Fyne Sisters - The Star Witch Part 4

"You do not believe in magic?"

"No, I most definitely believe in magic."

"You are afraid of magic, then.""No. I simply refuse to take a risk of this sort because a wizard, who may or may not be powerfulenough to be accurate at all times, predicted the birth of your first son." She leaned slightly closer. "Whatof your first daughter?"

"You're quibbling over words." Moving smoothly and without warning, Captain Hern stood.

Isadora backed away and closed her eyes tightly, but not before she'd seen the man from head to toe, naked and magnificent and aroused. Most definitely aroused.

A drop of water fell onto her gown, and then another, and then another. "Open your eyes," Hern

commanded in a soft, deep voice that was very close. "You're a widow, so I suspect I possess nothing

you have not seen before."

Isadora did as he asked, slowly obeying his command to find his face inches from hers. Naked, smiling, and dripping wet, he had bent down so that he could meet her eye. Even wet, his black hair curled a little, hanging damply to his shoulders. This close she could see the individual hairs of the stubble on his jaw, though he had shaved that morning. She could see the small lines around his eyes, and the little wrinkle on his brow, and the shape and hardness of his high cheekbones.

"If I do as you request, what will you do for me in return?" he asked.

Isadora kept her eyes on his face. The cheekbone was a safe enough place to look upon. "Must you receive something in exchange for n.o.bility?"

This time his smile was softer, and new lines appeared on his face. "No, but I feel I should receive something in return for willingly giving up the woman I dreamed about last night."

Her heart skipped a beat. "You did not dream of me."

"Ah, but I did."

She was not the kind of woman men dreamed about, and she knew it well. "There are prettier women in the palace, many of them," Isadora said in frustration. "The women on Level Three are trained to offer pleasure in ways you can only imagine, and you could have your rooms filled with these women each and every night."

"Why do you insist on all but throwing these concubines at me?"

Her frustration won out over all else. "Because your request makes no sense! It is not at all logical! Why me? Are you only attracted to women who do not want you?"

For a moment she thought she had gone too far. The smile was gone, the face was harder, less amiable. "Why you, indeed?" Hern finally said. "Who can explain why a man is drawn to a particular woman?" One finger brushed against her cheek. "I am drawn to you, Isadora. I want you, and I am a man who always gets what he wants. Always."

"No man can have everything he wants," she said, trying to sound as if she was completely unaffected by that finger on her face. She had not been touched gently by any man since Will's death, and the caress stirred something that would be best left unstirred. "It isn't the natural way of the world, not even for a man like you."

She expected an argument. What she got was a kiss.

Captain Lucan Hern, naked and aroused and completely insufferable, laid his mouth on hers and moved his lips very gently. He did not touch her anywhere else, and when she pulled away, he did not draw her back.

Even after he backed away and grabbed a towel to dry himself, she felt those lips on hers. No only that, she felt a response deep inside that told her she'd been too long without a man. She spoke to Lucan Hern about what was not natural. Surely it was not natural to need and want something this deeply and not take it.

But instead of taking anything, she stood quickly and stepped toward the door between the sitting room and his bedchamber, keeping her back to the naked man. "Will you do as I ask?"

"I will consider your proposition."

Before she exited the sitting room, Isadora glanced back. Lucan was busy drying himself with the towel. The knife he had drawn from beneath the water was still strapped to his muscular calf. Was he never without a blade on his person? No, she decided, he was not. He was a warrior, a man who embraced death and destruction-the destruction she was trying so hard to distance herself from in order to regain her power.

He had no scars. Not one that she could see. A man who lived by the sword should have scars. Was he so talented with the blade that none other had ever touched him?

She walked briskly toward the door that would lead into the hallway, anxious to escape, but Hern's voice stopped her. "Enough consideration," he called. "I will expect you here tomorrow night, as the emperor commanded. Wear something blue. The pink doesn't suit you at all."

As Isadora stepped into the corridor of Level Four, she slammed the door forcefully. She had the distinct feeling she'd just made matters worse.

SEBESTYEN STOOD BACK, quiet and attentive, as his wife and the witch conversed in low, hushed tones. They did not yet know that he had arrived.

Liane was his, and he did not wish to share her, not even with a witch she called friend. Watching them smile, listening to them speak, he felt an outsider in a place that should be his. They spoke of womanly things that would likely not be of interest to him, and yet he experienced a rush of what could only be called jealousy.

His wife had slept with a number of men before he'd claimed her as his own, and yet he never felt jealousy over what had pa.s.sed during that time. She had never cared for any of the men she'd serviced. She had, in fact, killed a few of them without a qualm, when it became necessary. But this friendship... it bothered him deeply. Liane shared a part of herself with Isadora Fyne that he himself had never touched.

Marriage had been so much easier when he had not loved his wives.

Even pregnant and irritable and moody, Liane was beautiful. He looked at her, and the world shifted a little. He touched her, and all the problems of the country seemed insignificant. The problems that plagued Columbyana weren't at all insignificant, but when he concentrated on Liane he could forget war and betrayal and his ambitious b.a.s.t.a.r.d half brother. For a while.

Sebestyen missed the physical alliance he and Liane had always shared, before love and after, but oddly enough he was not at all tempted to take his own gratification elsewhere, though as emperor he was ent.i.tled to do just that. He'd tried to find a subst.i.tute for Liane, once upon a time, and it hadn't worked out as he'd expected it would.

After the baby arrived and they sent the heir to Level Two to be fed by a wet nurse and educated by the priests, his previous relationship with Liane would resume. If the priests had the next emperor in their control, they would care little for the woman who shared the current emperor's bed. It would be best, however, if they never knew that she also shared his heart.

Sebestyen didn't understand what Lucan Hern saw in Isadora, not when there were so many other women in the palace to choose from. True, many of the women were as pregnant as Liane, thanks to the interference of that witch Sophie, but he had replaced them with others. Why her?

He wasn't blind to Isadora's finer physical attributes, but she had a harshness about her that did not appeal to him. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it didn't seem at all real. She was not agreeable, not in the way a bedmate should be. She was not soft and compliant, as any man would surely want his woman to be.

With any luck, she'd annoy Lucan Hern, and Sebestyen would have an excuse to be rid of the witch once and for all.

And if that luck was very good, Hern would become so annoyed he'd do the deed himself. Perhaps if word reached the warrior that he was sharing his bed with a witch, Isadora Fyne would disappear.

When she was gone, and the baby was housed on Level Two, all here would be as it had once been. He and Liane would make love every night, and they would discuss matters of state and nonsensical things in their bed.

And he would share her with no one.

ISADORA KEPT HER head high, but her chin trembled slightly. She should've known the emperor wouldn't trust her to make her own way to Hern's quarters. Two of his most disagreeable sentinels bracketed her, escorting her from the doorway of her own small room, to the lift that was reserved for those of a high station, to the corridor of Level Four.

She could fight them both, if necessary. She could bring them to their knees, wound them, even kill them. Her magic had grown strong enough, of late, to accomplish just that.

But she could not afford to call upon her powers of destruction. What if this time the use of those dark powers completely destroyed her magic? It was a chance she couldn't take.

Not unless the time came that she had to choose destruction and put protection aside, once and for all.

Even though she could not kill, she was not entirely unprepared for the evening. In the pocket of the elaborate pink gown she had chosen purposely to annoy Captain Hern, there rested a vial of a harmless potion. Well, the potion was almost harmless. With any luck Hern would try to ply her with wine before he attempted to seduce her. One taste, and in short order he would fall into a nice, deep, and very suggestable sleep. While he slept she'd whisper in his ear, and he'd wake in the morning believing he'd gotten what he wanted. Perhaps she'd even suggest that they were not well suited, physically, and he'd look elsewhere for female companionship during the remainder of his visit.

Isadora shouldn't have access to the ingredients necessary for such a powerful potion. The emperor was cautious, and his wife's witch was not allowed free run of the palace. She was especially not allowed access to Level Seven, where the witch Gadhra and her apprentices worked. But since Gadhra was often consulted about the empress's pregnancy, Isadora had come to know the old woman well. Gadhra could be persuaded, on occasion, to slip a few nonlethal herbs to a fellow pract.i.tioner.

Empress Liane continued to tell Isadora that it was time for her to take a lover, and goodness knows Lucan Hern was handsome and intriguing enough to stir something inside her. But she would not be ordered to any man's bed. If and when she decided the time had come to take a lover, she would make the choice for herself.

After Will's death, she had been determined to live alone for the rest of her days. Lately, she had begun to doubt the wisdom of that decision. Seeing Sophie and her Kane, hearing the girls from Level Three laugh and smile when their favorite caller appeared, even watching Liane when she spoke about her husband, made Isadora question her resolve. Alone was, well, lonely.

Love remained impossible, but companionship, and even pleasure, could one day be hers for the taking.

But not today.

The ugliest and most boorish of the two sentinels knocked on Captain Hern's door, and it opened immediately, as if the man who had demanded her presence had been waiting on the opposite side of the door. The captain looked her up and down, smiling as he took in the pink gown she wore. He himself wore a lush purple robe that draped from the full-collared neck to the floor. How many weapons did he wear beneath that robe? she wondered. Would he use one or all of them if he caught her slipping the potion into his drink?

Hern offered his hand. When Isadora did not immediately take that hand, he lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly. It was tantamount to an order. She slapped her palm against his, and he drew her inside. She had no idea if the sentinels would wait outside the door, in case she tried to escape, or if they would now return to Level One.

Not that it mattered.

"You didn't wear blue as I requested," Hern said as he led her across the main room.

"No, I did not. Your requests mean nothing to me." The coverlet on his large bed, which was positioned against the far wall, had been turned down, and candles of many shapes and sizes burned on the tables that were scattered about in the s.p.a.cious room. Through the sitting room doorway to the right she spotted the now-empty tub and a padded chair, as well as one end of a table. Hern had been a.s.signed very nice rooms, almost equal to the empress's quarters on Level Five.

"I don't suppose it matters, since you will not be wearing the gown for very long."

Her heart skipped a beat, and then she spotted the small table where a silver tray, a decanter of wine, and two fine, crystal gla.s.ses sat.

"As a matter of fact, you may take it off now," Hern said in an insistent voice.

"Now?" Isadora yanked her hand from his in annoyance. "Do you want nothing more than a warm, unwilling body beneath yours? I suppose I should be grateful. If this deed is done quickly, I'll be able to see to my mending tonight before I go to sleep."

Her annoyance amused him. "You won't have the time nor the inclination for mending tonight, Isadora, I promise you that."

She answered with a small, indignant huffing noise and turned to see that he held out to her a purple robe similar to the one he wore, only the one he offered her was much smaller than his. "You travel with nightclothes for any paramours you might find along the way?"

"No. I ordered the robe made especially for you. The emperor's seamstress has worked long hours to have this finished for tonight. You should be honored. Among the Circle, this color is reserved for those of great importance, rather like the emperor's crimson."

"I would rather be naked," Isadora responded, her teeth clenched.

"As you wish," Hern answered.

Isadora took the robe, yanking it from Captain Hern's grasp. It was made of a fine fabric, perfect for a cold night but not too heavy. She edged toward the table where the wine sat. "Will you turn your back while I change?"

"If you wish. Of course, if you need a.s.sistance with b.u.t.tons or ties or the like, I'll be glad to-" "I'm sure you would be more than happy to a.s.sist." She shooed at him with her hand, and while he did not go away, he did turn, presenting a wide and finely shaped purple-clad back to her.

Glancing at Hern to make sure he wasn't peeking, Isadora grabbed the vial from her pocket, uncapped it, and poured the contents into the bottle of wine. That was her only choice, since both gla.s.ses were empty. She would simply decline his offer of drink, citing nervousness or a dislike for wine. When that was done, quickly and silently, she dropped the vial into her pocket and began to unfasten the b.u.t.tons of the gown. Removing it without a.s.sistance would be difficult but not impossible. She had chosen this gown not only for the color Lucan did not like but for the fact that she could slip in and out of it without help. How else could she be expected to sneak out while he slept the sleep of the drugged?

"You're certain you don't need any help?" he asked again.

"I'm fine, Captain Hern. Please be patient," Isadora said as she shimmied the gown over her hips.

"I have never claimed patience as a trait."

"How sad for you," she said as she kicked the gown aside and pulled on the robe, leaving her foundation garment in place. She'd never worn such a thing until coming here. Her own simple dresses did not require such a contraption, but many of the finer gowns did not fit correctly without one of the blasted things beneath. "I understand a patient lover is a man to be much admired." When the purple robe was fastened as far as it would go-which was not far enough up or down to suit her-she turned and steeled her spine. "You may turn around now."

Hern turned slowly, looking her over with an all too easy to read expression in his eyes. She did not understand why, but he truly did want her.

Maybe in the morning, he'd think he'd actually had her.

LUCAN HAD PREPARED for this evening with meditation and an abbreviated session of the hroryk elde. He could see all that which he was meant to see. The Star Isadora wore on her finger infused her with magic and energy, and the woman positively glowed. No one who had not been trained for years to recognize the power would see the light and feel the pull of energy, but he did.

Unfortunately, he also saw deception.

Her robe's b.u.t.tons began midbreast, but she had clasped together the collar high on her chest so he could not see much flesh. Those b.u.t.tons ended not far below the apex of her thighs, so no matter how demurely she tried to stand, her legs could not be completely concealed. They were fine legs, strong and shapely, and he could not wait until they were wrapped around his hips.

Lucan suspected that would not happen tonight, not unless he was willing to lie with a woman who truly did not want him. He was not. Most men, women, too, were ignorant of the knowledge that in sharing and linking bodies there was more than pleasure. There was also a sharing of power, a mingling of sacred energy. s.e.x, properly practiced, fed one's vitality and enhanced one's spirit.

The darker side of s.e.x was just as powerful. If a body was taken rather than shared, or abused in any way, the results were not the same. Instead of feeding one's power, such dark bonds sapped much-needed energy and made the soul turn dark.

He would not force himself on Isadora, but that didn't mean he was going to allow her to walk away untouched. Seducing her was going to take more than one night. Was she worth the time and effort necessary? Was any woman? Even if she were not, the Star was worth any sacrifice-including seducing an unwilling woman until she was more than willing.

He walked to her, and she stiffened. Instead of touching her intimately, he removed the pins that bound her hair and watched the thick strands fall around her shoulders. He ran his fingers through the unbound locks and watched the whirl of her dark hair as it flowed through his fingers.

"I wish for you to admit that I would never hurt you," he said.

"How can I admit to such a thing when I don't know you well enough to believe that to be true?"

He would be insulted, but it was true enough that Isadora did not know him. She didn't know that he was destined to be Prince of Swords, that the Circle of Bacwyr was an honorable inst.i.tution, that it was his legacy to protect, not to harm. And so he forgave her.

He cupped her breast and frowned at the resistance his palm encountered. "You did not remove your undergarment."

"No. It's rather complicated, with hooks and eyes and ribbons, and since it only covers my top half, it won't get in the way of what you want from me."

"You don't know what I want from you, Isadora. You don't have any idea."

She took a deep breath, and her breast filled his hand. He wanted the softness, the give, the reaction of her nipple against his palm. "Take off the robe."

"I just put it on!" she protested. "Have some wine first," she added quickly, backing out of his embrace and pouring one gla.s.s of wine. One only.

So that's where the deception was located. Lucan took a deep breath and once again shifted his mind to the place the wizards had taught him to access. It had taken years, and the method was not yet perfected, but he could see many things when he shifted his mind into this state.

There was no death here, so at least she wasn't trying to kill him. That was rather a relief. Still, the deception itself was in the wine.

"You will join me, won't you?" he asked.

"I don't care for that particular wine," she responded.

Lucan lifted the single filled gla.s.s. "All right. While I drink, you rid yourself of that d.a.m.ned undergarment. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," she said reluctantly, turning her back to him and unfastening the robe.