Rejar (33 page)

“I understand.” Traed crouched down before him, meeting him at eye level. For the first time in many, many years, Traed was acting the older brother. “I am not of your kind ... but I have had some experience with women.”

This bizarre disclosure was almost enough to snap Rejar out of his mood. He peered at Traed curiously. “You have?”

Traed gave him a look. “Yes.”

A tiny line of perplexed disbelief appeared between Rejar’s brows. Like most Familiars he was born inquisitive. “What kind of experience?”

Irked, Traed waved his hand. “That is not important! What is important is that I might be able to guide you from a non-Familiar viewpoint.”

“What good would that do me?”

Traed took a deep breath. Guiding this younger brother was not an easy task! When he got back to Aviara he would have to commend Lorgin on his superb tolerance all these years. “You are looking at this situation through the eyes of a Familiar.” He choose his words carefully. “Perhaps you need to give Lilac some time to realize—”

“I have given her plenty of time. It does not seem to do much good.” Rejar leaned back in the chair, wearily closing his eyes.

“I do not mean that.”

Rejar opened his gold eye. “Then what do you mean?”

Traed stood, placing himself before the fire. “I mean you should allow her to know you without...” He let the sentence drift off meaningfully.

Rejar was completely perplexed. “Without what?”

“Without krnacking, you fool!” Traed bit out through clenched teeth.

Rejar leaped out of his chair. “You expect me to sleep next to my mate and not touch her? I am a Familiar!” He slashed his hand through the air in a gesture Traed had seen Lorgin do many times. “I cannot.”

“You are also Aviaran. Lodarres’ blood runs through your veins. Both our veins.”

It was the first time Rejar had heard Traed readily acknowledge his Lodarres bloodline. It also reminded him that he was obligated to give credence to the advice of an elder blood relative. Not that he was bound to follow it. Still...

“Why do you believe I should do this?”

Finally, Rejar was listening to him. “My father made a terrible mistake with my mother. I do not want to see you do the same with Lilac. Your mate is young and inexperienced; she knows nothing of our ways or the ways of men.”

Rejar rubbed his jaw. “This is true.”

“I do not know what transpired between you, but I can surmise it was something physical. Did you hurt her?”

“No.”

Traed raised an eyebrow. “There was a lot of noise, Rejar.”

“I am a Familiar.” As if that explained a woman gasping and screaming and sighing for hours.

Well, come to think of it, it did. “Hmm. Very well; then mayhap you have frightened her with your... zeal.”

Rejar exhaled heavily. “I am sure of it.”

Traed nodded. “Let her become comfortable with you again before you touch her. Let her discover how she misses you.”

“You believe this?”

“I know it.”

Rejar sat wearily back in the chair. “Even so, she might come to accept me again but she still will not love me.”

“We shall see.” His assessment of the situation was quite different from his brother’s. Traed had noted the way Lilac watched her husband when he was unaware of it. But Rejar had more than this on his mind. Traed patiently warmed his hands in front of the fire and waited.

{Traed?}

“Yes?” He did not turn around.

{There is something else.}

He stared into the flames. “What is it, Rejar?”

{I have a restlessness I cannot name. It seems to call me and I have no peace.}

Traed watched the fire greedily consume the wood with its embrace. A prickle went up his spine. No expression showed on his chiseled face.

{What could it be?}

Traed closed his eyes. He was beginning to suspect that Yaniff had not told him the entire story when he named him Rejar’s Chi’in t’se Leau.

Now he was positive of it.

There was more here than Yaniff let on.

* * *

Lilac brought her clenched hand to her mouth.

She was weak and could hardly move—so she lay where he had put her in the bed. She watched the shadows of the firelight flicker against the wall. What does he expect from me?

She had given him what he demanded and when he demanded more, she had given him more. She had given him all that she had. Yet, it did not seem to be enough.

Maybe it was not enough.... Maybe she was not enough.

The disturbing notion made her feel inexplicably ill. Was she doing something wrong? Nickolai had always been pleased before tonight.

Something had happened between them. He seemed to savor her and yet he did not appear satisfied.

What if I am not enough for Nickolai?

Would he seek out other women? He told her he would not, but...

Why should she care if he did?

He would leave her alone then. He would stop waking her all night long with his erotic demands. Stop his constant caresses and tender kisses. Stop calling her “my heart” in the dark of night while he held her tightly to him. Stop giving her little laps under her ear in his sleep when he wanted to settle her down and stay cozy.

Lilac sniffed.

She didn’t care! She didn’t care at all!

I’m losing him.

She didn’t know why she began to cry. The tears just started trailing down her cheeks of their own accord. Soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. Rolling over onto her stomach, she clutched her pillow and cried into it, the intense emotions of the entire evening a jumbled brew.

She was not aware of the door opening and softly closing.

Rejar stood beside the bed, gazing down at his sobbing wife. Drawing all the wrong conclusions. What have I done?

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder to offer comfort. His hand hovered in the air above her; he could not bring himself to do it. After what he had put her through, he fully expected Lilac to shrink away from his touch in horror. Such a thing he could not bear to see. Walking around to the other side of the bed, he quickly shed his clothes and got under the covers. Remembering Traed’s advice, he was careful not to touch her in any way, moving close to his edge of the mattress.

Lilac felt the bed dip and raised her tear-streaked face from the pillow. Nickolai’s naked back was to her. Solid. Hard. And indifferent. He had never slept that way before. Always, he took her in his arms, wrapping himself around her warmly.

She buried her head in the pillow and wept anew.

Rejar stared at the wall facing him and tried to block out the sound of her tears. He could not. Each one was a blade in his heart.

Summoning up his Aviaran willpower, he did not soothe her.

He prayed he could endure the night.

* * *

“Psst! Sir, might I’ave a word wit’ you?”

Traed felt someone tugging on his sleeve. Drowsily, he opened one eye. Jackie was leaning over him, a concerned expression on his comical face. “What is it, Jackie?”

“Ya been ta bed yet, sir?”

Traed yawned. “Hmm?” He glanced at the windows in the study. Daylight streamed in. “Is it the morrow?”

Jackie chuckled. “That ‘tis, sir. Seems like y’fell asleep in this ‘ere chair.”

“So I have.”

Jackie cocked his head, watching him knowingly. “Do that a lot?”

Traed glanced swiftly up at the man. “What do you mean?”

“Well, seem ta me y’ be one that don’t be sleepin’ so easy. I seen yer lamp in the wee hours of the morn. Got the insomnia, do ya?”

The green eyes narrowed slightly. “Some.”

“Aye.” Jackie stroked his chin, his accent suddenly becoming Irish. “I got a cure fer that! Me father learned it from ‘is father who learned it from a leprechaun.”

Traed was puzzled. “A what?”

“A leprechaun, laddie. Y’know, one of the little people.” He gestured expansively with his pipe as if to indicate they were everywhere.

Traed jumped out of his seat; his hand going to the belt at his waist for a weapon.

“Now there’s no need fer that. It’s not like y’got a leprechaun askin’ ta do ya a favor, lad. Besides, it wouldn’t do ya any good—what y’need is a big club about yea big—”

“Jackie ... what did you seek me out for?”

The odd man went serious in an instant. If one could call lowering shaggy brows and bulging out one’s eyes serious. “There’s word about that Rotewick is planning on calling out yer brother. I warned y’ about ‘im, I did.”

“When you say calling him out, what exactly do you mean?”

“First ‘e’ll start a rumor that yer brother somehow cheated at cards the other night. Gossip bein’ the delicacy it is, the story will be devoured quick-like. Some will believe it, some won’t. Either way ‘is Princeship’s honor is at stake.”

“I see. Rejar will be compelled to challenge him.”

“Who’s this Ray bloke?”

Traed waved him to continue.

“Well now, Rotewick’s a fencing master, so ‘ell be sure to challenge ‘im to a duel with the blade. And what are y’ smiling like that fer?”

“You did say the blade, did you not?” The jade eyes gleamed.

“Aye.” He chewed on his pipe stem.

“Tell me, Jackie, where is this man now?”

“I can show y’ where ‘e lives.”

“Good. Take me there.”

Jackie’s eyes bulged out further. “Now? Before I had me bangers and biscuits?”

“Yes. I vow I look forward to it.”

Indeed, Jackie noted there was almost a spring in the normally solemn man’s step. Must have a yen for the danger. “All right then. But don’t y’ want ta know the cure?”

“Cure? What cure?”

Jackie blew out a breath of exasperation. “The one fer insomnia!”

Traed raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Ah, yes, the remedy from the—what did you call them? The little people.”

“Aye. Tis a simple one.”

Traed sighed. The man was not going to let it be until he told him. “Very well, what is it?”

“First y’ got to find out what it is what keeps y’ from sleepin’.”

“This is brilliant,” Traed said dryly. Jackie lanced him with a you-just-listen-now look. “Very well—I find out what keeps me from sleeping; then what?”

“Why, then, lad, you confront it.”

The Aviaran looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Mmm.” He put his hand on the back of Jackie’s neck, steering him out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

“I am sorry, sir, Lord Rotewick is in the garden for his morning practice. He is never disturbed at this hour.”

Lord Rotewick’s butler attempted to look down his nose at Traed. Since this was impossible due to the man’s impressive height, he settled for a sniff of disdain. No one of decent breeding would call at this ungodly hour of the morning!

“And what practice would that be?”

The forbidding man had a look that could freeze ice. It effectively put the butler in his place. “Lord Rotewick fences in the morning hours, sir.”

A chilling smile etched its way across the green-eyed man’s face.

“Mmm, which way is the garden?” Traed strode boldly into the house, Jackie trailing behind.

“Sir! You can’t barge in here like this! I tell you his lordship is indisposed!”

“Not yet,” Traed murmured, heading in the direction of the back of the house.

It did not take him long to find the doors leading into the back gardens of the house. Standing on the terrace, he easily spotted his “lordship.” The man was engaged in a practice match of the blades.

Traed noted both men wore protective masks over their faces. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. An Aviaran warrior would never wear such a device. Where would be the challenge?

He continued to stand on the terrace watching the men fence. Traed carefully observed Rotewick’s moves. The man was good, he would give him that. His moves were quick and fluid, and he had a tendency to be clandestine in the strikes he delivered. Precisely as Traed would have expected from a man of his nature.

There was no doubt in Traed’s mind that Rotewick was aware he was standing there.

“I told ya ‘e was good.” Jackie spoke under his breath. “Do y’ think y’can take ‘im?”

“If you are asking me if I think I can disarm him, the answer is yes. Although it will take me a few moments to get used to this kind of weapon.”

Jackie almost swallowed his pipe. The man began coughing uncontrollably.

Traed slapped him on the back to clear his air, the casual blow sending the poor fellow halfway across the terrace.

“Cor, are ye sayin’ ye ain’t fenced before?” Jackie tried to speak between wheezes. “Are ye daft, man? ‘E’ll skewer ye through ‘ere y’can say jack rabbit!”

Traed snorted at the foolish statement, waving Jackie’s words aside.

Worried, Jackie grabbed his sleeve. “What are ye thinkin’ of, lad? Ye cannot fight a man wit’ ‘is skill! And you not bein’ a swordsman!”

Traed inhaled deeply as if to indicate the measure of his patience. “I did not say that, Jackie.” The match suddenly ended victoriously with Lord Rotewick delivering a touché directly over his opponent’s heart.

Before Jackie could object, Traed stepped forward.

Rotewick pulled off his mask. The two men met eye to eye. Traed did not cloak what he was there for by any softening of his expression.

Rotewick raised his eyebrows. He had not expected this brash cheek from a man who up to now had remained silently impassive in the face of his flamboyant brother’s activities. The Prince seemed a reckless, dashing type; it was one of the reasons Rotewick had accepted the outrageous bet. He knew that if he lost, he could always call the rogue out; youth was often impetuous.

This cool-headed brother, however, might prove irksome.

“Ah, yes, here to safeguard the little Prince.” Since Rejar surpassed even Traed’s impressive height, it was a rather ridiculous statement.

“That must get tiresome for you.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a lace handkerchief. “Do you have to fight all of your brother’s battles?”

“Only the unimportant ones.”

The barb hit its mark. A stain of red flushed his cheeks. Lord Rotewick suffered from a surfeit of vanity.

As a titled and privileged member of the crown, he naturally assumed the world revolved around him. It was not very wise of this upstart to imply otherwise. Up until that moment, he might have considered letting the man live.