Destined for a King (10 page)

He angled his head and took over the kiss, deepening it, his tongue dancing with hers, arousing her once more. With her hands, she peeled back his breeks, and her body relaxed beneath his. Surrender. She was giving herself to him.

Somehow he kicked himself free of the rest of his garments. Her skirts lay bunched between them, and he pushed them up and out of the way. And all the while he kissed her with a passion whose origin he could not fathom. His Stone dangled on its chain to hang between their bodies.

Taking himself in hand, he found her entrance. Moist heat greeted him, and his cock throbbed with a desire to be fully sheathed. He pressed forward a fingerbreadth, met resistance. In and in and in and again in, until her warmth surrounded him.

She went rigid beneath him. He pushed onto his elbows to look upon her. Her white skin stood in stark contrast to the cloud of dark hair spread over the pillow. She kept her gray eyes closed and her teeth sank into her lower lip.

Damn. He clenched his jaw and fought the red haze of lust that threatened to take over his mind. To erase everything except the need to possess. Her body gripped his in such incredible tightness, he wanted to conquer the paradise she offered and conquer it now. To pound at her blindly and claim his pleasure.

The only thing holding him back was the notion that he'd cause her hurt. No.

He ran the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “Are you certain you don't want me to stop?” By all Three Gods, he would, even now.

Her eyes fluttered open. “No.”

“Easy, then.” He would control himself. He would, even though his body shook with the urgency for release.

Slowly, he began to withdraw.

Her thighs tightened about his haunches. “I said no. Don't stop.”

He held in a chuckle. “It is the way of it. I move.” He pushed into her heat, and she gasped. “You move with me.” He pulled back, grasping her hips and applying pressure as he thrust once more. “Together.”

“Together,” she echoed on the next surge.

“Yes.” Gods, yes.

A swivel of his hips, and her hands drifted to his backside. Clutched as surely as he clasped her flank, as surely as her internal muscles held him fast. Within and without. Keeping him where he belonged.

And then she was smooth as silk and hotter than a forge. At last, he could give himself over to need. He thrust, and she flowed with him, pushing higher and higher, until the world about him seemed to shatter and he found what he'd sought.

The sweet onrush of oblivion.

Paradise. Calista.

The soft moonlight penetrating the high windows slipped toward the paleness of dawn. Calista lay in the darkness, combing her fingers through Torch's hair while the shades of gray in the chamber gradually gave way to color. Soft, those dark strands, possibly the softest thing about him. Her hands now knew from experience.

However long they'd lain there, Torch was not asleep, either. The slight tension of his body betrayed his wakefulness. She'd known one moment of complete relaxation in him and that came the instant after he'd spent himself inside her. She'd given him that one tiny instant of peace, a rarity in a life like his. She'd gladly borne his weight after he collapsed onto her.

If, for that one moment, he'd been able to erase the images…Gods, the images. They'd come flooding back, as soon as her brain had cleared from spent passion. They must haunt him all the more, and the dream had been so real.

Was it real? She'd never experienced anything like it. She had, for all intents and purposes, inhabited another body. The body of Griffin's sister. Torch's sister. Which meant she'd seen more than just the events of the dream. She'd had access to an entire lifetime of memories of another person.

Somewhere she found her voice. “What happened?”

“That was a loss of control. I never meant…” The strength of Torch's voice proved he was just as awake as she. “It's a common thing after battle. After you see so much…death.”

“No, I meant the dream.” She would not begrudge him her maidenhood. Not when he'd told her she could stop him at any time. Not when she'd insisted and reveled in the giving of herself. “I was…I was inside another person.”

“So was I.” That might well have been a joking reference to her, only he'd replied in such utter seriousness. “I was in my brother. I
was
my brother. Until…”

Dear gods. The hollowness that formed inside her made her tighten her hold. “I know. I saw.”

“I need to know. Were…were you…” Caution laced his tone, as if he already suspected she now possessed more information than she ought.

“Your sister. It was as if I inhabited Jerrah's body.”

Abruptly, he pulled out of her embrace. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and the rising sun limned the muscled planes of his back in golden light. It highlighted every beautiful masculine contour, the furrow down the center enhanced with shadow. He bent his head and pushed both hands through his hair. “So you know.”

“I know who you claim to be. Who your sister believes you to be.” She made her reply carefully, sensing the growing tension in him. If she stated his sister's beliefs aloud, it might make them seem all too real. And Calista wasn't yet certain
she
could believe. Not without more proof. And who was to say the entire dream wasn't some trick of the Stone's? “Has…Have you ever had such a dream?”

“Never.” A single word and harsh, as if he could read her thoughts. Her doubts. “I was desperate for information, but I never once expected…”

So much despondency twisted her heart. The emotion tearing at his voice should confirm he wasn't behind the dream. He might know more about his Stone than she did, but he hadn't controlled what it showed. The Stone had. Because he wouldn't have put himself through such anguish to prove a point.

“How do you know it really happened? The battle, I mean. Your brother.”

“Because I was there.” He whipped his head about to glare at her. “The Stone has brought me visions in the past, but never anything this vivid. I held a sword in my hand, but not
my
sword. My voice gave the orders. I killed the enemy. I
felt
the steel pass through my body.” He clenched a fist and pounded it on the mattress with a dull
thump.
“I
felt
the cold burn, the agony.”
Thump.
“I
felt
the life leaving me.”
Thump.
“It might have been me.”
Thump.
“It
should
have been me.”

She stared at pale scars that lined his back, almost expecting to find a new one to the left, just off the furrow that marked his spine, the length and width of the blade that had killed his brother. Yes, it had been that real to her as well. She might not know the pain of a mortal wound, but she'd lived his sister's shock and horror.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she leaned across the mattress and laid her head on his shoulder, her hands clasped about his waist. The skin beneath her cheek was warm and vital, pulsing with life and anger and the desire for vengeance.

“As much as I am sorry for your brother, I am glad it wasn't you.” Every last word bubbled up from her heart, and she hoped he believed she meant them.

He placed calloused palms over her hands, pressing the knot of their entangled fingers against his belly. “You know that it could be me one day. It is the nature of what I do.”

He'd no doubt meant the words lightly enough, but a note of gravity underlay them.

“There is no safety in this world.”
A swift arrow can fell even an eagle.
Apparently the saying was King Magnus's favorite, and no wonder. If Torch's claim were true, it made perfect sense. “From the moment we're born, we've set our feet on the path toward death. Some of us reach that end sooner than others. A woman might die just as well in childbed.”

His grip on her hands tightened. “I need you to know I did not plan for this outcome. I swore to leave you untouched, and I did not keep my word. My failure and mine alone. My intent always was to wed you first. We have no choice in the matter now.”

She knew. Well she knew. Her own mention of childbed brought the possibility to her mind. An heir. A king's heir. “You know Magnus will contest this.”

“I knew he'd contest me from the beginning. And he does not yet know the full extent of what I will take from him.”
Will take.
As if the deeds were already accomplished. His utter confidence drew her to press her lips to his shoulder. But Griffin had possessed the same assurance before the onset of the battle. “Did you think he'd lie by and allow me to take this keep unopposed?”

“No.” Jerrah's scream at the sight of her brother's deathblow echoed through Calista's mind. She'd likely hear more of such horrors, and soon. Witness them herself. And she'd have the wounds of the survivors to contend with as well. “You'll bring the full brunt of Magnus's power down on us, and we're hardly prepared for such an assault.”

“We will prepare as we can and weather the storm as we must.”

How she wanted to believe it was that easy. But she also did not get a chance to protest, for a scratch sounded at the door.

“My lord.” A male voice came muffled through solid oak. “Are you awake?”

Calista barely had time to duck beneath the covers before Torch replied. “Come.”

Kestrel strode into the chamber, his vivid blue eyes taking in the scene. But if he noted his lord's nakedness, the disarray of the bed, or the female form peering over the edge of the blankets, none of it registered in his tone when he spoke. “A messenger, my lord. He came with the dawn.”

The mattress shifted beneath Calista as Torch reached into the discarded clothes on the floor for his breeks. He pulled them on and sat straighter. Stiff. Steeling himself. As real as the dream had been, it still might have been a figment of both their imaginations. A glamour created by his Stone to dazzle both of them. To lead them into taking a step from which neither of them might turn back.

But this messenger was living proof.

“What news?” Torch asked, voice steady and strong. He might as well have said,
Deliver me the worst, and get it over with so I might face my grief with courage
.

“He brought this and insisted you alone read it.” Over the edge of the blankets, Calista spied Kestrel's hand gripping a piece of parchment.

Torch took the parchment and broke the seal.

“What is it?” Kestrel asked after a moment. Calista could not see Torch's expression, but she imagined he must have paled to raise such a note of alarm in his commander's voice.

“Magnus has taken my sister,” Torch replied slowly. “He's holding her captive.”

“Jerrah?” The name emerged on a croak, and Kestrel's healthy complexion turned white as chalk.

“Swift, you mean,” Torch reminded him sharply. Though Calista had learned his sister's right name, it wouldn't be prudent to bandy such information about in a keep whose loyalty had yet to be ensured.

“And what of Griffin?”

“He is in no position to help us.”

Kestrel's jaw went rigid, as if he were grinding his teeth. “How in the name of the Three Gods did Magnus lay hands on her?”

“The message does not say, but the Ironfist has clearly had word of all our plans. He's holding Swift in view of an exchange. My sister for his intended bride. And whatever harm we've done to Calista Thorne will be visited upon my sister three times over.”

Silence reigned for a long moment, while Kestrel's lips moved, clearly repeating the terrible sentence to himself.

“I've already ordered Thorne's release. Have him brought to me immediately.” Taking command was easier than dwelling. If he dwelled, he might once again relive his brother's death. He might once again remember how the utter tangle that had enmeshed his sister was also his fault.

“Thorne?”
Kestrel voiced the name in a hoarse whisper made all the more vehement by the softness of his tone. “What in the name of all that is holy does he have to do with this? You cannot possibly intend to leave your sister where she is now.”

“I do not.” He fought to keep his voice steady. Fought for all the required authority.

“Thank the Three. For a moment there, I thought you had it in mind to allow her to fend for herself.” Yes, and that was censure lacing the commander's words.

“Take heed you do not forget yourself. You are fortunate to question me behind closed doors.”

“There is nothing to question. If you will not go after your sister, I shall.”

“No, you will not. I need you here to order the battle when Magnus's troops attack. For surely they will.”

“And you would abandon your sister.”

Torch lunged at the other man, his hands fisting in the front of Kestrel's jerkin. Friend or no, Torch was within a hairbreadth of releasing his fury. “I am
not
abandoning her. I
will
go after her just as soon as I take care of another matter.” He had to wed Calista first, with all the proper ceremony. Not that he believed Magnus would balk at handing Jerrah over to his men once he learned what Torch had done, but when the truth came out, Magnus would come off looking like a barbarian. “And for that I require Thorne.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kestrel said between clenched teeth.

“Let there be no misunderstanding. Remember your oath. I command you to stay here at Blackbriar.”

Kestrel made no reply. He simply bowed himself out, leaving Torch to face the contents of the message. His brother dead and now his sister. Still alive, yes, and tough—though female, a fighter as much as either of her brothers. But in Magnus's hands she might soon wish she'd suffered the same fate as Griffin. To the Faceless One with it all.

He let out an incoherent cry of rage and heaved the parchment onto yesterday's coals. It caught on a hot ember and a tendril of smoke curled up the chimney.

Calista roused herself from the bed and crossed the chamber to lay a hand on his arm. “You've done me no harm.”

Torch rounded on her. “Are you really so naïve?”

Harsh of him, yes, but life was harsh, and the sooner she faced that fact the better. Hadn't he learned through the long years he'd spent awaiting his hour that life would find a way to slap him in the face every single time? He'd not had a stroke of fortune since he was a boy of five and his mother smuggled him out of the keep at Highspring Moor. They'd escaped with their lives, but to what sort of existence?

Calista dropped her hand and narrowed her eyes. “I don't suppose so, no. Not now. And yet, I can vouch for the fact that nothing has happened between us that we didn't both want.”

“Do you honestly believe you'll convince Magnus of that? Even if I wed you, he will not see past your stolen innocence, and hand my sister over to his men.”

“If you don't believe me sorry for that, you're much mistaken. But neither is the situation your fault. You couldn't have known.”

“Known, yes.” He reached for his shirt. “The dream…Once that blade passed through Griffin, once he died…” How he stopped his voice from breaking on that word, he couldn't say. “Once he died, I came back to myself. I did not see what happened to my sister. How do we know for certain this isn't some ruse?”

He watched her as she shook her skirts, creased beyond repair from her sleeping in her gown, among other things. Her hair fell in a hopeless tangle about her shoulders. For all the world, she looked exactly like she'd spent the entire night at bed sport, which wasn't so far from the truth.

She kept her gaze downcast as she set her bodice to rights. “I felt hands grapple me when I was in Swift's body. I do believe she has been taken.”

Damn, there went his last hope, as fragile a filament as it was. “Then I must go after her.”

“How?” She finished tightening her laces and stared up at him through wide gray eyes. “You don't even know where she's been taken. As for the rest, it may already be too late.”

“No, perhaps it isn't. Not when I hold his intended the way he holds my sister. If he harms her without provocation, what, in his mind, is to stop me from harming you in the same way or worse? Don't you see? As long as he believes I've treated you with honor, he cannot afford to treat my sister with any less honor, for fear of what I might do to you.”