The Sentinel Mage (24 page)

“I enjoy watching wrestling. It’s so animal.”

Innis jerked her head around. A lady stood beside her. Her gown was cut low across her bosom, showing creamy skin and a magnificent cleavage.

“I watched you wrestle.” Lenora looked up at her from beneath curling eyelashes. “You’re very skilled.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s your name, armsman?”

“Uh...Justen. Ma’am.”

Lenora laid a hand on her arm. “You’re very strong.” Her fingertips stroked lightly. “Very well-muscled.”

Innis blinked. Was Lenora
flirting
with Justen?

“I like well-muscled men. They have more stamina.” Lenora smiled up at her. “I’m sure your master would spare you for an hour, Justen.”

Innis jerked her arm free of those stroking fingers. “No, thank you.”

The lady didn’t lose her smile. “No?” She touched the neckline of her bodice. Her fingertips followed the curve of fabric until it reached its lowest point, then wandered up, over the lace trim, to rest against her skin and the deep valley of her cleavage.

“No.” Innis stepped back a pace, flustered. She hauled the shirt roughly over her head. It clung to her wet skin.

The lady’s eyes fastened on her chest—on Justen’s chest, its ridges of muscles clearly defined by the damp fabric. “You’d enjoy it,” she said in a low, purring voice, her finger skimming lightly over the curve of one full breast. “I’d see to that.”

Innis flushed, and stepped back another pace. She crossed her arms and grabbed the first words she could think of: “I have no interest in my master’s whores.”

Lenora’s mouth opened in a gasp. There was a second of stunned silence, then: “I beg your pardon, armsman?”

Innis bit her tongue. She didn’t repeat the words.

Color rose in Lenora’s cheeks. “How
dare
you speak to me like that, armsman! I’m a baroness!” She turned and stalked from the training ground, the hem of her gown swirling angrily about her ankles.

Innis screwed her face up in a grimace.
Fool
, she told herself.
Next time a woman flirts with you, don’t panic
. Justen would never be so insulting, whatever the provocation.

She glanced around. No one had witnessed the exchange; Prince Harkeld and Prince Tomas were still wrestling, the ladies in the gallery were still watching, as were the guards. Even the hound, Gerit, had his attention on the two princes.

A creamy-white dove swooped down to perch on the edge of the water butt. It cocked its head, looking at her with one bright eye, and made a chuckling sound.

Innis felt herself flush. How much had Petrus seen? “Go away,” she whispered.

The dove fluffed its feathers flirtatiously and sidled closer.

Her face grew hotter. “Go away!” she hissed, flapping her hand.

Petrus made the chuckling sound again, then, to her relief, he spread his wings and flew away. Innis turned her attention to the wrestlers. They were on the ground, straining for dominance, grunting, grimacing.

Animal
, Lady Lenora had said, and that was precisely what the princes looked like: animals.

P
ETRUS CIRCLED UP
from the training ground, skimmed over the slate roofs of the castle, and swooped down into the next courtyard. Lenora was crossing it. The angry flounce of her hips, the flush of color in her cheeks, drew his eyes. He remembered the things he’d seen her do last night.
If it was me who was Justen, I wouldn’t have said no.
He circled slowly, letting himself imagine what could have been.

A nobleman swept Lenora an admiring bow. She halted.

Petrus circled idly, watching as she preened, as she tossed her blonde hair, as she laughed. The man’s glance was openly appreciative.

Lenora placed her hand on the nobleman’s arm.

Petrus flew lower for a closer look. The man had swarthy skin and dark hair.

Lenora tossed her hair again. She raised her other hand and placed it casually on her bodice and let her fingers trail around the neckline of her gown until they rested at her cleavage, as she’d done with Innis.

Petrus saw the nobleman swallow.

Lenora smiled. She leaned close and whispered something in the nobleman’s ear.

The man swallowed again. He didn’t jerk back, as Innis had done. He placed his hand over Lenora’s where it lay on his arm.

Petrus watched as they crossed the stone-flagged courtyard, Lenora’s expression triumphant, the nobleman’s dazed, as if he couldn’t quite believe his good fortune. He flapped his wings crossly, climbing out of the courtyard.
That could have been me!

He spent the next half hour irritably patrolling the castle, looking in courtyards, in stable yards, in windows, checking for anything sinister—

Petrus hurriedly circled back. Was that...?

Yes. Lenora and the swarthy nobleman. Glimpsed through a diamond-paned window.

Petrus landed on the window sill and glared at the nobleman.
Thrice-cursed son of a whore!
Those could have been his own hands exploring Lenora’s lush body, his own teeth nipping her breasts—

Nipping?

Lenora didn’t appear to mind the nobleman’s roughness. She was urging him on, biting him, raking her nails down his back. He saw her lips form words:
harder, rougher, faster.

Petrus backed away from the window. A reflection in one of the panes caught his eye. With a squawk, he launched himself backwards. Feathers puffed in the air as something struck him. He plummeted several yards before his wings caught the updraft.

His heart beat quickly as he clawed his way up through the air until he was level with the window. A black and white cat glared at him from the sill, lashing its tail.

Petrus flew swiftly away from Lenora’s window, his heart pounding. Slate roofs flashed beneath his wings.
Idiot! You just about got yourself eaten by a cat!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A
FTER THEY’D WRESTLED,
Harkeld went with Tomas to the men’s bathing chamber, rinsing off dirt and sweat before retiring to the steam room, with guards outside the door. He slouched on one of the benches, his eyes closed.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him awake some time later. “Asleep, old man? Lenora too much for you last night?”

Too much? No, she’d been just what he needed.

Harkeld grunted and pushed himself up from the bench.

A plunge in a cool bathing pool woke him fully. He toweled himself dry, and realized that Lenora was just what he needed again.

Justen brought him clean clothing. “I’ll pay Lenora a visit,” Harkeld told Tomas as he dressed. “See if she wants company.”

Tomas grinned. “Company?”

Behind Tomas, he saw Justen frown.

“What? You’re planning on helping her with her needlework?” Tomas teased. “Sort the threads for her, perhaps?”

“I’m perfectly happy to help her with...a number of things,” Harkeld said, pulling on his boots.

Tomas laughed. “I bet you are.”

Justen didn’t laugh. In fact, the armsman’s expression was clearly disapproving.

Harkeld felt a flicker of irritation.
A prudish armsman is just what I need.
“I don’t require you this afternoon,” he said, turning away from Justen.

“But, sire—”

P
ETRUS WAS IN
the stables, choosing a horse for the journey into Masse. A piebald mare had taken his fancy. He ran his hand down the horse’s flank and then crouched to examine its hocks.

He heard footsteps behind him “He’s gone to visit Lady Lenora.” The voice was Justen’s. “I’ve been dismissed for the rest of the afternoon.”

Petrus grunted. “I’ll take this one,” he said to the groom, straightening.

The man nodded, not meeting his eyes. He tugged the horse’s bridle, urging it back to its stall, clearly anxious to put as much distance between himself and a witch as he could.

Petrus sighed.
At least the mare won’t care what I am.
He looked at Innis. “Lenora?”

Her mouth twisted, an expression of disgust. “What does he see in her?”

“If you really were a man, you’d know,” Petrus said, grinning. He regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Innis turned away. “I’ll guard him this time—”

“No,” Petrus said, more sharply than he’d intended. He grabbed Innis’s arm. “I’ll do it. You choose a horse.”

“I can do it.”

Petrus lowered his voice. “Innis, what I meant was... Sometimes a man needs to scratch an itch. And Lenora is—”

Innis pulled her arm free. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

I don’t think you do.
Petrus blew out a breath. “Stay,” he said. “Choose a horse. I’ll watch the prince.”

He strode across the straw-strewn floor, heading for the vaulted doorway and daylight. At the threshold he glanced back, at Justen, at Innis.
I’d rather have you than Lenora.

A flight of stone steps led up to his right. He began to climb them two at a time.

“P
RINCE
H
ARKELD,
” L
ENORA
said, holding out her hand to him. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Harkeld turned her hand over and placed a lingering kiss on her palm. Arousal and anticipation hummed inside him. He glanced around the parlor, seeing tapestries, candlesticks, a delicate fire screen. “What a charming room.”

“Thank you.” Lenora looked up at him through her lashes. “Would you like to see the other rooms?”

The bedchamber, yes.
“If it pleases you.”

Laughter danced in her eyes. “It does, Prince Harkeld.”

The first room she showed him was a workroom, with a loom set up beside the window. Harkeld made appropriate noises of appreciation. The second room was the bedchamber. He tried to drag his eyes from the bed, to examine the other furnishings, to comment on them. “Nice, er...tapestries,” he managed. “Very colorful.”

“Thank you, Prince Harkeld,” Lenora said demurely.

“And the...er, candlesticks are very...elegant.”

“Thank you.” A dimple quivered in her cheek. “And the bed, Prince Harkeld?”

The bed was wide, with a rose-colored coverlet and a pile of soft pillows. It invited, beckoned, promised. Harkeld swallowed. His arousal pressed against his trews. “The bed is very...” His mouth was dry, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of words; all he could think of was stretching out on that rose-pink coverlet, of undressing Lenora, of burying himself in her.

She laughed softly. Her hand was on his arm, drawing him closer to the bed, to bliss.

It went swiftly after that. He didn’t have to speak, didn’t have to concentrate on anything except kissing her, unlacing her gown, stripping off his own clothes. He lay alongside her on the bed, naked skin to naked skin, and began exploring her with his mouth, with his hands. She was so deliciously soft, so warm, so...

“What the—?” The ripe curve of one breast was marred by a fresh bite mark. “I didn’t do that.”

She smiled languorously and reached for him. “Do what?”

Harkeld pushed her hand away. He stared at her, panting slightly, striving for clarity. “That.”

It wasn’t the only bite mark. He could see other places where teeth had nipped her soft skin, could see the beginnings of bruises where someone had gripped her arms. His arousal began to fade. The signs of someone else’s lust on Lenora’s body made her seem tawdry, soiled. He drew back. “You’ve been with someone else today.”

Lenora’s smile faded. She covered the mark on her breast with a hand. “I... Does it matter?”

Yes, it mattered. Had she bathed since then? Was he laying his kisses on top of another man’s sweat, another man’s spilled seed?