Love's Call (26 page)

“Tell her you love her, Captain.”

Pain threatened to double him over
.

He loved Ansley.

The revelation would get him nowhere. She still hated him. “She’s refused me.”

“I thought you were betrothed?” Keir’s pale eyebrows drew tight.

“We
were,
” Leargan said, his voice cracking.

Keir sighed. “Not an easy thing to tear asunder. Speak to her, lad. Bare your heart. Something more difficult than fighting a whole army on your own, but necessary.”

Leargan bit back the denial that hovered on his tongue.

Since when was he afraid of anything?

“I believe the Blessed Spirit gives us
one
,” the old steward said.

“One?”

“One soul to match ours. One soul, one person meant for each of us. If you’ve found yours, you can’t let her go, Captain.”

“Aye,” Leargan breathed. He didn’t have the guts to ask how he could get her back.

The elderly man’s pale gaze drew him in, and he leaned forward.

“Tell her you love her, lad, and all will right itself.”

No it won’t.

He’d already told her he wanted to marry her. She’d all but called him a liar.

“I have to go,” Leargan muttered, popping to his feet. His head spun and he had to clutch the back of his chair to stay upright.

Damn ale.

“All right.”

“Thank you, Keir.”

The old steward nodded. “Will you be able to make it back to your quarters?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll bank the fire.”

“Thank you. I’d almost forgotten.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Leargan nodded and turned to go, his heart thundering.

Ansley.

Keir’s words bounced around in his mind.

How could one simple phrase fix anything?

Was it really over? Was she gone from his arms for good?

“Captain?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Aye?”

“Though the subject matter pains, it was nice talking to you.”

Managing a genuine smile, he bowed to the elderly man. “The feeling is mutual.”

Keir’s warm smile was all the answer he got.

Though his own chambers were on the opposite side of the vast castle in the soldier’s wing, Leargan found himself outside her guest suite.

He stared at the polished dark wood, his gut clenching.

She had to want him. She had to marry him…
love
him.

Did Ansley love him? Why hadn’t she said?

Why would she?

“You threatened her in the worst way possible,” Leargan whispered. He cursed himself to hell and back. His head spun, and it had little to do with ingesting alcohol.

Raising his hand, he made a fist, and then faltered. She had nothing more to say to him tonight. Disturbing her would be for naught. It wasn’t like he could rush into her rooms and declare his love for her.

Ansley wouldn’t believe that any more than she’d believed his honest desire to marry her.

Leargan shook his head, laying his palm flat on her door and sucking in a breath.

She was probably curled on her bed bawling.

It was his fault.

All he wanted to do was hold her, but she’d never allow it.

What am I supposed to do now?

Chapter Twenty-four

Sir Leargan?” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

His head spun, or maybe sloshed.
Floated?

A hand shook his shoulder, and Leargan winced, temples throbbing.

“Sir Leargan?” This time the voice was more insistent.

“I’m awake!” he roared, regretting it immediately as his brain protested. Leargan cracked one eye open and saw a familiar pair of worried gray ones.

“Are you all right, Captain?” Brodic’s fair eyebrows were drawn tight. The lad leaned in, wringing his hands.

“Brodic, I’m not dead. Back up.”

“It speaks. I suppose that means he’s all right,” Jorrin said from somewhere in his room.

“Aye, he said he’s not dead. That’s something,” Tristan answered.

Two deep chuckles greeted his aching ears.

Leargan cringed as he started and failed at his first attempt to sit up. He batted away Brodic’s helpful hands. “I’m glad I could
entertain
you, my lords.”

They both laughed again.

He forced his stomach muscles to respond, jolting upright. The room spun. His head screamed a protest, and he fell against his thick wooden headboard. Leargan made tight fists of his ivory bed linens, but it didn’t help.

His temples pulsed and he blinked to clear his vision, but his squire appeared in triplicate before his eyes. Leargan groaned and covered his face with both hands.

“Ale hangovers are nasty little things, wouldn’t you say, Tristan?” Jorrin asked.

“Aye, that they are, Jorrin.”

Leargan growled. “Now they’re discussing me as if I’m not even in the room,” he muttered, making eye contact with Brodic.

His squire shifted from foot to foot, saying nothing.

“Why don’t you fetch bread, Brodic,” Jorrin said before Leargan could reassure them all he was fine.

The lad jumped and gave a hasty nod, before bowing and rushing from the room.

Leargan dragged his hand down his face, scratching his stubble. “I see loyalty has its limits.”

“He looks to you like a father,” Jorrin admonished. “He’s worried about you.”

Guilt crept up from the pit of his stomach. The duke was right. Brodic was a good lad, an excellent squire and would make a hell of a knight when he earned it. Leargan didn’t praise him nearly enough. He loved the lad.

Ansley.

He loved her, too. For all the good it was doing him.

Leargan sucked in a breath, closing his eyes.

Get yourself together. There’s an empath in the room.

And
she
was the last thing he wanted to think about, let alone talk about. Especially with Jorrin and Tristan.

“Why are you radiating hurt?” Jorrin asked.

Dammit.

He didn’t have a chance.

Leargan shrugged, averting his fuzzy gaze from the two men before the duke could call him a liar.

In the short time he’d known them, he’d grown as close to them as he was to the men of the personal guard he’d grown up with.

“Nice try,” Jorrin whispered. “I’d not wanted to pry yesterday, but what happened?”

“And why do you have a hangover?” Tristan asked in the same gentle tone. “You’re not prone to overindulgence.”

“Why are you two in my room? Since we’re all asking questions,” Leargan countered, trying to frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, but the movement jarred his head.

“Because you didn’t come to the great hall to break your fast. You didn’t show up for briefing when the castle men-at-arms changed guard,
and
you didn’t show up on the training grounds. Niall said he hadn’t heard from you, either. When Brodic asked if
we’d
seen you, Jorrin and I knew there was a problem,” Tristan said.

“We came here after Ansley said you weren’t in her chambers,” the duke said.

Her name on Jorrin’s tongue made his heart stutter, but he ignored it. “What? What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Tristan said.

“Noon? Blessed Spirit!” Leargan jumped up.

Bad idea.

He wobbled on his feet, then landed hard on his arse on the edge of his bed. Leargan moaned and grabbed his head with both hands. He’d never be right again.

“Here, let me fix that.” Tristan was at his side in seconds, gripping his shoulders. The lord steadied him, then pressed a hand to his forehead.

Warmth spread downward, and Leargan slipped his eyes closed as he concentrated on Tristan’s gentle touch on his stubbled cheeks. His head stopped throbbing. Like a veil was lifting, pain and fuzziness receded. A languorous heat settled over his body and his muscles felt loose and refreshed, like he’d just gotten out of the bath after a good long soak.

Moments felt like hours, but when he met the lord’s hazel eyes, his friend smiled. Sweat beaded the younger man’s forehead, but he wasn’t pale like Leargan had seen him after a big healing job.

Leargan squared his shoulders, sucking in one deep breath, then another. He forced a smile for Tristan and Jorrin’s benefit.

With a clear head only came pain full force.

Ansley.

His chest constricted and he fought the urge to double over. Gone was the pleasant feeling in his muscles.

“Better?” Tristan asked.

No.
“Aye.” Leargan nodded. “But fixing the result of my poor choice is a waste of your healing touch.”

Tristan’s smile was sad. “There’s more where that came from, but I do regret not being able to mend your heart.”

Leargan cursed under his breath, looking away as Tristan slid onto a chair at the table next to the wide hearth in his room.

He couldn’t look at Jorrin until he gathered his wits. Damn empathic magic was too much. A man couldn’t keep his feelings private. “You said you saw Ansley? How is she?”

“She looked like hell, frankly,” Jorrin said, one dark eyebrow up, cocking his head to one side. “Like she’d been crying all night.”

Leargan winced. “She probably had been.”

The door opened, and his squire appeared with a well-laden tray.

Jorrin took a seat next to Tristan as Brodic set the food down. The scent of fresh warm bread and thick stew tickled his nose.

Thank the Blessed Spirit the healer had cleared his head, or his stomach would have rejected the delicious meal. “Thanks, Brodic.” He joined the lords and sat.

The duke poured a glass of water and handed it to Leargan.

Brodic gasped and hurried forward to stop Jorrin from serving, but he shook his head.

The lad’s chest rose as if he’d taken a breath, his cheeks pink.

“Are the men still on the grounds?” Leargan asked Jorrin.

“Yes,” Jorrin said, tearing a piece of bread from the small loaf and taking a bite.

“Brodic, get your horse and join Alaric and Lucan with Roduch. You have training, lad,” Leargan said.

The boy’s gray eyes lit up and he jumped, blond curls bobbing when he gave a curt nod. “Aye, sir.”

Leargan exchanged amused glances with the two lords.

Brodic flashed an unabashed grin and started to rush from the room, only to hurry back to the table with a belated bow.

“Good lad.” Leargan chuckled after Brodic had closed the door.

“Aye, he is,” Tristan said.

The half-elfin lord nodded as he ate, but his blue gaze was keen.

Leargan took a sip of water and steeled himself for spilling his guts. He reached for the spoon on the trencher and dug into the stew. But as he glanced over the normally appetizing meat and vegetables, his stomach roiled. “I told her everything yesterday, and now she won’t marry me.”

His friends said nothing, but both wore pained expressions. Of course they knew what he was going through, they both loved their wives.

Tristan and Jorrin were lucky; their women loved them back.

The story poured out, his heart pounding harder with every word of his confession.

Gossiping. Like a woman. Really?

“Do the honorable thing?” Jorrin asked.

Leargan nodded, giving his friend a long look.

The duke’s eyes widened the moment he’d understood.

“She practically accused me of taking her innocence so she’d have to marry me.” Leargan’s voice cracked. He scooted to the edge of the chair, then took a bite of bread to play it off. He hurt, and Jorrin’s expression shouted that his empathic friend knew it. “It gets worse.”

Tristan squeezed his forearm in comfort, hazel gaze warm.

Leargan told them the worst thing he’d said to her. That he’d take their child, if she was pregnant.

“Aww, hell,” Jorrin said, shaking his head.

“Oh my,” Tristan muttered. “We have a mess, don’t we? Her father and the king will be here any day now.”

“Any day now?” Leargan croaked.

“We received word yesterday,” Jorrin said.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Leargan demanded.

“I thought it best you come clean first.” Jorrin crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Oh. Aye.
That
did me a lot of good. She told me she hated me.”

“Damn, Leargan. You’ve dug yourself a hole.” The duke shook his head.

“I’ll say,” Tristan said.

Leargan cringed, shoving his hand through his long hair. “The worst part is, after I left her chambers, I realized just how big of an idiot I really am.”

“You love her,” Jorrin breathed.

Leargan nodded, biting back the hundredth wince of the day.

The lord felt his love for Ansley. Too bad
she
couldn’t.

Empathic magic had always fascinated and petrified him. People were
always
feeling something. If Leargan had such powers, he’d have to be a hermit in some isolated mountain somewhere.

He’d been told than Jorrin’s powers paled in comparison to his father, Braedon’s. How could either of them stand being around people?

“Aye, I love her.” Saying it out loud was worse. Daggers stabbed his heart with every breath. He wanted to rub the spot, but forced himself to sit still.

“Then tell her,” Tristan said.

“I’m pretty sure it’d fall on deaf ears. She told me she never wanted to see me again, in addition to the lovely,
I hate you, Leargan.
”

“You
are
a bigger idiot than you thought,” Jorrin muttered.

“What?”

“She loves you,” Tristan said. Jorrin shot him a look that Leargan didn’t miss, but Tristan shrugged. “He might as well know the truth.”

The duke sighed.

“Truth?” Leargan asked, stomach fluttering.

“Ansley told Aimil she loves you,” Tristan said.

“She what?” Leargan whispered. At another time, he might have been amused that he and the two lords
were
actually gossiping like women.

Ansley
loved
him?

She’d called him a liar…but she loved him?

Leargan looked from Jorrin to Tristan and back again. His heart galloped.

“She told Cera, as well.”

“Then why didn’t
she
tell me?” Leargan made a fist.

“Did you give her a chance? Besides threatening to take her child away, what else did you say, Leargan?” Tristan asked gently. “Empty threat or not, that wouldn’t tempt her to speak words of love to you.”