Her heart softened. Even though he was a scoundrel, somehow he knew exactly what she needed to hear the most. “I’m not used to…”
“To what?”
Her blush grew hotter, and she hoped he couldn’t see it in the dim light. “You seem to think highly of me.”
“I do.”
She ventured a quick glance at him. Good goddesses, his face looked so sweet against that pillow. Don’t think about that! She hastily made sure her mental shield was intact. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you. I can’t be sure I’ll succeed—”
“I know. I’ve fought enough battles, seen enough of my people die, to know that success is never guaranteed. We can only do our best.”
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back. He did have a serious side. How could he not when he’d witnessed so much war and death? His habit of joking had to be the way he dealt with stress and hardship. It was … endearing.
“Margosha told me you didn’t find any poison earlier.”
She opened her eyes. “That’s true, but we did make some progress. We ruled out the possibility that the poison being used comes from the darca flower. Tomorrow, I’ll check the garden for any other plants that could be used to make poison.”
“Sounds good.” He yawned. “I have some meetings I have to go to, but I’ll catch up with you at the midday meal.”
“All right.” The sight of his yawn made her yawn, too.
“We’re tired. Try to get some sleep.” He rolled over toward the edge of the bed. “Good night, Gwen.”
“Good night.” She stared at his back for a while. So strong. And muscular. The tanned skin looked like it would be warm to touch. Don’t think about that.
She scrunched down, curling into a ball on her edge of the bed. Behind her, she could hear the sound of his soft breathing.
Sorcha’s brother. She smiled to herself. If Sorcha knew what her brother was doing, she’d clobber him for sure.
But he wasn’t causing her any harm. He hadn’t tried to touch her. In fact, he’d told her the things she’d most wanted to hear. With a sigh, she stretched out and closed her eyes.
Perhaps he could be trusted, after all.
Chapter Fourteen
She should have known not to trust him. Some hours later, she was jerked abruptly awake when he suddenly wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back against him.
She gasped. “What—?”
“Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “Play along.”
She elbowed him and when he scooted back, she rolled onto her back to glare at him. The scoundrel had moved the pillow and crossed the line. “You—” She halted when he rested his hand against her cheek.
He leaned close. “The sun is up. Your maid will be coming—”
The door creaked open, causing a narrow shaft of light to beam into the room and fall across the bed.
Gwennore blinked, suddenly able to see Silas’s face so close to her. His hair was tousled, and her fingers itched to brush back the dark curls falling over his brow. There was a quiet determination in the gaze of his green eyes, and a shadow of dark whiskers along his sharp jawline.
A gasp emanated from the doorway along with a clunking noise.
Silas sat up. “Oh, dear. We’ve been caught.”
“My apologies, Lord General.” Nissa curtsied, focusing on the floor as her face grew pink. “Please forgive me. I was just coming to light the fire.” She motioned to the basket of firewood that she’d dropped.
“That’s quite all right.” Silas smiled at her. “But I suggest you knock from now on. I have a hard time resisting my darling Gwennie in the morning.”
With a groan, Gwennore pulled the sheet over her face.
“That’s my snookums,” he teased. “Always trying to sneak a peek at the crown jewels.”
With a huff, she lowered the sheet and scowled at him.
Nissa gathered up the basket. “I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
Silas gave her a wry look. “Give me an hour at least.”
“Of—of course, Lord General.” Nissa’s eyes widened as she observed his broad, muscular chest. “You can take all day, if you like.”
Gwennore winced. Could this get any more embarrassing?
“You can leave the firewood,” Silas told the maid. “I’ll get the fire started.”
“Yes, my lord.” Nissa set the basket on the floor, then backed out and shut the door.
The room grew dim and Gwennore took a deep breath. They were alone again. In bed.
With a gasp, she suddenly remembered the dagger underneath her pillow. Why hadn’t she thought of that last night? She could have used it to chase Silas away. Why hadn’t she? Had she been too busy eyeing his chest?
“Is something wrong?” he whispered.
“I just recalled I have a knife under my pillow.”
“Ah. I guess I’m lucky I survived the night.”
She nodded. “I missed my chance.”
“What a shame. But there’s always tomorrow.”
“What? You intend to come back?”
“Of course.” He leaned over her and stroked her cheek. “How could I resist?”
She pushed his hand away. “Don’t tempt me.”
“To do what? Kiss?”
“No. To use the dagger.”
With a chuckle, he sat up. “So is it the one from Lord Romak?”
“No.” She motioned toward her bedside table. “That one is in the drawer.”
“Holy Light, snookums. How many knives do you have?”
“Keep calling me that and you’ll find out.”
With a smile, he stretched out beside her. “I enjoy being with you, Gwen.”
Her face grew warm. Goddesses help her, she enjoyed his company, too. But there was no future for her here. Only heartbreak if she fell for him. “We should be focusing on our mission. Instead you keep wasting time, trying to prove a fake relationship with embarrassing scenes.”
There was an awkward silence, then he scooted across the bed. “Since you find our fake relationship embarrassing, I’ll be on my way.”
She winced. Had she hurt his feelings? “It’s not you that embarrasses me. Well, the snookums stuff is a bit embarrassing, but the real problem is the fact that everyone thinks I’m … that I’m…”
“Having the best sex in your life five times a day?”
She huffed. “You must think highly of yourself.”
“I have to. I keep getting rejected, and it’s crushing me.”
“I—we hardly know each other. How can I be hurting you that badly?”
He was silent for a moment, sitting at the edge of the bed. “That is a good question.”
A few more awkward minutes passed, then Gwennore said, “Please understand. I was raised in a convent. I have no experience with men. So it is only natural that I would be embarrassed for people to think I’m behaving in a wanton manner.”
He nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Thank you.”
“But we have a saying in Norveshka that the chicken has already been plucked. Meaning the feathers can’t be put back on. It’s too late now to convince people that we’re not…”
“Copulating?”
His mouth twitched. “That’s a nicer word than I was going to use. But I like the way you talk.”
She snorted. “Because my speech is archaic?”
“Because it’s one more reason for me to think you’re beautiful.”
Her gaze met his, and for a few seconds, it felt like the air was sizzling between them. It made her feel hot, breathless, and … needy. As if she desperately needed something.
“I’ll get the fire going.” He tossed back the covers to get out of bed.
She turned away, fanning herself. Good goddesses, but the fire had already started. When he picked up the basket of firewood, she ventured a quick glance at him. Long muscular legs. White linen underpants that clung to the contour of his buttocks.
D
on’t look. She pulled the sheet up to her brow and listened to the sound of him working by the hearth.
After only a minute, the room flooded with light, and she lowered the sheet. There was a blazing fire in the hearth, and he had put on his breeches and pulled open the curtains.
“How?” She glanced at the fire. “How did you get it going so quickly?”
“I’m good with fire.” He scooped his shirt off the carpet and strode toward her. “I’ll see you at the midday meal in the Great Hall, all right?”
She nodded, her eyes widening now that she was seeing his bare chest in full daylight. There were indeed some interesting ridges across his abdomen. The battle scars she’d discerned during her reading were there. One on the shoulder and one below his ribs.
And the tattoo was there on his left shoulder. Goodness, it was big. “Is that a dragon?”
He glanced down at it. “Yes.”
“You had it done because you can communicate with the dragons?”
He motioned to a bell pull by her bed. “That’s attached to a bell in the small room next door. Your maid’s room. She can help you get dressed.” His mouth curled up. “Unless you’d prefer my help.”
She scoffed. “You may go.”
With a sigh, he trudged toward her dressing room and his rooms that lay on the other side. “Rejected again.”
* * *
After shaving and getting dressed, Silas hurried to the Great Hall, where only a few courtiers were having breakfast. Most of them were sleeping late, since last night’s dance had kept them up well past midnight.
He helped himself to some eggs, ham, and bread with jam at the buffet table, then sat across from Dimitri at a small table.
Dimitri shot him a wry look. “Congratulations.”
“Why?” Silas took a big bite of eggs.
“You’ve become a legend due to your phenomenal performance in bed.”
Silas choked, then managed to swallow, his eyes watering. “What?”
“You survived the night in Lady Gwennore’s bed,” Dimitri muttered. “So the servants have spread the word that you avoided being stabbed to death by wearing the poor woman out. Now they’re laying bets on whether she’ll be able to walk.”
Silas coughed, then quickly downed a cup of cider. “I barely touched her.”
“But you did climb into her bed,” Dimitri grumbled. “You barely know the woman. What the hell are you doing?”
Silas scoffed. “Are you my mother?”
“If you care about her at all, stay away from her. You know what happens to women who marry into the Three Cursed Clans.”
Silas sat back. “Who said anything about marriage?”
Dimitri grimaced. “Don’t fall for her, all right?”
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Silas spread some strawberry jam on his bread. He’d always been careful in the past to keep his heart at a distance.
He glanced at his old friend. Dimitri had married his first love six years ago, but then she had died nine months later in childbirth, along with his newborn son. Ever since then, he’d believed in the curse. And he had vowed never to marry again, so he could never cause another woman to suffer.
Silas took a bite of bread. “Aleksi should be arriving soon with Annika.”
Dimitri shrugged with a disinterested look.
“She’s going to help Gwennore—”
“Just keep her away from me.”
Silas sighed. When Annika had joined the army a year ago, she’d immediately fallen for Dimitri. He’d brushed her off, trying to scare her away with dire warnings about the curse, but as far as Silas could tell, her feelings had not withered away. She simply admired Dimitri from afar.
Silas had thought that was the end of it, but then he’d secretly caught Dimitri gazing at her with a look of longing. “I don’t believe in the curse.”
Dimitri was quiet for a moment, then muttered, “I do.”
“I know. But believe in this, too. I’m going to get rid of it.”
Dimitri sighed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Silas nodded, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you see where that priest went?”
Dimitri glanced around the room, then leaned forward. “He met Romak in the woods. They exchanged letters, then the priest handed Romak a small bag. Romak looked inside, removed a gold coin, then dropped it back in.”
“He’s getting rich spying for someone,” Silas concluded.
Dimitri nodded. “Someone from Eberon, I assume, since that’s where the priest came from.”
Silas drummed his fingers on the table. “Given the fact that the courier is a priest, I would guess Lord Morris from Eberon is the one paying for information.”
“Lord Morris?”
Silas nodded. “He was head priest and chief counsel for King Frederic. Morris would like to get rid of the new king, Leofric, and go back to the good old days when the priests held the power of life and death over their followers.”
Dimitri winced. “Thank the Light our priests here in Norveshka never wielded that kind of power.”
“But what could Morris want with our country?” Silas gazed out a window while he considered. “If he wants to overthrow King Leofric, then he would need an army.”
“Our army?”
Silas nodded. “He could be using Romak to persuade our king into waging war on Eberon.”
“That would be disastrous for us.”
“Both countries could end up destroyed, but maybe that’s what Lord Morris wants. When a country is in ruins, it’s easier to take over.” Silas recalled the dragon his brother had talked about. The Ancient One, Fafnir. The dragon also wanted war. Was there some connection here?
“We could arrest Romak and the priest,” Dimitri suggested. “If we interrogate them, they’ll tell us what they’re up to.”
Silas thought it over as he ate. “Let’s leave them be for now so we can see what they do next. When Aleksi returns, have him follow the priest. You keep an eye on Romak. I need to visit the Sacred Well.”
Dimitri blinked in surprise. “Why? There’s nothing there but a spring of boiling water.”
“That’s what I need to check.” Silas gulped down the last of his cider. Either his brother was right and there was an old dragon lurking in the cave, or Dimitri was right, and there was only a spring.
Silas banged his empty cup on the table. If there was no dragon there, he would have to admit that his brother was completely delusional.
* * *
She’d slept with a man. Gwennore lay in bed for a few minutes digesting that thought. General Gorgeous had slept with her, wearing nothing but his underpants, and she’d seen his bare chest, his broad shoulders, his battle scars, and the dragon tattoo on his shoulder.
When he’d leaned over her and touched her cheek, a part of her had wished they wouldn’t be interrupted. With a sigh, she rolled over. What foolish thinking! He’d only behaved like that because he’d known the maid was coming in. It was nothing but pretense to him.
Or was it more? There had been that moment when they had looked at each other and time had frozen while the air between them had heated with desire.
Dear goddesses, the man tempted her. She sat up and glanced at the pillow he had used. There was still a slight indentation where his head had rested through the night. She reached out to touch it, then jerked her hand back.
Stop thinking about him! There was work to do. She needed to gather up samples of any poisonous and medicinal plants she could find in the castle garden.
She headed to her dressing room and shoved a chair against Silas’s door. After relieving herself, she filled a bowl with water and rolled up her sleeves to wash her face.
To her surprise, there was a pink, inflamed area on the underside of her left forearm. Had the fancy gown she’d worn last night irritated her skin?
She washed her face, then the pink area on her arm. With her hands still wet, she reached for her toothbrush, and it slipped
from her grip and tumbled into the water.
“Of all the silly—” She grabbed the toothbrush, then dropped it again with a gasp. The silver handle had turned black.
Her skin chilled as she gazed once again at the pink spot on her arm. A side effect of the seeds of the darca flower. Someone was trying to poison her.
Chapter Fifteen
Don’t panic. Gwennore gripped the edge of her dressing table and took a deep breath. She needed to remain calm and act like the healer that she was.
First, she should take a reading on herself. She gripped her left wrist, and instantly her gift was activated. Pulse was fast, but that was probably due to shock. Don’t panic.
She mentally searched her body for signs of poison. It was mostly concentrated around the inflamed area on her arm. Thankfully, she’d received a small dose. She could expect some dizziness and perhaps some nausea, but as long as she wasn’t exposed again, she should be all right.
Just to be sure, she quickly stripped and examined herself for any other signs of inflammation. None. Thank the goddesses.
The next step was discovering what had transferred the poison to her arm, so she could avoid coming into contact with it again. The pink area hadn’t been there before dinner last night, so the most likely culprits were the gown she’d worn or the nightgown she’d worn to bed. But why would someone treat only the left sleeve with poison?
Had something else touched her forearm? The knife! She’d slipped the dagger from Lord Romak up her sleeve.
She ran into her bedchamber and opened the drawer of her bedside table. Using a handkerchief, she picked up the dagger and returned to the dressing room. After emptying the bowl and rinsing it out, she filled it partway with fresh water, then slipped the dagger into the water. While she waited, she put on a clean shift.
After a few tense minutes, she dunked the silver handle of her hairbrush into the water.
It turned black.
She dropped the hairbrush on the table as a startling thought occurred to her. The toxic effect of darca poison was slow when absorbed through the skin, but if the knife had pierced her flesh, the poison would have instantly entered her bloodstream. It could have killed her.