Chapter 5
Five
Neal
Iglanced to my and Sorcha’s table, expecting to see her there.
But when both chairs were conspicuously empty, I felt a pang of terror resonate through my chest. I’d married this girl for the express purpose of protecting her.
And now, I looked up at the cathedral clock tower, not five hours after, she was nowhere to be found.
I scanned the crowd, fuming that I’d somehow let her convince me that a blue dress was better and more traditional. There were at least a dozen well-off townswomen in blue, which meant Sorcha didn’t stand out. At all.
I spotted Ansel and rushed over.
“Do we know where Sorcha went?” I hissed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with her?” Ansel asked. “It’s your wedding day, boy!”
“I was checking on something,” I defended myself, but I knew how hollow it sounded.
I didn’t know Ansel well and knew Sorcha didn’t trust him for a second after his behavior two days back when he arrived.
So I wasn’t about to tell him the truth—that if I spent the night sitting next to her, listening to her joke about the townsfolk, watching her as she watched the birds and bats overhead, close and calm and relatively private, then I’d take her to bed and peel that blue silk dress off her and kiss her all over until she melted for me.
No. I certainly wasn’t saying that to Ansel.
I forced myself to focus and told him, “She was at our table. And now she is gone.”
“Then go find her,” Ansel said. “Just keep your head on straight.”
It felt like an eternity of scanning faces before Ansel tugged on my arm and pointed out Sorcha across the way, near the low-slung awning at the Palace of the Governors.
She was backed up against one of the posts, with some pompous Elf nobleman looming over her in a too-intricate silk suit.
I grabbed Ansel by the arm and dragged more so than led him in her direction.
“Just don’t actually rip the man’s head off,” Ansel said as we walked. “Alright? Bad diplomacy.”
“No promises,” I growled.
“I cannot imagine that, given full information, given the legal implications for the Court, you intend to maintain this union? He’s a Steward, High Lady Wilson,” the nobleman said as we came into earshot, voice dripping with an uncomfortable mixture of seduction and contempt.
“Besides, I’m sure you haven’t consummated yet.
No reason we can’t just pretend this little indiscretion never happened. ”
And then he bent down and kissed her.
I had never once, in more than a century on the face of this planet, felt rage like that.
No one revered Elven men for possessiveness. Fathers preached patience and equal partnership. But everyone had their line. And this was far past mine.
I pushed past the intervening partygoers and grabbed the nobleman by the shoulder, shoving him back and stepping in front of Sorcha.
My pulse raced in my ears.
And for the first time since I’d laid eyes on her unconscious on the wash weeks before, the two conflicting factions in my head agreed with each other—be this a romantic marriage or purely one of protection and political convenience, I wasn’t letting this Inner Court usurper kiss my wife on our wedding day.
“Off her,” I snarled. “Now.”
“Oh you must be the little country bumpkin she married,” he said.
“I said off her,” I repeated. “Now.”
“Neal, Ansel,” Sorcha drawled, “meet Alexi. Apparently, Iksura thinks we should get married. Told him he was a little late for that, but . . .”
“So should I report back to the Inner Court that you go around kissing married noblewomen with ten times your political clout?” Ansel asked drolly, slinging an arm around Alexi’s shoulders and leading him away.
“Should I report back to the Inner Court that you endorsed the marriage of our highest-ranking eligible noble to a servant boy?” Alexi countered.
“She’s not eligible, lad,” Ansel snapped in reply.
I watched as Ansel’s hand tightened on the back of Alexi’s neck, then took a deep breath to steady myself and turned back to Sorcha.
I tried to stay calm, diplomatic, detached, professional. That was the rule. That had to be the rule. Love made people irrational—look what it had done to Cormac—and good Stewards were prudent above all else.
But here with the proximity—so close I could feel the anxious heat coming off her and smell that heady blend of lavender, beeswax, mace, and woodsmoke—with those big green eyes looking up at me, blond curls coming loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, and that dress—that damn dress that I wanted so badly to see on my bedroom floor—it was all I could do to avoid kissing her and ruining everything then and there in the plaza amidst the revelry.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, letting my hand come up and stroke her cheek for just a moment, trying not to think about how right it felt. “Did he do anything?”
And something slipped. I traced the hand from her cheek around to cup the back of her head, leaned in so my forehead pressed against hers.
“Just lecture me about how Iksura thought we’d be perfect together,” Sorcha replied, and there was an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice, a blush creeping up her chest.
And against my better judgment, my rational brain screaming to step back and be professional, I stayed close. Let my hand linger on the back of her neck with the other braced on the post behind her, fencing her off from this awful, overwhelming party I’d somehow convinced her to throw.
“It won’t happen again,” I said. “Nothing like that. Ever. Again. I promise.”
“Hey, lovebirds!” Ansel’s voice crackled through the air, dissipating the tension and heat in an instant. “Come on. Hotel. Now. I’ll keep this party up until everyone’s too drunk to remember that little incident.”
I took a halting step back, and Sorcha gasped like she’d been holding her breath. The air between us felt suddenly frigid. Sorcha’s chest hitched, and she bit down on her lip like she was stifling a sob.
I reached out to take her hand but thought better of it and paused, an uncomfortable moment of anticipation passing before I decided to grab her arm, not an ounce of affection in the gesture, and start herding her across the plaza and toward the hotel Ansel had booked for us.
“So much for avoiding gossip and rumors,” Sorcha muttered as we walked down the deserted street.
“We’ll talk later,” Ansel said with a wink, leaving us at the hotel door.
“What was that about?” Sorcha asked as we walked into the deserted lobby. The clerk at the desk was asleep.
I slipped behind the desk and grabbed a key for a room up on the top floor—scribbling our details into the ledger without waking him.
“Security measures,” I said, avoiding her eyes.
If I looked at her properly she’d see right through it. I’d spent more than a hundred years training, yes, but not to lie about my feelings.
Stewards were taught to be honest and forthright.
But honest and forthright would hardly be productive right now.
I was playing too dangerous a game tonight as it was.
“Which is why he winked at you?” Sorcha asked bluntly.
She wanted to challenge me. Clearly. But was she pushing me to give in and kiss her for real, take her to bed?
Or was she pushing me to expose that I’d caught feelings where I had no proper right to, and annul the marriage before anyone in the church could bat an eye?
“He probably just had something in his eye,” I replied as we started up the stairs. Sorcha snorted, clearly unconvinced.
The room was small, decently furnished. We weren’t spoiled for choice here in Santa Fe. There was a pretty tile fireplace, a painted dresser, and one bed pushed against the far wall beside the window.
I took off my coat and checked the locks as soon as the door shut behind us, then knelt to start building up the smoldering fire.
“You take the bed,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “I’ll get this going again and sleep here.”
I got up from the hearth and grabbed a few blankets from the top of the dresser.
“So you’re not . . .” Sorcha trailed off. “We’re not . . .”
“Sorcha, this is a political arrangement,” I lied through my teeth while I arranged blankets in front of the fireplace. “There’s no need to share a bed.”
A moment passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by slow crackling as the fire caught and the gentle rustle of Sorcha’s silk skirts.
“I can’t get the dress off by myself.”
I went stiff instantly, breath caught in my throat.
“Should I call one of the maids?” I offered. “I’m sure someone can . . .”
“That would cause a scandal,” Sorcha chided. “Now come here. It’s not as though you’ll see anything.”
I felt my hands shaking as I undid the line of tiny shell buttons down the back of her dress.
Every pull of the cloth felt like a tug on something deeper inside, something I couldn’t control, dared not name aloud.
I could feel the heat rising in my own cheeks as the silk fell away and revealed the transparent net of her corset underneath, layered over the gauzy, sweat-soaked cotton of her shift.
Something coiled low and hot and dangerous in my gut. But I couldn’t stop—she’d surely call me out on it. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, I chided myself.
Eventually, the buttons were unfastened, and she slipped out of her bodice, then the skirt.
I abruptly averted my gaze as she started unfastening the busk on her corset.
I stepped back, nearly stumbling, and then sat down near the hearth, pulling off my boots and busying myself with the fire before I did or said something I’d regret immediately.
“You’ll let me know if you’re too cold,” I said as I heard her climb into bed.
“And what will you do about it if I am?” Sorcha asked.
Hold you until you stop shivering.
Tuck you close in my arms so I can smell you and feel you and make you warm and safe and maybe just maybe get that vacant look out of your eyes that scares me so damn much.
“I’m sure they’ve more blankets somewhere around here,” I replied.
I blew out the light and lay sleepless for what felt like hours, listening to the crackling fire and her stirring in bed, breathing still tight and measured.
I could feel her restlessness even through the distance between us, and it gnawed at me.
The guilt was overwhelming, a constant reminder that in spite of my best efforts, I was somehow doing this wrong.
Hurting her. Hurting us.
And it was my fault.
My own damn fault.