“Very good. Very good,” he said.
“You will leave the platter outside the bedroom, in the mastyr’s sitting room.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“And I am asking for complete discretion.”
At that, he blinked as though not understanding. “Discretion?”
Abigail bit back her smile. She couldn’t think why she had bothered asking for his discretion. She might as well have asked him to cut off his right arm. “Well, try for a reduced narrative.”
He screwed up his lips.
“Oh, very well. Speak as you will.”
“Yes, mistress.” But he grinned.
She sighed. She had set her feet on this course, and there was nothing to be done now. No doubt by tomorrow afternoon, when the staff rose early for the night, the entire castle would know she had spent the early morning hours in the Mastyr’s rooms, that is, if Gerrod permitted her to stay.
Abigail waited until the tub was sufficiently full which wasn’t very long. Given Gerrod’s size, he would displace a lot of the water. When she had turned the faucets off, she steeled herself for what she had to do next and for what she wanted to do more than anything else in the world, Realm or otherwise.
When she reached the doorway of the bedroom, before moving into Gerrod’s private sitting room, she removed her heels and placed them by the door, well out of the way. She really didn’t want Gerrod tripping over her shoes.
Chapter Three
Gerrod sat at the map table, elbows on the hard wood, his head in his hands. Fatigue wasn’t the only thing he felt, but a terrible despair. He couldn’t seem to put the images of the attack out of his mind nor could he imagine when this madness would end.
Never, was the only thing that came to mind.
And how was he to bear ‘never’?
He heard a soft padding of feet in the hallway, very soft and unfamiliar. He lifted his head and felt the frequency of his battle power begin to charge, a low vibration deep in his gut.
His heart thrummed in his throat.
Had the Invictus somehow bypassed all his security measures and invaded the castle?
But red hair appeared, instead of red wind, and the soft clinging cream gown that Abigail still wore from the wedding.
Abigail, oh, dear Goddess, no.
“Why aren’t you in your room?” The sudden burst of adrenaline, of fearing that an enemy had come to the castle, left him irritable once more. “You should be in bed, asleep.”
But she strolled forward, now in her bare feet, as though she belonged in his house. “Just thought I’d have a look around.”
He turned away from her, fatigue settling in hard. He wanted his whisky and the deep leather chair in front of the fire. Whisky always eased the tremor in his hand. He’d have to summon a doneuse, but not tonight. “Did you leave your room and forget your way? That part of the castle is a rabbit warren.” He was trying to be polite but he wanted her gone so he wouldn’t have to think about what he wanted to do to her, what he had almost done to her earlier.
“No, I didn’t forget my way.”
“Good, that’s good. But you must be exhausted.”
“Not so fatigued as you, I’m sure.” He looked up at her at that. She was standing just a few feet away. The light from the lamp on his desk seemed to enhance her delicate complexion. She was very beautiful, almost ethereal because of her fair skin.
She held out her hand to him. “Come. I’ve made something for you. I think it’s what you need. I’m not sure, but I believe it will do. Will you trust me?”
“This is a strange sequence of words coming from you.” He narrowed his gaze. “Always the enigma. But I am too tired to decipher your meaning.”
She smiled. An image drifted through his mind, something that felt as though it came from the future, probably just a fantasy. But she was in his bed, asleep on the pillow next to him.
He gave his head a shake. It was late, he had battled tonight, and now he was imagining things.
She had been a good sport and hadn’t complained once during the attack. She had even saved the boy. He owed her this little bit, he supposed, despite how tired he was, to accept whatever kindness she had prepared for him.
He rose to his feet but didn’t take her hand. He feared touching her. Since she was able to connect with his personal frequency, he didn’t want to relive anything as dangerous as what he had shared with her earlier in the forest.
He swept his hand in the direction of the doorway. “Lead the way, Mistress Abigail.”
She turned and without any hint of flirtation, began walking down the long hall. She was going in the opposite direction of the entrance hall, which meant he would have a long trek back to get to his whisky and sink into his leather chair.
But he had told her he would oblige her and so he would.
He only suspected something was wrong when she led him not in the direction of any of the public rooms, or even toward the guest suites of which there were twenty on the far side of the castle, but rather straight down the hall to his private quarters.
He stopped at the top of the hall. “Mistress Abigail, I believe you must have lost your way.”
She didn’t even pause in her steps as she looked over her shoulder and said, “No, I didn’t. Come.”
On she moved. He waited for a long moment even after she disappeared into his private sitting room. Which led to his bedroom.
He felt dizzy suddenly but not precisely fatigued. In fact, his heart had begun a serious pounding and all that activity within his chest put his booted feet in motion again. He was certain he shouldn’t be walking down this hall, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He didn’t take many women to bed and never at the castle. Far too complicated. The Mastyr of Merhaine couldn’t allow for expectations to arise in any quarter.
But this, a human. Could he engage with Abigail and not get caught in a different kind of net?
He passed through the sitting room. When he reached the angled doorway of his bedroom, he pushed the door wide against the stone wall. He glanced down and saw her matching cream heels sitting side-by-side, close together, very tidy.
He scanned the bedroom but she wasn’t there.
He stood on the threshold, staring at his bed, his dresser, his massive closet. He had lived alone here for a hundred and fifty years. In all that time, he had never brought a woman into his private rooms.
He wanted to call out to Abigail, to tell her to leave at once. He even lifted his chin, parted his lips, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe he was just too damn tired.