Homecoming (4 page)

Wiley disliked them on the spot.

Smiling in a sweet, demure way that had never come naturally to Wiley, the girl with the light brown hair greeted them. “My lord. It’s good to see you again.” A light shown in her blue eyes as she looked at him. “Who is your guest?”

Jayems looked at the girl gravely. “Good afternoon, Lady Nilla. May I present Lady Rihlia, daughter of Lady Rhapsody and Lord Crewel Sotra.”

The light drained out of Lady Nilla’s eyes as the title sunk in. She stared at Wiley for a long moment and said hollowly, “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

“Wiley,” Wiley interjected. “My name is Wiley.”

Jayems ignored her. “This is Lady Carr, Lady Nilla’s mother. Her companions are Lady Stair and Bella, daughter of the chief cook.”

“Pleasure,” Wiley said politely.

Lady Carr, a slightly plump woman with too much jewelry, looked Rihlia over quickly and then stared reprovingly at Jayems. “I’m sorry for any discomfort, my lord.

We had no warning.”

“It happened quickly. Lady Rihlia was only discovered yesterday,” Jayems answered; his tone even.

Lady Nilla looked down and seemed to be blinking rapidly.

Wiley was no slouch. Nodding to them all, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the ladies room.” She got two strides before Jayems’ hand closed around her elbow.

She glanced at him. “Don’t you have things to talk about here?”

He looked back at the women, who were no longer smiling. Lady Nilla looked ready to break down. He spook gently to her. “If you’ll return to your apartments, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I must escort my lady to her room.”

Wiley shook his grip off as soon as they’d stepped into the Citadel. He wouldn’t turn loose one second sooner. “Hey, if you need protection from a woman, don’t be looking my way. I’m not now, nor will I ever be your lady.”

“It was a figure of speech.” He looked distracted.

“Sure it was. Let me guess--Lady Nilla there was in the picture before I turned up.

No problem. Just tell her that I have no intention of marrying you. She’s welcome to you, with my compliments.” She ignored his silence. She was feeling flippant. It was her best defense against feeling guiltily. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Jayems had messed up his own life by dragging her here. If he’d just left her alone, they’d all be happy now.

They reached his rooms and he stopped inside, looking at her for a moment. Then he stared out the window, not seeming to focus.

With a shrug, she tuned him out, went to her room and shut the door, curiosity nipping at her.

To her surprise, some of her gear from the campsite had been left in her room.

Thrilled to see her backpack, she rifled through it and came up with her MP player and spare batteries pack. Clutching it like Monty with the Holy Grail, she sent up a prayer of thanks and plugged in.

Jayems returned to his room feeling pensive, both about the heart he’d just bruised and the explanations he still faced. Expecting to be greeted with either sulks or a tantrum, he was unprepared for the amount of noise he heard as he approached his room.

The guards at his door, with their more sensitive hearing, looked pained.

“What’s going on?” Jayems demanded of the guard, shouting to be heard over the music. His steward must have been waiting for him, for he hurried up to the door as Jayems came up, clutching an armful of musical instruments.

“Sir,” he said respectfully, slightly out of breath. “It seems your lady likes music.”

The strains of a man’s voice singing, “Bang your head,” came through the door.

As Jayems prepared to enter, the steward warned him, “You won’t be able to talk in there, milord. May I report out here?”

“Make it quick,” Jayems said, burning with curiosity. What a racket! It sounded like an entire raiding party, not one lone woman.

“It started out with her banging on pots and pans,” the steward said. “She looked spooked when we burst in, so I offered to get her a drum set.” He winced, as if regretting that idea. “It got out of hand from there. Next, she asked what other instruments we had. I offered to bring her some samples. Somehow the technicians figured out how to make her music play over your sound system … well, she’s been very busy.”

He’d only been gone two hours. How had she gotten so much done? Jayems nodded at them to open the door, wondering what kind of mayhem he’d turned loose in his life. A song was starting up, and he walked in to find his betrothed dressed in black pants, stripped down to her black halter top and gleaming with sweat as she banged away on the drums, singing, “You’ve got to be cruel to be kind,” at volume.

The first surprise was that she was very, very good. He wouldn’t have known just by listening through the door. The second was that she had a black tribal tattoo of a wolf on her left arm. A rebellious acknowledgement of who she was? He wouldn’t have expected it of her.

To spare his men’s sensitive ears, he shut the doors. She saw him, but ignored his presence while she finished her song. Then she turned it down and looked at him. “I was in a band in my spare time,” she said by way of explanation.

He looked around at the furniture shoved up against the wall, piled with instruments. “We’ll set up a music room for you.”

Her teeth flashed white. “I could dig this princess gig.”

“So glad to please you,” he said dryly. “If you’re finished for the night?” He gave orders to move the instruments to a room down the hall. As soon as his furniture was returned to normal, he claimed a seat and ordered a stiff drink. A cocoa was brought for Rihlia, who flopped down on the sofa opposite. Her musical interlude seemed to have relaxed her, and he had a little more insight as to how she’d survived the build up of pressure without resorting to the
change.

She took a sip of her cocoa. “Mmm! Chocolate mint. You remembered,” she said,

looking at him in surprise. Perhaps she was unused to such gestures.

He inclined his head. Your friend will be arriving tonight. Perhaps you would like to change your clothes to greet her?”

She laughed and brushed her loose hair off her face. “She’s seen me in worse.”

“Yes, but perhaps she would see you in a position of power if you dressed the part? It may reassure her. I wouldn’t want her to think you were mistreated.” He didn’t care what the human thought, as they’d never see her after tonight, but he wanted to emphasize Rihlia’s position to her. The sooner he started creating a gap in their relationship, the better. Rihlia belonged here and the human did not.

Rihlia stared at him for a long moment. “Okay. I’ll dress up … if you tell me why you’d rather marry me than that little Nilla wafer you just saw.”

He thought about putting her off and decided to be blunt instead. A small part of him was angry for her lack of interest, both in him and in Nilla’s pain. How could he bind himself to such a brutally self-centered woman? “There are many reasons. Political--

you’re the daughter of the former lord here, a powerful man. Legally, as your betrothed, I’m bound to see to your welfare, and your welfare in this situation includes the protection of marriage to me. There are those who will not welcome you back. Religious-

-we were bound together by the priests, who spent a great deal of time in prayer before sanctioning the match. I believe that we were preordained to be together, and disobedience to that divine decree is sin.”

She stared at him over her cocoa. “Or maybe my escaping to Earth was divine deliverance for us both? Maybe you messed it up by bringing me here. Newsflash: priests aren’t perfect.”

“I didn’t blindly follow their edicts. I spent a great deal of time in prayer over this myself before signing the betrothal. I knew I would have to wait years before I would have a wife if I accepted you.”

“And you have a direct line to the Almighty? Wait a minute, what do you mean ‘you’d have to wait years’? How old were you? Are you?”

A trace of humor lightened his face. “Twenty years ago I was twenty-seven.”

Her mouth opened slightly. “You’re forty-seven? No way!
No way
are you more than thirty.”

His mouth twisted. “Our race lives long. Three hundred is considered old age.”

After a moment she shook her head like a dog shakes off water. “That would be a mess at the DMV.”

Unsure what she was referencing, but satisfied that they’d miraculously broached a great many subjects without major fallout, he suggested, “I have to check with Keilor, who is your cousin, by the way. He’ll be bringing your friend here. Why don’t you freshen up and I’ll tell you the news when you’re finished?”

As it happened, Keilor had already left. Refusing to let the upcoming interview shred his already abraded nerves, Jayems sat down at his desk and opened a ledger. The work would help calm his mind while he waited.

Half an hour had ticked peacefully by when Rihlia’s door opened. He glanced at it absently, and then did a double take. He’d thought he’d known she was beautiful, but he truly hadn’t seen.

Beads of pearl and topaz graced her long braids, weaving in and out of the dark strands like winking stars. White and gold silken robes outlined a body like that of a

young goddess, inviting his eyes to linger. Even her eyes looked younger, darting to the door in anticipation of her friend’s arrival.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, and her eyes shot to his in surprise. Surprise? How could she not know she was lovely?

“Ah, thanks,” she said. Sending him an uneasy glance, she took a seat on the couch.

Jayems tried to think of something to relax her. Before he could speak, Keilor strode into the room unannounced. “She is here.”

Relieved to have the subject changed, even by this, Jayems shut the heavy ledger he’d been perusing. He boots remained crossed on the desktop as he waited for more details.

Rihlia wasn’t nearly as calm. She leapt up off the couch and demanded breathlessly, “Where?”

Keilor lost the smile he’d had on seeing her. “There’s a problem,” he informed Jayems darkly. “She’s a Sylph.”

Ah, no. Not this! Wasn’t his life difficult enough already? Jayems’ feet uncrossed, dropping with deliberation to the floor. He slammed his palms down on the desk and leaned forward. “A what?”

Keilor shook his head slowly. “She could be nothing else. I’m certain of it.”

Jayems swore and got to his feet, pacing with barely controlled frustration. Sylphs possessed a special pheromone, a mutation on the human norm. It had little effect on human men but caused the Haunt males, with their more sensitive noses, to become their mindless slaves.

For thousands of years, her kind had been used by humans to lure and trap the men of the Haunt. The best of their warriors had been enticed by the unique, bewitching scent of the Sylph and killed by their masters until there were few of them left. That, combined with the unrelenting fear and hatred of humans, had driven his kind to seek their own world, free of the hunters.

The best defense was to simply kill one whenever you had the chance, and now his betrothed’s best friend, the woman he’d sworn not to hurt, was one of them. His night just couldn’t get any more complicated.

Rihlia looked between them in angry confusion. “What’s the matter? You told me she could—”

Jayems whirled to face her, and his temper made his words harsh. “I gave permission for you to say goodbye, and I will still allow it, but the minute you are finished, she goes.” If word of this got out, he’d have a pack of outraged council members on his hands. In the old days, Sylphs weren’t allowed the freedom to come and go. Entire communities died if they did.

Maybe this one didn’t know what she was. Maybe there were no hunters with her, but he hadn’t been made Lord of the Haunt to take those chances.

Her eyes flared. “Well, of course,
darling,
” she agreed acidly. “After all, we wouldn’t want any unsavory humans loitering about, now, would we?”

Scenting trouble, he stalked her, stopping inches from her and bending his head to stare her down. They were not going to fight about this issue. It was going to happen his way. “I’m gratified we understand each other, wife.” Before she could snarl out a denial, he snapped, “Bring her, Keilor. Let’s finish this.”

Keilor opened the door and a petite young woman, surprisingly young, hurried in.

Dressed much like Rihlia had been in pants, boots and a short-sleeved shirt, her brown

hair was slightly flattened and rumpled, as if she’d recently removed a hat. Reeking of fear, she relaxed only when the door was safely shut behind her. The black and white dog at her side gave a glad bark and charged forward to greet Rihlia.