Adrian (10 page)

“Can you nae wait, Malcolm? Perhaps he can find—”

“I will defend Wyldonna to my last breath,” Malcolm told her with a glare. “
For the good of all living things, both in spirit and in flesh.
You've all but sealed your fate, you ken?” He glanced at Adrian. “I do hope he finds the gold. 'Twould pain my heart for all eternity should . . .” The bearded man broke off and then abruptly quit the room, pulling the door behind him in a slam that caused Maisie to flinch.

Adrian crossed his arms over his chest. “What else haven't you told me?”

Maisie only looked at him for a moment and then sighed, shaking her head. She swerved around him toward the bed, where she pulled the strap of her satchel over her head and swung it onto the coverlet.

“Nae now, Adrian,” she said, and he could hear the fatigue in her voice. “Let us both retire for the evening. It's been a long and perilous journey.”

“It's only been three days,” Adrian pointed out. “I'm quite fine. Rather feeling like conversation.”

“It's been a bit longer than three days for me,” she snipped. “And longer still than the mere distance I've come with you. Your insatiable thirst for knowledge will have to wait.”

“You owe me an explanation,” he demanded.

Maighread whipped around on him. “I doona owe you anything,” she growled, and there was no trace of the Maisie Lindsey Adrian had thought he was becoming accustomed to on the crawler ship. “You agreed to come through your own free will when twice given the opportunity to decline. I will share the details of my dilemma after I have rested and have my wits about me once more. Regardless of the scorn you hold for the fantasy you believe Wyldonna to be, I am queen here, and at least in my own chamber, my wishes are to be obeyed. I am tired. I am going to bed. And so are you.”

She walked to the hearth and crouched down before the flames, hugging her knees, the fight gone out of her quickly. The dull gray stone that comprised the hearth on the floor before the fire was carved into the shape of a fantastically long lizard, its back sporting a row of perfectly aligned and proportioned spikes amidst a field of flawless, monochromatic scales. Adrian thought perhaps the spikes were utilized to prop an iron or stake upon, and the body of the lizard ensured that no stray embers or logs would roll onto the wooden floor. Quite a decorative and fanciful fitting for such an otherwise foreboding chamber.

She turned her head to look at him, and her eyes reflected the dancing firelight. She didn't look like a queen to him then, more like a frightened young woman who was dreadfully burdened and alone. Adrian's hunger to know nearly threatened to consume him, and he briefly entertained the idea of going to her there on the hearth, pressing her until she yielded to him the explanations he sought. If he touched her as she'd touched him on the crawler . . .

“Go!” she demanded.

“Go where?” he said in vexation, his fantasy dissolving with her brusque command. “Am I to sleep on the floor at your feet?”

“Go with Reid,” she said as she turned back to the fire.

“Go with Reid? Is that some strange Wyldonian equivalent to ‘Go with God'?” Adrian held his palms out from his sides, waiting for a response, but none came.

A muffled pounding fairly shook the wooden door of the chamber then, as if someone was attempting to gain entrance to the queen's residence with a quilted battering ram. Assuming the visitor could only be for him—which made him feel a bit better about being forced to answer the door as if he were a servant—Adrian dropped his hands and turned on his heel to cross the floor. He pulled the door open and found himself staring into his own dull reflection in a huge brass buckle.

Adrian's eyes traveled up, up, up a wide expanse of rough brown cloth until he was forced to tilt his head back. And still he had to lean into the corridor to look past the lintel of the door frame.

A sallow-skinned face, as large as a bushel basket, with thick, glossy black hair looked down at him.

“Good evening, Man,” the thing said in an accent that was distinctly Rhine. “I'm Reid.”

Adrian tried to swallow, but the awkward angle of his head forced him to tilt his chin down first in order to accomplish that necessary task. He reluctantly looked back up and was dismayed to see little dots dancing in his vision. He threw a hand up to brace himself on the door frame. Then Adrian suddenly shut the door.

He leaned his forehead against the frame for a moment, his hand still on the latch, his eyes closed.

He opened the door again, and once more the brass buckle reflected his slack face. Adrian looked up again.

“Man?” the giant inquired.

Adrian attempted to respond, but nothing came out except a wheeze. This . . .
creature
would make Roman Berg seem a child. Adrian cleared his throat. “Yes?” His voice was still little more than a squeak.

“This way, if you please.” He turned to Adrian's right and began walking slowly down the corridor. The wooden boards of the passage bowed like unfastened planks under the giant's feet.

Adrian looked back over his shoulder at Maighread, still crouched by the fire. She had laid a hand on the carved hearth stone, and her chin was tucked down against her forearm. She seemed to be whispering something into the flames as her fingers danced along the spikes. She paid him no heed, and although Adrian suddenly preferred to stay here in the chamber with her—sleeping on the floor if need be—rather than follow the colossal Reid through the dim corridor, he told himself that he was being ridiculous.

The man was obviously a biological anomaly. Adrian scolded himself; he should feel pity for the poor creature, relegated by his misfortune to serving in the dark corridors of the castle so as not to frighten the rest of the populace.

Adrian reached for the door handle and pulled it after him, but in the instant before the wood met the jamb, his mind played a further mean trick on him, making it seem as though the carved gray eyelids of the hearth stone opened and looked directly at him with glittering gold irises.

A
drian followed the freakishly large Reid down the corridor, keeping his gaze on the floorboards, partly to avoid tripping on the upturned ends the giant created with each step, but mostly to avoid staring at the poor man. The scholarly part of Adrian wanted to observe the way the man moved, the mechanics of his limbs in correlation to his extreme height. But he was certain that Reid received enough ogling in his everyday life and so Adrian nobly withheld his curiosity.

They passed a dark doorway on the opposite side of the corridor from Maighread Lindsey's chamber, and Adrian did glance up then to peer inside. The door was open, but no fire glowed inside the chamber, and he wondered what the room was until he recalled the specifics of this part of the castle from the drawings he'd studied. It had to be Malcolm's chamber, although it was obvious the king was no longer keeping residence within the royal wing.

Adrian never broke stride as he dug into his satchel and withdrew the rolled-up sheets of parchment. Glancing up only occasionally—secure enough in the massive presence ahead of him to alert him to a turn or a stop—he impatiently riffled through the curled corners until he had located the sheet that detailed this floor. Adrian turned the map to orient it in the direction in which he was headed.

Yes, that had been Malcolm Lindsey's chamber. They'd just made a left-hand turn, and so—yes, here they were. Reid had come to a stop to one side of another open doorway and now gestured graciously for Adrian to enter.

What a dear being, Adrian thought. He gave the man a nod as he passed into the room, well lit with a blazing fire in the hearth and a brace of candles on a table where a covered platter and pitcher and cup awaited him. Despite his general skepticism, Adrian was grateful for the luxuries and the swift consideration shown him by Wyldonna's servants. He turned, expecting Reid to enter behind him, a word of thanks at the ready.

But the giant remained in the corridor, facing the opening now and so tall that Adrian could not see his face. He stepped back to the doorway and leaned out to look up at Reid.

“My thanks. Very kind of you.”

The giant stared down at Adrian, as if examining him. He said nothing, but Adrian sensed an air of forced reserve. His sallow skin was like the peel of an overripe pear, hairless and smooth, but flecked with nearly imperceptible brown dots. His eyebrows were thick and black and glossy, like his hair, his fleshy lips like strips of cooked liver.

A thoroughly unattractive individual.

“Well, then,” Adrian said, discomfort creeping up his spine. Perhaps the man was mentally damaged as well, although his welcome moments ago had seemed quite lucid. “Good night.” Adrian waited a breath longer, and when it seemed apparent that the man was unwilling or unable to respond, he felt behind him for the door handle.

But the crisp edges of the man's accent sliced through the air before Adrian could close the door.

“If I was permitted to speak to you, I would return your courtesy by wishing you a most pleasant evening as well,” Reid rushed.

Adrian paused and looked around the lintel again at the man, who now appeared a bit more relaxed. Reid clasped his hands in front of his enormous buckle and stared at the stones of the wall above Adrian's door as he gave a quiet but impressive sigh.

“I see,” Adrian said, although he did not. “I assure you that your acknowledgment would have been deeply appreciated. Were you permitted to speak to me, of course.”

Reid nodded, a faint quirk to his mouth.

Adrian opened his mouth but then thought better of it and instead pulled himself back inside the room and slowly closed the door on the giant, who made no move to depart. He waited a moment, his hand on the latch, before easing the door open a crack. The doorway was still blocked by the man's girth, although he now faced away from the door, and Adrian's view was comprised entirely of the man's considerable backside.

He closed the door again and turned to lean back against it. Adrian shook his head firmly and blew out a strong breath before pulling himself aright. He took off his satchel as he crossed the floor toward the table, where he laid the plans of Wyldonna Castle near the platter. He looped his strap over the back of the chair with one hand while he tilted up the domed cover on the platter with his other. The smell of cooked fish wafted up in a cloud of steam and Adrian sniffed appreciatively before replacing the cover and removing his cloak, eager to be done with his ablutions and attend his meal.

There was a small stand with a washing bowl and linens against the longest, empty wall, and it was while he splashed his face with water that he realized the chamber contained no windows. According to the drawings, its location along the corridor should have placed the chamber on an outside wall, unless there was another small chamber or walkway behind it that Adrian had missed.

By the time he had made use of the chamber pot and crossed back to the table, the domed platter had been forgotten save for the moment it took for him to push it aside so that Adrian could once more unfurl Wyldonna's plans. He used the pewter chalice and the rounded eating knife to hold the curling pages flat while he poured himself a full cup of wine from the carafe that he'd only just discovered tucked behind the water pitcher. Then he traded the chalice for the carafe on the parchment edge and drank deeply, studying the lines and scribbles from the corner of one eye.

He sighed with relief at the refreshing life the sweet wine brought him and set the chalice away, bracing his hands on the tabletop and leaning closer to the parchment. His face tilted this way and that, confirming his location before he placed one finger atop the rectangle that signified his chamber and then drew the pointer finger of his other hand down the long line of the exterior wall. He looked up and ahead: hearth. He looked over his shoulder: solid stone. To his left: doorway. To his right where he'd washed up: solid stone.

Adrian picked up his chalice and walked to the wall that should separate him from the grounds—and a direct view of the sea. He took a long drink and looked up at the stones, his eyes searching for any anomaly. But the wall was perfect. No window.

Which meant no escape, save that of the door.

Adrian's heart began to pound, but he walked in a deliberately calm manner to the door again and pulled at the latch. It opened freely, and Reid's wide presence still filled the opening. The giant turned to look down past his shoulder at Adrian, his brows like horses' tails raised in question.

Adrian raised the cup. “The wine is delicious. My compliments,” he said, and then shut the door, his heartbeat slowing to normal once more.

He wasn't trapped in the room, then. Just being guarded. He walked back toward the table, draining his cup on the way.

Guarded from escaping, or guarded from harm?

He filled the cup again and lifted it halfway to his mouth.

He drank the wine, noting again the interesting salty-sweet flavor, like berries wet with the sea. In a moment, the cup was again empty. He refilled it.

Traitor!

Adrian drank again. Filling his mouth with the wine and swishing it around while he looked down into the chalice. It really was very good wine. Perhaps the best he'd ever had.

Adrian chuckled to himself and reached for the twisted handle of the domed cover, but the thing seemed to duck from beneath his fingers, causing his hand to slide off the side of the dish and send the eating knife clattering to the floor. He bent and picked it up with a muttered curse and then nearly fell to the floor himself as the room seemed to tilt and rotate a quarter turn.

Suddenly he was facing the bed, the coverlet flickering invitingly with the shadows cast by the hearth.

Adrian staggered toward the plush haven, pausing to lean his backside against the mattress while he struggled with the laces of his old boots.

He really should have burned them long ago. But it seemed disloyal to . . . himself, he supposed.

He wrenched off the last boot with a huff and then pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into an untidy heap on the floor before seizing the edge of the coverlet and pulling it aside. Crawling between the thick bedding felt like sliding beneath a warm wave—odd, as the chamber had been chilly only a moment before. But he laid his head on smooth, silky linen and didn't care as he drifted deeper into the blankets, buoyed along by the rising and falling of his own chest, the tide of his blood rushing in his ears.

 

A low moaning caused his eyes to snap open. It took him a moment, staring at the faint shadows on the ceiling, to remember where he was. No sandstone—only wood.

No nightmare, only Wyldonna.

The room was darker than it had been, and Adrian realized he had fallen into bed without making certain the candles were out. They had obviously burned down, and he was glad he hadn't set fire to the castle on his first night in residence.

Then he heard the moan again, low and guttural, and his eyes narrowed against the darkness, listening intently.

It was a woman, but she didn't sound as if she were whimpering in pain. The moan was replaced by breathy panting, then a sigh. His manhood stirred.

Those were the unmistakable sounds of a woman being well bedded. But they were so clear; it sounded as if she was in his very chamber.

Adrian sat upright in bed and looked around with a frown. And then he gave a start as his eyes fell on the long wall of his chamber. It was a dream, after all. It must be.

There was a window.

And beyond that window, a woman pressed up against the cloudy glass, her bright yellow hair glowing as if the moonlight shone upon her alone. It fell in waves to either side of her peachy complexion, rosy, slender cheekbones leading down to a delicately pointed chin. He could not tell the color of her eyes from his bed, but her lashes were the same striking shade as her hair. Then he realized the wavy golden strands flowed over naked shoulders, and her bared breasts were flattened against the window as she began to undulate there, her arms spread between the stone inset. Long, rubbery-looking nipples the color of the inside of a shell rolled against the glass.

The passionate moans filled the room again as the woman's mouth opened and she swirled her tongue against the translucent barrier, raising up enough for Adrian to see her navel, which appeared to be studded with a pearl. He swallowed and then kicked the coverings away as he stumbled out of bed and to the window, barechested and barefooted.

“Ohhh,” the woman moaned with a wicked smile, her eyes greedily taking in Adrian's torso. He realized then that Brother Song's designs were completely visible, and yet he didn't remember removing his shirt. He also didn't care, as the laces of his chausses strained with desire. His own nipples hardened as he placed his hands over the glass, where the woman continued to writhe, now hunching her back and moving her hips back and forth so that Adrian could just see the juncture of her thighs. She was completely nude.

And she seemed to be hovering in the air.

As if she could sense his thoughts, the woman stepped one foot and then the other onto the stone ledge, squatting low and baring her most intimate parts to Adrian boldly. She licked the window again as she brought her hand to herself.

Adrian looked wildly around the perimeter of the glass, but there was no way to open it. It was set into the frame with molding, and there was neither latch nor hinge. He slapped his hands against the glass and gave a bark of frustration.

The woman laughed. Then she withdrew her hand from her raunchy ministrations and rapped lightly on the glass with her knuckles, raising her eyebrows in innocent question.

“I can't get out!” Adrian groaned and slapped the window again, causing it to shudder.

The woman smiled brightly and then turned her fist sideways and pantomimed striking the glass harder.

Her hips pumped faster now, her panting so loud that Adrian could almost feel the heat of it in his ear. She began to grunt like an animal, in rhythm to her movements. His eyes were locked on her body, and all he cared about, all he could think of, was possessing that body.

This terrible dream. This intoxicating dream. He had to have relief. He pulled back both fists, ready to shatter the glass and pull her over the ledge atop him.

A cold blast of air rushed over his naked back as a voice cried out, “Adrian! Nay!”