Warrior (49 page)

went limp and her eyes closed.

Oh dear Gods, he’d killed her. And

his heart had known anguish unlike

that which he’d felt before. But as she

was being put upright by the coward

who held her, his mind registered the

opening of her eyes right before he

witnessed his miracle. Quicker than a

blink, his wife reached for the king’s

sword and spun, slicing through

Kegan before the man had time to

fear for his life. He watched the

coward stare at her in confusion

before his head slid from his body,

which collapsed shortly after.

“Rika have mercy!” he heard Varian

mutter in shock.

“May all the Gods have mercy!”

Hector added, crossing himself.

Vulcan’s eyes remained on his

queen, who now held the bloodied

sword to the archer. The man, who

was facing her, lifted his hands. He’d

dropped the crossbow. As if sensing

the threat was gone, Jaisyn looked

around frantically before moving

closer to edge and peering down. A

weak smile touched her lips as she

looked down at Vulcan, bloodied and

dirty, but alive.

His eyes drank her in greedily. She

had not betrayed him. He knew it as

he knew his own mind. It had taken a

display that had nearly driven him

mad to see it, but now he did. His

wife had been forced from him. But

she was alive. His child was alive. His

wife was pregnant. As he thought of

that, his body froze even as his heart

pounded fiercely against his ribcage.

Jaisyn Mor’an, Queen of the North

Lands and Lytheria, had some

explaining to do.

But they were still alive, and for

that, Vulcan was most grateful.

***

“Your soldiers will be returned to

you before the night is out, Azarius of

Sulan,” Vulcan said to the king, who

stood before him in the Great Hall of

the Sulanese castle. Escorted by his

most loyal warriors, Vulcan had

ridden across the lowered drawbridge,

and wary Sulanese soldiers had led

the way to their king. Jaisyn had been

waiting in the Great Hall as well and

as soon as her eyes landed on him,

she’d made a move to step forward,

only to be restrained, gently, by

Azarius. That irritated Vulcan but

he’d held onto his temper.

“That is most kind of you, Vulcan of

Morden.” Azarius bowed his head

respectfully but made no move to lift

his hand from Jaisyn’s arm. Even

Jaisyn passed him a confused look.

“The Sulanese were deceived into

thinking that you were not the rightful

king of Lytheria,” Azarius continued.

“We were given false information and

had only become aware of the truth

after my soldiers had ridden to meet

you. If you seek the truth, you may

ask your queen.”

Vulcan looked to Jaisyn, who

nodded in agreement. “For centuries,

the Northlands have had no quarrel

with the South. I am prepared to

dismiss Sulan as an enemy and

embrace you as an ally…if it suits

your cause, Azarius of Sulan.”

Azarius nodded. “It suits my cause

well, King of Morden. I have already

lost brave warriors for unjust reason

and would rather be your ally than

your foe.”

With that, he released his hold on

Jaisyn and gave her a nod. She did not

need the encouragement. Before the

watching Lytherian, Morden and

Sulanese soldiers, she ran and threw

her arms around her still-armed

husband. Vulcan inhaled her scent

and allowed her to hold him, afraid

that he would crush her with the

weight of his armor if he were to

return the hug.

She released him reluctantly and

stared into his eyes. They were warm

as they beheld her.

“As a show of goodwill, I would

invite you to spend the night within

my castle walls,” Azarius held up his

hand when he noticed that Vulcan

was prepared to disagree with such a

course of action. “For your wife…

who is unaccustomed to the hardships

of an army camp.”

Vulcan looked down at Jaisyn. She

made no move to say anything. His

gaze traveled down the scarlet dress

she wore, coming to rest on her

abdomen. She didn’t have to say a

word. They would spend the night in

the castle.

***

Azarius sat in his study, staring into

the flames that burned at his opulent

hearth, remembering the sons he’d

loved dearly. He’d lost both today.

Jarel, his heir, who’d brought him

nothing but joy and who’d made him

most proud to be a father. Dax, the ill-

begotten son whom he intended to

claim, who would have been titled,

had he been more accepting and less

brash. Dax, who’d joined forces with

Kegan and involved Sulan in a plot to

steal the throne of Lytheria from its

true king. Dax had betrayed them. He

felt a tear slip from his eye and move

down his wrinkled cheek. Jarel had

been right, and it was too late to give

his heir the satisfaction of knowing it.

So caught up was he in his own

thoughts that he did not hear the

commotion outside of his study until

one of his generals barged in, a grin

on his face.

Azarius half-rose and lifted a

greying brow. “Well?”

The general bowed. “It is the prince,

my liege. He lives.”

His legs gave out under him, but

luckily the chair was there to break

his fall. “How?”

“He was taken to the Morden camp

with their injured soldiers. The men

who were captured have confirmed

that he is being nursed back to health

by one of their surgeons.”

He did not understand. “I do not

understand. Where is he? Where is

my son?”

“The men report that he is still in the

Morden camp, sire. He took a dagger

to the shoulder. His condition is

stable.”

Azarius nodded and looked back to

the fire. The Gods were being

merciful. They were smiling upon

him. His son was alive.

“How soon can we have him back

in Sulan?” he asked the general,

clearing his throat after his voice came

out hoarse.

The man nodded and replied, “The

surgeon told the men that he can be

moved as soon as midday tomorrow,

sire, but will have to be closely

watched.”

“Good, Neil. Have the men bring

him home, tomorrow,” his voice was

quiet, slightly raspy with emotion.

The general understood. Everyone

loved the prince and he’d watched as

battle-hardened soldiers teared up

when they’d crossed the drawbridge

without their leader, their prince

among them. Yes, it was good that

their future king was alive.

***

A bath had been brought to the

chamber and Vulcan’s large body was

seated in the lukewarm water. Jaisyn

knelt beside him, soft mats under her

knees, as she held a small, soft towel

in her hand. Her mind was clear. Both

Isolde and Mathilda were safe and her

husband was with her. They were

now guests in the room that had been

her prison for the past weeks. Instead

of the Sulanese guard stationed before

the door, Morden soldiers, armed as if

ready for battle, now blocked it.

Dipping the cloth into the gradually

cooling water, Jaisyn lathered it with

the cinnamon-scented soap and went

to work on her husband’s back. As

she washed, the grime and gore of

battle cleared away to reveal his

lightly tanned skin, marred by the

occasional

battle

scar.

One

in

particular looked quite deadly. It was

in the middle of his back, a long pink

scar that curved around his side. She

traced it lightly with her finger.

Vulcan groaned and she continued,

cleaning his back thoroughly before

moving to his chest. She paid

particular attention to his chest,

swirling the cloth around his nipples

even as he stared at her with those

molten grey eyes. A soft smile

touched her lips but she dipped her

head before he caught it. She moved

the cloth further down, to his belly,

before lifting her hand from the water

and wringing the cloth. Instead of

continuing in that direction, the cloth

was passed over his arms, under his

arms, across his neck. Before he

could say anything, her soft hands

were cleaning him, caressing him,

touching him, teasing him. He

stiffened even more in her grasp.

***

Vulcan’s eyes remained on her face,

and on the exquisite orbs revealed by

the low cut of the dress. He wondered

vaguely if the Sulanese wore dresses

like this all the time, and if he could

have a few of these dresses made for

his queen. She wore it well. But

Jaisyn would wear anything well.

Even when she’d been covered

completely in conservative Lytherian

clothing, he’d wanted her.

She suddenly took her hands away

and stood. Vulcan’s eyes followed her

in confusion.

“Rise, my lord,” she told him in a

very throaty voice. He obeyed. She

rinsed him with bowls of warm water,

trailing her fingers down his chest,

down his back, across his buttocks,

but never touching the place that cried

out for her touch. His wife was cruel.

She stepped away from him, and took

a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I am finished, husband,” she said

firmly, angling her face so that she

stared up at him.

“I am still wet, wife,” came his

amused reply. A smile curved his lips

as she stared at him in shock.

“Do you expect me to dry you as

well?” Jaisyn bantered.

“Yes,” he replied arrogantly, and

she tossed him another glare before

grabbing a towel and holding it out to

him.

“It is quite chilly this night, husband.

You may catch fever if you do not dry

yourself,” she warned, and Vulcan

found himself chuckling. In the weeks

he hadn’t seen her, heard her voice,

inhaled her scent, he’d found he

missed everything about her. Even

when he’d thought her disloyal and

hated her, he’d missed her.

Stepping

from

the

tub,

he

approached the bed and took the

towel from her. He dried himself and

tossed it easily aside.

***

The look he gave her next had heat

pulsing through her in waves.

He stood before her less than three

strides later, his jutting organ directly

before her. She couldn’t have looked

away if she wanted to…and she

didn’t. She could already feel the

wetness pooling between her thighs

and wished he would take her now. It

had been weeks since she’d been in

his arms.

“Have you missed me, wife?” he

asked, making no move to touch her.

Jaisyn’s eyes lifted from his shaft to

his face and she swallowed.

“Have you missed me, husband?”

she countered hoarsely. In response,

she was pushed back onto the soft

mattress as her husband’s body, damp

and cool from his recent bath, covered

her. Her arms wrapped around his

broad shoulders and she arched

against him, moaning in the back of

her throat.

His lips covered hers as his tongue

licked fire against hers. Jaisyn arched

into him again.

“I went half-mad when I couldn’t

find you,” Vulcan admitted, his voice

low, and Jaisyn felt her heart rate

increase even more.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she

replied, groaning as he slipped a hand

under her dress and stroked her breast

before trailing a finger across her

hardened nipple. “Dax told me they

had taken Isolde.”