The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) (9 page)

“I’ve ne
ver known the river rushes spewed across the floor to trip anyone, my lord. Perhaps you just had too much wine at the meal.” She pursed her lips and looked the other way, obviously embarrassed by his clumsiness.

“Nay, not at all,” he said, continuing the dance and all the while looking down to the floor. He couldn’t understand it, he was certain something had blocked his path.

Then they bowed toward each other once again, and he heard a ripping sound of cloth from behind him. He took his hand and felt the back of his tunic, surprised to find he’d split it some how.

“Ate
too much at the meal perhaps?” She spoke with a stonelike face, obviously seeing his torn tunic as well.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve never had this problem before.”

“Sir Braden, perhaps we should join the others by the fire instead of dancing,” she suggested.

“
I agree,” he answered, thankful to be done with the dance. “I think that would be a fine idea.” He escorted her to the fire to join the others, all the while looking back over his shoulder wondering what just happened.

At the fire they joined several of the lords and ladies of the castle, making pleasant conversation. A servant handed him some wine, and when he went to hand
it to Lady Christabel, someone bumped his arm and it sloshed over the rim. She jumped back in surprise, lucky not to get any on her gown.

“I am sorry my lady,” h
e apologized once again, noticing no one behind him.

“Did a
n imaginary person bump into you again?” she asked snidely.

Her words came crashing down around him as he suddenly realized ’twas indeed what happened.

“Aye,” he said through gritted teeth. “I believe this castle to have at least one imaginary occupant at this time – and she is playing silly games that I don’t like in the least.”

They were all looking at him strangely now and when Lady Christabel asked to be escorted to the lady’s solar to spend the rest of the morning sewing and weaving tapestries with the women, he sighed in relief. He didn’t know how much more of the fae’s mischief he could take.

He escorted the woman to the solar and then hurriedly made his way to the practice yard where he planned on letting out his anger in a warrior’s fashion. He only pitied the man he’d be paired with, as he had much pent up anger to release today.

He had a mean workout the rest of the morning, scaring off several of Lord Solomon’s knights who graciously bowed out of the practice for one reason or another. Only Sir Samuel met Braden’s challenge. And once or twice he looked bewildered when Braden’s anger for the sylph was released and he attacked like a mad man.

Lord Solomon came to watch the practice, which only made Braden practice harder. Thankfully the fae girl hadn’t played her tricks upon him in the practice yard and because of this he’d managed have a good workout with the weapons, impressing Lord Solomon with his skill of not only the sword but the lance and mace as well.

“Good job, today Sir Braden,” the man said happily as they made their way back to the lord’
s solar. Sir Samuel joined them.

“He almost took my head off a couple of times,” complained Sir Samuel, “but I have to admit his skill with the weapons is impressive indeed.”

They entered the room and made themselves comfortable. The cupbearer was at the door immediately, pouring them each a cold ale.

“I had no idea
you were so skilled with any weapon put in your hand,” said Sir Samuel.

“I told you he was loyal and could protect my daughter,” replied Lord Solomon before Braden could even answer.

“I was born with a sword in my hand,” said Braden with a smile.

“Ouch! I feel sorry for your poor mother,” joked the other knight and they all laughed.

“Who are your parents, anyway?” asked the lord of the castle. “I do hope you plan on inviting them to the wedding.”

Sir Braden didn’t really want to talk about his parents. He’d
lost his mother at an early age, and not seen his father in over two decades, nor did he want to.

“They won’t
be coming to the wedding,” he said, staring into his cup as he spoke.

The wind blew the door to the room open, and the cupbearer ran over and closed it.
The scent of lilacs filled the room and he knew they had an invisible visitor.

“Why
wouldn’t they be at their own son’s wedding?” asked Solomon. “Are they by any chance dead?”

“Aye, my mother is deceased
,” he answered, still feeling the loss after all these years.

“And what about your father? I am sure he would want to be here to see his son being married.”

“I don’t know,” he answered hoping for a change in the conversation. “I haven’t seen my father in many years.”

“Then al
l the more reason to invite him, as I am sure he would want to see how fine his son turned out being fostered by another lord. I’ll send a messenger anon. Tell me, where does he live?”

“I .
. . don’t know,” he said, knowing that it wasn’t really a lie. He’d not seen him in years, nor knew where to find him, and he really didn’t care. “He travels overseas often, and I am not sure how to contact him.”

“Well, what a shame,” said Lord Solomon holding out his cup for the servant to refill it.
“As I would truly like to meet him, and you’ve yet to even tell me his name. As a matter of fact, neither do I know much at all about the man who is betrothed to my daughter.”

“Aye, do tell us more, Sir Braden,” ur
ged Sir Samuel, leaning back in his chair. “Tell us about yourself, please.”

“There is not much to tell,” he said, feeling very uncomfortable. “I was an only child, and sent to be fostered from one castle to another, finally pledging my loyalty
to the Duke of Manterra.”

“Aye, the duke is
a fine warrior as well,” said the lord with a nod of his head. “He is known as Duke the Destroyer for the amount of lands he’s seized and men he’s killed.”

“I do think he prefers to just be called Lord Wolfe these days,” said Braden, getting to his feet.

“I never understood that,” said Solomon. “What duke does not want to use his title?”

“Lord Wolfe is very unique,” said B
raden, heading toward the door, wanting to leave before they asked any more questions and also before the fae was up to her tricks again. “If you’ll excuse me now, my lord, but I am to pick up food from the cook for my outing with my betrothed. I would hate to make Lady Christabel wait.”

“Of course, of course,” said the man. “By all means, continue on your journey in courting my daughter.”

Braden hurried to the kitchens and retrieved the package for the outing and then made his way to the stables where he was to meet Lady Christabel.

He entered the stables, very aware of the scent of lilacs behind him. He was glad to see that his betrothed had yet to arrive, and neither was the groom anywhe
re to be found. He put the package down on a mound of hay used to feed the horses, and purposely cradled it, pretending to look within.

“God’s eyes, I can’t believe the cook put this in here!” When he was sure the curious fae was right behind him, he spun around and raised his hands in the air. “Ah hah!”

Portia had been looking over Braden’s
shoulder, the curiosity flowing through her fae blood making her have to know what was in that package. Then, Braden spun around and shouted and raised his hands in the air, almost knocking her to the ground. Startled, she involuntarily let down her guard, causing her to become visible to the human eye.

“Well, hello my little spy,” he said, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

“I wasn’t spying, I was just . . . curious, that’s all.”

“Couldn’t resist the temptation, could you? Just like I thought.”

“You purposely did that to make me distracted so I’d reveal myself.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

Once again too much satisfaction on his face, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Why are you here, Portia? Wasn’t it enough that you revealed my identity and almost had me killed for being a spy?”

“I didn’t do that.”

“You were the one to tell the stablemaster about me weren’t you?”

“So what if I did?”

“’Twas his words that almost got me put in the dungeon, and ’twas your fault since we had a deal and you broke it.”

“I never agreed to any deal.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head in denial.

“Then you won’t object when I turn you over
as a spy to Lord Solomon, would you?”

“I didn’t say that. Actually, I came to . . . apologize.”

“Prove it,” was all he said.

“What do you mean? I gave you my word, isn’t that enough?”
She reached down and picked at the hay as she spoke.

“I want you to pr
ove it. If you really mean that you are here to apologize, then say it with a kiss.”

“What?
” Her head shot up and her eyes opened wide as she thought about the last alluring kiss they’d shared. “I can’t kiss you – you are betrothed.”

“Just what I thought.” He turned back to the package atop the hay. “
You won’t do it. You can’t do it, because you don’t mean a word you say.”

She knew she shouldn’t kiss him since he was promised to someone else, but being a fae, she could not turn down a challenge. She walked up behind him, spun him around, and grabbing his head in her hands, she kissed him forcefully on the mouth.

Well, she’d meant to teach him a lesson, but the kiss did strange things to her instead. She got a feeling deep within her, making her want him more than before. And when he put his hands on her shoulders, deepening their kiss, she found herself wanting even more.

Before she knew it, she was pushing him down into the hay and climbing atop him, kissing him forcefully and feeling a pulsating between her thighs. She couldn’t help herself. ’Twas the insatiable craving to mate that a fae felt more than any human ever could. Her mother
had told her about this, warning her about it many times while she was growing up. She couldn’t stop it, as the passion of the fae was in her blood.

His hands came around her shoulders and slid down her back, playfully squeezing her bottom end. She muffled a cry of delight
, while slipping her tongue into his mouth. Then his hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts gently, squeezing them between his fingers as his thumbs flicked quickly over her nipples causing them to go taut right through her clothing. That about drove her from her mind and she found herself mounting him, spreading her legs around his waist, not being able to stop her actions.

What was happening to h
er? Why was she not able to keep herself from feeling or acting this way? Her body cried out for him, and her hips took on a rotation atop his as she felt herself climbing higher and higher. But then she heard the whisper of the breeze in her ear warning her that someone was coming. She turned invisible just as Lady Christabel walked into the stable and called out Sir Braden’s name.

“Sir Braden?
” said the woman spying him lying atop the hay with his clothes and hair disheveled. “Oh my! What are you doing?”

Braden got up quickly, seeing the indention of Portia’s body crunching the hay as her invisible form rolled off of him and hit the floor. The little witch got him hot and bothered and then disappeared, making him look like a fool in front of his betrothed. Just another of her mischievous antics and he didn’t like it a bit.

He brushed the hay out of his hair and straightened his tunic
, wondering what Lady Christabel must think of him at this moment. He couldn’t even imagine how odd he must have looked groping and kissing the air atop the bale of hay.

“I was just taking a nap while I waited for you, darling,” he told her, clearing his throat and hoping she believed it.
That’s when he noticed Lady Christabel’s eyes open wide and her gaze fasten below his waist. He looked down, and to his horror, a bulge protruded from under his knee-length tunic, giving away his huge arousal for the damned sylph.

“I think it is a gorgeous day for a
ride on the moors,” he said quickly, ignoring her question and turning away from her to put the food from the kitchen into his saddlebag. “Don’t you agree?”

He heard a giggle from behind him, but didn’t want to turn to see if it was Lady Christabel or perhaps the sly fae who controlled his body as well as his reactions from a mere kiss.
“’Tis also perfect weather for an outing,” he said, finally turning toward her when he was sure his bulge had subsided.

“Aye,” she said, but not much more.
Her normally emotionless face seemed to hold a tint of humor in her eyes and he was sure she was laughing inwardly at him even if she didn’t do it aloud. Damn, he thought. That’s all he needed. If she told her father or any of the men what she’d just seen, he’d be humiliated for the rest of his life.