Children of Enchantment (12 page)

He bent his head and gathered her mouth to his, his skin as smooth and as polished as the leather, the scent of him a blend
of leather and soap and something metallic. He twisted her nipple between two fingers, rolling and tugging it, sending little
sparks of pleasure through her body. His tongue was hot and probing, stabbing every corner of her mouth. She could scarcely
breathe. Abelard had been demanding but never brutal. There was a hard insistent edge to his son that excited her, incited
her. This is what it would be like to be raped, she thought, forced down on hard stone, taken like an animal, penetrated in
every orifice, humiliated and consumed and totally possessed.

Amanander drew back from the kiss. In the dark his eyes had an inhuman gleam, and Gartred felt more than a flicker of fear.
“Whatever you wish, my dear.” He laughed again, low and cruel, and then he was on her.

The kitchens beneath the great hall of Ahga were vast caverns, lit at that late hour only by rushlights set in sconces high
on the walls. Sleepy scullions and kitchen maids stirred from their places beside the banked fires as Roderic and Old Ben
passed by, and once or twice, a night-robed cook poked a sleep-swollen face from one of the cubbyholes which lined the walls.
But no one emerged to challenge their passing, and Roderic hustled the old man through the kitchens and up the narrow steps
into the quarters where the servants were housed.

“Where is she?” Roderic hissed as they paused in the long, dark corridor where the rooms were only partitioned by flimsy curtains.
The dusty smell of age was thick in the air, and Roderic realized abruptly that for the ones who served those who reigned
in Ahga, there was little luxury and few comforts.

“In truth, Lord Prince,” whispered the old man, “I don’t know—the maids are housed at the far end. She could be anywhere at
all.”

Roderic cursed beneath his breath. Peregrine was the daughter of a landed Senador. How had Gartred dared to treat her so?
But there seemed to be no other way to find her. He’d have to go from room to room. With another curse, he started forward,
intending to peer into the nearest room, when a huge man, bearded and naked from the waist up, emerged from some room perhaps
halfway down the corridor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His face was creased with sleep, and his trousers were clearly those of the King’s Guard.

“I’m looking for a lady,” Roderic replied.

“Then you’re looking in the wrong place, lad. Get out—before you disturb decent people at their rest.”

A yawning woman peered out from another cubicle. Roderic groaned. It hadn’t been his intention to rouse the whole house. “You
don’t understand—” he began.

“You
don’t understand,” responded the hairy giant, hands on hips. “Who the hell do you think you are? Get back to your barracks,
‘fore I report you to your commanding officer.”

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Ha! What’s my name to you, pretty boy? Get out of here, now, or I’ll boot you out.”

More and more faces, male and female both, were emerging from curtained openings along the corridor and Old Ben was tugging
at Roderic’s arm with increasing urgency. “It’s the Prince,” hissed a soft whisper, and Roderic glanced over into the eyes
of a serving girl who had pleasured him years ago. He felt the blood rise in his face, as more and more faces pressed forward,
and he recognized more than a few of them.

“Your name,” said Roderic, as he gently but firmly disengaged Ben, “may mean nothing to me, but mine most assuredly will mean
something to you. I am Roderic Rodenau, and my ‘commanding officer’ as you refer to him, has been lost in the field for some
time now. And in his absence every soldier in the King’s Guard, including you, answers ultimately to me.” The people who crowded
the narrow passage had fallen silent, staring in disbelief, and the soldier’s mouth hung open. “Good people,” Roderic addressed
the gathering crowd. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest. But I came here :onight looking for a lady the consort—“

“Roderic?” A woman’s voice, high with disbelief, rose above the crowd, and as one, they all craned their heads. Men and women
flattened against the walls.

“Peregrine?” He started forward, and then she was in his arms, her black-brown hair falling to her waist, her full mouth turned
up to his. There was a ripple of nervous laughter and then a spatter of applause. She broke away from him, laughing with delight,
and Roderic held her at arm’s length. Glad as he was to see her, there was a difference in his feelings for her he could not
quite define. “What’s happened to you? Why are you here? Did the consort dismiss you?”

Before Peregrine could answer, an old woman broke through the crowd, a white-wrapped bundle in her arms. “It was the consort,
Lord Prince. Because she carried your child, you see. When the news came about the King—the consort decided to get Peregrine
out of the way. I think she thought to take her place—in your heart.”

He looked down into Peregrine’s dark eyes. “Is this true?” he whispered.

Peregrine nodded. “She sent me down to the kitchens—she wanted to keep me out of your way.”

The old woman stood before him, and the bundle stirred and cried out. Peregrine reached out and took the baby. “This is your
daughter, Roderic. I named her Melisande.”

It was long after midnight when Roderic finally leaned back against the cushions beside the hearth. He could barely stand
to look at Peregrine as he listened to the sorry tale she told, a tale which reminded him that he had not spared more than
a thought or two for her the whole time he had been in Atland. A constant play of light flickered across her face, and her
eyes were deep in the shadows. But he felt her watching him, knew that she had not taken her eyes off him since the moment
she had seen him in the corridor.

“… and that’s how you found me.”

Her voice dropped off, and he stared, unmoving, into the fire.

“Roderic? What’s wrong? Are you angry with me?”

“With you?” He looked up swiftly and shook his head. “Of course not. I’m afraid I’m not fit company tonight.”

“It’s Gartred, isn’t it? I knew she was going to spoil things—I knew she’d spoil this homecoming for you—“

“Peregrine.” He got to his feet and paced a few short steps so that he would not have to see the concern so plainly on her
face. “This hasn’t anything to do with Gartred. I’m very sorry that you should have suffered so. But this—” he gestured all
around “—things are so different, this doesn’t feel like home.”

“I knew she shouldn’t have changed your rooms.” She raised her hands in a brief, futile gesture and dropped them back in her
lap.

He felt a pang of pity and came a few steps closer. “I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t know. I wish you’d sent a message.”

“I—I was afraid to approach a messenger—I was afraid the consort would take the baby.”

“Take her?” Roderic frowned.

“Give her to some woman in the city who doesn’t have a child—such things happen.”

“By the One.” He dropped beside her on one knee and touched her cheek. The texture and the color of her skin reminded him
of honey mixed with cream, and he watched the pulse beat in her throat.

“You’ve changed.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” His eyes followed the line of her bodice to her breasts, which rose and fell to the rhythm of her
breathing. She smelled of lavender and rosemary.

She caught his hand and held it to her face. “I—I’ve missed you so much. All the time you were away, I thought or you— only
you. And when Melisande was born, I hoped—” She looked down. “I thought maybe you’d have missed me, too. But you didn’t even
send a letter.”

A vision of the butchered Mutens and the earth churned to a bloody mud flashed through his mind. He stood up and turned his
head away. “I’m not the same as when I left here, Peregrine. I’m not sure you’d miss me, if you knew the things I’ve done.”

For answer, she got to her feet and held out her hand timidly, as though she feared rebuff.

Beneath the thin cotton of her gown, her body was a dark, curving outline. He remembered all the nights he’d spent in her
arms, all the long lazy afternoons, hiding from the consort and his tutors. His desire rose, first a hunger, then a demand.
He pressed a kiss into her palm, watching her reaction.

She tightened her fingers around his and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her face tilted up. He bent his head and kissed
her. There was not much gentleness in that kiss, but her passion seemed to match his own. She put her arms around his neck
and thrust her hips against his. He held her tightly, the hard evidence of his need squarely nestled between them. They stood
entwined for a long time, and then he picked her up and carried her to his bed.

He laid her on the pillows and felt for the lacings of her gown. She reached up to help his fumbling fingers.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “Do you want this, lady?”

“Roderic—” The word was a plea.

He caught her hands in one of his and looked squarely into her dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I had no idea Gartred
would do what she did. I want to make it up to you, I want to set things right. I don’t know if I can offer you anything right
now, Peregrine. I can speak to Phineas, but—but you aren’t one of the kitchen maids and you’ve borne my child. I won’t treat
you as if you don’t matter to me.”

“Let me show you how I want to be treated.” She undid her bodice with one hand and placed the other firmly against his erection.
Whatever tentative hold he had on reason was lost to him completely at that point, and any fuzzy half-formed notions he had
of guilt or honor dissolved in the hot tide of passion which swept through him.

As the gray dawn broke over the sea, Roderic woke to find her head nestled in the hollow of his chest. Lazily, he nudged her
awake. “Peregrine, the child—” he began when she opened her eyes.

“It’s an honor to bear your child—you know that.”

“Honor without substance is cold comfort.” He rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling, knowing she watched him with
troubled eyes, remembering the long nights spent beneath these very sheets, the summer afternoons in the shadowed glades of
Minnis Saul. She had suffered much for his sake in the last months.

“You’ve changed so much.” She sat up, pulling the sheet close, and spoke over her shoulder, her eyes fixec on the scene outside
the window where the gulls wheeled and shrieked. Her body had changed—her breasts were fuller, softer, her waist had thickened,
and silvery lines etched paths on the skin of her belly and her hips. Her words surprised him. “Last night when you spoke
to that soldier—I’d never heard you sound that way before.”

Silently, he caressed the feathery tips of her hair, not knowing how to respond. What reassurance could he offer her, when
there were so many decisions to be made, so many questions to be answered? The subject of marriage had not even been whispered,
and that, too, was sure to raise a storm within the Congress, a storm he instinctively knew should be avoided for the present.
To name Peregrine his consort was tantamount to announcing his intention to marry her, especially since he had no heir. What
certainty could he offer her, when he was so uncertain himself?

She turned and he saw that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you. I’d rather stay as the
lowest scullery maid—“

He touched her mouth with one finger as he pulled her down beside him. “Of course you’ll stay. I didn’t mean to sound as if
I don’t need you. It’s just I scarcely know how I fit in, let alone anyone else.”

“What about Gartred?”

At the mention of the consort’s name, his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure. But I promise you, something
will be done.”

“Will you send her away?”

He shifted restlessly. That thought had occurred more than once in the last twelve hours.

Peregrine pressed closer, her hand straying lower, rousing and caressing. “I could be your First Lady.”

He glanced down, surprised. Without the title of wife or consort, it was a position of only a little honor and many cares,
one often bestowed upon some ancient female relative. As his body responded inevitably to her touch, he kissed her smooth
cheek. “If you would be content with that, at least for a little?”

She lowered her eyes until her lashes brushed against his chest, and he was glad to see her dimples. “As you say, Lord Prince.
Command me as you wish.”

Alexander pressed his cheek against the cool panes of ancient glass and watched the fog rolling off the sea in thick, gray
waves. The rising sun was no more than a paler splotch of gray over the horizon, and the gulls shrieked invisibly through
the mist. He kept his face carefully neutral as he listened to his twin outline his plan for the taking of the regency.

His neck and shoulders ached, and his head throbbed with weariness. He had ridden all night, through the worst of the storm,
in order to reach Ahga before the Convening, and he still wore his sodden clothes. Beyond the bedchamber, he could hear the
harsh, tired voice of his bodyservant berating the castle servants as they fetched the water for his bath. The Convening wasn’t
until noon, and Alexander dearly hoped he would have a chance to snatch a few hours sleep. He stifled a yawn and reluctantly
met Amanander’s dark eyes.

Physically the brothers were identical in size and shape and form, and but for differences in style and dress, it would have
been impossible for anyone to tell them apart. Alexander’s beard concealed a mouth as sensual as Amanander’s, and his dark
hair was clipped close about his ears, a marked contrast to the intricate braids Amanander affected.

Amanander abruptly fell silent, and Alexander turned at the discreet cough. In the doorway which led to the bathing room,
his manservant hesitated. “Well?”

“Your clothes are ready, Lord Alex. The castle servants are heating your water, and breakfast is on its way. Is there anything
I can do for you, before I oversee the unloading of our packs?”