Claimed & Seduced (11 page)

“True that. But what does it mean?”

“I think it’s a declaration of war—a form of gloating to let us know the House of Cawdor can strike whenever they feel the urge.”

“And the chanting?” Ellard asked.

“It’s the Cawdor way of giving us the finger.”

Ellard shot him a frown. “That was my thinking too, but I have no idea how we should fight the Cawdor when they’re launching their attack from afar.”

“Any idea where Lynx and Shiloh are at present? I haven’t heard from Lynx for ages.”

Ellard landed the flymo outside Keira’s farmhouse and shot Jarlath a scowl. “Your brother is a troublemaker who leads my younger brother straight into conflict with Father. Because of him our father refuses to acknowledge Shiloh.”

“Both Lynx and Shiloh would be assets. They have experience and knowledge of the city and if we’re lucky, they might have info on the House of Cawdor. We should contact them.”

Ellard gave an irritable sigh. “You’re right. Best to put petty differences aside and fight the foe together.”

Keira and Cristop came to greet them, Cristop continuing on to the storage shed.

“There was another incident this morning,” Jarlath said before they could speak. “Did you see anything, hear anything?”

Keira paled and Jarlath had her wrapped in an embrace before the idea cemented, before commonsense kick-started his brain, before Ellard let loose his growl of displeasure. She quivered, resting against his chest for a sec before struggling for release.

Her gaze sliced and diced, concern furrowing her brow. “What happened? Is it the House of Cawdor? Or someone else trying to cast blame?”

“She’s right,” Ellard said. “We assumed it was the House of Cawdor with a declaration of might, but it could be a third party wanting to stir trouble between us and our old enemy.”

“Let’s com Lynx and Shiloh. Ask if they’ve heard any rumors,” Jarlath said.

“I’ll do that now.” Ellard pulled out his communicator and stepped behind the flymo, giving them the illusion of privacy. “I’ll make the other call too.”

“Did you have trouble getting home last night?” Jarlath asked, keeping part of his attention on his friend. Ellard paced back and forth. He plugged in another number, waited, then grinned, his manner animated as he spoke. “I worried about you.”

“No one paid us any mind. Everyone wanted the safety of their homes.”

Jarlath studied the dark rings beneath her eyes, which attested to a poor night of sleep. His gaze dropped to her lips and the temptation to kiss her left him reeling and his feline snarling in demand. He fought briefly and gave up the struggle. This time when he gathered her in his arms, he placed a finger under her chin to lift her head.

She gasped, her lips parting, her warm breath feathering across his mouth and detonating explosions of hunger. Desire. He wanted, needed her and…and now wasn’t the time. Nonetheless, he swooped, covering her lips with his. At the first gossamer contact, his feline started to purr. Lazy rumbles of contentment echoed through Jarlath’s mind while he explored the honeyed taste of her mouth.

Her sigh thrilled him, their breaths mingling before he took the exchange deeper. Their tongues stroked together and sensations—heat and yearning, pleasure and pure desire—tore straight to his shaft.

Keira must have felt him harden against her belly, and he waited for her objection. To his relief she looped her hands around his neck and pressed nearer.

“Jarlath!” Ellard’s sharp tone held anger.

“Get a sex room,” Cristop said. “I’m impressionable. Need to poke out eyes.” He juggled the box he carried to rub his face then squinted at them. “Nope, not workin’. Hey, you still owe me a coin.”

Jarlath grinned and relaxed his hold on Keira. When they lost contact, his feline growled, and Jarlath snared her hand, twining their fingers together. The contact soothed both him and his feline. “Did you get hold of Lynx?”

Ellard frowned. “No. I tried both Shiloh and Lynx. Their com units aren’t acknowledging signals. I managed to contact Mareeka. She’s doing okay. Hopefully, I can see her tonight. And my contact said Xavier is dead. He confirmed Razvan is in charge now. Couldn’t tell me much else.”

Jarlath’s gut jittered at both pieces of news. He’d been counting on Lynx’s aid. “Must be out of range.”

“Maybe, but I don’t like it. I’ve always managed to contact Shiloh,” Ellard said. “At least we know about the Cawdor now and can plan accordingly.”

“Yes,” Jarlath said, not that he wanted to discuss them right now.

Keira tugged Jarlath’s hand. “Come inside. I’ll make tay and we’ll eat. Your eye is looking much better.”

“Perks of being a shifter. We shopped in the market,” Jarlath said. “Cristop, can you grab the packages in the flymo please? Take the rolls and fruit to the kitchen and bring me the red box. I’ll give you your second coin then.”

Cristop darted away. Jarlath draped his arm around Keira’s shoulders and directed her inside with a sense of contentment, despite the gravity of the circumstances. Spending time with Keira made him happy. A rare event in a life where he went through the motions.

His own fault, but not too late to change.

N
erves stomped and leaped in Keira’s belly until nausea swelled like a Caspan sea wave. Jarlath grasped her hand again and her anxiety settled. She didn’t know why she’d suggested this threat could be a third party when she knew her half-brother was behind the phenomenon. Some sort of misplaced loyalty to her house.

One thing was for sure. She wouldn’t be lighting any fires in the foreseeable future, no matter how cold or stormy the weather.

After settling her guests in the sitting room, she withdrew to organize refreshments. The crow inside her squawked a protest, wings beating against her skin so vigorously she wondered if her skin might burst.

She rubbed her breastbone in a soothing motion but her heart ventricles kept pumping extra fast, apprehension growing with each step away from Jarlath. Pain—no, not quite pain—it was more discomfort that forced her to hunch. She massaged her chest again and wavered on her feet, each of her senses drawn inward in distress. Her heart and soul fastened on one thing—Jarlath. Her mind—the only sane part of her body—objected strongly, yet her crow ignored her orders and let out a soft
caw-caw
.

Keira kept her fingers pressed against her heart ventricles, the weight grounding her, soothing the nip of pain flaying her senses.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Hortese shunted a stool in her direction. “Sit before your legs buckle.”

Keira sank down and fought to keep her breathing calm and even.

Cristop burst through the outer door.

“Don’t tromp mud on my floor,” Hilda screeched in a booming voice that belied her small stature.

Cristop froze one step into the kitchen. With his arms full of parcels, he couldn’t remove his boots.

“Cease your hovering,” Keira said to Hortese. “Help Cristop with the packages before he drops something.”

“Cinnamonbark rolls,” Hilda said with approval, and her hooked nose twitched. “I can smell them.”

“Could you make a large pot of tay please? We have guests.” Keira rubbed her chest again and the discomfort eased.

“Two strapping men.” Hilda nodded, the enthusiasm of the action not shifting her close-cropped black hair. Her ruddy complexion shone as she rubbed her hands together. “I’ll make extra, never you fear. Go and act the hostess. Hortese and I will bring the tay and food as soon as it’s ready. Cristop, boots off. Otherwise you stay outside.”

Keira smiled as the youth backed from the kitchen and sat on the steps to unlace his boots without complaint. She’d do almost anything for a cinnamonbark roll too—most days that was. Today, with the way her stomach was swooping and diving, she doubted she’d manage to keep a bite down.

Jarlath and Ellard conversed in low voices and broke off when she entered.

“Have I interrupted?”

“No, of course not.” Jarlath stood in a fluid motion and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. Immediately her nausea faded and her crow
caw-cawed
in contentment.

Stupid creature. They ignored each other for the most part, the crow letting her get on with business, since it appeared she wasn’t strong enough to make a physical appearance. Now the wretched creature chose to exert a say?

“You brought cinnamonbark rolls.” Keira sighed and barely resisted rolling her eyes. So much to discuss and that was her topic of choice.

“I did.” Jarlath’s deep voice vibrated through her body.

Caw-caw-caw
.

Her crow was doing the birdy version of a purr.

“What’s that noise?” Ellard’s head cocked, his big ears angled to better listen.

Jarlath chuckled, and the faint tensing of his hand at her waist told her he knew.

“It’s not funny,” she snapped.

Caw-caw-caw
.

Ellard’s alert gaze narrowed to focus on her. “You’re making that sound. It’s almost as if you’re two-natured, but you’re not a cat. You don’t smell right.”

“I think she smells wonderful.”

Ellard persisted. “Gossip says you’re from Gramite. That true?”

Keira drew in a sharp breath and Jarlath drew her protectively against his chest. He knew she was from Gramite.

“Tell me. Where are you from?” The distrust in Ellard’s face informed her of his opinion.

“Leave her alone,” Jarlath said, his tone an order. “Keira comes from Gramite. You know that because you told me, so don’t pretend this is new. She is of the Greenmont tribe.”

“You’re from the House of Cawdor. The enemy.” Ellard drew his blaster and pointed it at her. “Get away from the prince.”

Keira attempted to pull free. Jarlath held tight, and she could feel outrage vibrating through his body. She heard the snarl of displeasure that came from his feline and instantly, her crow began her
caw-caw-caw
,
this time a shrill call of alarm.

“Shush,” Jarlath said. “Ellard will realize how stupidly he’s behaving any sec now.”

“She’s the enemy,” Ellard snapped, the fingers of his free hand busy rubbing his onyx cat. “She’s in league with the people responsible for this attack on our people. She suggested someone else is attacking our planet. She’s trying to divert us, making us doubt what we see.”

Terror that Jarlath would believe him swept through Keira. She groaned as her insides went into revolt, twisting and turning, and not even the hard press of her hand against her belly pushed the pain back. Sharp stabs like those of a knife pricked her skin from the inside, staccato stabs, painful, tear-wrenching stabs.

“Shush. Easy there, sweetheart. When did you last visit Gramite, Keira?” Jarlath asked.

Sweetheart. The pinpricks faded and she slumped against him. His scent filled each breath, and her crow began its contented sighing again.

“Keira?”

“My mother arranged my marriage with Marcus during a time of peace between our planets. War broke out not long after, and I’ve never returned. My mother said it would be best not to attempt a visit. This is my home. Viros is my home.”

“Why would your mother tell you that? What sort of a parent is she? And what about your father?” Ellard half-lowered his weapon but suspicion still colored his tone.

“My father is dead,” Keira said and hoped he couldn’t see her unease. “Viros is my home.”

Her mother had urged Keira not to visit to keep her from Razvan’s clutches. Because her half-brother made no secret of his fascination with her, and he scared her silly with his charming yet dictatorial personality. Xavier, their father, saw nothing wrong with his devious son taking what he wanted, and she’d been young and terrified. Truth told, Razvan still held the power to petrify her, and they were a planet apart. He scared her way more than Ellard.

“Nothing to say?” Ellard demanded.

“Put your weapon down,” Hortese snapped. “Keira is no spy. If you don’t hurry, you’ll wear this tay and the cinnamonbark rolls over your thick head.”

“And that would irritate me since I adore cinnamonbark rolls,” Jarlath said. “We’re guests in Keira’s home.”

“But she is from the House of Cawdor.” Ellard wasn’t giving up easily.

“I’m a half-breed,” Keira said. “My father came from House of Cawdor, but I didn’t have much to do with him. My mother was his mistress, a nobody in the eyes of the clan. I can’t shift.”

Despite their interested audience, Jarlath kissed her on the cheek. “Shifting isn’t important. It doesn’t make you a lesser person.”

“Jarlath.” Ellard’s tone held warning, something Keira didn’t understand and couldn’t decipher.

“Are we gonna jab all day or are we gonna eat cinnamonbark rolls?” Cristop demanded.

“We’re gonna eat,” Jarlath said. “Just as soon as Ellard puts his weapon away.”

Ellard shoved his blaster into his holster with a grumpy snarl. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I think we have more important things to worry about, and Keira might be able to help,” Jarlath said.

“Everyone want tay?” Hortese asked in a bright voice.

Keira forced a smile, despite the tension riding her gut. “Please.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Jarlath said. “You look pale. Did you not sleep?” He tugged her to a gel-seat built for two and seated her before parking himself beside her. He brushed his fingers—soft as a feather touch—across her cheek, and unaccountably, she wanted to cry when nothing, not even Marcus’s stepchildren, had raised a tear with their shenanigans.

“It was difficult to sleep after the scene in the market.”

Hortese gave a nod of approval as she placed two cups of tay and two cinnamonbark rolls on a small float-table. She pushed a button and the table floated over to them, a sturdy set of legs folding down from underneath to keep it in place.

Jarlath handed her one of the cups, and grateful, she swallowed some of the fragrant liquid. After a second mouthful of tay, she set her cup on the float-table and reached for a roll.

“These are delicious,” Jarlath said.

Keira had to agree. “What is the king going to do?”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet,” Jarlath said. “Ellard and I wanted to see how the people are faring. We left the castle in a clandestine manner.”