WinterofThorns (7 page)

The moment he saw her, he changed
course—causing those behind him to crash into one another—and made a beeline to
where she stood.

“Lady Millicent. My favorite godmother,”
Vindan said, grinning broadly. He took her hands and brought each to his lips.

“Your only godmother,” she reminded him.

“And her dearly loved.” His eyes twinkled.
“To what do I owe the honor, milady?”

“As if you need to ask, Vindan.”

“Am I in trouble?” he inquired.

When she cocked her head to one side and
lifted her eyebrows, he drew in a long breath then slowly exhaled. “Ahh.”

She hooked her arm through his. “Let’s take
a stroll through your beautiful garden where we may have a bit of privacy,
shall we?”

“I am at your command, milady,” he agreed.
He covered her hand with his where it rested on his arm. “You had a pleasant
journey I hope.”

“Quite pleasant,” she replied, nodding
regally at a few courtiers and their ladies they passed.

“Could use some rain,” he commented.

“True, but the stormy season will soon be
upon us and we’ll wish for the rain to stop,” she countered.

He laughed. “Aye, we will.”

They walked into the lush gardens of
Wicklow—strolling slowly down the herringbone brick path that wound its way to
the massive fountain in the center of the garden—and spoke of the plants
growing there. After pausing to gaze at the fountain and its rainbow assortment
of koi swimming in the bubbling waters, they moved on to the far reaches where
a lovely white gazebo perched among vibrant red rose bushes. Upon gaining the gazebo,
he escorted her up the three broad steps to the interior. She walked to the
wicker swing, tucked her flowing gown carefully beneath her and took a seat in
the direct center of the swing, forcing him to stand beside her.

“Ouch,” he said. “A silent reprimand if
ever you’ve issued one to me.” He wrapped his hand around one of the silver
chains that held up the swing.

“Do you remember your fourth birthday,
Vindan?” she asked, smoothing her skirt, not looking at him.

“I am afraid I don’t, milady.”

“I do,” she stated.

“I would imagine so, else you’d not have
brought it up,” he said with a light chuckle.

“That was the year I gave you the replica
of the latest Fiach runabout. It was black with a red Reaper emblem on the
bow.”

“I don’t recall it, milady,” he said, his
brows drawn together.

“The next day I gave your friend—my son—a
Fiach, also but his was red with a black Reaper emblem.”

“I remember that one,” he said with a fond
smile.

“You should,” she said. “You snatched it
from Seyzon and gave him yours—which you had broken within hours of me giving
it to you.”

The smile slipped from the prince’s face.
“I don’t remember doing that.”

“I’m sure you don’t, Vindan, but you should
because you repeated that gesture time and again when your friend had something
you wanted. If the queen was present at Wicklow she would make you return
whatever it was you took from Seyzon but you’d always throw quite the tantrum
afterward.”

“Your point, milady?” He was looking at the
chain in his hand and not at her, picking at the rust on a link.

“Only that whenever you were ordered to
return something to my son that you had taken from him, you usually broke it
before you did so. You can be a very spiteful boy, Vindan.”

His gaze fell to hers.

“Tell me, Vindan. Did you enjoy breaking
his lady-wife as you did his toys all those years ago?”

He stiffened, his hand leaving the chain.
“That isn’t what happened.”

“No?” she asked gently. “Did you not break
her just a little bit, Vindan?”

“I did the lady no harm. I was very gentle
with her.”

“I am sure you were but that isn’t the
point, is it?” she questioned. “A crystal vase is broken no matter how gently
it is thrown to the carpet. Once broken, it cannot be made whole as it once
was.”

All congeniality vanished from his face.
“He defied me,” he snapped.

“And you hurt him very badly in response,”
she said. “You broke his heart. You humiliated him.”

“Better that than being publicly whipped
like a gods-be-damned dog!” he stated.

“Language,” she replied calmly.

He cast his eyes down. “Beg pardon,” he
murmured.

She slid over to the far side of the swing
then patted the empty space beside her. “Sit, Vindan.”

“Woof,” he responded with a quirk of his
lips.

“Good boy,” she said and patted his sleek
dark hair. It was a banter they’d shared many times over the years and it broke
the heat of the previous moment. She reached for his hand and he took hers.

The loud skirl of a passing peacock drew
their attention and they watched the bird strutting about for several minutes.

“How is he?” he asked after a while.

“Damaged. As is the friendship the two of
you have shared all these years. The question is, can that friendship be
repaired?”

“I told him I would not annul the
marriage,” he said.

“For that, I am sure he is grateful. I—on
the other hand—will reserve judgment on whether or not I think an annulment
would benefit my son.”

He turned his head toward her. “You think
her unworthy of him?”

“Is she?”

“Not in the least. She is as beautiful as a
day in spring. She is intelligent, kind.” A smile traced over his lips. “Her
laughter could bring the birds down from the—” He stopped for Millicent was
looking at him with raised brows. “Aye, she’s worthy of him.”

“And of you, it would seem,” she said,
eyebrows lowering. “Has there been more contact between the two of you, Vindan,
than on her Joining night?”

“Good gods, no!” His face turned a most
unbecoming shade of red. “I have maintained perfect propriety where Jana is
concerned.”

“Jana,” she repeated, her attention riveted
on him. “Not Lady Jana nor Lady Montyne but simply Jana.”

“She is his wife. In my mind nothing has changed
in our friendship so naturally I consider the woman he chose as his mate to be
my friend, as well.”

“But is she your friend or perhaps
something more?” Millicent inquired. “Does she harbor ill-will toward you for
what was done or was she pleased by the outcome of that night?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You are a prince. Seyzon, a mere baron.
Perhaps the lady in question aspires to a higher rank.”

“No, she does not,” he stated. “She loves
Seyzon and she misses him. She has no interest in me whatsoever! She is polite
but she avoids me as much as she can.”

“And that pricks like a thorn under your
fingernail, doesn’t it?” she asked softly. “It hurts even worse.”

“This conversation has run its course,” he
said, getting up from the swing. He held his arm out to her. “Milady?”

Millicent looked up at him for a long
moment then allowed him to assist her to her feet. She walked in silence beside
him back to the keep. Once there, he dropped his arm.

“I have business matters to which I must
attend, milady,” he told her.

She inclined her head. “Of course, Your
Grace.” She curtsied deeply, her head lowered.

He bowed to her and started to walk away.

“Your Grace?” she called after him but he
didn’t turn around though he did stop.

“Aye, milady?”

“May I speak with Lady Jana while I am
here?”

“She is your daughter-in-law and that is
your right. She’s not a prisoner here.”

“Is she not?” Millicent queried and watched
his shoulders tighten.

“No, milady. She is not.” He continued on
his way.

Millicent watched him as he strode briskly
from the Great Hall, concern tight on her face.

* * * * *

“Milady,” Jana said, sinking into a
graceful curtsy. “It is an honor.”

Millicent was struck speechless by the
beauty whose face turned up to hers. The girl was the embodiment of young
womanhood, and if she were to handpick a wife for her son on looks alone, Jana
would be her choice.

But it was the sad—yet hopeful—look in the
young woman’s gray eyes that set the odds in her favor. When next she spoke,
her words sealed the deal.

“How is he? Is he well? Is he eating? Sleeping?
Has he had any more headaches?” Her eyes flared. “Is he in your dungeon still?”

The words rushed over one another and came
from a chest that was heaving with worry, exhaled on breath that was ragged and
jittery, the questions punctuated by flying hands that trembled.

Millicent laughed. “Sweeting, he was never
in our dungeon. He is under house arrest, which means he has run of the house
but isn’t allowed outside.”

Jana closed her eyes and her lips moved as
though she were giving entreaty to some godly ear.

“He is quite well though he misses you
dearly,” Millicent said. “Now, please rise. I am too old and too frail to pick
you up from the floor.”

Jana’s lips quirked but Millicent knew it
wasn’t humor that had made them twitch but unsureness. “I miss him,” she said,
her voice breaking. “More than you know.”

“I’ve some idea,” Millicent replied.

“Please tell him I love him and that I am
heartsick not being with him,” Jana said then groaned. “Forgive me, milady. I should
not—”

“Fiddlesticks! Yes you should and it
answers many questions I had concerning you, Lady Jana,” Millicent said.

“Ask anything you like, milady, and I will
answer true,” Jana swore. She put a hand to her heart. “On my love for your
son, I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”

Millicent smiled at her. “My son chose well
in his ladylove.”

Jana’s eyebrows drew together much in the
same way Seyzon’s had before he had lost control of his emotions. “He knows,
doesn’t he?” she asked. “What transpired at Riverglade?”

“Aye, dearling, he does and the knowing has
taken a terrible toll on him,” Millicent replied.

Jana put her hands over her eyes. “Things
could not get worse,” she said with a hitch in her breath.

“Aye, they could,” Millicent said, and when
the girl lowered her hands and she saw the moisture clinging to Jana’s lashes,
she nodded. “He could have annulled your Joining but he is not going to do
that.”

“Are you sure?” Jana asked, putting out a
pleading hand. “Did he swear it to you?”

Millicent frowned. “Has he not told you as
much?”

“No, milady.” Jana shook her head. “He
barely speaks to me at all and then it is only in passing at table to include
me in the conversation.”

“I see,” Millicent acknowledged. “So he has
said nothing to you of sending you to Lavenfeld when Seyzon’s punishment is
o’er?”

“He has not, milady, and neither has he
told me how long that punishment will last.”

“Nor has he told my son but have no fear, I
will pin him down,” Millicent stated. “Now, let’s you and I get to know one
another. I think Zonny would like that, don’t you?”

Vindan came awake with a gasp. He fought
with the covers as though they were attacking him until he had pushed them from
the bed. The sounds that were coming from his throat as he battled shamed him
and he had to clamp his jaw tight to stop them from pouring out of him. Soaking
wet with sweat—his hair plastered to his forehead—he scrambled from the bed to
stand in the middle of his bedchamber, shivering violently. Stabbing a shaking
hand through the wet curls to push them out of his eyes, he had to struggle to
get himself under control.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his chest deflating and
expanding so quickly he felt lightheaded so he stumbled back to the bed to plop
down.

The dream that had shoved him brutally into
consciousness was clinging to him like a cold, wet towel draped over his
shoulders. The chill of it bore down to the marrow of his bones. He could hear
the blood pounding in his ears, taste the bitter bile oozing into his mouth.
With a rugged gulp, he shot off the bed and barely made it into the bathing chamber
before he puked. Hot, stinging vomit erupted into the bowl as he fumbled to
hook his fingers over the upraised wooden seat. So powerful was the
regurgitation it sent him to his knees with his stomach clenched. Over and over
again he gagged until there was nothing left to bring up. When he was finished,
he fell sideways to his hip and lay clutching the porcelain rim with his cheek
resting against it, his entire body shivering uncontrollably.

As he half-sat, half-reclined on the cold
stone floor, he knew there was no way he would ever get back to sleep. Beyond
the open windows beside his bed the sky was still pitch-black—the middle of the
night—and dawn was a long way away. Dragging in mouthfuls of breath, he pulled
himself up then stood swaying for a moment while the lightheadedness still had
him in its grip. When he was finally able to stagger from the bathing chamber,
he went back to his bed and lay down, drew up his knees and wedged his clasped
hands between them in an effort to still his shaking.

“Tell me, Vindan. Did you enjoy breaking
his lady-wife as you did his toys all those years ago?”

“That isn’t what happened.”

“No? Did you not break her just a little
bit, Vindan?”

“I did the lady no harm. I was very
gentle with her.”

“I am sure you were but that isn’t the
point, is it?”

What was it Jana had said the morning
after?

“I am grateful you did not hurt me last
eve, Your Grace. I thank you for that.”

His reply had been meant to ally her fears
but hearing the words again in his mind he realized how cold and callous they
had been.

“I tried to be as gentle as I could
given the circumstances. I am not a brute, milady. Nor am I a rapist. I had the
legal right—albeit it an ancient and seldom used legal right—to have you. I
exercised that right. And it was your choice to allow me the execution of that
right.”

He moaned again.

There hadn’t really been a choice. The
outcome was exactly as he had planned it from the moment he had been told of
Seyzon’s proposal of Joining to the girl.

After the rage and the destruction of a
goodly portion of his private office had ended. The rage became a slow,
simmering commitment to hurt Seyzon Montyne as badly as Vindan felt he had been
hurt and the way to do that was to hit him where it would pain him the most.

“You broke his heart. You humiliated
him.”

“How is he?”

“Damaged. As is the friendship the two
of you have shared all these years. The question is, can that friendship be
repaired?”

He turned his face into the pillow. It
wasn’t the dream that came back to him as he lay there that made his soul ache.
It wasn’t only the memories of the words Lady Millicent and Jana had spoken to
him that compounded the hurt. Rather it was the actual events, which ran
through his mind like the playback from a vid-com, that cast him into anguish.
Try as hard as he might, he could not get the images out of his mind and they
began running through his brain—again—as they had every night since the fateful
one at Riverglade…

She trembled as he went to her. Her eyes
reminded him of a deer frozen in place as it looked at the hunter whose quarrel
was aimed at its heart. The knuckles of her hands were white as she clutched
them tightly in front of her and he watched as her lip quivered. Her chest rose
and fell rapidly.

“I will not hurt you, sweeting. As the gods
are my witness, I will not,” he said quietly.

She stood absolutely still as he closed to
within mere inches of her and when he put his hand up to caress her cheek, she
swallowed hard.

“Be at ease, sweeting.” He splayed his
fingers over her cheek, anchoring his thumb beneath her chin to tip up her face
to his. He searched her frightened eyes—eyes that drew him in like verdant
whirlpools—thinking they were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Circling his
gaze over her face, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was the most
stunning woman he had ever encountered.

And she did not belong to him but to a man
he loved as dearly as a brother.

Her lush lips pursed as he continued to
stare at her. A ripple of fear undulated down her slender frame. He heard a low
moan deep in her throat.

“Ah,” he said softly, a part of him
saddened at what he was doing to her.

He pulled her head to his chest, slipped
his free arm around her trembling body, and when she turned her cheek to lay it
against his shirt, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, for she fit
against him as though born to do so. His hand tightened on her cheek.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” he begged.
“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He heard a slight hitch in her breath and felt
another wave of unease flow through her. It made his heart ache to know he was
causing her distress and for a fleeting second he thought to step away from
her, leave her be.

But the sweet scent of her filled his
nostrils. His body was aware of hers pressed the length of his. He wanted her
as he’d never wanted another woman and despite the fact she belong to Seyzon,
he knew he had to have her.

Clenching his jaw, he moved away from her
just far enough to bend and sweep his arm under her legs, to lift her. He felt
her stiffen, heard a soft cry cut off in mid-trill, and she shivered. As he
took one step toward the bed, her breath left her lungs in wavering bursts and
he knew her heart was pounding fiercely. He could almost feel it thundering
against his own.

Slowly he carried her to the bed and as
gently as he could, he lowered her to the coverlet. He watched a shudder run
through her as she lay there like a virginal sacrifice. In truth, that was what
she was and that knowledge stung him like an angry wasp.

Yet not enough to stay his intent.

He sat down beside her, twisted so he could
once more cup her cheek. He could not get enough of looking at her lovely face
and because she lay so rigidly, he swore he would do everything in his power to
make her first time a pleasure and not the horror she was expecting it to be.

He trailed the backs of his fingers gently
along her left cheek, down the ridge, under the point of her chin then down the
other cheek. Turning his hand, he slid his fingertips across her lips—tracing
the lush sweetness.

“You are incredibly lovely,” he whispered.
He ran the tip of his index finger back and forth across her lips. “So incredibly
lovely.” Moving his hand, he cupped her chin then leaned over her until his
lips were almost touching hers. “So very alluring.”

He watched her eyes widen as he pressed his
lips to hers. He felt—rather than saw—her fingers digging into the fabric of
the coverlet, twisting it tightly. She stiffened even more beneath him as he
kissed her softly.

“Let me love you, Jana,” he said against
her lips, his voice nothing more than a breath.

He slid his hand from her chin to span the
column of her slender neck so that his palm lay directly over the hollow of her
throat, the heel resting on her chest, his forearm angled across her breast. A
hard shudder waved down her body, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but
otherwise she didn’t move.

“Jana? Sweeting?” he whispered. “I want you
to open your mouth for me.”

He saw her eyes pop open and there was
stark terror lurking there.

“Sweeting,” he said, as though talking to a
child. “All I am going to do is slip my tongue between your lips.” He slowly
shook his head. “Nothing more.”

Her eyelids flickered. She looked so
vulnerable. So helpless.

“Open your mouth, Jana,” he said and put a
hint of authority into the command.

Her chin trembled but slowly—infinitely
so—her lips parted. He could see the edge of her straight white incisors.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. Once more
he lowered his mouth to hers and with gentle care pressed his lips to hers then
glided the tip of his tongue into the quivering opening.

A low groan—of shock? Of shame? Of
desire?—came from deep inside her throat. He could feel the vibration against
his tongue as he thrust it slowly and tenderly deeper into her mouth. Not
giving her any time to protest, he stroked her bottom lip with the underside,
curling the tip to press against the sensitive corners. Another groan
encouraged him.

He thrust deep into her mouth then plied
his tongue against hers firmly and pressed his lips tightly to hers. Her mind
engaged with what his mouth was doing to hers, he slipped his hand farther down
her neck until his splayed fingers were resting in the center of chest—just
above her breasts, his elbow now pressed into her upper abdomen.

He withdrew his tongue as he gently sank
his elbow determinedly into her belly to push the blood to her groin.

“I want you, Jana,” he said against her
mouth. “So badly my body aches.”

She drew in a breath as though he had
wounded her with his words.

He spoke low, barely above a whisper now.
“I would pleasure you, milady.”

Her eyes seemed to reluctantly meet his and
he felt encouraged by the reaction so he straightened up, gazing down at her
with as much desire as he could put into the look. With her stare locked on
his, he slid his hand to her left breast.

She shivered. Her eyebrows drew
together—not in puzzlement but in distress. A hard swallow rippled down her
throat.

He gently caressed her through the material
of her Joining gown, his fingers tightening, releasing. Tightening. Releasing.

“I would show you what passion truly is.”
He moved his hand to the other breast and at her quickly indrawn breath, he
squeezed that soft mound. “I will satisfy you.”

Those four words set her body to quivering
and bright moisture gathered in her pretty eyes. Her chin was trembling again,
her lips pressed tightly together.

“Relax, love,” he told her and removed his
hand. He got to his feet and put his fingers to the buttons of his shirt. “Let
me show you how desire can make you feel.”

She was trapped in his gaze as he ran the
buttons, pulled the shirt from the waistband of his pants then undid the cuffs.
As she stared at him, he shrugged out of the shirt and let it fall to the
floor. The moment his hands went to the buckle of his belt, he watched her eyes
flare.

Why it should he could not have explained
but that movement of her eyes made his cock jut hard against his fly. Lust
drove through him like a battering ram. He felt his breath increase. Could feel
his blood begin to pound.

Eyes fused with hers, he drew the belt hole
from the silver tang then slid the leather free of the buckle. The soft sound
of clinking metal drew her eyes from his to his waist. She seemed to stop
breathing as he put his hands to the waistband of his pants and freed the
button there. Once more she swallowed with difficulty but her gaze was locked
on his hands. Slowly, he ran the zipper down then stopped.

“Jana?” he asked.

Her eyes jerked up to his.

“Have you ever seen a man’s cock?”

She shook her head.

“Touched one?”

She shook her head again, shuddering as she
did.

He smiled then peeled apart his fly. Once
more her eyes shifted to his hands. He saw her hands twist the coverlet.
Watched her entire body go rigid as he reached inside his pants to free his
cock.

Her lips parted and he knew it wasn’t from
desire but shock. He was not a small man and his cock was engorged with blood,
the broad head glistening with pre-cum. It leapt in his hand.

“See how much he wants you?” he asked as he
squeezed her hand upon him. He tipped his head slightly to the side.

She made that sound again and for a moment
he almost relented but he wanted her too badly to stop now. He was nearly naked
before her and he wanted her to see all of him. He wanted to see all of her.

“Do you see the moisture at his tip?” he
asked. “Do you know why he does that?”

She seemed unable to look away from her
grip on him.

“Look at me, Jana.”

Slowly she pried her eyes from his cock and
leveled them on his face.

“It is because he is weeping for you,
pretty one. He wants to be inside you. He
needs
to be inside you.”

A hard quiver traveled down her body and
from the corner of his eye he saw her heels digging into the mattress.

“
You
need him to be inside you,
sweeting. He won’t hurt you,” he said. “He will make you feel very, very good.”

Once more he sat down beside her and with
his cock jutting fiercely from the opening of his pants, leaned down to remove
his boots, his socks. He was so hard, so stiff it hurt to move. Boots off, he
stood, pushed his pants down his hips and stepped out of them.