Dreams Made Flesh bj-5 Page 8

  Marian glanced at the dishes on the counter."Don't you want to eat?"

  "Sure. I'll be out there. Just yell when it's ready."

  The man could certainly move, Marian thought as she stared at the empty archway.

  It was rather sweet, the way he got all testy and nervous about giving her wages. And it was considerate of him to realize there were things she would need to buy for herself.

  She pulled the silver marks out of her pocket, fanned them out again…and smiled.

  It was still excessive for a half-month's wages, but if she kept half of it for herself, the other half would give her a good start on buying the basics she needed for the kitchen.

  EIGHT

  Marian sipped her coffee, looked around her clean kitchen… and sighed. It was barely midmorning, and she'd already made a casserole, cleaned up the kitchen, stripped the beds and put on fresh linens, had all the laundry washed and hanging in the drying room, dusted the furniture, and swept the floors. There was nothing left to do…and Prince Yaslana would be gone for the next two days.

  She still wasn't sure how service in Lady Angelline's court worked. It all seemed so… casual. She knew Prince Yaslana went back to SaDiablo Hall one or two days each week for a few hours, but she wasn't sure if he went there for court business or just to visit family. He'd explained that since all the males in the First Circle had other responsibilities, his father, as Steward of the Court, worked out a rotation so that each male fulfilled his obligation to Queen and court by being on duty for two or three days twice a month.

  So he'd left before sunrise, and she had the next two days stretching out in front of her. She could read, but reading was the reward after the day's labor. She'd finished the weaving she'd started on her small hand loom and had made a decorative mat for the kitchen table. She didn't feel like making something just to fill up time. So what…

  Turning to look out the window, she studied the mess of rocks and weeds. It had been a garden a long time ago. She'd found herbs growing wild among the weeds and suspected there had been an herb bed and a kitchen garden on this side of the eyrie.

  Why hadn't Yaslana done anything to at least clean it up? For a man who was always aware of his surroundings, he seemed willfully blind to the fact that a natural meadow, which had its own kind of beauty, wasn't the same as the tangled mess she was staring at now.

  Besides, it would be so nice to have a little kitchen garden to tend.

  Marian refilled her coffee mug and took a moment to admire the coffeepot she'd bought with part of her wages. Yaslana hadn't said a word about the pot's sudden appearance in his kitchen, but he'd definitely approved of the taste of the coffee she could brew in it.

  She walked down what she'd labeled the "domestic" corridor, since it provided entry to the pantry and the laundry and drying room…and the small area between the pantry and laundry that had a door to the outside and a purpose she was still puzzling over. Opening the door, she studied the land in front of her.

  The growing season was already well along, and she wasn't sure what kinds of plants might be available. But the women in Riada would know…or she could ask Lady Angelline the next time the Queen stopped by for a brief visit. A few vegetables, a few herbs. Maybe some flowers. Yaslana wouldn't mind if she cleared a little ground. At least, she was almost certain he wouldn't mind.

  He was, and wasn't, what she'd expected, based on the things she'd heard about Warlord Princes and him in particular. She had no doubt he was a trained warrior and a born predator whose temper could turn deadly in a heartbeat. She could see it in the way he moved, the way he looked at everything around him. But she hadn't actually seen a display of temper. Well, not much of one. The only time he'd snarled at her since she'd arrived was when he'd come home early one afternoon, taken a long look at her, and decided she needed something to eat. When she'd told him she wasn't hungry, he informed her that anyone who worked as hard as she did was not going to deprive her body of food. Then he marched her into the kitchen and rummaged through the cold box until he put together a plate of food that he considered sufficient. His idea of sufficient was vastlv different from hers, but her token effort at eating had satisfied him enough that he'd eaten what was left on her plate.

  Since he didn't seem to care what she did as long as she was pleased with the result, she didn't think he'd mind her clearing some ground and having the pleasure of a little garden of her own.

  After vanishing her coffee mug, then calling it back in so that it would reappear on the kitchen counter next to the sink, Marian pushed up her sleeves, stepped outside, and got to work.

  As she stepped back into the eyrie, Marian understood the purpose of the little room. If it had pegs in the wall or a coat tree, wet or muddy outer garments could be hung in there to dry. Boots could be removed instead of tracking dirt or mud through the rest of the eyrie. And it was close to the big sinks in the laundry room for a quick wash if it was needed.

  If there was a bench in here, it would make removing boots so much easier, Marian thought, groaning softly as she bent over to unlace her boots. At least Tassle was off doing his daily trot around the land surrounding the eyrie and hadn't heard her groan. He'd just start howling again.

  Wolves had a very effective way of nagging. When he'd started telling her around midday that it was time for her to rest and eat, it had been easy to tell him she would do that in a few minutes, or after she'd moved a couple more rocks. But after she'd done that several times…

  That howl rising up over the land was not something that could be ignored. He wouldn't hush, she couldn't catch him, and she suspected everyone in Riada could hear him. Since there was no way to shush him except to do what he wanted, she warmed up a piece of casserole and spent an hour reading at the kitchen table. When she came back out, he was pleased enough by his success in taking care of a female that he'd used Craft to help her move rocks until the game bored him and he went off for a while to do something wolfie.

  So it was just as well that she'd announced it was time to quit for the day before he'd decided it was time for her to quit. One howling experience was quite enough.

  She closed the door and touched the stone in the wall that had been spelled to engage the Ebon-gray locks Prince Yaslana had put on all the doors. He'd worked out a way for the spell to recognize her and Tassle so that they could come and go, but he'd been adamant about the doors being locked whenever he wasn't home, especially the front door. He'd been equally adamant that she not allow anyone but his family to enter the eyrie when he was gone.

  The command had baffled her, but it was his home, his business. As she hurried along the domestic corridor to the kitchen, she dismissed all thought of the locks, her focus now centered on a long, hot bath to ease the deep ache in her muscles. Those aches, and the shivers of pain that occasionally came with them, worried her sometimes, but she hadn't said anything to Jaenelle whenever the Lady asked how she was feeling. Luthvian had warned her that removing her wings was the only way her back would completely heal. But she didn't want to lose her wings, didn't want to lose the hope that, someday, she might fly again…even though she was too afraid of crippling herself to even try.

  She pushed those thoughts away by focusing on the pleasure of soaking in a hot bath, eating a big piece of casserole for dinner, reading her book, and turning in early so she could get back to her garden at first light tomorrow.

  As she stepped through the kitchen archway, she was concentrating so hard on not thinking about her wings that she let out a breathless shriek when the front door suddenly rattled.

  With a hand pressed against her chest, Marian stared at the door. There were two solid bolts that provided physical locks for the door as well as the Ebon-gray lock, so even if a "visitor" managed to destroy the front door, he or she still wouldn't be able to get into the eyrie.

  The rattling stopped. The pounding of fist on wood started.

  *Tassle?* Marian called on a Purple Dusk psychic thread.

&nb
sp; *Marian!*

  *There's someone at the front door. They sound quite… insistent.*

  *I should call Prothvar?*

  Marian hesitated before saying, *Not yet.*

  *I am coming back to our den.*

  That was good. She'd feel easier if Tassle was within shouting distance.

  Yaslana had told her his cousin Prothvar, whom she hadn't met yet, was staying at the Keep while he was gone and would respond if she needed help for any reason. Knowing one cry for help would bring a Warlord wolf and an Eyrien warrior to her defense gave her the courage to go to the front door and draw back the bolts. Besides, it was possible that it was Yaslana's cousin, just stopping by to check on her. It would be rude not to open the door.

  The woman on the other side of the door was not Yaslana's cousin. She was young, a Rihlander, a stranger, and was dressed…

  Marian couldn't think of a polite way to describe how she was dressed.

  "Who are you?" the woman demanded.

  "I'm Prince Yaslana's housekeeper," Marian replied courteously.

  The woman looked at her sweaty, dirt-smeared tunic and trousers, and said,"Oh" in a way that clearly indicated that Marian had been dismissed as unimportant. "I'm here to see Lucivar. He's expecting me."

  Not likely, Marian thought, shifting slightly to block the doorway. "Prince Yaslana is not at home."

  "Then I'll wait for him."

  The woman took a step forward. Marian didn't step back.

  "That won't be possible," Marian said, working to remain polite. "He may not be back until quite late."

  "He won't mind if I make myself comfortable," the woman insisted.

  Where? There were only three rooms in the eyrie that were furnished, and Marian didn't think this woman intended to sit in the kitchen.

  It probably would be easier to say she wasn't permitted to let anyone enter the eyrie. After all, a servant had to obey her employer. But it wasn't Yaslana's order that kept her blocking the door; it was her own dislike of the woman that kept her from stepping back. There was something calculating about this stranger, and there was meanness lurking in the backs of her eyes.

  "If you would like to leave a message," Marian said, "I'll give it to Prince Yaslana as soon as he returns."

  The meanness filled the woman's face for a moment before she shifted her hips, pushed out her chest, and smiled in a way Marian supposed was meant to be sultry.

  "The message I have for Lucivar isn't something I'd leave with you."

  "In that case, good evening, Lady," Marian said.

  As she closed the door, the woman shouted, "I won't forget this!"

  Neither will I, Marian thought as she slid the bolts back into place.

  She'd bet a month's wages that she'd just met the reason Yaslana had

  Ebon-gray locks on his doors.

  NINE

  Lucivar strode over the rock-cleared ground, working up from annoyance to being thoroughly pissed off as he watched Marian set herself to try to lift a rock that weighed more than she did. One slashing look at Tassle was enough to prevent the young wolf from announcing his presence. The fact that his little hearth witch was so focused…or so exhausted…she wasn't even aware of him coming up behind her just made his temper more volatile and his control more slippery.

  But he would stay calm.

  She groaned a little as she tried to get a better grip on the rock.

  He would be reasonable.

  She braced herself to try again.

  He was on her in a heartbeat, his arms going around her, his hands clamping down on her wrists to keep her from jerking upward. Not that she could move much, with his arms locking her wings against her body, his chest pressed against her back, and his legs bracing hers.

  Even though he'd expected her to react to being restrained by a male, her instant panic still screamed at his instincts to defend and protect. He fought a quick, nasty battle with himself to keep from rising to the killing edge since that was the last thing that would ease her fear.

  So he would stay calm.

  "Marian," he said quietly.

  She panted, trembled. But after a few painfully long seconds, she said, "Prince Yaslana?"

  "Yes, it's Lucivar. Let go of the rock now."

  He waited while she fought her own internal battle. On one level, she knew holding the rock wasn't a defense against an attack, but it still took a while before she managed to convince her body. When her hands finally relaxed, he drew them away from the rock. Sliding his hands up to her shoulders, he straightened up, bringing her with him.

  Being attracted to her made him aware of her body in ways he'd had to pretend he didn't notice, but he wasn't going to ignore this. No, he was not.

  But he would stay calm.

  He led her over to the stone that had weathered into a natural seat. As he helped her ease down to sit on the stone, he noticed the Rose Jewel she wore. Her Birthright Jewel. He could think of one reason why she was wearing the Rose instead of her Purple Dusk, and he didn't like it.

  But he would be reasonable.

  "What in the name of Hell are you doing?" he roared. She shrank away from him as he towered over her, but seeing her so tired made him too angry to care that he was scaring her. "I…I…" Marian stammered.

  "You what? Wanted to see how many rocks you could move before you ruined your back? I know it still bothers you occasionally, so don't bother trying to deny it."

  She winced. "I used Craft to take most of the weight."

  "Oh, I can see that," he said, pointing at her Rose Jewel. "And you needed to draw so much power to lift things you couldn't possibly lift otherwise that you drained your Purple Dusk Jewel doing it. Isn't that why you're wearing the Rose?"

  When she just stared at him mutely, he swore and started pacing to work off the sharpest edge of temper. Problem was, the movement also gave him time to notice more of what she'd done.

  He snarled at her. "In order to get this much cleared, you must have started the minute I was out of sight and kept at it for the past two days."

  "I got my work done," Marian protested.

  Oh. Well. That certainly made him feel better. And the tears in her eyes and defeated way she held herself ripped at him. He didn't want her defeated. He didn't want her afraid. But he'd be damned if he was going to let her hurt herself in order to do…

  "What is this, Marian?" Lucivar waved his hand to indicate the cleared land. "Explain."

  She looked at the ground, a tear sliding down her face. "A kitchen garden," she whispered. "Some herbs. A few flowers. I didn't think you'd mind."

  His temper had eased back from true anger to just being pissed off again, but that comment came close to snapping the leash. He hauled her to her feet, certain her back and leg muscles were now tight enough that she couldn't have gotten up by herself, and pulled her toward the eyrie.

  Her emotions battered at him…fear that he was going to punish her for doing something without his permission, fear of what a man of his temper and power would do to her as punishment. The fact that she expected punishment told him more about the males who had been part of her life than he wanted to know.

  "If you wanted a kitchen garden, you could have spent the past two days figuring out where you wanted it and what you wanted in it," he said, keeping his voice as level as he could manage. "I could have cleared the ground for you when I got back. Did it even occur to you to ask me?"

  "No," Marian said in a small voice.

  No. Well, that was a kick in the balls. Even the coven knew better than that. Blood males served. That was something so deeply ingrained in the males even the cruelty in Terreille couldn't extinguish it completely. In Kaeleer, where the Blood still lived by the Old Ways, males considered it their right and privilege to serve…and got pretty testy when a witch they knew personally denied them an opportunity to be helpful.

  If Marian didn't know that yet, it was something she'd better figure out. Fast.

  He pulled her into the eyrie, t
hrough the laundry room, and wound his way through curving corridors until he reached the pool Andulvar had built long ago as a place for a warrior to sit back in heated water and ease tired muscles.

  She hadn't openly fought him in an attempt to get away, but from the first step, she'd been silently resisting like some stubborn puppy tethered to a leash. That was fine since he had the rhythm of this little dance and knew how to use it.

  Treat her like the coven, Saetan had said. Well, he knew exactly what he'd have done to Jaenelle or any of her friends if they'd upset him over something like this.

  When he got near the edge of the pool, he propelled Marian forward. Her automatic step back gave him time to switch hands so that one now-gripped her arm and the other held a fistful of her tunic. A hard shove forward, a swinging lift up, and… "No!" Marian yelled. "My boo…" … splash.

  He used Craft to control her drop so she wouldn't slip and damage a wing. Now she stood in heated water up to her waist, with a look on her face that was closer to grumpy than fearful.

  Grumpy was fine. Grumpy was good. He wondered just how grumpy he could make her.

  "Boots," he said. He'd vanished them off her feet just before she hit the water. Now he called them in, dangling them over her head before he vanished them again. "Which you'll get back if you do what you're told."

  She stared up at him. "If I do what I'm told?"

  Pointing at her, he said sternly, "You're going to sit your ass down and let that hot water soak out some of the soreness in your muscles. And you're going to stay there until I come back and fetch you." He turned and walked to the entrance.

  "Fetch me?" Marian said, sputtering. "Fetch me? What do you think I am? An addlebrained puppy?"

  He turned back. "No, you're female. And I don't think it's wise to discuss your brains right now."

  He walked out of the room, stopped as soon as he was out of sight, and listened.

  Mutters. Then the slap of wet cloth on stone.