"Are
you going to stand there and die of heatstroke, or will you
come into the shade
of the keep?"
Ignoring the clipped tone
of Braedon's voice, she sighed and said, "I suppose I have no choice but to comply," she
stated, following when he turned away and strode through the
inner gates.
Once inside, blissful shade from the overhanging and tall
trees offered respite from the heat.
"Is it always so hot here?" she
asked, hurrying her step to keep up with him.
"Yes."
"There are pools in
the D'Naathian forest inside the gates of your property.
Do your people swim there?"
"No."
Well, that would have to
change soon enough. Her delicate skin would never survive
this wicked heat without constant
cooling. "I will bathe there."
He stopped so suddenly she almost ran into his back, but halted
herself in time. Turning to face her, he scowled and leaned
down as if speaking to a child. Now he stood practically nose
to nose with her.
Stars, he was a handsome man. Square jaw, a long nose and
lips that begged to be kissed. Her body heated, though this
time not from the sun.
"You will not bathe
there."
When he turned and resumed
his stroll through the inner courtyard, she hurried again
to keep up. "Why not?"
"'Tis not safe."
"Of course ‘tis safe. ‘Tis
my forest."
"You may think so,
however the wizards claim the D'Naathian forests as theirs."
Hmph. As if those skeletal
creatures had a say so in the land of the faerie. "The
wizards are mistaken and do not dare venture into the forests
of the faerie. Truly your people would
be safe there."
He didn't answer her, just kept walking.
"What happens now?" she
asked.
"Now I am going to
practice sword fighting with my men."
"What am I supposed
to do?"
He halted again and turned to regard her, starting at the
top of her head, raking his gaze over her breasts, hips and
legs. When he looked up again, his eyes had darkened and she
felt the shocking warmth of his desire.
Yet his words did not match
his emotions. "I do not care
what you do. It is your job to run the keep."
"I do not know how
to run a keep."
He rolled his eyes. "Then
learn. You have one month until we marry."
He turned and started off,
but she caught up with him and grabbed his muscular upper
arm. All her efforts at politeness
fled with his abrupt dismissal. "Wait, Braedon. First,
I will not be marrying you. Second, I know nothing of running
a keep. Third, you are incredibly rude. Where do I sleep? Who
is going to show me around? Will I be introduced to your people?"
A crowd had begun to gather. Curious spectators, all strangers
to her. There was no point scanning the crowd for an ally.
She was completely alone here.
"First, you will marry
me because I have decreed it so. Second, you will have to
learn how to run the keep because
it is the queen's job to oversee everything. Third, I am not
rude. I am busy and have no time for you."
No time...the audacity of
the man! How dare he speak to his betrothed this way? "You
will need to make time for me."
He advanced on her, but she held her ground, refusing to be
bullied by this...this...bully. His breath sailed across her
cheek as he looked down at her.
"What is your name
again?"
She was to be his wife and
he did not even recall her name? "Trista." She
resisted the urge to spell it for him.
"All right. Trista.
Follow me."
Finally, they were getting somewhere. She hurried as his long
strides took them to the stone keep at the center of the inner
courtyard. He entered through an archway and then through a
wooden door.
The smells of baked bread filled the warm air around them.
So did the heat, nearly oppressive. She backed away from the
ovens.
"Aunt Nola. This is
Trista, my betrothed. She apparently has not yet been educated
how to run a keep. Teach her all
that she needs to know. We marry in one month's time."
"Of course, Braedon."
Trista offered a tenuous smile to the woman he called Nola,
a white-haired woman in her older years. Her face was round,
not yet filled with lines like some of the ancient ones. The
woman was tall. All humans were tall. Much taller than Trista,
as well as most faerie males.
Braedon was the tallest human of all. Not unlike the elvin
males she knew, except for a few differences in their facial
features, especially his ears. They were rounded instead of
pointed. How odd.
And of course, all human males must be unpleasantly surly.
At least this one was. Well, she could be just as gruff and
unlikable as he was. In fact, if she was unpleasant enough,
perhaps he would release her from their betrothal.
Yes, a very good idea!
Braedon turned to leave.
"Wait!"
He stopped and arched a
brow. "What now?"
She offered him her sweetest
smile. "I simply wish to
inform you that I will not marry a rude, inconsiderate barbarian
such as yourself."
Braedon rolled his eyes
and turned to his aunt. "Please
keep her occupied so that she does not bother me. She is as
annoying as a fly swirling around shit."
Trista's mouth hung open and she forced it closed. Before
she could recover enough to offer a retort, he had slammed
the kitchen door behind him.
Well! This would not do at all. She would simply have to find
a way to get a message to her father and have him fetch her.
She refused to marry Braedon. No matter what her father ordered
her to do. She would run away if she had to, but she would
not marry him.
"He is somewhat brusque in manner," Nola
said, sliding her arm around Trista's shoulders.
The woman smelled of yeast. And cinnamon. And reminded her
of home and warmth. She inhaled and closed her eyes, wishing
she were standing in the dining room of her castle in D'Naath.
Or even Winterland, with her sisters.
She missed her sisters. Would she ever see them again?
"He is an oaf and crude," Trista
announced to the doorway where Braedon last stood, as if
the very act of doing
so would make him hear her insult.
"Aye, that he is at
times. But underneath, his heart is good."
Bah! The man obviously had no heart. Stone was more like it.
Cold, unfeeling stone.
