Caller of Light (18 page)

She stared at the tent wall, watching the flickering lantern light cast specters against the canvas, waiting for the biting lash of his words. Instead, like warm molasses on a cold day, his voice soothed the danaines fluttering in her stomach. “You left to protect the men…and me?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Her heart sputtered when he nuzzled her neck and grumbled in her ear. “You foolish girl.” His hand clenched into a fist, gathering her shirt within his grasp.

She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around the corded muscle in his forearm. Exhaustion pulled at her body. Even her aching shoulder couldn’t sway the desire to fall asleep. Her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, but Marek’s body pressing against her was an undeniable force. She welcomed his closeness, safely tucked underneath him as they snuggled within the blankets.

Although sleep lapped at the edge of her consciousness, she remained aware of his movements when he raised and kissed her forehead.

“Carina.”

Her mouth wouldn’t work anymore. “Hmmm?”

“Look at me.”

How could she do that when her eyelids had been sewn shut? Using all the strength she could rally, she opened them in small slits. But even that was a battle she’d soon lose.

The fine lines around his eyes were more pronounced from lack of sleep as if the weight of the world sat stoically on his shoulders. She wanted to smooth away the worry from his face, then pull his head down to her uninjured shoulder and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, but her body defied her and she could only clutch his arm.

“It’s not safe for you to be here with me,” she mumbled.

****

Marek couldn’t believe Carina had almost frozen to death because of some scatterbrained idea. He smiled as she struggled to keep her beautiful, brown eyes open. He’d grown very fond of those expressive eyes. Her rosy skin tone was returning, washing away the pallor of sickness. There were matters they needed to discuss—Caden, their sleeping arrangement, his suspicions about Marissa—but all that could wait, except for two misunderstandings he had to correct before he’d let her sleep.

“The attack was not your fault. Do you understand?”

She fidgeted beneath him, apparently not willing to relinquish her guilt.

“Listen to me.” He kept his voice gentle, but his tone demanded compliance. “Someone told the Tiwans you were a Dark Caller and they foolishly reacted. You can’t take the blame for the actions of others. Do you hear me?”

Her eyes slipped closed, but she nodded.

“And you
won’t
leave this tent again without me knowing it. Is that clear?”

Her lips puckered at his mandate, and he smiled. She was stubborn. He would have to remember that tendency about her because if he pressed too hard, she’d rebel. If pushed, an inner resistance would always rise within her, but that obstinate trait probably saved her life.

“I won’t argue about this, and if necessary, I’ll place guards around this tent to ensure your compliance.” He conveniently left out the part that guards were already posted. “Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, Marek,” she answered in such a quiet puff of air that he wouldn’t have heard her if he hadn’t been so close. He sighed and opened his fist, splaying his hand across her flat stomach. She moaned and turned toward him. Satisfied she wouldn’t do something so foolish again, he relaxed. Like floodgates opening, the tension he’d experienced the last few days washed out of his system, leaving him drained and worn out.

Carina’s hand still held him. He could’ve easily wrapped his body around hers and fallen asleep. But he’d vowed to behave according to protocol and now that she would recover, he had no excuse for remaining.

When he tried to remove his arm, her grip tightened and her eyes flew open.

“Where are you going?” The peacefulness of sleep had vanished from her face and borderline panic anchored in the harbor of her eyes.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, but it’d be improper for me to stay,” he finished with a lame shrug.

She snorted. “You’ll sleep with me like the other nights.”

He raised an eyebrow at her forcefulness. Her eyes had slipped closed, but her hand clasped his arm with unyielding firmness.

“Carina,” he mumbled with a helpless sigh.

“You will stay,” she commanded in a sleepy drawl.

He smiled. Maybe her stubborn nature wasn’t such a bad thing. And maybe even a bit endearing, he decided as he curled up beside her and buried his head in the crook of her neck, grateful she was alive.

26 – FIRST FLIGHT

Carina hobbled out of the tent into fresh air and bright sunshine. Although they had agreed to leave today, Marek had let her sleep late and now her cheeks burned as she noticed the camp packed and soldiers milling about tending to minor last minute details.

Marek had slipped away from her sometime during the early morning hours. She remembered the chill when his warm body disappeared, but had been too tired to get up. Now, she chastised herself for being selfish and forcing everyone to wait.

Muscles, stiff from disuse, tried to remember their fluidity—each step a disjointed, awkward movement as she strolled through camp working kinks out of her sore body. Two soldiers hurried past her, nodding in greeting. Although she didn’t turn to look, she suspected they would break down her tent, the last item to be packed.

She couldn’t find Marek but smiled at the sight of FireStrike near a small tree. Saddled and waiting, his crimson wings folded against his body glittered in the sunlight. Where FireStrike stood Marek would soon follow, and with nowhere else to go the Criton was the best place to be.

Although weak, walking forced stagnant blood to pump through her veins, revitalizing her. She inhaled the cool air deep into her lungs, enjoying the sweet smell of pine and wildflowers. Her shoulder throbbed softly as a reminder of the past few days, but other than that, a sense of peace settled over her for what she had done to stay alive and to protect those she cared about.

Her path toward FireStrike was leading her into a group of soldiers, many with bandaged wounds. They stopped talking and stared at her. She hesitated, wondering if she should give them a wider berth. Even though Marek held her blameless for the attack, she couldn’t ignore the heavy hand of guilt as it crept up and squeezed her shoulder.

Misplacing her courage, she decided to alter her course until Damon broke away from the other men and headed her way. A white dressing covered his right bicep. Unable to meet his gaze, she waited to hear what he had to say, expecting the worst.

“Carina,” he mumbled in a gruff voice filled with emotion. “One of your arrows protected my back. For that, I owe you a life.”

Stunned, she gazed at this grizzled warrior who had just offered her a great gift. Restraining unexpected tears, she spoke quietly. “But, I’m the reason for the ambush.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Not true,” he countered. “The Tiwans attacked because someone wanted you dead. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

Overwhelmed by Damon’s acceptance of her, she could only manage a small smile.

“And now that we know you’ve been targeted, we’ll be ready.”

Her brow creased. “I don’t want any of you to put yourselves in danger because of me.”

Damon’s voice hardened. “That’s not your decision to make. Our king has chosen you as his mistress. We’re honor bound to protect you with our lives.”

Humbled by his words, she hoped this hardened soldier didn’t notice the quaver in her voice. “Thank you for this honor. I’ll strive to prove myself worthy.”

Damon stared at her for a long moment. “You’re special Carina McKay. Our king saw it and I see it. As for being worthy, you’ve already proven your worth.”

Damon palmed the hilt of his broadsword in a loving way. “I look forward to traveling beside you as your future unfolds, and for the blood we’ll spill as a result.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling.

Carina smiled back, although she found the thought of someone’s blood spilling on her behalf troubling. “Thank you, Master Finn.”

“No, ‘tis I who thanks you,” he declared with a low bow.

To her surprise the other soldiers standing nearby also bowed. A rush of blood raced up her neck and slammed into her cheeks. Not sure what to do, she peered at her feet and mumbled, “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, my lady.” Damon chuckled, moving out of the way.

Suddenly self-conscious, her heightened awareness now noticed the eyes of the soldiers following her through camp like stalwart beacons, assessing her movements and judging her with newfound respect. Many stopped to stare, or if she met their eyes, nod their heads in greeting as she walked the remaining distance to FireStrike.

The unexpected attention liberated old insecurities she kept locked away in the recesses of her mind. A mixed blood didn’t deserve their respect, especially since she was the reason for the assault. If anything, the men should loathe her.

She sighed in relief when FireStrike welcomed her with a small snort. Critons always calmed her troubled heart. They didn’t judge or care about her heritage. Their pure souls and steadfast loyalty washed away negative thoughts and left her thankful for being in their presence.

She stroked FireStrike’s neck. He lowered his head and bumped her hand with his nose. She knew what he wanted and scratched behind an ear. Her lips curved upward when he grunted in contentment.

“Some big, tough Criton you are,” she whispered when his head dropped against her chest.

“Are you making fun of my Criton?”

Her heart skipped beats as Marek’s intoxicating voice poured over her in a warm caress. She gazed into his face, her smile wavering. The grey flecks in his eyes sparkled. Dressed in black riding leathers with his moniker emblazoned on his right shoulder, he dominated her vision. He exuded confidence and power, tempered with enough compassion to avoid arrogance, which only made him stronger. No wonder his men were immensely loyal.

“I would never make fun of one so noble,” she replied in her most solemn tone.

“Good,” he answered with mock sternness, stepping up beside her. He brushed her hair off her shoulder before sliding his hand down her arm to pause at her elbow. She impressed herself by remaining composed on the outside while every facet inside her quaked.

His lips pressed in a line as worry replaced his amazing smile. “How do you feel?”

“Better, but you should have woken me,” she chided. “Now everyone is waiting.”

Marek shrugged, indifferent to her concern. “You needed the rest, the men could wait. We have a long journey ahead and I want you as strong as possible.”

The sincerity in his voice for her wellbeing opened a door in her heart that had always remained locked and filled the emptiness with a light that cast rays of tenderness throughout her. She could only stare at him with an odd sense of fascination. A bemused smile played across his lips causing her to wonder what lay hidden within the emerald depths of his animated eyes. They were like hypnotic twin pools and if she relinquished control, succumbing to their spell, she’d lose herself inside them forever.

“Then we should go,” she whispered a little breathlessly.

Marek’s face lit up with a child’s delight, but the man who captivated her interest had stopped being a boy a long time ago.

“Aye, Carina, let’s go.” His lopsided grin lightened her heart. He stepped into the stirrup and swung onto FireStrike with a grace perfected by years of practice, then slid behind the saddle and extended his hand.

She faltered and hoped the shock didn’t show on her face. Marek offering her the saddle was more than a simple gesture of kindness. It marked a change in their relationship, both for them, as well as for Marek’s men and any other man. Marek had just staked an official claim, his claim on her. She was off limits to anyone else. He would protect and defend her with his life, exposing his back to enemy arrows by shielding her with his body.

Her jittery stomach marched in rhythm with her shaking hands. She didn’t deserve such distinction. Her mixed blood destined her to a life as either a servant or a mistress of a lesser noble, not fit for a king. She still couldn’t fathom why he wanted her. Really, what was he thinking? She dropped her head to hide her eyes and glanced left and right to see if anyone had witnessed his act.

“Carina,” he whispered, drawing her attention back to the man sitting astride an amazing red Criton. Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze while the timbre of his voice rolled over her like a wave. When she remained flat-footed, his body shifted and uncertainty crept into his face. Did he mistake her hesitancy as a refusal of what he offered?

Warmth spread through her as Marek leaned forward in the saddle with his hand outstretched, waiting for her. His leather gleamed in the sunlight transforming him into a shining vision of masculine dominance. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and whispered in her ear, encouraging her to accept his hand. She smiled as an unshakable pride for this man who would claim her and whose simple gift of the saddle would elevate her to a position of dignity, stunned and embarrassed her. After spending her entire life yearning for acceptance and a small measure of respect, his simple act meant more than he’d ever know.

Marek wiggled his fingers. “Come with me,” he murmured.