Once Upon a Star Page 11

  “Duke Ambrose!”

  He’d turned back, staring at the short, heavy woman with the seamed face and faded eyes.

  “Lady, I have no time—-”

  “Be good to her.” It was an order—gruff, quick—yet oddly pleading. “My Lianna. If you dare to hurt her, I will hunt you down myself. She’s a good child. Her heart is pure. If you hurt her—”

  “Ease your mind, old woman. I will not harm her.” Ambrose spoke so softly that Lianna was certain only she and Meeg had heard. “Go to your bed and rest easy. She will not suffer at my hands.”

  Meeg stared at him as the seconds beat on, precious seconds, while horses whinnied, men seethed to be off, the wind whipped at the nobles and servants gathered in the courtyard to see their princess wed.

  Then Meeg nodded and stepped back. The king cried, “Have courage, my daughter!” and with one last glimpse of her father’s anguished face, Lianna was swept away upon the Barbarian’s black destrier, and she could only gaze back in longing at her beloved castle as the dark night closed around her.

  Since then they’d been riding for hours. Or perhaps days…

  Lianna didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she felt herself being lifted down from the steed. Her eyes fluttered open and for a moment she stared in confusion at the swarthily handsome face so close to hers.

  “She needs rest.” The man’s words came to her as if from a great distance. His voice was deep, not at all unpleasant. “Or else I’ll have another dead bride on my hands.”

  A chill pierced her, and she came fully awake, her heart lurching.

  “Ambrose.”

  “Yes, Princess.” He was carrying her in his arms, she realized, and then she saw that the great forest had given way to a hamlet, and a churning black river flowed to her right. To her left was a cluster of ramshackle buildings that huddled like stooped monsters in the night.

  “Where are we?”

  “An inn in Kyrdwyk where it will be safe to spend what remains of the night. No more than three or four hours—then we’ll have to ride again.”

  She moaned and tried to struggle free of his arms. “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “I doubt it.”

  She realized he was right. Her body ached and weariness dragged at her so that she could scarcely see or think. But she detested her own weakness and vowed he should not know of it.

  “You underestimate me. I am well able to—”

  “If you’re going to argue with me every time you speak, there is going to be real trouble between us.” He strode into the inn, where a man in a greasy dark tunic and cap raced down the stairs, staring in stupefaction.

  “A dozen of my men and I need quarters for the night. Others will be camped outside. They’ll need food in the morning. See that you have enough for all.”

  “Aye, sir, my lord. As you wish. Let me show you to a room.”

  Goggle-eyed at the sight of the large, armed, and obviously dangerous soldiers who stomped into the tiny inn, the landlord stumbled over his own feet as he led the dark-haired duke to the best room of his house.

  Entering the musty, low-ceilinged chamber, Ambrose gave it a swift glance. It had a hearth. That was something. But not much. The mattress was of straw, the planked floor sticky with spilled ale, the blankets moth-eaten and nearly threadbare.

  But the fire would warm the woman in his arms and the bed would afford her some much-needed sleep, and those were his chief concerns at the moment.

  He had to reach Blackenstar before the invaders from the east did, but he couldn’t afford to kill his bride getting there.

  “Sleep while you may.” He tossed her down upon the bed, noting how swiftly she bounced up to glare at him.

  “Build a fire and bring the lady some refreshment,” he ordered the landlord over his shoulder and then left the dim chamber to find William and Beorn and set out orders for the men.

  Lianna wanted no refreshment, only sleep. As the fire sprang to life in the hearth, and the landlord bowed and scraped his way out the door, she huddled in her gown and cloak upon the lumpy mattress, which smelled like a pig had been the last to lie upon it. She thought briefly, longingly, of her own bed made of softest feathers, her room delicately scented with rushes and sweet spices, of the hot spiced drink Else brought her each night in the winter before she retired. Then she pushed the thoughts away.

  Those days were gone—for now. If she ever wanted to return to Castle Penmarren, to her life there as her father’s daughter and a princess held in esteem by her people, she had first to get through the next fortnight wed to the Barbarian.

  And that meant getting through her wedding night.

  She had expected it would take place in Penmarren Castle, at least. Not here in some filthy inn on the road, in the middle of the night, with the smell of pig nearly choking her.

  She must have drifted off into sleep again, because suddenly she was jerked awake by a heavy form dropping down beside her and the bed dipping low with a resounding creak.

  Ambrose sprawled alongside her, fully clothed, the long, heavy length of him taking up nearly the entire bed.

  In shock she recoiled and tried to shift herself away from any contact with him, but she mistook the width of the bed. With a strangled cry, she tumbled over the edge to land with a most unprincesslike thud upon the floor.

  3

  A DEEP RUMBLE of laughter shook the rafters of the chamber.

  “Come back to bed, Princess. I’ve already swallowed three virgins whole for my supper—I won’t eat you alive, at least not tonight.”

  Her cheeks burned. And her rump ached. Not to mention her elbow. She wanted to march out of the room and demand that the landlord give her another chamber—but she couldn’t. Ambrose was her husband and there was no escaping him.

  Not until Constantine came and, with any luck, lopped off his head.

  So she rose with all the dignity she could muster, yanked her cloak tight about her shoulders, and tried to avoid her husband’s eyes as she began to carefully settle herself upon the bed once more, but he reached out a giant arm and before she could move he tugged her unceremoniously down beside him, clamped an arm across her chest, and drew her close by his side.

  “Next time you fall out of bed you might injure yourself,” he growled. “Then the world would say I raised my hand to you on our bridal night.”

  Staring into his eyes, Lianna saw that they were tinged with amusement, but also a shadow of bitterness. “I’d best keep you close or my reputation will suffer,” he said softly.

  A strange dizziness assailed her at his nearness. Something about him made her senses reel. Fear, she told herself. Dread.

  “I wouldn’t worry, my lord,” she said with honeyed sweetness, “your reputation could not sink much lower than it already has.”

  She felt him move beside her, the bunch of powerful muscles, the catlike spring as he came up in one smooth, powerful motion. He had removed his hauberk but wore tunic and cloak as he loomed over her, his face dark and harsh in the dancing glow of the fire.

  “You’re wrong, Princess.” He spoke in a low tone. “It could.”

  Lianna didn’t dare try to move. She couldn’t escape him if she tried. He hadn’t yet touched her, or tried to hold her there, but if she moved, he would, sure as a lion would pin down a lamb.

  “D-do what you want with me, then.” She took a deep breath. “I know what is expected of me as your w-wife. G-go ahead.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight shut and braced herself for the worst.

  Nothing happened.

  She waited, sensing him above her, hearing his soft breathing, aware of the sizzling air that seemed to tingle around her.

  She braced herself to be roughly touched, grabbed, her cloak and gown ripped, flung to the floor, but…nothing happened.

  She opened her eyes.

  Ambrose was just as he had been before. Except for one thing. Now his gray eyes no longer glittered threateningly. In the waving firelight
that sent golden-orange shadows through the dingy room, they shone with faint amusement.

  Was he laughing—at her?

  “What are you waiting for?” she bit out between clenched teeth. “Midsummer’s Eve?”

  A low rumble of laughter sounded deep in his chest. “I’ve a fierce battle to plan and win, Lianna. My castle is endangered. And our road is not without peril. I think—for now—for this one night, at least—I am able to withstand your many and considerable charms,” he chuckled.

  So he did not mean to…he would not…she didn’t have to…

  She carefully hid the relief that surged through her. Thank the heavens she would be spared having to couple with this monstrous creature—at least for tonight. If a tiny bit of disappointment nibbled at the corners of her heart she pushed it away. Why should she feel disappointment? Because Ambrose the Barbarian wasn’t so tempted by her beauty and femininity that he would forget the very real troubles besetting him and wish only to kiss her, touch her, and bed her?

  That was preposterous. She didn’t want him even to look at her, much less place those large, rough hands upon her…much less…

  She pushed that thought away, too, deciding that fatigue was turning her mind to mush and confusing her thoughts with nonsense.

  She struggled up to a sitting position then, half fearing that he would try to push her down, but he leaned back and allowed her to rise. Her hood dangled down her back and her black hair tumbled in her face as she stared into those deep, disconcertingly intelligent eyes. “Very wise to set your priorities, my lord. My father taught me when I was young that if a man wants to hold on to his kingdom he should consider well his choices and his actions. If your land is being threatened, and your castle is at risk I agree that nothing else can possibly be as important as…”

  He reached out and pushed her back down onto the straw mattress, and a hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Ye gods, woman, do you always talk so much? I may have to kiss you just to keep you quiet!”

  “That won’t…be necessary.”

  Ambrose lifted one dark brow. “Frightened?”

  “Of you, my lord?” Lianna forced a laugh, though she felt none too confident sprawled on the bed with him nearly atop her. “H-hardly!”

  It was his turn to laugh. Suddenly his hands pinioned hers above her head and he leaned closer, his weight pressing down over her. “Prove it, my brave lady.” Gray eyes gleamed down into hers. “Let me kiss you.”

  Lianna’s blood pounded in her ears. “But you said…”

  “One kiss—only one.”

  Her gaze dropped from those gleaming eyes to the hard, implacable mouth. Heat twisted through her. She squirmed in a futile effort to break free, then went still. “I cannot stop you,” she whispered bitterly.

  “Yes. You can, Princess.” He released her hands, and his knuckle moved downward to gently brush her cheek. “If you are afraid, simply tell me no.”

  “I’m not afraid. I’ve never met the man to make me afraid…”

  “Then your answer is yes.”

  Slowly, he leaned down. Close, closer. His eyes glinted silver, his breath whispered on her cheek. One big hand slid through her hair, stirring a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Yes?” he persisted, his mouth an inch from hers.

  Suddenly the room was no longer cold—it was hot, dizzyingly hot. Gazing into that darkly handsome face, she trembled, and felt the fire of his lips though they were still a breath away from hers. She tried to form her lips to speak the word “no.”

  “Yes,” she heard herself whisper and knew that she was in terrible trouble now, drawn forward toward something she couldn’t name—or resist.

  Ambrose’s head dipped lower and his lips swooped down upon hers. Firm, masculine lips—yet warm, yielding. Commanding. He laid claim to her mouth with a kiss that was hungry and intense, a warrior’s kiss, giving no quarter. Without warning, his tongue darted inside her parted lips—searching, branding.

  Conquering.

  Lianna moaned at the shocking pleasure that invaded her senses. The dingy room vanished, the strange inn, even the straw bed. There was only Ambrose, only the kiss, only the flame of it eating her up, sparking a spiraling pleasure inside her. His hand moved through her hair, slid down to cup her nape. A delicious melting sensation rolled through her.

  The kiss never ended, he merely deepened it and continued, plundering with sure, smooth strokes that demolished her defenses.

  But when his hand slipped inside her cloak to close about her breast, shock struck her, and sense rushed back. “N-no!” She struggled free of the fierce pleasure. “Stop…Ambrose…stop.”

  She pressed hard against his chest and he drew back at last, his hand dropping, his mouth ceasing its relentless assault.

  Why, his breath was coming as fast as hers, Lianna noted as she stared wild-eyed at him. And there was a flush to his swarthy skin.

  “You…promised. Just one…kiss!”

  “You are afraid,” he taunted softly, a smile curling his lips. He reached for her again.

  “No!”

  “Then one more…”

  “No!”

  Ambrose sighed and released her. Reluctantly, he shifted in the bed, leaving a slight space between them. “As you wish.” There was a tinge of mockery in his voice, and something else—regret. “We’ll finish this game at Crow’s Keep, then—when I have sent Sandar to a bloody grave.” He grinned at her.

  “You are very sure of yourself,” Lianna said breathlessly, her heart still pounding from the soul-stirring heat of his kiss.

  “I know my strong points.” Again the swift grin that transformed his dark face and stunned her almost as much as the kiss had. One hand reached out and gently tugged on a gleaming black curl that framed her face.

  “Sleep then, Princess. Gather your strength. The ride we’ve just completed from Penmarren is child’s play compared with what lies ahead.”

  And before she could speak, the grin faded and he settled down on his side, facing her, and closed his eyes.

  It took a few moments for Lianna’s breath to calm, for her heartbeat to slow and steady. Soundlessly, she raised up on one elbow and studied the man beside her. Impossibly handsome, she thought helplessly, as the firelight gilded his strong features, glinted off the dark sheen of his cropped hair. Impossibly powerful, she thought in dismay, recalling the heady, dizzying effects of his kiss.

  She studied his closed eyes, with their unexpectedly thick lashes. For some reason, every time those eyes flickered over her, she felt a jolt. Like lightning striking her. Strange. She’d never felt any such thing before, not when any of the noble or royal suitors who had come to court had looked at her. Not a one.

  It is naught but fear, she told herself, and settled her head gingerly upon the pillow once more. And loathing. Nothing more.

  But when he’d kissed her—such strange feelings had churned through her. Why, oh, why, had she accepted his dare? He’d stirred up emotions and sensations inside her she hadn’t known were there. And what if…the next time he kissed her, touched her, claimed her fully as his wife, those sensations returned?

  She tossed fitfully, but as the fire hissed and danced, and night crept toward morning, eventually fatigue stole over her. Now that she wasn’t cold any longer, now that the warmth of the fire and of the kiss and of the man lying beside her had banished the ice in her blood, she felt sleep coming to claim her, dragging her down.

  She must sleep while she could. Or she wouldn’t be strong enough to endure a fortnight wed to this man, who shifted suddenly in his sleep and dropped his powerful arm across her. A man with no scruples, she reminded herself, a bastard with not a drop of royal blood in his veins, a man who made her flesh crawl every time he looked at her. Well, perhaps not crawl…more like tingle.

  Morning came in a blink.

  They rode for two more days and nights—with only brief intervals of rest, meals, and sleep. By the time they reached Blackenstar, Lian
na could only stare blearily at the forbidding, mountainous country through which they traveled, at the dark forests whose trees loomed taller, denser, and more threateningly than any she had seen in Penmarren.

  They left the mountains behind late in the day, and as dusk approached and thick, glistening snowflakes began to fall, they reached a frozen river and then rolling farmland frosted with ice. Not long after that, they came to a village and heard the sounds of the sea. Beyond the cottages and workshops and the local inn, with smoke curling from the chimneys to dissipate in the dark slate sky, Lianna had her first glimpse of Crow’s Keep.

  Her heart constricted at the sight of the great stone castle rising from the rocky cliffs at the very edge of the sea.

  With its weathered gray stone, looming towers, and fortified battlements all flying the star-shaped black-and-crimson flags of Blackenstar, the huge keep looked chillingly impregnable. A fine silver mist clung to the tower and dwindled down over the bailey, and the iron gates appeared as forbidding as those leading to a dungeon. High above, black crows circled and squawked, swooping from treetop to battlements, their dark wings beating against wind and sky.

  Ambrose spoke from behind her in the saddle, his arms snug around her waist, his deep voice carrying over the wind.

  “I’ll leave you at the gate. My seneschal, Randolph, will show you to your quarters and acquaint you with all you need to know.”

  “Do you mean that you are going into battle now—this very night?” Half turning in the saddle, she stared at him incredulously. Weariness tugged at every bone in her body. She marveled at his strength to proceed straight into battle after their grueling ride.

  “I must catch Sandar unawares before he can cross the Crystal Sea. There is no way in hell I will let him reach within arrow’s distance of Crow’s Keep or the village.” Then he spoke again, in her ear.

  “Do I take it that you regret the postponement of our first real night together as husband and wife?”

  “I am thankful for it!”

  He laughed, which made Lianna immediately try to squirm forward, as far away from his muscled body as she could, but Ambrose’s arms tightened around her waist and drew her back.