee. “Enough, no.”

Frowning with concern, he asked, “Do you want to go back to bed for a bit?”

She batted her eyes at him.
“Is that an invitation?”

He
grinned. “If I came with, you wouldn’t get any rest.”

“Promise?”

“Believe me, lass, I’d like nothing better than to spend the day shagging, but don’t you need to take care of a bit of business before we set off?”

Shit.
After all that went down last night, she’d forgotten about work. Still, it was early, leaving more than enough time to shag at least once. He’d not been in the mood last night for obvious reasons, but what about now?

“Have
you showered?”

He shook his head.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Then, come
.” Taking his hand, she tugged him toward the hallway. “I’ll wash your back.”

When he didn’t resist, her hope
blossomed. She led him down the hall to the bathroom, letting go of his hand as she entered. “Have you ever showered with anyone before?”

“I can’t say
as I have.” He said it from the doorway with a tense laugh. “Unless you count the communal showers in the military.”

Bending over the tub, she turned on the taps. Should she bring up the war? He’d opened the door, but was
this the time? What if it ruined the mood? And, given what she’d read, how could it not?

Deciding to
leave it for now, she retrieved a bottle of bubble bath from underneath the counter. As she poured it into the water, the pleasant fragrance of comingled lavender and vanilla filled the room. He stripped in the doorway, saying nothing. Biting her lip, she let her gaze roam over his physique.

As desire ripened, s
he shut off the faucet and shed her robe, aware of his eyes on her. With a sultry smile, she held out her hand in invitation. As he took it, she stepped into the water. It was deliciously warm and aromatic. He stepped in behind her, put his arms around her, and pulled her against him. As he ran his hands down the front of her body, his mouth made love to her neck.

“
You’re very bonny,” he whispered between nibbles. “Do you know that?”

Her face got as hot as the water. “Shall we sit?”

As they sank together into the bubbles, she lay back against his chest, feeling as if she’d died and gone to heaven. She closed her eyes, relaxing into the feeling. When she opened them and twisted her neck to look up at him, she found him watching her with tenderness in his eyes.

“What are
you thinking?”

“How good
you feel.”

She smiled. “Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing.”

He reached for the soap and lathered his hands before returning it to the dish. Putting his soapy hands on her neck, he began to massage, working his way to her shoulders. He moved down her arms, caressing as he scrubbed. Her breath hitched as his soapy fingers teased her nipples. Lust hooked her womb and tugged. As his hand moved lower, she parted her legs. When he began to work her sweet spot, she moaned with pleasure. Behind her, pressed between them, she could feel his growing erection.

For some reason, she thought of the magazines she’d found in his be
dside table. Heather with her oversized breasts and shorn pubis. She conjured a picture of him in bed with the magazine, touching himself. The image titillated. Solo videos of masturbating men were her favorite kind of porn.

“Graham,” she whispered. “Do
you ever, well, pleasure yourself?”

An indignant scoff tore from his throat.
“Of course not. Masturbation is a mortal sin.”

He sounded serious, but
how could he be? What about the dirty magazines in his nightstand? She didn’t believe for a minute he bought them for the articles. Not that she could call him out without giving away her snooping.

“And why is that, do
you suppose? I mean, isn’t it a bit like putting a fabulous toy within reach, then forbidding a child to touch it on pain of eternal damnation? If you ask me, it’s just cruel and senseless.”

He laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“Will you let me watch sometime?”

“Why,
you dirty wee lass.” He laughed again. “I’m shocked to the core of my being.”

She rolled over, sloshing water over the sides, and moved her face close to his. “How about right now?”

His brow furrowed. “You seriously want to watch me have a wank?”

“Why not?”

Arching a ruddy eyebrow, he asked, “And what do I get for my trouble?”

She fought to suppress a grin, but lost the battle. “
You mean besides a self-inflicted orgasm?”

“Aye.”
With a quick kiss, he added, “Self-inflicted orgasms are easy to come by.”

Her eyebrows waggled.
“What would you like in return?”

“How about if I handle the opening monologue and
you come in before the final act?”

A laugh broke free.
“Deal.”

She gave him a swift kiss and sat back.
A thick froth of bubbles sat atop the water, obscuring her view. Lust pulsed low and deep as he took himself in hand. As he worked, his breathing grew ragged, his lips parted, and his eyelids half closed.
Damn, it was hot
. As she observed, taking careful note of his ministrations, the pulsing grew more intense and insistent. Sensing her cue, she moved in and took over, teasing the tip with her tongue while he held the base.

“Oh, aye,” he groaned, placing his free hand on her head. “Oh,
God that feels good.”

His breathy utterances sent an electrifying thrill rippling through her. She twirled her tongue across the spot he’d worked with his thumb. He made a growling sound deep in his throat. His fingers fanned out across her scalp, holding her head as he flexed his hips, pushing deeper. She sucked and swirled,
giving it everything she had. In response, he gasped, hissed, clenched, and shook—a total turn-on.

“Enough,” he rasped, abruptly pulling her off. “
You’re going to make me cum.”

She arched an eyebrow
in his direction. “Wasn’t that the objective?”

“Aye, lass. But not in your mouth, eh?”

Confused, she wrinkled her nose. “Why not?”

“Because
my spunk is like pure adrenaline.”

* * *

Reaching to the dashboard for his
Gauloises
, he drew one from the pack and pressed the unfiltered end between his lips. He punched the lighter and cracked the window. The smell of wet earth and asphalt infiltrated his nostrils. It was starting to rain, despite the morning’s promise of clear skies.

They’d set off a couple of hours ago, after she’d returned from the university.
In addition to agreeing to cover her finals, Maud Edenfield had told her Fitzgerald would return to the Unseelie Court on Midsummer’s Eve, only a couple of days after the new moon. If they failed, he’d have to wait another hundred years to try again. And next time, if there was a next time, Fitzgerald would be wise to their scheme.

They were on M6
, a busy highway. Cat dozed against the passenger door. Wallace and Bruce slept curled up together in their crate in the rear compartment. They were somewhere in Northern England, whizzing past a whole lot of nothing. The classical station he’d put on was playing one of Mozart’s symphonies.

He went over their itinerary again in his mind. They’d spend tonight in a pet-friendly boutique hotel in Edinburgh. After checking in, they’d walk the dogs, have a quiet drink, and order something from room service
for her. He’d have to eat too. Feeding from her wasn’t enough. Plus, it wasn’t good for her health. So, he’d hunt, with her if she was up for it and alone, if she wasn’t. Tomorrow, they’d leave the dogs and do a bit of sightseeing. The next day, they’d head up the coast. It was the long way round to Druimdeurfait, but he wanted to show her certain places along the way. And they had time to kill.

The lighter popped. As he reached for it, she stirred against his shoulder. He lit his cigarette, blowing the smoke at the open window.
Lifting her head, she smiled at him groggily.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Flicking a glance toward the dashboard clock, he saw it was just after two o’clock p.m. They’d left Wickenham around noon and she’d been quiet for the first hour. Though he’d sensed she was worried about something, he couldn’t get her to open up.

“Not long.”

After she dozed off, he realized he’d shared a great deal about himself, but knew next to nothing about her. She’d not mentioned her family, for instance. Where had she grown up? Were here parents still alive? Did she have any siblings? He hoped to learn all of those things and more over the next few days.

“Are we in Scotland yet?” she asked, yawning.

The landscape was flat, the road a divided highway edged by businesses, lorry yards, and working-class row houses. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were, he just knew they hadn’t crossed the border.

“Not yet,” he told her, “but we should be before too long.”

“And how far after that until we reach Edinburgh?”

“Two or three more hours.”

It had started to rain, but not enough to use the wipers. Just a fine mist.

“There’s something I should probably tell you.”

The words plucked his heart like a harp. Nothing good ever followed an introduction like that one. “Oh, aye?”

“
I read my tarot cards again.”

“
And...?”

“This time, I
did draw the card of
Death
.”

Alarm chimed,
and then grew into a gong of panic. He clenched his jaw and took a drag of his cigarette. She’d drawn Death, which wasn’t good. Though it didn’t necessarily portend physical death. Or hers. Maybe it foretold Lord Fitzgerald’s death, which would be a blessing, or the death of his curse, also good, or maybe Branwen’s demise. Aye, that could be it. She’d drawn it before Branwen, right? That must be what it meant.

“Why did
you not tell me before?”

“It slipped my mind.”

He glowered at her in disbelief. “You drew the card of Death, knowing our history with the card, and it slipped your mind?”