Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
T hough I was well acquainted with a number of instruments, I had never heard anything remotely close to the bagpipes. I wasn’t sure I wanted to again, for that matter, but perhaps that was only because they were standing so close to us and there were so many of them.
They were very Lochlannian, though. Loud and intrusive, just like the people here, who were edging far too close to us as they headed out to enjoy the festival.
I pulled my arm in closer, tugging Rowan right along with it to get her out of the pathway of her pushy citizens. Jocelyn approached, nodding in approval.
“That was well done, Rowan,” she said, glancing at the lack of space between us. “I want you two to try to enjoy yourselves today, and spend your time focused on one another. Back up what you told the people about how you feel about him.”
She turned her scrutinizing gaze on me. “A smile or two today wouldn’t go amiss, Lord Stenvall.”
I shot a glance at Davin, who was playfully scooping up a small village child while he winked at a matronly woman selling flower crowns. How much of that was natural and how much had been instilled by the fearsome, tiny blonde standing before me?
In any case, I hoped she didn’t expect that of me. I raised my eyebrows to convey my feelings on the matter, and Rowan let out a light laugh. “Let’s not get too ridiculous.”
Jocelyn sighed. “At least the Games should help. Which one did you sign up for?”
I had heard the games mentioned in passing, but there had been no mention of me participating in any of them. Which was clearly intentional, if the mischief that glinted in Rowan’s eyes was anything to go by.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Jocelyn. I signed us both up,” she said sweetly.
She never said anything sweetly with any degree of sincerity. I narrowed my eyes. “For what?”
She beamed at me. “You’ll see.”
Jocelyn left with another efficient nod, and I turned to scrutinize my betrothed. I knew for a fact there were perfectly normal tournaments like sparring and archery, but I was willing to bet she hadn’t signed us up for any of those.
I didn’t bother questioning her further when there were so many sets of eyes on us. She glanced around as though sensing the same thing.
Letting out a slow breath, she leaned in closer to me, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of amber that always clung to her hair, even over the myriad of conflicting smells permeating the air from the booths around us.
“Well, then, Lord Stenvall.” She trailed her hands along my jacket, thumbs skimming my abdomen in twin paths of liquid fire. “Where do you think we should display our joyous union for the entire kingdom to gawk upon first?”
She said the words sarcastically, even as her entire body pulled subconsciously toward my own.
“Is it joyous?” I challenged, only half teasing her.
If we were playing this game, she could damned well feel as off kilter as I did. I put my hands on her shoulders, sliding them downward while my gaze never left her face. I waited for the telltale blush, the parting of her plush lips that always gave her away.
It wasn’t a long wait. When my fingers brushed along her ribcage, her skin ignited. Once I reached her waist, I pulled her gently toward my chest.
She didn’t resist, but neither did she entirely cave.
Instead, a humorless smirk tugged at her mouth as she peeked up at me through long, kohl-lined lashes.
“That’s an excellent question. I suppose, at least if I am to return to Lochlann, there will be plenty of stableboys to fill my time with. That could be joyous.”
It took every ounce of self-control I had ever possessed not to give her an outward reaction, especially when she tacked on in an undertone, “I’d be discreet, of course.”
She was baiting me for a reaction. She was not the type of woman who would skirt around her marriage vows, no matter where we lived.
Of course, I knew that—rationally.
But there was no rationality in me when I pictured her entertaining herself with another man. Icy rage swept through my veins.
The things I had done to the man in the dungeons would pale in comparison to what I would do to anyone stupid enough to touch my wife . It was almost laughable, though the chuckle that escaped me was cold and utterly devoid of humor.
I leaned down in an outward gesture of intimacy, hovering my lips along the skin of her neck so that I could feel her reaction to me, taste it. Amber and citrus assailed my senses, along with a scent that was intrinsically Rowan.
Intrinsically mine .
“The moment you wish to forfeit a man’s life, Lemmikki, all you need to do is invite him to your bed.” The words left me in a growl, each syllable ringing with the conviction I felt down to my soul.
I pressed my lips against her neck to seal the promise I had just made her, and she let out a strangled gasp, a sound I would make damned sure she never made for anyone else.
Satisfied that I had made my point, I stood straight once more, taking a moment to relish in the pure, unguarded desire on her perfect features.
I placed a hand on her back, gesturing for her to lead us through the festival like I wasn’t drowning in the same need that she was. She didn’t move for several long moments, until finally she cut her eyes to me.
“As long as you know the reverse is true as well.” Though her voice was breathless, there was a savage edge to her words.
Did she honestly think I was that much of a hypocrite? Or that I could possibly want anyone else?
I almost told her that I would sooner dig my way through the Masach Mountains in a blizzard to have her in my bed than invite another woman to it, but I hadn’t forgotten her taunts so quickly.
So I only dipped my chin in agreement, like I was granting her a stipulation rather than assuring her of something I would have abided by anyway.
“Then we have our terms.”
We might have managed a show of a joyous union for the people, but now that Rowan had successfully raised the stakes of whatever game of fish stew we were playing, the tension between us was pulled tightly to the point of snapping.
While I greeted her people and indulged her by looking at small trinkets, inwardly I debated what she was trying to gain with her stableboy comment.
Was it only her way of assuring my fidelity? Lochlannians might take mistresses, but it was rare enough in Socair that we didn’t even have a literal translation for it in any of the dialects I knew.
Then again, so was having an absentee wife. Even with the promise of food and the excuse of a necessary alliance, her refusal to reside in my clan—or even my kingdom—would be seen as an insult. It was guaranteed to be a source of contention, if not outright scorn.
And as long as my father was alive, I needed the voluntary support of the lords in my kingdom and the clan dukes, which meant towing a careful line with their disapproval. Marrying Rowan would push those boundaries far enough, even if she lived in Socair.
But I had given her that choice for a reason, and it wasn’t only to keep her from Korhonan.
“This is Laird Evander of Clan Bear,” Rowan said for at least the hundredth time today, pulling me from my thoughts. I had stopped short of correcting her on the title when I saw the way the older couple’s faces softened at the more familiar term.
She had brought us to a dessert booth this time, much to my dismay.
"I thought he might enjoy one of your delicious waffles.” Rowan’s smile didn’t falter, now that we had been through this routine several times over.
Would I?
I didn’t understand the general fascination with dessert, but this one was especially bland looking.
The aging couple in charge of the stand both cast me wary glances, but they nodded in acknowledgement. The woman speared one of the rustic square-shaped pieces of dough with a serving fork, handing it to the princess.
Rowan grinned and placed several coins on the table in return.
While it went against everything in my upbringing to have my future wife funding most of our purchases today, she had made it clear that the people would expect their royals to support them directly.
If I was sure to spend at least as much as she did today, it was only because it was important that their new prince support them as well. I paused internally before the foreign title, though it wasn’t much different in practice to being the duke’s heir in Socair.
“Thank you both,” Rowan told the couple, turning to me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Van Van, you must try this.”
I blinked, fighting off a small smirk. Surely, she wasn’t serious, but she also knew I wouldn’t tell her no in front of the people we were trying so hard to win over.
Maybe I wouldn’t have anyway, when she held out a piece of what was sure to be a horrifyingly sweet confection directly against my mouth.
“Van Van?” I pressed, my lips brushing along her fingers.
She shrugged, and I reluctantly opened my mouth for her latest form of torture. She slid her thumb along my lower lip before retracting her hand, which was…also torture, but not in the way I had prepared myself for.
I hummed in the back of my throat, letting her see a small bit of the effect she had on me.
“Delicious,” I murmured, low enough that she knew perfectly well I wasn’t talking about the sugar-coated pastry.
“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” I said in a louder voice to the couple who was now looking at us with markedly more open expressions.
“Ach, nae, laddie,” the woman said. “The pleasure was ours.”
Fortunately, a week with the soldiers had allowed me to accustom myself to the unfamiliar dialect, so I had a reasonably easy time deciphering the villagers’ words.
Though it was still strange when I caught snippets of the king conversing with his people in the same thick brogue. It was impossible to imagine any of the dukes walking amongst the villagers, competing in games alongside them and asking after their children. Even Arès would have died on the hill of respectable boundaries. And Korhonan? He would have died from shock at the sight.
We spent the next several hours walking amongst the booths, talking with the villagers while Rowan stood closer and closer to me. Her earlier reluctance to take my arm had vanished in the wake of the obvious joy she derived from eliciting a reaction out of me.
It was something I had no problem returning in kind, even as I reminded myself throughout the day that the kilt was a less forgiving garment than my usual soldier’s attire. And far less concealing.
Still, it was worth the monumental efforts in self-control to watch her flush as I trailed my fingers along her neck while I straightened the ribbons of the flower crown she had procured, or to trace the goosebumps along her flesh when I leaned in close to tell her something.
Davin made several appearances, always with a congenial smile and a slap on the back that I was happy to reciprocate. Harder.
He wasn’t the only one that occasionally found a reason to join us. Every member of Rowan’s family eventually approached us to show their support. All but the king.
I might have thought she didn’t notice, were it not for the way her eyes slid to his massive form throughout the day, always pinching with a trace of hurt when he angled himself away from us.
“I’ve never seen daggers like these.” I drew her attention to the table of single-edged blades at a nearby booth.
They were the same basic shape as the small utility knife Davin had insisted on putting into one of my socks as part of my ceremonial garb, though these were much larger.
After getting permission to pick one up, I balanced the weapon in my hand, comparing it to the litany of others I was used to. The blade was heavier than the average dagger, potentially making it more lethal in hand-to-hand combat.
More often than not, I didn’t use daggers. They were too small, with too much of a limited reach. But this weapon would be harder for an enemy to block and weighty enough to deliver a much more powerful blow.
While I considered how I might adapt my fighting style to incorporate their use, I continued to watch Rowan through my periphery.
After a moment, she swallowed, looking forcibly away from her father to focus on the blades.
“They’re dirks.” She plucked the weapon from my hand, gripping the smooth wooden hilt in her delicate fingers. “They’re excellent for close combat when you want your strikes to be more effective. You always angle up, then you can twist, for good measure.”
She flourished the blade as if to punctuate each of her words.
I glanced down at my tiny betrothed, wearing her brightly colored flower crown while she casually talked about the best way to eviscerate a man. I would have been lying if I had said it didn’t make me want her even more.
This was the girl from the Summit, the one who had a bare-chested dagger hidden on her person at all times. Not empty giggles and blithe smiles.
My feral little lemmikki.
“And you call my people savage,” I commented, my mind wandering idly to where that dagger was now, and how much fun I might have locating it.
Storms .
All the games she played were working better than she realized they were, not that I would give up ground to tell her that now.
She shrugged, peering up at me with deceptively wide eyes. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”
Satisfaction thrummed through me. For all that I wanted her, it was more than that. This kind of viciousness would keep her safe. It would keep her alive.
And it was the reason she didn’t falter when I displayed my own.
She carefully weighed a few more of the dirks before landing on one with a studded black leather hilt and a serrated blade.
“This one,” she said, handing the weapon to me.
Sure enough, it wasn’t just the aesthetic that was pleasing, but the balance and weight were perfect as well.
“As my future wife commands,” I said to the vendor, a slim man who had been watching us in silence.
She let out an inelegant snort as he took the blade from me to wrap up.
“We both know you always do precisely as you please,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yet here I am,” I shot back quietly. In the land of my enemies, wearing a kilt and eating dessert she fed me by hand.
“Yes. Here you are,” she agreed, leaning in close while she trailed a hand casually along my arm. “Sacrificing away.”
Her breath ghosted along my mouth, and my lips parted in spite of myself. Rowan smirked, backing away as she dropped her hand. She plucked up the wrapped dirk, handing it off to one of the runners who had been in charge of keeping our purchases today, then looped an arm casually through mine.
The festival games might not have begun, but my lemmikki had started her own plenty early today.