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  “All I ask is that you turn him away should he come again,” Rhiannon repeated.

  “Good afternoon, Rhiannon,” Aveta replied, ignoring the other woman’s words.

  As she walked away, Aveta felt the gaze of the younger woman like a dagger between her shoulders.

  Chapter Three

  The Fool

  When her little cottage came into view, Aveta’s legs began to tremble violently. A deep sense of foreboding followed her like a dark cloud. It felt as though the threat loomed over her, so close that she would see it if she only turned to look. She struggled to continue walking, focusing on taking one step at a time. As she approached the door, she faltered, falling down on her knees.

  Her legs too weak to carry her any longer, Aveta crawled to the door, pushing it open, and dragging herself inside. She had to hide. There was safety in the shadows of her home and she desperately needed it.

  Grunting with the effort to force her legs to cooperate, she kicked the door shut behind her and collapsed on the floor. Her breath came in gasps and her chest ached fiercely.

  Finally in the protective embrace of her home, Aveta curled her knees into her chest and sobbed.

  The wild storm of tears had passed when she realized that the late afternoon had turned to early evening. Her entire body was stiff, as though she were aged or infirm. Moving slowly, she rose to her feet. The fire was dying in the hearth and the light within the house was fading.

  Aveta focused on the simple tasks of stoking the fire and lighting candles within the cottage. The air had cooled after the storm and she didn’t want to open the shutters and let out the heat.

  As she prepared a light supper, she felt him step into the meadow. He must have heard about Branwen and her son. Aveta could feel his agitation, his worry. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she went to the door and opened it in time to see him enter her yard, the setting sun burnishing his chestnut hair with fire.

  Alaunus did not speak as he strode down the little path that bisected her garden. He scooped her up into his arms, elbowing the door shut behind him. Without hesitation, he carried her to the bed and sat on the edge, draping her across his lap and tucking her face against his throat.

  His skin was hot and damp and his chest heaved against her. Aveta realized he must have run the entire way from town.

  “I felt you,” he panted, running a hand through her hair and loosening it from the bit of cloth she had used to tie it back as was his habit. “Your pain and your sorrow. I was north of town with my father, checking the plantings after the storm. What happened? What grieves you?”

  Aveta went still in his arms. She had often thought that Alaunus held power of his own, perhaps the same touch of the god or goddess that she possessed, but never before had he spoken of sensing things.

  “You felt me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I do not know how, but I knew that you needed me. I could hear your cries and feel the wetness of your tears on my own face.”

  Alaunus tucked her face against his neck once again, cupping the back of her head with his hand. Despite his size, he cradled her gently, his touch reverent.

  “I love you,” he muttered, his voice breaking over the words he had only spoken once before. “When I felt you, I thought—” he stopped speaking and swallowed with difficulty, as though the words were caught in his throat. “I thought you were lost to me. I have never run so far or so quickly.”

  Aveta reached up, touching his cheek with her hand, surprised to find a slight dampness to his face. The trail of a single tear.

  Her hesitant fingers seemed to crack the control he held over his body. Alaunus fisted his hand in her hair, tilting her face back in order to take her mouth. There was no playfulness or joy in his hands on her body, only desperation. This was not about desire.

  It was about need. A need to claim her as his own.

  He all but tore the dress from her body, ripping one of the sleeves as he removed it. His tunic and trousers did not fare much better as Aveta wrestled him out of his clothing.

  His mouth traveled down her throat, the edge of his teeth scraping her skin as he tasted her. Aveta touched him, her nails dragging over his chest and marking him as he marked her.

  As his lips moved over her collarbone to her breast, she arched her back, openly seeking the pleasure he offered. When Alaunus sucked her nipple into the heat of his mouth, Aveta cried out and fisted her hands in his hair.

  Her body quickened with each stroke of his tongue and nip of his teeth on the sensitive flesh of her breasts. She reached between them, wrapping her shaking fingers around his length.

  Alaunus groaned against her sternum, his hips thrusting forward. “Aveta,” he murmured.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Come to me now.”

  There was no finesse, no lingering touches. She guided him into her body, lifting her hips to meet him.

  Frantic for each other, they clashed together, racing toward release.

  As they reached the pinnacle, Alaunus demanded, “Look at me.” His hand burrowed in her hair, tugging her head back so their eyes met.

  Aveta gasped at the brilliant hazel of his eyes, her body tensing as she came.

  Alaunus thrust into her one last time, his golden and green gaze so bright it nearly glowed. “You are mine. Forever,” he said. The words were a vow, as though his will alone would keep them bound for eternity.

  “As you are mine,” Aveta replied, breathless from the climax that still rocked her body.

  They lay together, their bodies quivering in tandem as they recovered from the wild abandon that had gripped them. Aveta nuzzled Alaunus’ heaving chest, trailing kisses across his collarbone to his throat.

  Alaunus rolled over, bringing her body with him so that she sprawled over his chest, but he did not release her. He cuddled her closer, stroking her hair gently.

  “Why did you not tell me you are with child?” he asked softly.

  Aveta lifted her head from where her cheek rested over his heart. “How did you know?”

  His hand pressed low on her abdomen, where their babe rested in her womb. “I felt her.”

  Aveta studied him closely, noting that his hazel eyes were no longer bright and shining as they had been moments before. “You felt her?” she asked. “You know it is a girl child?”

  His gaze lengthened, as though he were looking into a far off place. Or deep within himself. “I do not know how, but, yes, I felt her.”

  “You have been touched by the gods,” she explained, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Just as I have.”

  He focused on her visage once again. “The gods?” he scoffed. “Perhaps if they were real.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Do not speak so. You have been given a gift. We both have. And we will share that gift with our child.”

  “You are my gift,” he replied, cupping her cheek as she was holding his. “If the gods have created you, then I shall gladly believe they exist.”

  She smiled down at him, pleased that he would not deny the god and goddess. Incurring their displeasure would be a grave mistake.

  “We shall marry as soon as we are able,” he stated. “Within the next two days.”

  The smile faded from Aveta’s face. “What?”

  “You are with child. My child. We will marry so that you and the babe will have the protection of my name and my house.”

  A chill stole over Aveta’s skin, another premonition of terrible things to come. She felt the same whisper of peril when talking to Rhiannon earlier. “What of your betrothed?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “Betrothed?”

  “I saw Rhiannon in the village this afternoon when I left the house of Drust and Branwen. She explained that your father and hers had come to an agreement for your marriage.”

  “My father, and hers, will have to deal with their disappointment. Despite my repeated refusals to entertain a marriage with Rhiannon, he has taken it upon himself to arrange it anyway.
He will have to undo those arrangements.” A small grin tugged at one corner of Alaunus’ lips. “Though the promise of a granddaughter will likely sweeten the sting.”

  Aveta sat up in the center of her meager bed. “And what of Rhiannon’s pain? When we spoke this afternoon, she seemed quite eager to become your wife.”

  Alaunus rose up on his elbows, his expression shocked. “You would prefer I abandon you for a marriage to her?” he asked baldly.

  Aveta shook her head, her long golden hair drifting around her torso like a gilded cloak. “No, but it would be difficult for everyone if you announce your intention to marry me before you have had a chance to speak to your father and hers.”

  “What are you saying?” he queried, his eyes narrowing.

  “All I ask is that you speak with your father, and Rhiannon’s, tomorrow. We can announce our betrothal at a later time.”

  “No,” Alaunus stated harshly. “I will not allow my father’s stubbornness and your hesitancy to delay this marriage, Aveta. You are with child, living miles from the village. You need my protection.”

  His words pricked her pride. “Need your protection?” she asked. “I have lived here, alone, for years without the benefit of your protection, Fin.” He jerked at her use of his pet name. “I doubt a week or two will change my ability to care for myself.”

  Alaunus straightened, grasping her arms tightly. “Do not scorn me, Aveta. Do you doubt that my father will decree you marry me once I tell him you carry my babe?”

  Anger and fear fueled her rebellious words. “Oh, yes, I doubt that. What I do not doubt is that Caderyn will arrive on my doorstep with a tincture to rid me of the child, at your father’s behest. If I do not take it willingly, there will likely be men to help him force it down my throat!”

  Alaunus leapt from the bed, dragging her to her feet. “You are right. In his desperation to see me wed to the woman of his choice, he would likely make a grave mistake such as that. An offense that would have me kill him.”

  She tried to wrest herself from his grasp, but Alaunus held her fast with one hand and reached for her clothes with another.

  “Dress,” he insisted. “We will walk to the next village and have their chieftain marry us.”

  “No!” she cried, finally pulling herself free and knowing that her flesh would be bruised the next day. “You cannot force this upon me.”

  “I can and I will if you refuse to see reason,” Alaunus growled, looming over her as if he intended to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the next village if she did not comply.

  “Reason?” she cried. “How is it unreasonable for me to ask that you deal with the problem of Rhiannon and her father gently? One day you will lead this village and the surrounding lands. If you wish to do a good job of it, then you should learn the art of discussion and peaceful resolution!”

  Alaunus made it clear that he would no longer argue with her by grabbing her dress and yanking it over her head. While she worked to slide her arms into the sleeves, he hastily dressed himself.

  “Let us go,” he commanded, taking her arm again.

  Her already abused flesh flared with pain at his grip and she gasped loudly. “You are hurting me!”

  He dropped her arm, staring at her with wide eyes. Then he lifted the hem of her sleeve to reveal the pale skin of her upper arm and the angry red imprint of his fingers rapidly deepening to purple.

  “Goddess, I hurt you,” he murmured, smoothing his fingers gently over her arm. “I am sorry, Aveta.”

  Unbidden tears welled in her eyes. “I cannot go with you, Fin. Not tonight. You have a responsibility to your father, to Rhiannon, and the people of the village. Speak with your family, and Rhiannon’s. If you are still certain that you want me as your wife after that, then we shall be married.”

  The hard look left his beautiful hazel eyes as he watched the tears trickle down her cheeks. Moving slowly, he took her into his arms, holding her close. His touch was once again gentle and adoring.

  “I do not want to be parted from you,” he murmured in her ear. “I fear that you will vanish if I let you out of my sight.”

  “I will be here, waiting for you,” she reassured him. “I only want to do what is right. If we begin our marriage by defying your father, I fear that your standing with him, and with the village, will never recover.”

  “I do not care about the village,” he replied harshly. “I am only willing to lead because no one else will.” He released a long breath. “But I do not want my father to resent you, so I shall do what you ask.”

  She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “Thank you,” she sighed.

  He set her away from him, his hands still light. “But if I do not leave now, I will stay all night. That would certainly scandalize my father.”

  Aveta smiled. “I understand.”

  “I will speak to him this evening and Rhiannon’s father tomorrow morning. Expect me tomorrow afternoon. We will be married the day after.”

  Rising up on her toes, she kissed him. “I shall be ready.”

  Alaunus groaned and embraced her tightly, his mouth opening over hers. For a wild moment, Aveta thought that he would take her where they stood.

  At last, he released her, holding her steady when her weakened legs threatened to collapse.

  He grinned happily at her. “Just think. In two days, I can kiss you as much as I like.”

  Aveta smiled back, watching wordlessly as he disappeared into the deepening twilight.

  She could not shake the ominous feeling that danger lay in wait for Alaunus, and for her. Or the fear that Alaunus’ father, Bran, would take steps to see her driven from his son’s life by whatever means necessary.

  Chapter Four

  The Tower

  Aveta tried to go about her day as she usually would, though her ears pricked at every noise outside the cottage. She rolled her newest dress in a blanket and packed a basket with food and a skin of wine. Despite Alaunus’ assurances that his father would approve of the marriage when he learned of the child she carried, she was not about to hang her hopes on the belief that the chieftain would willingly marry them. If that were the case, they would need to do as Alaunus suggested the night before and walk to the next village to be married by the leader there.

  She felt as though she were waiting for an eternity as the early morning hours stretched into afternoon. She spent time in her garden, preparing the plants for her time away. They had not discussed where they would live, but Aveta hoped that Alaunus would agree to reside in her cottage for a while, at least until the baby was born.

  As the hours passed, the afternoon fading into early evening, her excitement and joy waned. The sun sank lower and lower into the sky until the meadow was shrouded in twilight.

  Yet Alaunus did not come.

  Finally, as the moon rose, Aveta reached out, using the link between them to feel if he was near. Just as he had been able to sense her distress the day before, she hoped she would feel if he was upset or in pain.

  There was nothing. She could feel him breathing and sense his heartbeat, but divined nothing of his emotions. There were only two possibilities; he was detained or he did not intend to return.

  Either way, she could not know what had happened until she spoke to him. Aveta did not want to assume the worst. She could not believe that Alaunus would be so fickle in his intentions. Though she desperately wanted to walk to the village and speak to him, she decided to wait until the next day. If he were still arguing with his father over breaking his betrothal with Rhiannon, Aveta’s arrival could very well worsen the situation.

  Her heart heavy, Aveta prepared for bed. She wished that Alaunus were with her now, the warmth and weight of his body as comfort during the chilly autumn night. Wistful, she almost wished she had not insisted that he return to the village the night before.

  Now that they were to be married, she was ready for the lonely nights to come to an end and to wake up to the
face of her beloved each morning. Tomorrow, she would go into the village and find out why Alaunus had not arrived at dusk as he promised.

  Aveta woke with a start. Unsure of what roused her, she sat up and listened to the night.

  There. The sound of running feet. Someone was sprinting toward her door.

  Hope filled her heart. Perhaps Alaunus had come for her after all. Quickly, she climbed out of her bed, not bothering to throw a blanket over her nightdress as she opened the door.

  Although she recognized him, Alaunus was not the person coming down her path. It was a young boy, a servant in Alaunus’ household.

  “You must come quickly,” he panted. “Master Alaunus is ill. Gravely so.”

  Without hesitation, Aveta turned and snatched up her dress and cloak. She put them on over her nightgown. Once her shoes were on her feet, she picked up the basket that she used to carry her herbs and potions.

  “What is his affliction?” she asked the servant boy.

  His thin chest still heaving, the boy shook his head. “I am not sure. He will not wake up and his skin is pale and cold. His lips are blue though he is breathing. The village healer has tried for hours to revive him, but has been unable.” The servant swallowed hard. “He believes that there may be a curse involved.”

  Focusing on the possible causes for Alaunus’ illness, Aveta chose pouches of dried herbs and small jars of tinctures. With careful hands, she gathered a small wooden box. This was old magic, rare, powerful, and not to be trifled with. She rarely used the mixtures her mother had taught her to make or the incantations that accompanied them, but when it came to Alaunus, she was willing to do anything to help him.

  “I’m ready,” she told the boy.

  Though fear gripped her, Aveta’s legs were strong and steady as she ran with the boy toward the village. She must remain outwardly calm in order to care for Alaunus. He needed her help and she would not fail him.