Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Chapter Eleven

I take my time washing myself.

For the first time in my life, I relieve myself behind a tree.

I spend a few minutes drinking in the view, too—standing on the shore and watching my breath plume in front of my face as the sun slowly rises above the loch.

Back in the castle at the King’s City, I only ever saw the sunrise through my murky bolted window. The servants would already be bustling through the courtyard below, and the ladies-in-waiting would be fussing around me.

I can’t remember a time when I have been in the presence of such vast, unending silence.

I breathe in. Then out.

Small waves lap the pebbles by my feet.

By the time I make my way back up the rocks, at least fifteen minutes must have passed, and I’m shivering.

The bottom of my nightdress is sodden, and strands of my hair stick to my wet face. I feel better though. Fresher. The cold seems to have shocked some of the dread right out of me.

Callum, to my surprise, has relit the fire even though he was in a hurry for us to set off. He sits in front of it with his thick forearms resting on his raised knees. He seems totally at ease, eating a piece of bread.

He’d said he was going to come into the water after me. I’m about to ask him what kind of alpha makes false threats, when he lazily turns his head.

He looks me up and down, seemingly taking in the gooseflesh on my exposed ankles, and the chattering of my teeth. He smirks.

The point he is making couldn’t be clearer.

I didn’t listen to him, and now I’m suffering for it.

“Cold, Princess?”

“If you were a gentleman—”

“Not a gentleman.” He grins. “Wolf.”

I shiver, and I’m not sure if it’s the temperature, or the look in his eyes. “You’re a sadist, that’s what you are.”

My stomach growls, and he pats the ground beside him. I hesitate for a moment before sitting. He breaks off half of his piece of bread, and passes it to me.

It’s stale and hard, but it eases the pang in my stomach.

“I thought we were in a hurry,” I say when I’m finished.

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “The king can wait.”

“You would leave your king waiting?”

I am nervous enough about this meeting without us showing up late. Does Callum not realize that his king may instantly realize I am of no value?

He shrugs, and my insides twist.

When he looks at me, his face softens. “I told you, I won’t let anyone harm you.”

My jaw clenches, and I stare into the flames. “If your king decides to execute me, there’s not a lot you can do, Callum.”

“Look at me, Princess.” His tone is dark and commanding and it stirs something inside me. “I don’t break my promises.”

I look away, and rub my cold feet. “How does one become the Wolf King, anyway? I thought you had alphas, not kings.”

He tears off a chunk of his bread and chews.

“We do. The alphas lead their clans. And the king is the alpha of the alphas, I suppose.” He swallows his mouthful. “It hasn’t been easy, getting the alphas to fall into line. Not all have, not yet, anyway. We’re not known for submitting to others. But we were losing this war with your people. Something had to be done. We had to unite behind someone.”

I clasp my hands together tightly. I got a taste of the violence of Wolves at the dog fight and the siege. Whoever has got these men—this man—to submit to him must be frightening indeed.

“What is he like?” I ask.

Callum shrugs. “He’s alright, I suppose.” His tone is warm, and that, more than anything, eases the panic a little.

I’ve always thought myself to be a good judge of people, and despite his lack of decorum, I do not think Callum is a bad man. I do not think he would support someone who was.

Although, sometimes good men can be deceived.

“I thought you didn’t feel the cold,” I say, noting how close his legs are to the fire.

“I don’t. But the warmth still feels nice.”

“Why don’t you feel the cold?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Why do you ask questions as though they’re accusations?” When I merely glare at him, he shrugs. “It’s my wolf blood.”

He pops the last chunk of bread into his mouth, and I watch as he chews then swallows. I can’t help but remember what he said earlier.

“Do you. . . do you really eat people?”

His eyes widen. He looks me up and down, and I feel naked under his scrutiny.

“As much as I’d enjoy feasting on you, Princess, I will refrain,” he says.

I get the impression he’s telling a joke. “Okay. Well. . . good.”

He grins as he gets up. “We should go.”

He holds out one of his big hands. I take it and let him pull me to my feet. He pours the remaining water in the flask over the fire, dowsing the flames, before stamping on it a few times. We walk to the horse, which is tethered by a fir tree.

“Wait there a moment,” he says, before heading down to the loch to refill the flask.

The sun has risen now, and the sky is a bright morning shade of blue. The mountains around us are unspoiled and there are different shades of green everywhere. To our left, the sun glints off the surface of the loch. The air smells like pine and woodsmoke; it’s so different to the dirty smells of the city. I breathe it in deeply.

“You’re allowed to be impressed, Princess,” says Callum gently as he comes up behind me.

“It’s. . . beautiful,” I admit.

“Aye,” he says softly. “It is.”

When I turn to face him, he’s looking at me.

He averts his gaze. “Come on,” he says, his voice a little rough.

He hoists me up on the horse, then mounts behind me.

Soon, we’re back on the road, and on our way to the castle.

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Chapter Twelve

The wind picks up around us as we ride out of the valley. It is as wild and untamed as the feelings that whirl around in my stomach. Even the mountains seem to move as the gust blows through the grass and the trees.

But the mountains remain whole. And so must I.

I can’t let anyone see I am afraid of the fate that awaits me when we reach the Wolf King.

After a few hours of riding, due to my insistence, we take a break to eat some more bread and hard cheese. Much to Callum’s exasperation.

If I’m honest, I’m not hungry. Every hour we ride brings us closer to the Wolves and a part of me wants to delay what is coming, to prepare myself.

We’re just about to set off again, and Callum is packing up the horse, when the sky opens.

I gasp. I have never seen rain like this—so wild and loud and wet. It even makes the rain I’ve experienced over the past couple of days seem tame. It runs down my face, my lips—making my hair stick to my cheeks and seeping through my furs.

It rains in the King’s City, too, of course. But there, it’s nothing more than moisture in the air and patters on the cobblestones; a moment’s reprieve from the heat from the Sun Goddess. And even then, if I am ever caught out in it, one of the King’s Guard will put a parasol over my head and usher me indoors as if I will break if the water touches me.

Dolls are not supposed to get wet, after all.

It frustrated me at the time, but I wonder now if they were right. I think I am breaking. The stone statue I dream about is cracking beneath the raindrops.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m turning my face toward the sky and stretching out my arms—welcoming the feeling of cold water on my skin.

I laugh.

I am here, and I am human, and I am alive.

A footstep causes the laughter to die in my throat as the realization of where I am and who I’m with crashes through me.

Slowly, I turn to face him.

I have always thought of rain as an equalizer of men. It doesn’t matter if you’re dressed in rags or finery, the rain will soak you and make you look smaller all the same.

It is different with Callum. It is like the rain strengthens him.

Water rolls off his kilt, and his tree-trunk calves are muddy. His shirt sticks to his muscles and emphasizes how big they are.

I look up at his face—fearing the disgust I’m sure I’ll see in his eyes, and wondering if he’ll scold me, or backhand me, like my father would if he’d witnessed such a scene.

He is looking at me as though I am the strangest, most wonderful thing he has ever seen. There’s a broad smile on his face, and it’s that, more than anything, that makes me realize how dangerous this man—this wolf—is.

This is someone who has no need to conceal his emotions, because who would dare judge him or take advantage of him because of them? He looks like if he decided to punch the ground, he would cause an earthquake.

Heart thumping, I drag my gaze away.

“I’m glad the rain pleases you, Princess,” he says. “There’s plenty more of that where we’re heading. Now come, we’d better be on our way.”

***

An hour later, I am no longer laughing, nor pleased.

The rain has stopped, and I am bedraggled and miserable.

“You need to find me some suitable clothes to change into when we arrive,” I say. “You can’t present me to your king like this.”

“You can change into one of my shirts and—”

“Something suitable, Callum.”

He sighs. He sounds resigned. “Aye.”

“Well. . . good.” Some of the nerves in my stomach steady.

If I was back home, I’d spend the entire day preparing for something like this—bathing, braiding my hair, selecting the perfect dress; one that would convey whatever message my father was trying to send.

I’d be demure and sweet, or fun and flirty, or a tempting prize to be won.

I would be more confident about meeting the Wolf King if I had access to my finery and my costumes. But at least if I can change out of my nightdress, I can make myself somewhat presentable.

We fall silent for a while, and the wind beings to calm as we take an overgrown road through the grass and fern.

The sounds of bird calls that I’ve not heard before and running water surround us.

The sun is higher now. It does little to warm the Northlands air, but I close my eyes for a moment and bask in the light regardless. When I open them, I notice how it turns the vein-like streams coming down the mountains silver.

A strange sense of peace settles over me. I find myself sinking back into the man behind me.

Even if I bring my father valuable information about the Wolves and their king, he’ll still find something to punish me for when I get home. What does it matter if I relax for a while? Even if I am sitting inappropriately close to a man who is not my betrothed.

I glance down. Callum’s thighs are huge, and they rub against mine through his red tartan.

A rumor I heard the ladies-in-waiting whispering back at the palace comes back to me, about how Wolves wear no undergarments beneath their kilts.

I stiffen. If that is true, he is sitting way too close to me.

“It’s going to be alright, you know?” Callum says, misreading my tension.

I can’t exactly ask him about his undergarments, so I decide to follow his track of conversation. “You don’t know that.”

“I told you, I’ll protect you. I take care of my own.”

I’m about to tell him I’m not his, and as such, that means very little to me. But an image of muscle and blood, and the sickening sound of cracking bone, flashes behind my eyelids.

“You didn’t take care of Ryan,” I say quietly.

His knuckles whiten as he clenches the reins on my lap.

I tense. It was the wrong thing to say.

Although it is a valid fear of mine. Because how can he tell me he will take care of me—the daughter of his enemy—when he was going to kill a young man from his own pack?

I don’t think he’s going to respond. I hear him swallow.

“No.” His voice is rough. “No. I didn’t. I should’ve dislocated his arm back at the castle, when I saw him loading up his horse.”

“Your regret is you should have hurt him earlier?”

“Aye. I let him disobey me because I knew about the lass he wanted to save. I was too soft on the lad.”

“Dislocating someone’s arm is hardly taking care of them, nor being soft!”

“It’s better than killing them for your betrothed’s amusement!” His tone is harsher than I’ve ever heard it, and cool shame floods my system.

“It’s not as if I have a say in who I marry!”

“No? I thought you said there was always a choice, Princess.”

I grit my teeth. “Yes. And the choice was to marry Sebastian and survive, or refuse him—rendering myself useless to my father. I made my choice to survive, and I would make it again.”

“Aye. And I made my choice, too,” says Callum, his tone a little softer. “I chose to rough up the lad in the ring so you’d take pity on him and spare him.”

My breath mists in front of my face as I breathe out slowly. “You couldn’t possibly know I would do that.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “Not for certain. But I could smell your fear, and hear your heartbeat. I could sense your repulsion of the men sitting beside you, and I could feel you didn’t want to be there in that hall. And yet, you didn’t show it. And when your eyes met mine, I could see the steel in them. I could see the determination, and the strength, and the fire in your soul. Most people would’ve looked away from me if I’d looked at them the way I looked at you, but you didn’t. And I felt the hatred in that gaze. You hated everyone in that room, and you hated me. Goddess, you hated me. You hated me for what I was about to do to the lad.” He lets loose a half-laugh that sounds almost like a growl. “No. I didn’t know for certain. But I was pretty sure.”

Something tightens, then loosens, inside me.

I’m not sure why his words are having such an effect on me. Perhaps because he is right. Perhaps because, in a room crowded with people, he was the only one who noticed me. I cannot remember a time when anyone else has ever really looked.

“I noticed something else about the way you were looking at me, Princess.” His voice is lighter, almost teasing.

My eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“You thought I was handsome.” His voice is alight with amusement now. I can hear the stupid grin on his face.

“I did not!” My face flushes as I elbow him in the side.

He roars with laughter. I’m surprised he doesn’t upset the horse. She’s probably used to carrying around big brutes like him, poor thing. I’m about to ask if that’s true, when we reach the crest of a hill, revealing the valley below.

A rugged castle made of stone stands in the distance. It’s beside a loch with water so black it looks bottomless. Beyond, there is a backdrop of mountains, and a forest that stretches into the distance.

My stomach clenches.

“There she is,” says Callum. “Castle Madadh-allaidh. No doubt the rest of our party will have alerted the king that we’re on our way. Are you ready, Princess?”

I swallow, steadying my writhing nerves.

I will myself to be stone. No, steel.

I nod. “Yes.”

Callum tightens his arm around my waist in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring gesture.

He takes the reins with both hands, digs his heels into the horse, and we gallop down the hill toward the castle.

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Chapter Thirteen

The castle courtyard is full of Wolves.

They look like men and women, but I know what lurks beneath their skin. It’s obvious in the way they dress and wear their hair wild and loose, shouting at one another across the stone yard in accents as thick as the grime that coats them.

The air is loud and smelly and wild as the wind whips my hair into my face.

Ahead, the castle waits for me, like a dangerous beast, with walls made of crumbling grey stone. It’s tall and angular in appearance, with a turret that casts a long shadow over the courtyard.

As we ride to the heavy wooden doors ahead, a couple of men who are noisily sparring drop their swords to stare at me. It’s as if they can sense what lurks beneath my skin as well. I am the daughter of their enemy king. What would they do to me if they knew?

My heart beats faster.

Callum hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. His body is warm, and I can feel his heart beating steadily against my back. It is a stark contrast to the chaos around us.

“I was a wee lad the first time I came here.” His voice is a rough whisper that tickles my ear—and I wonder why he is telling me this now when there are clearly more important things to be concerned about. “It was the first time I’d ever been to the south.”

I swallow, focusing on Callum rather than the couple of women carrying dead rabbits, who have stopped their conversation to turn their attention toward me.

“This isn’t the south,” I say quietly.

“It is when you’re from Highfell.”

His tone is light and conversational, and I wonder if he is trying to distract me from the other Wolves that are now casting their gazes in our direction. He pulls gently on the reins of the horse and we come to a stop not far from the castle doors.

“It’s the real north up there. Harsh and wild, with nights so dark you can barely see in front of your face. When my father brought me down here, he told me all southerners were soft. But our clans were at war with one another. And that first time I came here, I was afraid.”

He shifts behind me, then dismounts the horse. I stiffen, gripping the ridge on the saddle as the cold air seeps through my furs to my nightdress.

Even though most of the Wolves are openly staring at us, his gaze doesn’t move from mine. There’s something so still in it that it eases the panic rising in my chest.

“But no harm came to me.” He smiles softly. “And no harm will come to you. Not while I’m at your side. Okay?”

He holds out a big hand. I swallow and raise my chin—pushing the fear deep down. I can’t let these people think I am weak.

I swing my leg over the horse, then, tentatively, I take his hand.

His fingers are rough and callused and they close around mine.

He helps me slide down the horse, one of his hands clasping my waist. I wince when my feet touch the stone, and his jaw tightens as that hint of shame crosses his expression once more. I expect him to scoop me off my feet again. He seems to be in the habit of doing so and a pathetic part of me wants him to. I ache and my soles hurt and I’m tired and dirty. I want to bury my face in his chest so I cannot see everyone looking at me. I want to pretend I’m not here.

He squeezes my hand before looking over my shoulder at the twenty or so Wolves who are clearly watching us.

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” His voice is light, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his tone. “If you have enough time for idle gossip in the middle of the day, I’m sure Mrs. McDonald would welcome your help peeling potatoes in the kitchens.”

The smaller man who was sparring gives an exaggerated shudder. His accent is so thick I can only pick up the words “kill” and “dragon”, but there are a few titters in the crowd and Callum grins. I get the impression that whoever Mrs. McDonald is, she’s not very popular.

Whether that’s the case or not, the tension seems to break and the people in the courtyard go back to their business—though a few eye Callum and me curiously. Some of the unfriendly looks seem to be directed at Callum as well as me, though he either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

“Peeling taties?” A female voice comes from somewhere behind Callum’s large physique. “You could’ve told them I had some horse shite for them to sweep up. I wouldn’t mind the afternoon off.”

Callum’s grin widens. “Aye? Got plans, have you?”

“Oh, a nice dram of whiskey. Soak in the bath. I’ve not had chance for one in a week.”

“I can tell.”

Callum turns, revealing the girl standing behind him. She looks around my age, slightly taller than me, with long brown hair that’s tied in a loose ponytail with a red tartan ribbon. She’s pretty—even with dirt smearing her cheek, and the fact that she’s dressed like a man in breeches and a linen shirt slick with sweat.

Callum may be teasing her, but I can tell she hasn’t bathed in a while as well. She’s giving off a strong smell of horses.

She narrows her eyes at Callum, though the corner of her lip twitches. “Cheeky bastard. You survived?”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

They embrace. He pulls her close, and her arm grips the back of his neck as she burrows her head into his shoulder.

“I was worried about you, Callum,” she mumbles. “So worried.”

And I feel like someone has just punched me in the gut. My blood pumps cold and it is stupid for my body to be reacting this way. Because he is a wolf and an enemy.

And of course he has a woman back home. Because despite all his faults, he is strong and brave and kind.

I swallow and try to calm my racing pulse.

Callum stiffens, then turns to look at me as they release one another—his expression confused—as though he senses the raw emotion surging through me. The girl’s eyebrows knit together as well. Her eyes narrow on my bare feet, on the damp fur cloak, and the dirty nightdress beneath.

She gives Callum a hard look, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Who’s this, then?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

“This is Rory,” says Callum—and there’s a shift in his tone. It’s almost as if he’s daring her to challenge him. “She was one of Sebastian’s prisoners.”

I frown, wondering why he isn’t being truthful to his wife, or lover, or whoever she is to him. Even though I suppose it is not quite a lie.

“She’s not one of us,” says the girl.

Callum’s eyebrows raise. “Does that matter?”

“I suppose it depends on who exactly she is. And what you hope to achieve by bringing her here.” She gives him another appraising look, then brushes him aside. “Are you okay, lass?”

Surprise blooms in my chest at the question. “I. . . yes. Yes. I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe me. “Aye? Well, if any of these louts give you any trouble, you come find me. I work in the stables.” She gestures to an archway leading out from the courtyard.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I stand straighter.

I don’t want to come across as weak and powerless. I chose to come here—however ill-advised that may be. I don’t want to be a victim. I am a princess.

“Hm,” she says, taking the reins of Callum’s horse. “For the love of Ghealach, get her something decent to wear.”

“You realize I’m your alpha, right?” he says, eyes glinting playfully.

“Aye.” She sighs dramatically. “And that’s why I spend my days sweeping up after you.” She pats the horse’s neck, gives Callum a fond look, then leads the horse away. “Come on, Dawn.”

“Fi,” he calls after her.

“Aye?”

“Are the others back yet?”

Her brow furrows. “No. I thought they’d be arriving with you.”

He frowns as she leaves, clearly troubled. He offers me a half-smile. “Probably hungover.”

He puts his hand on my lower back to nudge me toward the castle. I stiffen at the inappropriateness of it. His woman friend is still in sight. His eyebrows knit together, but he drops his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you into some fresh clothes before we meet with the king.”

I straighten my back, hold my head high, and walk toward the castle—trying my hardest not to limp when my muscles are screaming and stones dig into my feet. Callum doesn’t say anything. And thank the Goddess he doesn’t pick me up either.

He leans over me to push open the heavy oak doors, and we step into an echoey entrance hall.

I catch a glimpse of a dark mezzanine, draped with green tartan, and a large oil painting of a great black wolf, before Callum nudges me through a door into a long corridor.

Out of sight of the other Wolves, my body sags.

“Why did you tell your wife I was a prisoner?” I ask.

Callum’s brow furrows.

“My wife? What are you—?” Suddenly, he throws his head back and roars with laughter. It makes me jump as the sound echoes around the cold space.

“Fiona? She’s not my wife! Ghealach! Don’t let her hear you saying that. She’d not be best pleased with you!”

Something that feels traitorously like relief blooms in my chest. I swallow, pushing it down. “Oh. You’re inappropriate with all women then?”

He laughs. “I gave her a hug, Princess. She’s my oldest friend. But wife? No. Whatever gave you—”

He halts and looks at me searchingly, his head tilting to the side. His smile broadens.

“What?” I fold my arms across my chest.

“So that’s what that was all about.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, Princess, that as a wolf, I have exceptionally good senses.” His eyes glint in the torchlight. Then he starts moving again. “You were jealous,” he says.

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