Chapter 28
The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. Ceridwen gasped, her eyes flying open. She made to step away from him, but he cocooned her in his arms, holding her close from the threat at his back.
His monster roared within him, echoing his own fury at the untimely interruption. Drystan turned his head just enough to take in the sight of Ceridwen’s brother. His mask had been cast off at some point, leaving his dark hair slightly mussed, a match for the anger flashing in his dark eyes. Other men flooded out of the back exit behind him, and one woman—her sister, Bronwyn.
Worse than the crowd forming outside the hall was the object in Adair’s hand. A sword. Drystan’s lips nearly pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. The boy had no idea what fury he tempted.
“Stay out of this, Adair,” Ceridwen demanded with as much fire in her voice as he’d heard the night she met Malik.
In this, they were aligned. Good.
Her brother ignored her, but Bronwyn didn’t. Something that might have been regret flashed across the young woman’s features before she retreated a few steps.
So she had informed their brother about Ceridwen’s whereabouts. His jaw stiffened. What else had she told him?
“This wannabe Lord Protector only appears to flirt with the ladies,” Adair said. Some of his words were slurred, and now Drystan could make out the hint of a flush on his cheeks.
A hothead and a drunk. A terrible combination, especially in someone who knew his title.
“I’ll handle this,” Drystan whispered to Ceridwen before releasing her from his embrace and positioning himself between her and her brother. To Adair, he said, “Go back inside before you embarrass yourself further. You forget your place.”
If he had any sense left, he’d take the warning.
“Oh? And where is that? At least I protect this city. We all do.” He gestured to the men around him. Friends in the city watch? One could barely stand. Drystan huffed air through his nose. What a pitiful group they made. “What have you done for this city that’s not to please yourself?” Adair continued.
Drystan wrestled for control of his fury, using the last shred of his calm to don the casual attitude he’d worn when he entered the damnable ball. He raised his chin and forced a smirk to his lips. “I keep the monster at bay.”
“Hah.” Adair slapped his leg in mock amusement. Grins spread across the faces of some of the other men. “Yes, the monster, the one few have ever seen. I’m sure one rabid wolf gives you much trouble. I think I could take it easily. One swing of my blade.” He swung the sheathed sword in a slow arc.
They truly had no idea that the monster could take them all down with ease. Drystan clenched his hand into a fist at his side, even as he kept his casual facade in place.
Ceridwen had stepped away from him, forming an odd triangle between the three of them. Her sister had found her, coming to her side instead of the men. But whose side would Ceridwen take? He appraised her from the corner of his eye. She hadn’t spilled his secret yet, that he knew of, though she’d had days to do so.
Would she now? Something dark within him demanded she try it. Let her join him or condemn him. Either way, the agony of her indecision had to end.
Drystan turned his head to stare at Ceridwen, pinning her with his gaze and twisted smile. “A wolf, you say?” he said with an even calm. “Ask your sister. She saw it last.”
Bronwyn clutched her arm, pressing in against his coat that her sister still wore. The men waited for her response as he expected they would.
But Ceridwen paid them no mind. She looked only at Drystan as she said, “It’s true. He protects us all.”
A shudder racked his form, desire surging between his legs. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms, carry her away, and show her exactly how much her words meant to him, propriety be damned.
“Ah yes, he protects us all,” Adair slurred, ruining his daydream. “And that’s why he made a certain deal with you.”
The slander implied in those words made him snarl. “How dare—”
“Adair, go back inside before you embarrass us!” Bronwyn shouted over him.
Normally, such an interruption would be unwelcome, but this one gave him the moment he needed to think. He had one chance, this chance, to save Ceridwen’s reputation, and he’d be damned before he failed her again. “Your sister had a close encounter due to my failure,” Drystan replied, raising his voice so no one would dare miss it. “I sought to ease her burdens, and that of your entire family, in compensation for my error. Surely you cannot take issue with that.”
“And what about the rest of us? You’re supposed to protect us all, yet that thing still haunts the night,” one of the men shouted.
“I’ve been ill. Ceridwen”—he looked at her for emphasis—“has been able to heal my ailment better than any medic I have come across. She is invaluable to me,” he added, letting emotion flood his eyes and hoping she saw it, that she understood. He glanced at the men. “Unfortunately, I require further treatment while I am here, which is why I have requested her continued service. Such an honor it is for a commoner to aid a noble.” His gaze shifted to land squarely on Adair. “Your house is brought higher by her service and care.”
“Now, this is a sight.” Malik whistled as he joined the growing group of onlookers standing to one side, Bronwyn and Ceridwen at their front.
Goddess, help me. Drystan groaned. The night could scarcely get worse.
“Who are you?” Adair practically spit, having lost any regard for class or station.
Malik raised his hands in the air. “An interested party? Ladies,” he said to the sisters, inclining his head in a courtly nod. The scathing look Bronwyn shot him could have stripped paint. How he offended her, Drystan had no idea, but it was the least of his worries at the moment.
“Enough of your excuses.” Adair pulled the sword from its sheath and tossed it away. “Let’s see who’s more of a man. Duel me!”
“Stop it!” Ceridwen rushed between them, turning this way and that to look at them both. “This is nonsense!”
“I won’t hurt him,” Drystan promised. Much, he added silently. The man was deep into his cups. Besting him would be easy. And for Ceridwen’s sake, if nothing else, he’d make sure her brother suffered no lasting ill effects.
Malik smirked, enjoying the scene way more than he should. Another man hustled forward from behind Adair, offering Drystan a sword, which he accepted.
Ceridwen grabbed at his sleeve. “Drystan, please.”
The pleading look on her face made him want to give her anything, but he needed to teach her brother a lesson. “Trust me.” He pulled away from her touch. “Stay with your sister.”
Drystan loosened his cravat and rolled up his sleeves, but kept his mask in place as he faced Adair in the falling snow. The young man had shirked his coat, tossed it to a nearby friend, shed his cravat completely, and rolled up his sleeves as well.
“Last chance to reconsider,” Drystan offered.
“Preparing to lose already?” Adair ran his hand through his snow-dampened hair, mussing it up worse than before.
Adair raised his blade and charged with a reckless lack of caution, roaring like a warrior on the battlefield.
Drystan chuckled as he sidestepped, easily dodging the onslaught without the need to parry. Adair skidded to a halt on the snow-slicked ground before whirling around like an angry bull, reading for a charge once more.
Even sober, Adair would stand little chance against him. Drystan had years of lessons in sword fighting, and though it had been some time since he’d had to use such skills, the sword felt as natural and easy in his grip as it ever had, old honed instincts returning to him like a hound called home.
With a grunt, Adair pushed a stray strand of hair from his face. He regripped the blade, took a few quick steps forward, and swung. This time, Drystan blocked the blow with his sword. Metal sang in the air before Drystan flicked the opposing blade away.
Another swing yielded a similar result. And another. The young man’s swordplay was sloppy at best, wide swings projected far in advance with little skill and less grace. He’d stab himself before ever landing a solid blow.
Another young woman dressed in white ran to Ceridwen’s side—a friend, possibly—letting out something caught between a gasp and shriek as she spied the duel.
Adair charged again, aiming to skewer Drystan on the point of his sword. Instead, Drystan deflected the blade and twisted around, sending his opponent lunging several steps toward the growing crowd.
Adair stilled as he spied the new onlooker. A young woman he desired? Drystan blew a huff of air through his nose. If so, this sordid display surely wouldn’t help his chances.
Drystan adjusted his stance. The young man hesitated, distracted from his opponent. It would be an easy opportunity to end this nonsense, but that would likely enrage Adair more and earn Drystan no favors with Ceridwen. Instead, he waited.
With a grunt, Adair whirled. Eyes wild, he stalked to his opponent and swung with both hands clenched around the hilt. His poor form, not to mention his attitude, would have offended his commanding officer, especially if they knew who he fought.
If this continued, it would ruin Adair and possibly cost him his position.
This time, Drystan pulled his blade back before he swung it into Adair’s oncoming attack. A hush spread across the crowd as Drystan’s blade sent Adair’s flying from his hands and skidding across the snow-covered ground.
“Enough,” Drystan said, his breath fogging in the cool air.
But the fool wasn’t done. He moved in a flash, attempting to land a kick to Drystan’s stomach. A mistake. Instead, the move unsettled his stance. His arms flailed in the air. A short curse left Adair’s lips, and with a slip and crash, the young man landed unceremoniously on his back upon the icy ground.
A deep groan filled the air as Adair attempted to rise before submitting to the ground.
“Idiot,” the young woman in white shouted, tears glistening in her eyes before she fled into the hall. Ceridwen watched her go, frowning all the while.
Too bad she hadn’t chosen a wiser beau or one who could handle his drink.
Adair’s friends helped him to his feet as Drystan crossed the space to Ceridwen. Congratulations and shouts of praise rang out from other citizens who’d been drawn by the scuffle, but he only had eyes for one, and she stood silent, that pinched and sorrowful expression stuck to her features.
“Pity. Things were just getting fun.” Malik shrugged as he approached. The movement showed off his silken shirt to great effect. At some point, his coat had disappeared too. It didn’t take long for Drystan to spy it wrapped around Ceridwen’s sister, Bronwyn. She’d rejected his offer to dance but not his coat. How very odd. Drystan’s brow arched as he looked from her to Malik. His cousin’s smirk broadened, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Whatever happened, he’d clearly missed something.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” Drystan offered, turning to the sisters. “Both of you.”
“Thank you,” Ceridwen replied. Her focus wasn’t on him, but rather something or someone behind him.
Drystan looked over his shoulder in time to see Adair regain his footing. He stared at them, his gaze briefly catching Drystan’s before flitting away. In that brief moment, though, he caught the regret in his eyes…and the shame.
Good.Hopefully he learned a lesson this night. Most would not have been so lenient.
The carriage ride back to the sisters’ home passed in mostly terse, uncomfortable silence. No one seemed apt to speak, and the conversation he desperately needed to have with Ceridwen wasn’t one he wished to have in front of her sister or Malik.
The only bit of amusement during the chilly ride was Malik’s obvious looks of interest toward Bronwyn and her equally scathing appraisals in return. Ceridwen, meanwhile, seemed not to notice any of them as she stared at nothing out the window.
Once the carriage rolled to a stop, the men hopped out first and offered assistance to the women.
“Here.” Bronwyn unwrapped herself from Malik’s coat and held it as far away from her as her arm would allow. Her nose wrinkled when he didn’t immediately accept it, as if the thing repulsed her. It hadn’t when she’d huddled in its warmth the whole ride home, sitting as far from him as possible in the tight carriage.
“Happy to be of service, my lady.” He accepted it with a flourish and a smile. If Drystan didn’t know better, he might think his cousin genuinely interested in the young woman. But the cousin he knew flirted with just about everyone who crossed his path, and he couldn’t recall him ever settling on one long enough to truly care, especially not one who rebuked him—not that such a thing often happened.
With a harrumph, Bronwyn turned and stormed off into the house without a backward glance. Not for the men or her sister who still stood in the snowy street. Malik laughed and returned to the carriage, leaving Drystan alone with Ceridwen at the bottom of the short stairs to her house.
“You’ll think about my question?” he asked.
He held his breath as Ceridwen slowly slipped his coat from her shoulders, taking care not to let any of it touch the ground.
“I already have.”His tailcoat hung from her arms, untouched, as Drystan took in her impassive face.
He braced for the worst, for the doom certain to spill from her lips in the next second. His jaw worked as he took the garment without a word. The mask still adorned his face, and he was grateful for the meager shield to hide the impact of her impending rejection.
With the coat secured around him once more, Drystan took her hand in his. “I’m glad I got to see you one last time.” The chaste kiss he placed on the back of her hand was a mockery of all the longing he still possessed.
“Last time?” she whispered.
The question hung frozen in the air between him. Drystan stiffened as his eyes flew wide, his heart lurching against his ribs.
“I’ll come to the manor in the morning.” Her gaze flitted away before landing back on him. “We’ll talk. If that’s okay with you,” she hurried on.
“Ceridwen.” Warmth tingled through him, as if she’d lit a candle in his chest on that dark night.
“That’s all I can promise for now.” She pulled her hand from his. “You’ll see me again,” she said with a weak smile before she turned, rushed up the short steps, and entered the house.
It wasn’t the easy agreement he’d prayed for, but it was a chance, a hope—so much more than he truly deserved.