Children of Enchantment (11 page)

“Perhaps there is one thing more. I didn’t see Peregrine Anuriel outside—“

“Peregrine is about her duties, Lord Prince.”

The rancor in her voice startled him, and her words did not ring quite true. “Surely her duties are not so demanding they
would keep her from welcoming us all home?” He watched her face, suddenly wary. Gartred had never evinced any interest in
him before.

Gartred’s eyes narrowed. “There is no need to waste your time with an orphaned waiting woman, Lord Prince. Any lady in Ahga
will be more than happy to keep you company—any lady at all.”

The note of invitation in her voice was unmistakable. He took a step backward involuntarily. “I doubt I’ll have much time
to enjoy a lady’s company. Any lady. Now, if you will order my bath? And send someone to attend me?” He bowed an unmistakable
dismissal.

“As you say, Lord Prince.” With another low curtsey calculated to display a vast expanse of bosom, and a loud swish of her
skirts, she departed. The odor of her perfume lingered like the memory of a bad dream while he bathed and dressed, and clung
to his skin for the rest of that long, long day.

It was very late when he finally returned to his rooms. A fire burned in the grate, and a cold supper of cheese and bread
and apples lay on a plate before the hearth. He barely glanced at it. On his desk lay a pile of rolled parchments, demanding
his attention. He fingered a few and his head gave another throb at the thought. Some required a reply, some only his signature,
others a prolonged consultation with Phineas. He had been Regent of Meriga for one day, and already he understood why his
father had so loved to escape to the comparative peace of their summer residence at Minnis Saul.

He walked into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the wide bed. The quilts and the hangings were new, and he fingered
the soft fabric, woven in dark shades of soothing greens and blues. The pillows were high and plump, covered in fresh white
linen cases and scented with lavender. He wished he could bury his head among them and give himself up to sleep, but he knew
he would only toss and turn if he went to bed. He was still restless after all the events of the day. The afternoon had been
completely given over to conferences with Phineas and the other Senadors who comprised Abelard’s council: the lords of Arkan,
Mondana, Kora-lado, and Tennessey Fall. Two or three of the Senadors had requested private audiences; these, on Phineas’s
advice, he had granted. He’d had a brief, troubling conversation with his brother Phillip.

Phillip resembled Abelard so closely that Roderic had felt his heart leap when his tall blond brother had strolled into the
same beneath the reek of her perfume. Abruptly he had excused himself when the dancing began.

His head felt heavy on his neck, and the blood pounded in a slow throb in his temples. He slumped against the soft leather
chair and picked up the first letter which came to hand. He broke the thin seal and scanned it. It was a request from his
sister Jesselyn for an escort into Ahga.

Jesselyn. The name meant almost nothing. She had left when he was barely old enough to remember, dressed in the black robes
of a priest, her mission to minister to the people who lived in the mountains between Ahga and the eastern ocean. But somehow
her zeal had been misdirected, and she had become embroiled in a scandal which had involved Abelard, his old nemesis the Bishop
of Ahga, and the Mutens. Jesselyn had been completely disgraced, placed under interdict, and forbidden to ever enter the “Holy
City” of Ahga again. But now she sought to enter the temporal city, and he supposed he was within the bounds of his authority
to override the Bishop’s decree. His headache intensified at the thought of having to deal with the Bishop and the priests.
Even Abelard had avoided the whole pack of black-garbed crows, dismissing them with a contemptuous wave. But he had never
overtly challenged them, either.

And why, Roderic wondered, as he reread the letter. Why did she want to come home
now?
Didn’t he have enough to contend with? He scanned the letter once more. She was maddeningly vague—hinting that she had some
incredibly crucial information. What kind of information in the name of the One and the Three could she possibly have discovered
in the eastern wilds of the northern Pulatchian Mountains? Abelard hadn’t disappeared anywhere near there. He let out a deep
sigh and threw the letter down. There was no help for it. He would have to provide the escort. And prepare to face the Bishop’s
wrath once the word got back to her, as it most assuredly would. He had never met the Bishop, but her battles with Abelard
were legendary. Surely with the King gone, he could assume that the Bishop would take up the gauntlet once again. It had been
that kind of day.

“Do I disturb you, Lord Prince?”

Gartred’s voice shattered his reverie. He jerked upright. He had thought he had been firm but undeniable in his refusal of
her favors. But he had no wish to antagonize her. She was not only Abelard’s consort, but the First Lady as well, in charge
of all the domestic cares a household the size of the court engendered.

“Is there something you require of me, lady?” He pulled the chair closer to the desk, glad that its bulk was between the two
of them.

“I?” She gave a little laugh and a girlish shake of her head. “No, Lord Prince. You did not look yourself at the feast this
evening—I thought perhaps you might need—“

“I need rest, Lady Gartred. I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.” Surely he thought, such an obvious rebuff would deter her.

But Gartred only gave him another smile and advanced, the firelight softening the contours of her face, her dark eyes gleaming
in the shadows beneath her lids.

He straightened, pressing against the high back of the chair, feeling stalked. She was beautiful, he acknowledged, in the
way a rose is in the last days of its bloom when the bud has fully opened, and the first petals have yet to fall. The flickering
light effectively erased all the tell-tale signs of age the brutal sun had revealed.

She leaned over him and gave his chair a playful little push. It spun on well-oiled castors to face her. He could smell the
wine on her breath. She glanced over at the letter from Jesselyn lying face up by his hand. “A letter from the lady Jesselyn?”
She read the letter before his wine-dulled reflexes could react. “So am I to expect visitors? You must let me know, Lord Prince.
I would not want any of your needs to go unmet. Ever.” His eyes were level with her breasts. She seemed to offer them like
plump, white pillows, where he might lay his head. She traced the line of his jaw with the tip of one finger, and it reminded
him of her gesture on the steps outside when her little pink tongue had licked the wine drop from her finger. He stared, fascinated,
spellbound. Despite his initial revulsion, his body was beginning to respond. It would certainly be easier, he thought, to
succumb, to take her to his bed. He was expected to assume all his father’s responsibilities, after all. Why not a few of
his father’s pleasures as well?

He closed his eyes, forgetting all about Jesselyn and her information and the Bishop as Gartred pressed his face into her
bosom.

“I know how to soothe a King to sleep,” she whispered. “Your father was often restless at night.”

A sudden image of his father entwined with this woman flashed through his mind. He pushed away from Gartred, and rose, shaking
his head. “I’m sorry, lady. If I were to lie with you it would feel as though I’d lain with my mother. I think of you as the
King’s—I cannot think of you any other way.”

An ugly flush suffused her face, and she raised one thin brow. Her eyes glittered. “You don’t find me beautiful?”

“Without question, lady. But you aren’t for me.” He gestured toward the door. “Please go.”

Her bosom heaved with suppressed rage. “I suppose you’ll ask for that mewling, mealy-mouthed drudge. Don’t think you’ll find
her. I’ll keep her so busy she’ll not have time for her brat, let alone you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth,
Gartred realized her mistake. She clamped her lips together and flounced toward the door.

He caught her by the wrist, quickly moving to block her escape. “What are you talking about? What brat?”

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“Tell me—has Peregrine borne a child?”

“Let me go or I’ll scream. I’ll disgrace you before the entire court—I’ll tell them you tried to rape me—“

“Scream away. We’re both fully dressed—“

For answer she ripped the thin fabric of her gown with her remaining free hand from neck to waist. Her heavy breasts swung
free, pendulous as udders, and she raised her hand to rake her long nails across his face. He caught her wrist and pinioned
both hands behind her back.

“Where is Peregrine? Answer me,” he said. Something which reminded him of Atland was beginning to beat in his blood, a desire
to pin her down against the floor and take her brutally until she gave him the information. She stared at him defiantly. By
the One, he thought, sickened, that’s what she wants.

He dropped her wrists as though they stung and turned his back. “You will take that wrap, the one on the chair by the hearth,
and you will cover yourself, and you will never come to me alone again.” He spoke over his shoulder, and out of the corner
of his eye, he saw her moving to obey him. “Leave. I will deal with you tomorrow.” But even as he spoke, he knew he would
not have the time to even think of Gartred for many days.

She went with a last backward glare, and he waited until he heard the door of his antechamber close above his manservant’s
quiet, “Good night, lady.” He closed his eyes. Old Ben would be discreet. When he was certain Gartred was gone, he opened
the door and roused Ben. The old man leapt to his feet, looking guilty for having drowsed. “Lord Prince. How may I—“

“Do you remember the girl among the consort’s women? Peregrine? The one with—“

“The thick brown hair, and skin the color of honey? You brought her here often enough, Lord Prince.”

“Do you know where she is?”

The old man stared up at him, clearly perplexed by the urgency in Roderic’s voice. He seemed to search his thoughts. “I—I
do not know, Lord Prince. In truth, I haven’t seen her since the day word came that the King had disappeared. But my duties
are different when you aren’t home, and I never thought—“

“Never mind. You know the kitchens, the servants’ quarters?” The old man nodded and Roderic grasped his arm. “Good. Come with
me.”

“But—but—but where are we going at this hour?” stammered Old Ben, clutching Roderic’s sleeve.

“To find Peregrine. And the child I think is mine.”

“M
y lady.” The soft voice from the shadows startled Gartred and made her jump, so that she knocked one knee against the rough
stone of the battlements. The rain had ended and the wind had subsided, and she was too ashamed, too angry to return to her
chambers and face the derision she knew she would see in her ladies’ eyes. Hadn’t they warned her? Hadn’t they hinted, gently
and often, that Roderic would never take her? That with the King’s disappearance went the power she had exercised so long
over all who dwelt in Ahga? She knew what they’d think, even if they didn’t have the courage to say it. She’d be lucky if
he let her stay First Lady after tonight.

Her knee throbbed. “Who is it?” she demanded. “Show yourself. How dare you frighten me?”

“Forgive me, lady.” A tall dark shape coalesced out of the shadows, and in the gloom, she barely recognized Amanander. He
stood still, almost unnaturally so, and she gave a little shiver.

“Lord Amanander? Is it you?”

He moved closer, so close his cloak brushed against her makeshift wrap. “Please. No titles, lady. I am sorry to disturb your
thoughts.”

She gripped the wrap closer to her throat, the fabric rough against her naked breasts. Pity this one wasn’t Abelard’s heir
instead of that stoop shouldered, skinny boy. “You don’t disturb me, Lor— Amanander.”

“You seem upset. Is there anything I can do?”

Kill Roderic, she thought, and instantly quelled it.

He chuckled, a low sound deep in his throat, and she had the unnerving thought that he had heard her. “No,” she managed. “Thank
you.”

“Do you enjoy the night, Gartred?”

What an odd question, she thought, though she automatically tilted her head in the manner she knew men found most attractive
and answered him in her deepest, huskies voice. “Only when I have someone to share it with.”

She heard the sudden intake of his breath and felt the little thrill of power she always experienced whenever she had a man
in her thrall. He touched her face. She expected warm flesh, but encountered something smoother and chillier than skin. He
wore gloves, and the smooth leather sent a little unexpected shiver down her spine. She wondered what that leather would feel
like against her nipples.

He chuckled again and turned her around to face him. She had another unnerving thought that somehow he had heard that last
thought too. He slid his hand beneath the wrap, caressing the round swell of her breast. She stared up at him, entranced,
feeling her nipples tighten in anticipation. He brushed one finger against the hard tip, and she moaned, swaying as her knees
went weak. What’s happening to me? she wondered. I’m behaving like an untried girl.