Chapter Twenty-one

Ansley watched Cera grin at the tiny infant in her arms and couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips, too.

He was absolutely beautiful. Dark red curls clung around his tapered ears, and his eyes were as blue as his father’s. He had Cera’s finger in his little fist as he snuggled close to her breast.

Fallon had hollered something fierce when his mother changed his diaper, but nursing had quieted him.

Cera had just smiled and cooed at him, whispering words of love. Calm and endearing, she showered him with kisses and nestled him close.

Ansley had never seen her tough-always-in-charge-friend like she was with her son. Cera had matured and grown, maybe even softened a bit.

She was already a wonderful mother. The duchess’s gray eyes shone every time she gazed at the baby.

Ansley wanted that, too. She wanted it with Leargan.

Could she be pregnant?

A tremor shot down her spine. If Leargan had already gotten her with child, they would need to marry as soon as possible.

They’d made love so many times she’d lost count.

Other than the night Fallon was born, they hadn’t discussed children, but Leargan made no efforts to prevent pregnancy. Every time, his release had been inside her. If not now, it was only a matter of time before they created a child. Ansley was as insatiable as Leargan.

Heart stuttering, her hand hovered over her lower stomach.

When was the last time she’d bled?

“Why are you so quiet?” Cera asked, looking up from burping her little son. Streaming light in the warm bright room made her dark red hair shine, appearing a lighter hue. She wore a simple pale gray dress that brought out the color of her eyes, the long loose waves of her hair surrounding her like an aura. Feminine and gorgeous. And so happy, she exuded it.

Most of the time her friend wore breeches and a tunic, like the other day when they’d sparred. Odd seeing her dressed like a girl, as Cera would say. Since Ansley had been in Greenwald, she’d seen the duchess in more gowns than she’d seen her wear in all their turns together as Riders.

“Just thinking,” Ansley said. She scooted her chair closer and caressed the baby’s downy curls. Her fingertips brushed one of his little tapered ears.

Soft. Fallon was soft and warm and perfect.

“About Leargan? Or babies?” Cera asked slyly, waggling her eyebrows.

Heat crept up her neck but Ansley met her friend’s gray eyes. “Maybe both.”

Cera stared. Slowly, a knowing smile curved her full mouth. “Is there a reason to be thinking about babies?”

Ansley averted her gaze, her cheeks burning. She squirmed in her chair.

Cera laughed. “Ansley! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not ashamed. I love him.”

“Who said anything about being ashamed? I’m happy for you.”

“Good,” she whispered, releasing a breath.

“So why’re you thinking about babies? Want one so soon?” Cera winked.

“I wouldn’t mind…once we’re wed. But I wonder what Leargan would think…”

“He asked you to marry him. He probably wouldn’t mind how soon it was, but your father might.”

“What do you mean?” Ansley asked.

Cera winced, but schooled her expression fast. “He didn’t.” The whisper was so low Ansley almost missed it.

Leaning forward, she cocked her head to one side. “What are you talking about? Who didn’t what?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Cera scrunched up her nose. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she tried to hide her face behind her son’s small form.

“Who? Tell me what?”

“Never mind.” She shook her head.

“You can’t do that, Cera.”

“Do what?”

Her friend’s tone was a fair representation of innocent, but Ansley didn’t fall for it for a second. She glared. “Tell me what you’re talking about. Now.”

Cera threw her head back and sighed. When their eyes met, she opened her mouth as if to speak, then paused. “It’s not my place to tell you, Ans.”

“No. No way. You don’t get to do that. And don’t you dare sit there and ‘Ans’ me. Spill it, Ceralda Aldern.”

“I can’t.” Red curls dancing about her shoulders, the duchess shook her head again.

“Why not?”

“Ansley, I love you. You know that, right? You’re a sister to me.”

Frowning, Ansley leaned forward even more, only inches from Cera and Fallon. “Aye. You and Aimil both are my sisters in all but blood.”

Cera’s smile was soft but with a touch of sadness. “Because I love you, I can’t tell you. You need to talk to your betrothed.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll listen to him.”

“Cera—”

Her friend gripped her hand and squeezed. “Promise me. Don’t be stubborn like I was.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Ansley snapped. Frustration made her gut roil.

“Ansley.” Her name was a warning, and Cera’s gray eyes flashed. “Quit digging. I wouldn’t have brought it up, if I knew you hadn’t a clue.”

Brought what up?

Ansley dragged her hand down her face and sighed. She’d get nothing further from the duchess. “You’d better be glad you’re holding a baby.” She waggled a finger.

Cera laughed.

Ansley stared at her longtime friend and former fellow Senior Rider.

What does she know? Do I need to worry?

Yes.

Something’s wrong.

Promise Cera she’d listen to Leargan?

“Is it bad, Cera? Tell me that.” Her voice cracked.

Cera’s expression sobered, her face drawn and concerned. Fallon started to fuss and she rocked him absently as she studied Ansley. “Remember you love him, Ansley.”

“Remember I love him? That bad, huh?” Ansley shot to her feet, making a tight fist. “I’ll see you at evening meal.”

“Where are you going?”

“To do what you told me to do.”

“Now?”

Ansley shrugged. “Why wait?”

Not giving her friend a chance to respond, she rushed from the Duchess Solar, almost running Aimil and Avril down when she rounded the corner.

Throwing a hasty apology over her shoulder, she continued on her way, meeting her wolf in the courtyard.

If Leargan was hiding something, it wouldn’t be for long.

****

Sweat poured down his brow. Leargan’s chest heaved as he regulated his breathing and gripped his sword tighter. Tunic and jerkin long discarded, the fall breeze tickled his naked skin, relieving some of the heat the workout brought on.

Alasdair and Niall circled him. Either of them could strike.

He’d already eliminated Roduch from their charge. The big blond knight was nursing his head not too far away. Leargan had drawn blood, but Tristan was on hand, and there wasn’t any serious damage.

Roduch had actually apologized and promised he’d be more vigilant next time. It was odd for his friend to falter enough to take a hit.

Maybe Roduch’s mind was on Avril.

Like Leargan’s mind was on Ansley.

Dangerous for them both.

Leargan needed to know the outcome of the magic meeting, but it would hold until later.

He regrouped in front of the two knights he still faced, chanting train like you fight; fight like you train. Ansley’s father, Sir Murdoch, had drilled it into their heads.

The rest of the personal guard, as well as castle men-at-arms, all watched with rapt expressions. The three lads, Brodic, Lucan and Alaric stared, leaning forward as they, too studied the scene. There might as well have been a spectator area of the fighting grounds. Even Jorrin and Tristan lined the wooden fence.

No one else was sparring with swords and spears, or firing off arrows. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d started a pool of wagering.

Leargan thrived on the group attack. Darting, attacking and repositioning. Planning the take-down. It kept him sharp and made victory sweeter when he triumphed. And he was damn good at it.

Niall lunged and Leargan dodged, turning away neatly, then right back, sweeping his Second’s legs out from under him. Niall landed on the ground with a thud, breath whooshing as the air was knocked from his lungs.

Alasdair took the opportunity and charged Leargan. His fellow knight’s sword hit with a clang. He jumped back, but Alas mirrored his movements, swinging his sword harder.

The second hit jarred his arms all the way to his shoulders, but Leargan held steady. He’d not lose the upper hand.

Leargan grunted, shoving toward his friend’s broad chest instead of pulling back. Alasdair planted his boots in the dirt and absorbed the impact. Blue eyes intense, Alas was drenched in sweat like Leargan.

Blades knocked as Alas pressed him back, but Leargan spun away, thrusting at the other knight’s sword. Alasdair was right behind him, charging again.

Leargan ducked, rolling away.

Alasdair over-rotated as he followed, tripping and going down hard.

He saw his chance and hit his feet running, attacking Alasdair from his position on the ground. But his opponent was not done. Alas was strong. He heaved Leargan away, locking his sword against Leargan’s from the ground.

Alas kicked Leargan.

His shin smarted as is friend’s boot made purchase, but he leaned in, pushing at him as the other knight struggled to keep his arms locked and tried to scoot away.

Alasdair’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and yanking Leargan down.

Unable to stop his momentum, he tumbled, sword flying from his hand.

Alas managed to toss his out of the way as well, the cool metal brushing Leargan’s bare arm as he landed on top of the other knight.

They made eye contact and Alasdair grinned.

“What the hell was that?” Leargan rolled his back onto the ground, panting.

“My attempt at hand-to-hand?” Alas chucked, shrugging as he sat up. He wiped dirt and sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his tunic.

Leargan took a deep breath, smiling at the laugher and comments from the surrounding men. “You just didn’t want to get your arse kicked.”

“I’ll never admit defeat.” Alasdair hopped to his feet and offered his hand.

“Or you could kill me now, since I’m already on the ground.”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

Leargan chuckled and let his friend yank him up. “For a moment, I thought you wanted to wrestle.”

Alasdair made a show of looking him up and down. “Captain, you’re not the usual type I like to wrestle with.”

Leargan retrieved his sword from the ground and sheathed it. “That’s what you call it? I think you’re doing it wrong.”

The men within earshot laughed.

“I don’t do it wrong.” Alas sheathed his sword and winked.

Leargan shook his head and made his way to the fence, joining Tristan and Jorrin.

“Good show out there,” the duke said. “Good job, Captain.”

“Thanks, my lord,” Leargan said.

Brodic appeared, offering a clean linen, a skin of water and a fresh ivory tunic. Leargan muttered thanks to his squire and took a swig of water, slinging the tunic on the fence. Cool liquid quenched his dry throat, and he took a second drink before drying his face of sweat and patting his chest with the soft cloth. “Alas tried to pull one over on me.”

“Anything to survive in a fight,” Tristan said, hazel eyes dancing.

“Aye. It does make sense to be versatile,” Leargan said.

Niall barked for the men to resume sparring, and Roduch called for the lads to join him.

Leargan stood with the two lords in a companionable silence, watching the large, blond warrior tower over the three lads as he showed them the new sword techniques they were working on for the sevenday. Brodic already knew most of what Roduch was teaching, but Leargan’s squire was just as absorbed in the knight’s words as the other two lads. Good.

“Did you speak with Lucan?” Jorrin asked, following his gaze.

“No, did you?”

The duke nodded. “The boy declared Roduch has no magic.”

“Really? What about his visions?”

“Lucan said he thinks somehow Avril’s magic was affecting Roduch.” Tristan said, expression thoughtful.

“What do you two think?” Leargan asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” Jorrin said.

Tristan muttered agreement.

“Perhaps it really is fate?” Leargan mused. Neither lord remarked. “Any news on Tynan Mont?”

“He was spotted in Greenwald Main,” Tristan said.

“Shall we seize him there?” Leargan asked.

“Well, my watchers think he’s gone home. So, we probably missed an opportunity. Then again, it’s probably safer to approach his lands. He doesn’t know we’re coming. He hasn’t learned where she is—at least from the questions he was asking at market, so ambush at his holding has less risk. There’s always a place for him to disappear in the center of the Province, especially at market.”

“You’re pretty good, my lord.”

Jorrin laughed and winked. “I do try.”

The loud clop of galloping hooves had Leargan glancing over his shoulder. Both lords followed his gaze.

“The horse is the wrong color, as is the wolf, so it’s your redhead, not mine.” Jorrin said.

Tristan chuckled.

Why was Ansley coming to the training grounds? It was much too early for midday meal.

He watched her pull her white gelding to a stop, agitation fairly rolling off her.

What’s wrong?

She dismounted, and one of his men took her horse, leading Caide to the other horses.

Ansley stood, wringing her hands in front of her. Dressed in dark brown breeches and a pale green embroidered tunic, her thick red plait swung over her shoulder and his stomach fluttered.

Gorgeous. His.

They made eye contact, and his feet carried him to her of their own accord.

Ali sat next to her, regarding him with the same wariness in her yellow eyes as always, but the wolf didn’t move.

Neither did his betrothed.

“Leargan…” Her voice was soaked in worry.

“Love?” Striving for normal, he ignored the uneasiness in her expression. Leargan pulled the fresh tunic over his head and yanked it into place.

Shame, because Ansley had been staring at his bare chest.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Something wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” Ansley worried her bottom lip.

Leargan took a step closer. He wanted to hold her. Comfort her; wipe that look off her face.

He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head and inhaling her clean floral scent. Rightness settled over him. Though they hadn’t been lovers for very long, she was familiar against him. Perfect. “Ansley, what’s wrong?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Leargan? Something you’re keeping from me?”

Damn.

His heart plummeted to his stomach and heat crept up his neck.

Her eyes widened as their gazes collided, and he cursed himself to hell and back. It must’ve been written all over his face.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Leargan didn’t like the hurt in her expression.

Why hadn’t he told her about the scroll from the start?

Because she never would have agreed to marry you.

He couldn’t lie to her; that would make it worse in the end.

Would she still marry him?

What if she changed her mind?

No. Ansley was his.

Leargan had always prided himself on his honor. He’d have to tell her the truth and hope for the best. He’d never want her to marry him against her will, despite the king’s order.

He’d taken her innocence. He was obligated to marry her now. But he wanted to marry her. Wanted to go to sleep every night with her in his arms. Make love to her and wake with her in his bed. At his side. Leargan wanted it with all his heart.

His heart?

He pushed away the realization. Didn’t want to ponder what it could mean, what he knew deep down that it meant.

“Leargan?” Ansley whispered. Hurt flared in her teal eyes. She’d taken his silence as dishonesty.

He couldn’t stand it. Lowering his head, he captured her lips.

Her arms tightened around him, and she opened for him as she always did, pressing her lush body closer.

Ribald comments and laughter from his men distracted him, and he pulled away gently before he could lose his head to their kiss.

Ansley blushed scarlet, and Leargan held her close as she buried her face against his neck.

“I’ll tell you everything when we’re alone.”

Her gorgeous eyes welled with tears when she lifted her head.

“Oh, Ansley.”

She didn’t even know what he was keeping from her, yet he was already making her cry.

Wretch. The worst kind of liar.

He cupped her face and thumbed her tears away. “Let’s go back to the castle. We can talk about this now.”

Ansley shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Finish your duties.”

“No, Ansley. We’ll go now.”