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Rogue's Call Page 6
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“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.
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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.
Chapter Six
The feast carried on well into the night, and Elissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much. Dancing, laughter and new friends almost made her forget why she’d made the journey from Terraquist—almost.
She collapsed into a chair after a vigorous group dance to a lively tune about young love.
Greenwald’s bards were fantastic, led by a willowy female vocalist with pale blonde hair down to her hips—so blonde it was practically silver. The lass was as beautiful as her voice, too.
Each song was carried across the entire hall by hovering magic orbs that amplified the sound. There were two on the stage, and one more in each corner of the great hall.
She’d never seen anything like them before, but had been told they were the work of the young Mage of Greenwald, Sir Lucan.
Currently, the lovely head bard was singing a slow love song, her long locks swaying as a sweet chorus fairly floated from her mouth.
The bride and groom were at the center of the dancing space in the great hall, eyes only for each other, as if they heard nothing, saw nothing else. The world was only the two of them.
A dreamy sigh to her right had Elissa’s eyes darting there, only to collide with the gray orbs of the Duchess of Greenwald, Lady Ceralda Aldern.
A former King’s Rider, Lady Cera was renowned for her toughness. Hearing such a light feminine sound from her was a surprise—and had Elissa smiling. “Hello, my lady.” She straightened, not wanting the duchess to realize she’d startled her. The table she’d picked wasn’t on the dais—where the duke and duchess always sat. She hadn’t heard Lady Cera join her, either.
“Hello, my lady,” the duchess echoed, a cheeky grin curving her full mouth.
Elissa laughed and inclined her head before gesturing to the dance floor. “She’s beautiful.” The bride was plastered to her new husband’s torso. His strong arms were protecting her as they danced. Even though he was so much taller than his new wife, they looked right. Perfect. So much love surrounded them,
it was hard not to be envious.
“They’re beautiful together.”
“They are.”
Lady Cera nodded when Elissa looked back at her. The duchess’s gown was dove gray and brought out the color of her eyes. The square-cut bodice was laced in the front and low-cut, coming together with straight sides that hinted at hips even as it hugged her slender waist. Her dark red hair was braided and piled on top of her head, but the ends were left free in a mess of dangling curls that surrounded her pretty face.
“With a love like that, you don’t need much else.” Elissa cursed the wistful sentiment as it left her mouth, but the smile the duchess flashed was agreement. Maybe she was thinking of her husband.
Elissa tried not to frown—or think about the four men from whom she was supposed to select her own. Knowledge of what was in store only caused more nerves, despite the happy evening around her.
Sir Alasdair’s blue eyes flashed into her mind. He wasn’t one of her choices, no matter how handsome he was, so she really shouldn’t think of him. She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and her stomach somersaulted.
“You can call me Cera, you know.”
“Nay. I could not. You’re—”
“No lower in rank than you, really. Blood to the queen and all. And besides, since you’re staying here for a while, I thought we could be friends.”
“Staying here?”
Lady Cera frowned. “The king didn’t tell you?”
“Nay, my lady.” She shook her head.
The duchess cursed. “That meddling…” she continued, muttering some very un-duchess-like things. She even called King Nathal names.
Elissa blinked. She’d heard the duchess could be a little rough around the edges, but she’d never seen it. Or rather, heard it.
Chagrin crossed Lady Cera’s face when their eyes met again. “I’m sorry, Elissa. I don’t mean to offend. I can call you Elissa?”
“Aye, of course, my lady.”
“Cera.”
Heat burned her cheeks and she forced a nod. Elissa couldn’t call the duchess by her given name, no matter the woman’s urging.
Lady Cera grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I wish I could say I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, but I’m hoping at the very least, it was in his plan for the evening. However, I’m not sorry I spoiled his surprise. You know why you’re here, right?”