“Fine day for a wedding, is it not?”
The rich feminine voice washed over him. Alasdair could hear the smile in her words. He bowed with extra flourish for his queen. “I was just saying that, not ten minutes before, to the groom himself.”
Queen Morghyn beamed, a twinkle in her dark eyes. “It is good to see you, Sir Kearney.”
“You as well, Your Majesty. You look radiant beyond words, as usual.”
She laughed. “Still a charmer, I see.”
Alasdair flashed a cheeky grin and allowed the queen to take his hands. Never would he have reached for her. She was royal, and despite his scamp tendencies—even at his age of one and thirty—he respected her. Liked her. He had decorum. And a healthy dose of fear of her husband, too. He’d seen his king on many a battlefield. The man was fiercely protective of women in general, but especially those he cared about.
She squeezed his hands with great affection that had him returning the gesture.
Her burnished gold gown was a complement to her fair complexion as well as one of the colors of the king’s Province, Terraquist.
Queen Morghyn wore a royal blue sash from shoulder to slender waist, denoting the other color of Terraquist, as well as her rank. No crown graced her head at the moment, but the queen’s hair was ornately braided and arranged up. It only enhanced her beauty. She’d always been a stunner with pale flaxen locks and dark dark brown eyes. Time wasn’t touching her appeal.
“Are you well, my dear Alasdair? Happy in Greenwald?” The questions caught him off-guard, but shouldn’t have.
She’d seen him as an orphaned lad of eleven, bastard of a minor lord dropped off at Castle Rowan’s gates in Terraquist to be accepted as a page or left to fend for himself in the harsh streets of the city center—either would have been acceptable to his guardian. The first cousin who’d inherited his father’s holding cared nothing for the lord’s unofficial child.
Alasdair’s mother had been a maid in the household and had died birthing him. His father had kept him, but was indifferent, if anything. He’d been a servant, like the woman who’d given her life for his. His father had had no other children—including bastards. He knew no one of his bloodline, and carried his mother’s surname instead of his father’s.
Still, he often thanked the Blessed Spirit for King Nathal seeing his value and raising him as a knight—and not giving a rat’s arse about his parentage.
“I am, Your Majesty. I’ve come to love Greenwald as I do Terraquist. Lord Aldern is a good man to back, and as always, I have my brothers.” The twelve knights of the personal guard, including himself, didn’t share his blood, but they were his brothers. Always. “Are you well?”
She smiled and nodded. “I am. Thank you for asking.” The queen released Alasdair’s hands, and gestured to the lass standing next to her. “Do you remember my cousin, Lady Elissa Durroc?”
He’d seen the lass trailing the royal when they’d crossed the great hall, of course, but he’d assumed she was an attendant. Queen Morghyn didn’t travel often, and it made sense she’d bring her ladies, even for the short trip of Roduch and Avril’s wedding.
Alasdair’s intended polite smile stalled and he had to swallow hard instead when he glanced at the lass. He blinked. He might’ve remembered the name—it triggered a tease in the back of his mind. But he couldn’t recall the vision before him. He would’ve remembered her.
Gorgeous was too weak a word.
Her gown was blue. A few shades lighter than Terraquist-blue and low-cut, but not enough to do more than hint at cleavage. The bodice had red roses embroidered on it and was just the right amount of tight. The bottom of the dress billowed out to only hint at a perfect waist and rounded hips instinct told him would be just as perfect.
Unlike Queen Morghyn, the lass’s fair hair was free from restraint, flowing around her body. It hung to her waist, and she a blue ribbon headband on that matched her dress.
“Hello, Sir Kearney.” She inclined her head and met his eyes.
He had to clear his throat. Her sultry voice was like a caress and his thoughts scattered.
Just how she should sound.
A tremor shot down his spine and Alasdair chided himself.
Her coloring, as well as heart shaped face with high cheekbones, marked her as kin to Queen Morghyn even if he hadn’t been told, but her eyes were hazel. The perfect mix of light brown, green and even—Blessed Spirit help him—gold flecks.
She was looking at him expectantly.
Why?
Ah…she’d greeted him, hadn’t she?
Speak, idiot, lest she think you daft!
Alasdair cleared his throat—again—and bowed with just as much of a flourish he’d presented for his queen. “Nice to see you again, my lady.”
Her face was stained an adorable shade of pink when their gazes met again, but he fought the urge to shift in his boots.
The traitor below his belt was interested in her suddenly—something he didn’t need. Alasdair might be loose with his favors as his brothers teased—but he’d never touched a lass of nobility—let alone the queen’s cousin.
Wasn’t about to start, either.
She was no doubt innocent, which doubly crossed her off his list.
“Sir Alasdair Kearney!” King Nathal boomed from across the hall. Saving him. The king closed the distance to between him and the ladies with only a few long strides.
“Hello, Your Highness.” Alasdair bowed.
King Nathal buffeted the back of his shoulder and beamed.
Alasdair grinned, rocking in his boots so he wouldn’t embarrass himself and keel over. Boisterous as always, the king was a big man, and the tap was more of a pounding.
“Good to see you, lad.”
“You too, Majesty.” He nodded, meeting his king’s pale blue eyes.
“I see you’ve greeted my ladies. You better not have used your charms on my wife.” King Nathal flashed a mock-stern glare along with his growl.
Queen Morghyn laughed and patted her husband’s decorative Terraquist-blue doublet, right over his heart. “No one could steal me away from you, my love. Not in form or affection.” She gazed up at her man.
The king looked down, softness in his expression that made Alasdair feel like an intruder.
Lady Elissa swayed in her pretty slippers, as if she felt it, too.
His eyes locked onto her hazel ones against his will. Looking at her wouldn’t help his forbidden interest, especially since he couldn’t help but notice the green and gold flecks in her gaze.
She smiled. It was just a slight curve of her lips, but it was all for him.
Alasdair’s gut clenched. He needed to go. Maybe Roduch needed his help. Or Leargan. Was it time to line up?
But there he stood, locked onto the lass, and she on him.
The king spoke, breaking the spell. “Shall we go out to the bailey? The ceremony won’t be long now. Seats are ours for the taking.” He lifted his arm for his wife.
Queen Morghyn smiled and tucked herself close to her husband, but she looked at Alasdair. “Will you escort my cousin, Alas?”
Lady Elissa looked at him.
He forced a nod. “Aye, of course.” Alasdair offered his arm, trying not to gawk at the delicate hand that slid into the crook of his elbow.
A bolt of energy shot into his biceps and he almost jumped. Through layers of fabric, he could feel her touch. He imagined how it would be to have her hands on his bare skin—then promptly banished the ludicrous idea.
“Thank you.” Those hazel eyes bored into him, like before.
He lost the battle with trying not to fidget. His armor felt too small, as did his skin. Straightening his spine didn’t help the constriction in his chest. Alasdair forced a nod and a smile.
“Shall we?” The queen’s query was as bright as her smile.
Alasdair jumped.
“Are you all right, Sir Kearney?” Lady Elissa whispered. Her pale brows were drawn tight.
She was concerned for him?
He cleared his throat, needing her to stop looking at him like that. “Aye, lass—my lady. I’m well, my lady. Thank you for asking.” Widening his smile made her blush deepen, which pleased him—much more than it should. However, his sharp mental reprimand did no good.
Lady Elissa offered a demure nod, one corner of her delectable mouth up.
He hoped the slight smile wasn’t because she’d sensed his discomfort.
The king and queen walked in front of them, but Alasdair didn’t care to eavesdrop on their conversation. He was acutely aware of the lass trying to match his longer stride. She didn’t plaster herself to his side like the queen to the king, but Lady Elissa wasn’t far away, either.
Her hip brushed his, and he could feel every inch of her petite frame from that barely-there touch. Heat spread, flipping his stomach and making his cock twitch. Alasdair wanted to tug away, or warn her not to touch him again—because it made him want more—but what could he say?
Scream ‘Don’t touch me!’ like a scorned lass? Alasdair swallowed a groan of disgust.
What’s wrong with you?
Not a question he was familiar with. He tried not to seem too eager to run away as soon as he’d seated her next to the queen on the front row of the linen-covered chairs before the dais.
Lady Elissa thanked him and he straightened, giving her a nod because his voice had evaporated.
Queen Morghyn smiled and patted his forearm. “I appreciate your kindness.”
The lass blushed when Alasdair spared her a look. He fought the urge to swallow...again. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Sweet, polite and…innocent.
Not. For. You.
He didn’t want a lass of his own, so it mattered not, anyway.
“It was nothing, Your Grace.” He thanked the Blessed Spirit when Dallon waved hello from the end of the aisle. Alasdair bowed deeply. “My lady, Majesties, I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
King Nathal smiled and gave a hasty nod. People were lining up to greet him.
Alasdair took the opportunity to dash away without a backward glance. He took his place beside his fellow guardsman behind the last row of chairs.
His partner for the day threw him a look. “You all right?”
“Right as rain.” He flashed his signature grin and received an arched eyebrow as an answer.
“It’d better not,” Dallon said.
“Better not what?”
“Rain. I hear it ruins weddings.”
“Ah. Just a figure of speech.”
Amusement danced in Dallon’s brown eyes. “Are you sure you’re well?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, partially blocking the Seal of Greenwald etched into his decorative armor. His usually wild dark hair was brushed flat and neat—and shorter, not quite reaching the back of his neck. Dallon must’ve gotten a trim for the wedding.
“Aye, why?” Alasdair tried not to bristle at his brother.
“You seem…out of sorts.”
“Me?” He glued his gaze to Dallon’s, even though his instinct was to glance toward the first row of seats. If he did, his friend would know where his mind was—and tease him relentlessly, no doubt. “I’m great.” Alasdair gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you must know, I’m in mourning.”
His brother snorted. “Not that again.”
“What?” He packed all the innocence he could managed into the word.
Dallon laughed. “I hope to the Blessed Spirit you didn’t hound Roduch about choosing to wed. Again.”
“Of course I did. What kind of big brother would I be if I hadn’t?” He grinned.
Shaking his head, Dallon said a few curses, but he grinned, too. “I suppose you wouldn’t be yourself then.”
Alasdair chuckled and patted Dallon’s shoulder. He felt normal—almost.
Kale and Teagan arrived then, catching his attention. He waved as they nodded and lined up next to him and Dallon, and the rest of their brothers weren’t too far behind, most arriving in the pairs they’d approach the dais in.
They were to be posted behind the last row of chairs, as ceremonial guards until it was time to salute their brother-in-arms and his new wife after the exchange of vows.
Wedding guests were starting to file in as well, people taking seats and quietly chatting. Most took a moment to greet the king and queen before finding their seats.
Alasdair made his gaze stay away from the first row of chairs. He didn’t need to look at the lass. Instead, he scanned the row of men standing beside him. All were dressed in their finest clothing, covered by matching decorative breastplates, swords belted at their waists. As the eldest, he stood farthest left, almost directly behind Lady Elissa.
He had a keen vantage point of the queen’s cousin, although he wasn’t going to use it.
At. All.
Music started softly—coming from a large magical sphere that hovered above the dais—as if to let the crowd know to quiet down so they could start. It got gradually louder, playing a soothing, welcoming tune as they waited for the wedding to begin.
The device was no doubt Lucan’s design. Alasdair had never seen the like before, but true to all of the lad’s ingenuity, the idea would likely spread.
He straightened his spine, and felt more than saw all his brothers stand at attention when Roduch and Leargan, along with a Priest of the Blessed Spirit, walked down the aisle and mounted the stairs to the dais.
Alasdair studied his friend. Gone was the worry from earlier. The big knight was radiant—if a man could be so. His face was shaved clean, his blond hair lying in more order than Alasdair had ever seen, and his wedding attire of embroidered pale blue doublet and matching breeches impeccable. The fine ivory tunic beneath was also embroidered with pale blue thread trimming the wide sleeves. It was detailed and delicate, yet not feminine.
Roduch exuded joy.
“Good for him,” Dallon whispered.
The ceremony was nice as far as weddings went, he supposed, but his attention remained scattered. Against his will, Alasdair couldn’t stop looking at the queen’s cousin. Every once in a while, she’d glance over her shoulder, and once or twice her eyes found his. As if she sensed he was staring.
He couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Dallon kept arching an eyebrow at him.
Niall, second-in-command of the personal guard, who stood on the far end from Alasdair, sent him a questioning look.
Blessed Spirit, stop being transparent. And stop looking at her.
He made sure to stand very still after that, but his gaze kept wandering to the front row, no matter how he cursed himself.
She could feel his eyes on her.
The handsome knight her cousin had obvious affection for. Sir Alasdair Kearney.
Somehow Elissa wanted to look at him, too. Her heart skipped and she forced herself to focus on the couple pledging themselves to each other on the dais.
The girl was gorgeous, petite, and clad in a lavish pale blue gown. Her smile could’ve warmed any heart. Her hair was a mass of dark curls that hung loose to her waist. Pale blue buds were woven throughout with ribbons, and a woven crown of flowers, the same blue roses, sat atop her head, making her look like a wood nymph from one of the stories Elissa had read.
Mistress Avril only had eyes for the man who’d just been instructed to take both of her hands by the priest.
For the knight—Sir Roduch Grantham—it was the same. He towered above the lass, more than a foot taller than she, but their love for each other was plain.
He wore a doublet that matched her wedding dress, and his breeches were of the finest material, a slightly darker blue than the wedding gown. His handsome face was clean-shaven, and his smile for his bride was brilliant.
Elissa frowned.
Marriage.
That would be her—in what?
Days?
Mere sevendays?
Months?
Would she find love with one of her suitors as the king intended? So her husband would look at her the way Sir Roduch was looking at Mistress Avril?
Would Elissa have to marry anyway if she didn’t?
King Nathal had said no. She’d always trusted him. But could she in this?
Could she love one of her suitors? What if none of the four men presented to her was the one?
Her stomach dipped and she fidgeted on her seat next to the queen. Her cousin sent her a sidelong glance; Elissa forced a smile.
Lightning flashed overhead, causing several of the guests to look up. People murmured about rain.
She sucked in a breath. Needed to calm down before her magic caused a storm and ruined Mistress Avril’s wedding.
A rumble of thunder rolled in. Elissa winced. Her heart galloped and she clutched both hands in her lap. She urged her fingers to release the fabric of her gown, but they shook, tingling as magic greeted her. She half-expected the blue fabric to be permanently creased and stained from her sweaty palms.
Water in the clouds above called to her, but she denied the draw of magic and forced them back, commanding the white fluff to recede, so the sun would shine down uninhibited like it had all morning.
Go away.
Calm. Calm. Calm.
Sweat bathed her forehead.
“Issa, is that your doing?” Queen Morghyn whispered close to her ear.
Elissa cleared her throat. She couldn’t deny it. She’d never lie to the queen. “Aye. Sorry. Seeing them on the dais has me…thinking of my own impending…”
Her cousin squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, lass. ‘Twill be all right. Calm so the magic-blue clears from your eyes. People will notice.”
She nodded and chided herself. Elissa hadn’t lost control of her emotions in a fashion that affected her magic in longer than she could remember. She returned the queen’s kind smile, ordered her heart to regulate, and her stomach to stop churning.
Her peripheral vision caught Sir Alasdair…again.
Elissa hazarded a look in his direction, over her shoulder. He was looking her way. Their gazes collided.
Her heart skipped and two bolts of lightning flashed above. It was heat lighting; the kind that proceeded a summer storm. Very out of place in the fall.
Embarrassment stung her neck and crept into her cheeks, searing her as it refused to disperse. Anyone with a whit of magic would know the impending storm wasn’t natural.
Calm down. What’s wrong with you?
She straightened her shoulders and intentionally bumped the back of her chair. Elissa needed…
Well, she didn’t know what she needed.
Clapping took her attention and her eyes snapped back to the dais. She’d missed the pronouncement of man and wife.
The couple was kissing.
Catcalls from the surrounding knights caused the newlyweds to break apart. Elissa smiled at the bride’s pink cheeks, but she was still only all-eyes for her new husband.
They stood hand and hand, and waited for the first two knights of the personal guard to make their way up the aisle to salute the couple.
Sir Roduch was a member of the duke’s personal guard, so as an addition to the ceremony all his brother-in-arms would approach to let him know they accepted his new wife and she was now included in those they protected.
Her cousin had explained it was a common thing to see in weddings of knights, but Elissa was touched in a way that surprised her. It was a beautiful sentiment. They were family.
Sir Alasdair strode up the aisle alongside a tall knight with short dark hair. He didn’t spare her a glance, but Elissa couldn’t look away. As if captivated by his armor catching the sunlight. She’d never been able to easily read auras, but light surrounded the knight like it was his. His long brown locks shifted as he bowed in tandem with the other knight.
They recited their salute. Then Sir Alasdair said something to make the people on the dais laugh, but Elissa didn’t catch it. The groom grinned and the captain, Sir Leargan, shook his head, but he was wearing a smile, too.
Her eyes continued to trail him as he split from his partner. The other knight went right, and Sir Alasdair went left, walking right past her seat.
He inclined his head to the king and queen. Then Sir Alasdair’s eyes landed on Elissa. Heat kissed her neck all over again as his gaze didn’t waver, as if it was stuck. He was studying her face, and it made her want to shift on the edge of her chair. Again.
His eyes are so blue.
She sat taller and smiled.
Sir Alasdair winked. Then he was gone, walking down the aisle in the direction he’d come.
“Elissa?”
She jumped. The concern in her cousin’s tone made her think it wasn’t the first time Queen Morghyn had called her name.
“A-aye, Your Majesty?”
“Are you well, lass?” The king leaned toward her from his seat.
“Aye. Of course.”
Her cousin didn’t look convinced. She reached for one of Elissa’s hands and squeezed. “Let us go into the great hall. The feast will begin shortly.”
Elissa looked around. She’d been so absorbed in watching Sir Alasdair that she’d missed the couple exiting the dais. Actually, she’d missed everyone leaving the raised platform. It was empty. “Of course.” She scrambled to her feet.
The queen took King Nathal’s arm, but the big man offered the other to Elissa.
She hastily thanked him and slid her hand in the crook of his elbow, chiding herself to focus on why she was here, instead of on a handsome knight.
Elissa forced a laugh to join her cousin’s when the king made a jest about everyone being jealous that he had the privilege to escort the two most beautiful women there into the hall himself.