Warrior (33 page)

many miles but on the other side are

more cities and provinces of Morden.”

Jaisyn turned to face him and spoke

softly. “You must have enjoyed

coming here as a child.”

His eyes did not leave the sea. “I did

not come here as a child, Jaisyn. I

have been to this castle a handful of

times.”

“But it is so very beautiful and

peaceful here,” she countered, turning

back to the sea, and listening to the

waves as they crashed on the rocks

below. “Did you not visit your mother

when you were younger?”

“My mother died before I was old

enough to remember her.”

Pulling her gaze from the sea, Jaisyn

stared at him. He did not return her

gaze, but continued to stare down at

the water. So Vulcan and Varian did

not have a mother; he had not had the

loving hand of a mother or maternal

figure to raise him. That certainly

explained some of Vulcan’s views on

women. It also explained his lack of

compassion and the coldness that

seemed to waft off of him at times.

“I am sorry that you and Varian lost

your mother—”

“Varian’s mother is still very much

alive. She spends most of her time at a

similar castle in Milton, about an

hour’s ride from Morden. I was

informed that she had a slight chill and

would arrive to pay homage as soon

as the illness passes.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion and

Vulcan explained.

“My father remarried after my

mother’s death. Varian and I are half-

brothers.”

She nodded as understanding settled

in. Vulcan had been raised by his

stepmother

but

from

his

expressionless face as he spoke of

her, she decided that one way or the

other, his stepmother had not had a

great impact on his life.

“My mother died when I seven,”

she told him abruptly, and Vulcan’s

eyes widened as he stared at her. “But

my father never remarried. He always

said she was the great love of his life,

the only queen he would ever take.

Still, we were very happy. Were you

happy, when your father remarried?”

“It did not affect me,” Vulcan

replied. “Until Varian was born. I

have not felt happiness much in my

life but I am thankful for my brother.”

They continued to stare at each

other, each recognizing for the first

time that they truly did not know

much about the other. They had both

lost their mothers at early ages; they

both loved their siblings above all

others.

“What about your father?” Jaisyn

asked suddenly and regretted the

question immediately. Vulcan’s face

closed to her and the scowl that

usually graced his face appeared once

more. He turned away, looking to the

sea again.

“Frederick was a great ruler, an

undefeated warrior. He taught Varian

and I everything we know about

fighting and leading.”

Jaisyn checked the urge to lift her

hand to his face, to gently draw his

gaze back to hers. Instead, she

continued pleasantly. “My father

wanted his first born to be a son, so

he raised me as one. Until Stephen—”

She broke off as the memory of a

Morden soldier impaling her brother

on his sword swiftly brought her back

to reality. She remembered her

broken arm, and the pain and the guilt

that had plagued her for weeks and

months and years after. Her eyes

hardened as she stared at Vulcan. His

soldier was responsible for her

brother’s death. His army... She spun

away in anger, both at Vulcan and at

herself.

She had forgotten her brother.

Forgotten that she blamed his death

on the man standing behind her. How

could

she

do

something

so

unforgivable?

As

she’d

grown

accustomed to Vulcan and Morden,

she’d forgotten Stephen. An angry

tear rolled down her cheek and she

brushed it away.

Vulcan’s hand touched her arm and

he turned her to face him.

“Who is Stephen?” He broke off his

words as tears gathered in her eyes.

“What is the matter?”

She pulled from his grasp and

stepped away.

“Stephen was my brother,” she spat

out and Vulcan blinked in confusion.

Crossing his arms before his chest,

he looked down at her. “And where is

he now?” Unable to remember any

talk of an heir, Vulcan’s curiosity was

piqued.

A bitter laugh erupted from her

before she covered her mouth with a

trembling hand. Her reply was final

and rank with accusation, “Dead. You

and your army murdered him.”

***

To say that Vulcan was shocked at

Jaisyn’s sudden outburst was an

understatement. One instant they had

been getting to know each other and

the next, she was accusing him of

killing a brother he didn’t even know

she’d had.

“What?” he demanded, his eyes

hardening as he glared down at her.

Jaisyn smiled bitterly and turned

away from him.

“Five years ago, when you first

fought

my

father,

your

army

murdered my brother.”

Vulcan’s head was beginning to

ache as he tried to understand her. A

distant memory shadowed his mind of

Varian mentioning something to him

about a dead prince. “Jaisyn, in

battles, good men die. I am sorry—”

“No! Don’t you dare say it,” she

threw at him, spinning around to show

him just how much hatred blazed in

her eyes. “He was only fourteen and

unskilled with the sword!”

Holding on to his temper, Vulcan

countered, “If he was unskilled with

the sword, why then was he on the

battlefield?”

***

Jaisyn’s eyes widened at his

question. Because he’d wanted to

protect her. Because he gave his life

to save hers. The guilt rushed back to

her once more and she turned from

Vulcan. His savage army had killed

her brother but she was just as

responsible for his death. No matter

how much her father had told her it

wasn’t her fault, she always knew that

it was.

She drew in a deep breath and

wiped all expression from her face.

When she next turned back to Vulcan,

her face was blank. “I am feeling

light-headed. Will you have someone

show me to a room?”

Vulcan nodded. “Use this room. I

will send the servants to tend you.”

Moving past her, he headed for the

door. He was pulling it open when her

voice stopped him. “That will not be

necessary. I only intend to rest my

head until the meal is ready.”

Jaisyn read the confusion on his face

as he left the room. It did not matter

that Vulcan Mor’an had not dealt the

blow; he was still responsible.

***

The meal might have been good but

Jaisyn did not know it. She ate

without tasting, stared without seeing.

Unlike at the high table of Morden

Castle, she sat to the right of her

husband, making it easier for them to

converse. They did not. The loyal

warriors Vulcan had assigned to guard

her sat with them, talking and laughing

over events that Jaisyn did not know

or care about. She knew Vulcan

watched her, and even replied when,

on occasion, he would ask her

questions. Was the food to her liking?

Would she like more wine? She was

glad when it was over, for she was

able to return to the room at the top of

the castle, and stared out at the sea.

The sun was now high in the sky and

its rays fell prettily onto the water,

changing its color to a lighter blue. An

image of her brother, happy and

slightly bossy Stephen, dreaming of a

day when he would be king, entered

her mind.

How things had changed from that

time. She’d slightly resented that

while she was the oldest, Stephen

would be king, but she had eventually

gotten over it. That was the way of

her people and when she’d learned

that Lytheria was the only kingdom so

liberal in the rights of their female

citizens, she’d been proud of her

country. She’d imagined that in years

to

come,

Stephen’s

female

descendants might have been able to

ascend the throne without a male

counterpart. A frustrated sigh escaped

her lips. Now Stephen was dead and

because of her marriage to the man

who bore responsibility for her

brother’s death, she was queen. She

lifted her eyes from the sea and briefly

stared into the bright circle that was

the sun.

Closing her eyes, she saw the

familiar shine on the insides of her lids

that occurred when one did that. To

save one sibling, she’d married the

man she blamed for the death of the

other. To save Lytheria, she’d given

herself to a warrior who did not

believe women on equal footing with

men, who thought that they should be

ruled, in all things, by their male

counterparts. To save Lytheria, it

seemed, she’d damned herself in the

process. The irony of her situation

was almost laughable.

She thought of Vulcan, with his

piercing grey gaze and his ability to

take away her very breath when they

were alone. He had not changed from

the first time she’d met him in his tent,

as she struggled under him. He was

still the mighty king—the arrogant

warrior who’d conquered her people,

the seductive man who’d captivated

her.

She

remembered

Malcolm,

staring down at her with anger upon

his face, telling her that she was

bewitched. Her head bowed as she

saw the truth in his words. She had

been, but no more. She did not love

her husband. She enjoyed the things

he did to her body and she grudgingly

admitted that she admired him as a

warrior, but love, she did not—
could

not—love Vulcan of Morden.

Finally, her eyes opened and she

inhaled deeply. Her marriage was

genuine, blessed by the Goddess

herself. Ishat had advised her to forget

the past, and love her husband. As she

thought of her father and her high

priestess, she wanted to cry. Their

betrayal stung most of all. That they’d

planned for her to marry the man she

blamed for the death of her brother.

She was Vulcan’s wife, and nothing

save death would change that.

***

Both the journey from Seacrest

Castle to Morden Castle and the

events that followed after informed

Vulcan of his wife’s new coldness to

him. Instead of the fight he was

usually guaranteed whenever he

pushed

her,

Jaisyn

was

expressionless.

Unaccustomed

to

being ignored by women, especially

by his wife—he was King, damn it—

Vulcan felt his temper surge. He held

onto it, knowing that it was pointless

to become enraged with his wife in

the state that she was in. It was no

doubt due to her brother, whom she

seemed

set

on

believing

he’d

murdered. He’d stared at her during

supper, barely paying attention to

either lady on his side.

Two of his ex-mistresses, Lady

Savoy and Lady Grangerly, had

somehow

managed

to

position

themselves at his side. He’d half-

listened to them both as they threw

barbs at each other, each stopping

short of insult by a thread. To keep

from snapping and dismissing them

from his castle, he’d turned his full

attention to his wife. She’d barely

spoken to her ladies and she certainly