Caller of Light (20 page)

What was happening?
Her body was edgy, aching for something she’d never experienced, but instinctively craved. A passion ingrained from the beginning of time that the longing knew…and wanted, blistered through her veins. She opened her mouth wider supplying Marek and his talented tongue unhindered access to the heat within her. Her hand skimmed up his broad back and gripped his shoulder. He surrounded her—his smell, his body—the very essence of him burned her, but she needed him closer.

The fractured bits of her mind were attempting to piece together a way to crawl inside this man to satiate the longing and ease the primitive ache pulsing in her very core when a deafening roar from FireStrike, which his band echoed, shattered the heavens. A sudden realization of her present location and what they were doing slammed into the forefront of her mind and she jerked away. Gasping for breath, she snatched her hands back into her lap and with glazed eyes, stared at her fingers trying to gather her thoughts and slow her racing heart.

Marek groaned and ran a hand through his wind-tossed hair. “You best watch what you do Carina McKay because my control isn’t what it should be around you.”

The need in Marek’s husky voice encouraged the longing within her. But she grabbed the desire beating at her and locked it in a safe place within her heart where only one man had the key. As she stared into his starved eyes and noticed his jaw clenched in restraint, guilt pounded her. She should’ve recognized the possible consequences when she started touching him. After all, Marek was no boy experiencing passion for the first time. Disappointed for pushing him to the edge, she gathered her wits enough to stammer out an apology, but he stilled her with a simple sweep of his thumb across her lips.

“Don’t apologize for an action that is your right to take as my mistress. But…” he hesitated and his eyes narrowed. “The next time you show such abandon, let’s make sure we’re in a more private place, dear one.”

From the faint heartbeat throbbing in her cheeks, she felt confident her blush couldn’t get any redder. And for once, silence seemed her best option, especially since she couldn’t process coherent thought yet.

Marek’s wistful smile and eyes that only spoke of acceptance, reassured her. And after a quick hug the longing retreated so she could focus on what he was pointing at below.

In a triumphant voice, he exclaimed, “Stirrlan. We’re home, Carina.”

She gasped at the magnificent, white castle glittering in the fading sunlight. Unlike Brookshire, this stark fortress was built as a strategic stronghold with turrets jutting upward into the sky and a drawbridge with iron gates protecting the entrance. Her father considered Marek a smaller king. In her father’s terms that meant Marek owned less land, possessed less wealth, and, as a result, fewer people lived under his domain and protection.

But to see Stirrlan, she could only discern its beauty. Majestic towers stood over a six foot wide rampart surrounding the castle. Guards on the rampart and in the towers waved to welcome the return of their king. Even from the closing distance, she noticed a scuttle of activity inside the walls as people rushed about finalizing last minute homecoming arrangements.

The castle sat on a low-lying hill overlooking a bustling city. The city sprawled beside a broad, slow-moving river that flowed east and west for as long as she could view before disappearing around a mountain.

“That’s the Carnagie River,” Marek supplied. “If you follow the river westward, it’ll take you to the sea. And notice the mountain behind the castle. We have a fortress built within it. So, if Stirrlan ever falls during an attack, we can take the underground passages to the safety of the fortress. The fortress has never fallen.”

The entire valley was nothing like Brookshire. She had grown up in a colder, rainy climate with a tendency for cloudy, dreary days. But Stirrlan breathed with life, thriving in the sun and warmer weather. Late fall wildflowers still covered the sweeping plain, dabbing the yellowing grass in vibrant blue and violet colors. A strand of poppy trees with brown-speckled, white trunks and round leaves, swayed in the breeze. With the help of his two warrigals, a boy herded ovine out of the grasslands and down the main road toward the city to bed them somewhere safe for the night.

But even with the dazzling color, the castle captured her attention, a beacon standing on a hill calling to her. Carina never realized that the color white could be so beautiful, but the castle literally sparkled in the diminishing sunlight.

She squeezed Marek’s arm in excitement. “It’s amazing.”

“Aye, it is.” He grinned.

“How do you get the walls so white?”

“It’s a special stone our masons pull out of a nearby quarry. The stone is particularly strong and resistant to cannon fire.”

“It’s so pretty.”

“Pretty?”

Carina looked back to discover Marek staring at her. His eyes were filled with amusement as she bobbed her head up and down.

Marek’s shoulders shook with his laughter. “I don’t think anyone has ever called my Stirrlan
pretty
,” he crooned in her ear.

“Well, it is.” She sniffed, trying to ignore the little spirals of pleasure bouncing around inside her from his breath warming her neck.

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” He smiled and straightened in the saddle. They were approaching Stirrlan. FireStrike extended his wings to slow their descent before landing inside the walls with the other Critons. Although a large drive for carriages and a grassy area for Critons spanned the courtyard, the animals still had to cluster together in the confined space.

Marek jumped off FireStrike and reached for her. She’d never needed assistance dismounting before, but enjoyed the attention he lavished on her as she grabbed his forearms while he supported her by the waist and lifted her down.

Her feet had barely touched the ground when a female’s voice buffeted her from behind. “Your Majesty.”

Marek’s back stiffened before he turned to face the woman. Her dress billowed out in a wide circle around her as she dipped into a curtsy. An elegant braid, interwoven with pearls, kept her silver hair in a pristine arrangement.

Marek acknowledged her. “Mother.”

She rose in a smooth, seamless motion and spoke directly to Marek. “Your journey was without incident?”

After years growing up in her father’s house, Carina didn’t mind that the queen mother was treating her like a servant, but the cold reception made her acutely aware of Marek’s arm around her waist. Knowing their closeness would be frowned upon, she attempted to step away, but his grip tightened in an effortless display of strength keeping her at his side.

“Not without some trouble.”

“I’m sorry, son.” The queen mother nodded, speaking the words with little inflection like she truly didn’t care about the men who had died in the Bridal Lands. As if determining Carina’s presence had lingered unspoken long enough, she fixed Carina with a hard stare.

“And who is this?”

Marek released Carina for a formal introduction. “Mother, may I present Lady Carina McKay, daughter of King Regin McKay. Carina, this is my mother, Lady Nareen Duncan. Mother returned from our southern estate to manage the household after Saffron left.”

Carina dropped into a deep curtsy. “It’s an honor to meet you, Queen Mother.”

“Of course, my dear. Now rise.”

Carina stood, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest. The queen mother’s cold greeting was an indication of her future treatment and of her approval—or lack thereof—within the royal hierarchy.

Nareen’s eyes refastened on Marek. “I must have misunderstood. I thought Marissa McKay would be attending you?”

Marek shrugged, seemingly indifferent to Nareen’s interest. “Carina and Marissa are half sisters. I made my choice. The reasons do not matter.”

Nareen gasped as she read between Marek’s words. “She’s not pure royal? Marek, how will that look?”

“Mother, I really don’t care. I suggest you waste less energy on what others think as well.”

Nareen frowned, but inclined her head toward Carina. “Of course, forgive my indiscretion, Lady McKay.”

Carina knew better than to believe Nareen’s act of remorse. She might’ve had a chance if she had been a true blood, but as a mixed she’d never be suitable. Still, she wanted to be accepted.

“Queen Mother, please just call me Carina. Otherwise I’ll think you’re talking about my sister.”

As soon as Carina said it, she cringed as the correction,
half sister
, blistered across Nareen’s face. Instead, Nareen tipped her head. “Very well.”

Marek’s hand settled on the small of her back. “Come Carina, I want to show you Stirrlan.” His comforting touch soothed her jumbled nerves.

She smiled at Marek as he guided her through the front doors leaving Nareen and the rest of the court behind.

28 – ACCUSATIONS

Carina woke up alone…again, and ignored the hollow emptiness clawing at her. She leaned against her intricately carved headboard and surveyed her new living arrangements. Her room, on the top floor next to Marek’s chambers, was easily three times the size of her old one. Fine mahogany furniture replaced her old scratched pieces, and a large four-poster bed with a down mattress made her wonder how she’d ever fallen asleep on her lumpy cushion. Large picture windows overlooking the castle entrance and town farther below allowed natural light to stream into the room when the heavy linen drapes were not pulled for privacy.

She had every reason to be happy, yet without Marek, her acquired luxury seemed shallow and colorless. Except for brief, rushed moments, she’d hardly spent any time with him during the five days they’d been at Stirrlan. Dignitaries from Dalia, a small town along his eastern border, had arrived to discuss Criton rider protection because Outlanders were attacking their village. Although he had tried to make time for her, the dignitaries, and just catching up on what he’d missed while away had demanded most of his time.

She had stayed close in case he beckoned her, but after exploring the castle from top to bottom, boredom scratched at the edge of her mind. Since her shoulder didn’t hurt so much anymore, she decided to venture a little farther away from the central grounds today.

A new wardrobe came with her room and she slipped into a pair of tan pants and a blue, cotton blouse before darting out the door and down the winding staircase to the main floor. Although a spineless maneuver, she stepped into the servant’s corridor to avoid bumping into Nareen. But she vowed to find her backbone and work on garnering the queen mother’s favor once she settled into the patterns of Stirrlan life.

The wonderful aroma of baking bread greeted her before she pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen. The overheated room was a bustle of activity as servants scurried about preparing food for the day. Ovens with roasting meats and stoves containing pots of steaming sauces blended with the rich aroma filtering throughout the room, spurring the grumbling in her stomach.

The chef in charge of the organized mayhem was a robust woman named Rosie who had adopted her the first day she’d accidentally blundered into the cookery. Rosie had her back to the door but turned when she heard it swish open.

“Ah, there you are my sweet lemming.” She smiled, nodding toward Carina’s usual seat at the end of a large, block table used for preparing foods. “Take your seat,” she ordered.

Carina knew better than to disobey Rosie’s command and sat on the stool. A plate filled with an egg and meat dish, along with a warm roll and various cut up fruits, appeared in front of her. With an almost unladylike eagerness, she spooned down large helpings to ease her hunger.

“So, what are your plans today?” Rosie asked, speaking over her shoulder while peeling potatoes faster than Carina believed possible. Carina watched in fascination as Rosie, armed with a small knife, made quick handiwork of another potato.

“I’d like to get acquainted with the surrounding area,” Carina mumbled with a mouth full of bread. “Do you know of a place?”

Rosie paused, her knife poised over another soon-to-be skinned potato. “If you go out the gate and follow the road a ways, you’ll find a grand lake. It’s a great place for tanager watching.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Carina pushed her now empty plate away. “You can’t keep feeding me like this,” she complained with a hand on her belly.

Rosie waggled her eyebrows. “Oh pishposh. A man likes a woman with a little meat on her bones. Just remember to stay on the path to the left when the road turns right.”

A small smile spread across Carina’s lips. A peaceful lake seemed like the perfect place to gather her thoughts. She jumped off the stool, thanked Rosie for the meal, and made her way outside. Aside from the guards standing at the door to the main house and posted at the entry points, no one noticed her stroll through the gate and beyond the protective Stirrlan wall.

She followed a well maintained avenue wide enough to accommodate two carriages side by side. Ovine grazed on either side of the road as two boys chaperoned them from under a shade tree while their brown warrigals prevented the animals from straying. One boy raised his hand to her and she waved back.

Perspiration soon beaded across her forehead from the warm day. She wiped the sweat away with the back of her hand as the heat lulled her mind. The road narrowed when she reached a wooded glade. To her relief, the tall trees shielded her from the blazing sun.