The Maiden Read online

  “Daire!” Rowan gasped. “Why, I could break that scrawny, ugly, little—” He broke off when he realized she was giving him some of his own back. “I know how to punish you for that,” he said, looking fierce. The next moment he was on her, tickling her until she was squealing with laughter and writhing between his legs.

  The writhing made him forget that he was “punishing” her, and in a moment they were kissing as hungrily as if they had not seen one another for a year. The kissing led to a long lovemaking, then both fell into a short but deep sleep.

  The rumbling of Rowan’s stomach woke them both.

  “I do not want to leave here,” Rowan said, holding her close to him. “Out there rages the world. No doubt Brita has already declared war on the Irials, and it is my fault for not seeing to her.”

  His tone was so gloomy that she kissed his nose then her head came up. “Someone comes.”

  Instantly, Rowan was out of the bed, pulled a cover over his shoulder to cover his nakedness, and grabbed his sword. “Stay here,” he ordered Jura. “And I mean that.”

  He left the tent to await the arrival of the lone horseman, who, when he saw Rowan, increased his pace.

  It was Xante and he looked at Rowan—nude but for the wool blanket over one shoulder and trailing behind him, his sword drawn—with amusement. “It is good I am not an enemy,” Xante said. “You took long enough to hear me.”

  “What is wrong?” Rowan asked, his voice heavy and sharing none of Xante’s humor. “How am I needed?”

  Xante paused a moment before answering, his jaw working. “You are not needed. Your sister has sent you food and clothing for Jura.” He raised an eyebrow at Rowan. “She seemed to think Jura’s clothing would not last the night.” Xante gave a big smile at the reddening of Rowan’s face.

  Rowan cursed his fair skin and the Lanconian smugness as he took the baskets from Xante. “Brita is all right? She is not angered because I was not with her last night?”

  “Young Geralt entered her tent last night and has not yet come out. We Lanconians seem able to do some things on our own, brother.”

  “Brother?” Rowan asked.

  Xante’s face turned hard, as if preparing for Rowan’s disapproval. “I married your sister last night,” he said almost defiantly.

  Rowan’s grin almost split his face. “It seems we English are not so incompetent. She has you delivering goods and messages the morning after your marriage. Could you not keep her in bed this morning?”

  It was Xante’s turn to look sheepish, then he smiled. “There is enough food there for two days and there is no need for you to come back. Everyone is…interested in each other. There will be many children nine months from today. I bid you good morning, for I have my own children to beget.” He waved his hand in farewell and turned his horse away.

  Jura came out of the tent wearing Rowan’s tunic, a small eating knife in her hand. “So now you have the captain of the guard on your side,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Geralt knows of this.”

  Rowan put two fingers to her lips. “Peace for as long as possible, remember? Do not speak of your brother today, please. Let us eat and make love and swim and sing.”

  Jura smiled at this. “Can we actually do what we want today? No uniting of tribes nor any other state business?”

  “We shall be lovers and do what lovers do. Shall I play my lute and sing for you?”

  “I’d rather you showed me that trick you have of throwing a knife. I have tried it but I cannot move my wrist as you do. It would be very useful in battle to be able to throw a knife and kill a man so cleanly and quickly. I could—” Once again, Rowan put his fingers over her lips.

  “An hour’s knife practice, an hour of singing, and the rest of the day making love,” he said.

  Jura looked thoughtful. “That seems like an equal division to me,” she said seriously, her eyes twinkling. “Shall we eat first or bathe first?”

  “Eat,” he said, reaching for her, but laughing, she eluded him and grabbed the basket of food. When his blanket fell away and she saw that he wanted more than food, she ignored him as she sat on the ground and began to eat. But all through the meal she stretched her legs often and bent so he could see down the front of the loose tunic.

  It was a heavenly day to both of them, the first they had shared as people, not as enemies. Rowan reluctantly showed Jura how to throw a knife, but he soon realized that she had a natural aptitude for using a weapon and after an hour’s practice she was nearly as good as he.

  “You should teach my men,” he said grudgingly.

  “Not that Neile,” Jura snapped. “I do not like that man.”

  Rowan started to correct her but, instead, he said nothing. Perhaps Neile was offending other Lanconians as well as Jura.

  For both of them the day was too short. Although they had been married for some weeks, they knew very little about each other, and so much anger had been between them that they could not easily trust. But each of them had been reared to do nothing except train for war. Rowan had had Lora to teach him some of the gentler ways and he had come to believe that was a woman’s place in life. Jura had no idea what Rowan expected of her.

  They spent the day tentatively trying to please the other, neither of them knowing what the other expected in a marriage mate. Jura wanted to have an archery contest—after all it was what had made Daire ask her to marry him. But Rowan did not like that idea. He wanted to show Jura how to play a lute or to sing some English songs. Jura knew she had a musical sense that was made of lead and she did not want to appear to be a fool in front of him. It seemed that neither of them was willing to do what he knew the other one excelled at.

  So they ate and made love and they talked. Rowan listened with some wonder at Jura’s story of her childhood. He had been so horrified at the idea of a women’s guard at first that he had dismissed the women, but now he listened more openly because he had seen the way Jura protected his back.

  “But when did you dance and play?” he asked. “When did you ride out in the fields to look at the spring flowers?”

  “The same time you did,” she answered.

  They made love again that night and slept twined in each other’s arms. It wasn’t quite dawn when the sound of a horse, coming at a run, woke them. Jura and Rowan rolled out of bed instantly, both pulling on a tunic while they ran toward the tent door. Rowan ordered Jura to stay behind, but she made no move to obey him. She stood beside him, sword in hand, and waited for the rider.

  It was Geralt, his dark face black with rage—and across his saddle, hands and feet tied, mouth gagged, was Brita.

  Chapter Thirteen

  YOU JAPING FOOL,” Rowan bellowed before Geralt spoke. Rowan caught the halter of the horse then pulled Brita into his arms. The Vatell queen’s eyes were on fire with fury.

  “What did she do?” Jura asked her brother.

  “It does not matter what she did,” Rowan yelled. “You have ruined us with your stupid little-boy temper.”

  Geralt grabbed his sword as he dismounted and Jura put herself between her husband and her brother.

  “You will not fight over this,” Jura said. “We will talk and see what can be done.”

  Rowan hefted Brita in his arms. The rage and anger on the woman’s face spelled the end of all his dreams for a united Lanconia and all because of the childish temper of this half-brother of his. Geralt wanted power only for power’s sake, not because he meant to do some good with the power.

  “I heard her planning to attack the Irials,” Geralt said, his voice full of hatred for Rowan. “She slipped from the bed we shared last night—the foolish woman thought I was asleep.” He glared at Brita. “It will take more than what an old woman like you can give me to make me sleep,” he spat at her. “I followed her. She went to one of her guard and ordered him to find your tent and kill both of you. I killed the guard and then, when this viper slept, I took her.”

  Jura looked to Rowan. “My brother has saved yo