Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Seventeen

It takes everything in me not to crumple into a pile on Callum’s floor.

“A feast?”

Back home, I’d relish the idea of going to a feast.

The balls, the gatherings, the summer festivals—I lived for those events. As stifling as they could be, they were the only times when my father saw me as useful—even if I was just a prop to him, or a trophy to dangle in front of visiting kingdoms.

But I have been riding for two days, and I haven’t bathed properly, and I don’t have my clothes or my servants or my make-up.

I shake my head. “No. I’m not in the mood for a feast. I will retire early tonight, and you can speak to Blake alone.”

Callum sighs. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He nods at the big four-poster bed to my side and my cheeks heat. I’m an unmarried woman. He can’t possibly expect me to sit on his bed.

“I would rather stand.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. You’re coming with me.”

“No.”

He arches an eyebrow. “No?”

This man is a mountain, and he’s used to getting his own way. There is only one card I can play to get the upper hand here.

“If you drag me into your Great Hall, I will tell everyone who I am!” I fold my arms. “It will cause carnage. And what will you do then?”

“That would end worse for you than it would for me, Princess,” says Callum. “Believe me.”

“So you’re not going to protect me?”

“Oh, I would protect you from the Wolves outside these doors. But if you’re going to do something reckless, it’s me you’ll have to contend with.”

I feel as if he’s just doused me with cold water. “You’re threatening me?”

“Aye,” he says. Though I’ve seen him threaten people before—with his muscles hard, and his posture dominant—and he doesn’t look like that now. He looks relaxed, his expression soft, a playful glint in his green eyes.

“Is that how you became the big, strong alpha?” I demand. “Threatening women you kidnapped?”

“Not quite.”

I fight the urge to ask him how he became an alpha, pushing down the intrigue that blooms inside my chest at how this infernal Kingdom of Wolves actually works. Now is not the time.

“Well, what are you going to do to me?” I ask.

The armchair creaks as he leans forward, and his heat and scent wash over me. “I’d start by telling everybody about our secret.”

“What secret?”

“About our. . . sleeping arrangement last night.” He clucks his tongue. “What will people think? A princess and a wolf. The scandal!”

My cheeks heat, and a feral sound escapes my lips.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

“What kind of gentleman are you?” I demand.

“I’m not a gentleman, remember? I’m a wolf.” The amusement doesn’t leave his expression as he nods at the bed. “Sit down.”

“No.”

He rises from his seat, and his body swamps mine. I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “You must be tired,” he says.

He steps forward and his chest bumps into mine. I stumble onto the bed, quickly pushing myself upright. My hands sink into the soft downy quilt.

His chest is right in front of my face. One of his buttons must have torn off in the siege, and I catch a glimpse of the skin and toned muscle beneath his shirt.

I swallow.

“Is this how you get your way? By pushing people around?” I ask.

“It’s one of my methods of persuasion, aye.” He crouches in front of me, placing one of his knees on the tartan rug. “I don’t usually have to work so hard to get someone to do something. You’re very stubborn, aren’t you?”

He puts a hand on my thigh, and all the muscles in my body clench.

He quickly removes it.

“Come with me.” He sighs. “Please. This is my fault. I put you into this situation. Let me fix this.”

There is something so earnest in his eyes, so. . . lonely. . . that I fight the urge to touch his cheek.

Despite his infuriating arrogance, I can tell this is a man who feels the weight of his responsibilities and decisions. This is a man who bears that weight so others don’t have to.

Something softens inside me, and vulnerability flickers in his eyes as if he senses it.

I sigh.

I’d rather speak with Blake in different circumstances. If I was feeling rested and sharp, I’d be more confident I could gain the upper hand. But I cannot deny that I am curious about the dark-haired wolf with the Southlands accent.

I’m sure my father would be interested to know about a wolf who claims to have served in his guard, too.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll come to your feast. But I need to wash first.”

Callum smiles. When he steps away, the air feels lighter and I can breathe again.

He nods at the copper bathtub behind him. “Take it. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be outside.” He leans against the doorframe. “Unless you’d like me to help you with your bath?”

I make a strangled sound at the thought of being naked in front of Callum with his hands on me. “How can you say such things?”

“What? It was a genuine offer!”

“No it wasn’t! You’re trying to annoy me.”

He grins. “Maybe a wee bit. You’re cute when you blush.”

My cheeks flame and I hate myself for it. “Brute!”

He chuckles as he steps into the corridor.

“We have a few hours until we’ll need to head to the Great Hall,” he says over his shoulder. “Wash and get some rest. You’ll need your strength. Feasts here. . .” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes glinting. “Well, let’s just say they can get lively.”

And with those ominous words, he shuts the door behind him.

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Chapter Eighteen

A floorboard creaks, and my eyes jolt open.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m lying on Callum’s bed.

My body heats. Before today, I’d never even been in a man’s bedchambers before—let alone fallen asleep on their soft quilt with my hair soaking their pillows. At least I had the grace to clothe myself in the tartan dress after my bath. Even if my feet are bare, and my skirts have risen to my thighs.

I can smell him on the sheets, soft and masculine, and my cheeks flush.

The room is dark, though a fire is crackling in the hearth, emitting a soft glow. When I glance at the narrow window, I notice the crescent moon outside. It is nighttime already.

Beside the window, Callum sifts through his wardrobe. He’s wearing his kilt, but his shirt now hangs over the arm of his chair.

I bite my bottom lip.

I saw him topless when he was in the fighting ring, and his hard muscle had seemed fearsome. Now, I find myself admiring his broad shoulders and the way that the muscles in his back shift as he pulls out a shirt.

His skin glistens, and his hair is darker, as if wet. He must have washed, too.

“Good sleep?” he asks without turning.

I shut my eyes, my breath hitching.

“I know you’re awake, Princess. Your heart is hammering.” The floorboards creak as he turns. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He sounds concerned—ashamed, even.

The air shifts as he approaches. My pulse quickens and I’m not sure why. I do not fear him, even though I probably should. He breathes in sharply, then places something on the bedside table beside me.

“If it makes you feel safer,” he says.

I open my eyes. The letter opener he took from me during the siege now sits beside a half-burned candle.

I push myself up onto the pillows and take it, turning it in my hand. The silver gleams in the dim light.

I frown. “You would give me this?”

“I don’t want you to fear me.”

I stare at the tiny knife, then at the size of Callum, and fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t think I could do much damage with this.”

An answering grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs. “Small things can be deadly, too.”

He places his shirt onto the bed, and crouches in front of me. His face is close to mine, and I fight the urge to drop my gaze and look at his bare chest. He closes his fingers around my hand, and brings it close to his neck so that the blade is almost touching his skin.

My breathing quickens. “What are you doing?”

“Go for the throat.” His voice is rougher than usual.

I swallow, then nod. The air heats, becomes unbreathable.

He pulls away and I exhale. He releases a long breath too, and I wonder if I wasn’t the only one affected.

Turning around, he shrugs on his shirt, and buttons it up.

“I don’t fear you,” I say, quietly.

His shoulders soften.

“Good. You have no reason to.” He nods at the blade, clutched in my hand. “The other Wolves here. . . and the particular wolf we’ll be meeting with tonight. . .” His expression darkens. “Be on your guard, Princess. And stay close to me.”

I place the blade in the pocket of my dress.

Callum holds out his hand. “Ready?”

My stomach is roiling, but I allow him to pull me to my feet.

He offers me a half-smile. “You know, these feasts can actually be quite fun.”

“Apart from all the Wolves who want to kill me.”

“Aye. Apart from that.”

He leads me out of his room.

Callum said Blake was the most dangerous man here.

I suppose I’ll soon find out whether or not that is true.

As we head down the stairwell, Callum reels off a list of all the foods we can expect to eat this evening.

I’m barely listening. I keep having to disentangle my hand from his, only for him to reach for me and enclose my fingers within his once more. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it.

This kind of overfamiliar behavior would not be tolerated in the Southlands, and I wonder whether all Wolves are this physical, or whether it’s just Callum.

I don’t hate it, though, and that in itself is rather disconcerting.

I’m a betrothed woman—even if I’m supposed to marry a cruel and horrible man. My father would kill me if he saw me holding hands with the alpha of Highfell. I don’t even want to think about what he would do to Callum.

Callum’s familiarity, however, is not enough to distract me from the high-pitched screeching that hits my ears when we walk into the next corridor.

Callum must notice my wince, because he chuckles. “You don’t have bagpipes in the south?”

He points ahead. There’s a young boy—around ten years old—standing at the entrance of the Great Hall. He has a blue tartan bag nestled beneath his arm, and his cheeks are as red as his hair as he blows into a pipe.

He looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Just be thankful you don’t have wolf hearing,” he whispers darkly. “I had to listen to the wee lad practicing.” He gives the boy a thumbs-up as we pass by. “Great job, Brodie!”

An extra shrill note rings my ears as Brodie puffs out his chest with pride.

A soft laugh escapes my lips.

Callum’s gaze snaps toward me as we enter the Great Hall, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“What?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You have a nice laugh.”

When we walk into the entrance hall, my smile fades.

In the Southlands, we thought the Wolves were too unruly to unite against us. For the centuries that we have been at war, they have fought among themselves, as well as with us. It has been our greatest advantage.

Yet here, within the walls of this castle, there must be over one hundred Wolves. They shout and laugh and insult one another as they sit along four long tables that are laden with food.

The air smells like ale and woodsmoke and roast venison.

At the end of the hall, beneath a coat of arms that depicts a wolf and a moon, there’s a raised dais. At the table atop it sits Robert, the acting Wolf King.

Callum takes my hand and leads me toward him and the four equally menacing men that sit with him. There’s a lull in the crowd as we pass by.

I’m not sure why he’s taking me toward Robert’s table. The Wolves sitting there look like the scariest in the hall—each donning a different tartan. Callum drops into one of the vacant seats at the end of the table, and gestures that I do the same.

Trying not to show my fear, I sit down beside him, the small letter opener pressing into my thigh. Not that it will do me much good if everyone turns on me. It seems like that may be a possibility. Everyone is looking in my direction.

Can they smell that I’m a human? Or are they wondering why I’m wearing Callum’s clan colors?

Callum, however, seems perfectly at ease. His legs are spread, and his elbow rests casually on the table. When Robert looks at him, Callum meets his eye.

There’s a moment of tension. Then Robert leans back in his seat and forks up a piece of meat before going back to his conversation.

The raucous laughter and merriness resumes—even if some of the Wolves look at me with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

I spot Fiona, the girl I thought was Callum’s wife, at one of the tables. She’s wearing a dress like mine, made of red tartan, and her brown hair hangs in waves down her shoulders—though there are a couple of strands of hay in it.

She grins and turns back to the person next to her. Isla is sitting at the same table, and she scowls when I catch her eye.

Beside me, Callum grabs a plate and starts piling it with food—potatoes, roasted turnips, venison, thick meat gravy, and blackberry sauce. He places it before me, then helps himself to a plate.

I ignore my grumbling stomach.

“Weren’t we supposed to be keeping my presence discreet?” I whisper.

“The alphas sit at this table.” His voice is the same volume as mine as he scans the Great Hall. “And I’m an alpha. It would have looked stranger if I’d not sat here.”

He stabs a chunk of meat with his fork and puts it into his mouth.

“Where’s Blake?” I ask.

“No idea. Whenever he crawls out from wherever he’s lurking right now, he’ll come sit at this table too.”

My eyebrows raise. “He’s an alpha?”

Blake looks strong, but he isn’t big and muscular like Callum or the other males sitting at this table. His accent also indicates he doesn’t originate from the Northlands.

“There’s been some debate over the matter,” says Callum, his voice low. “The last person who questioned it hasn’t been seen for a while.” He nods at the entrance to the hall. “Ah. There he is.”

Blake stands in the doorway.

Like earlier, he’s dressed in dark breeches rather than a kilt, and wears a black shirt that is perfectly fitted to his hard chest and torso. His hair is dark, and a couple of errant strands curl against his forehead.

He scans the Great Hall, a bored look on his face.

When his eyes lock onto mine, a wicked smile spreads across his face.

He heads toward us.

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Chapter Nineteen

Many of the men in this Great Hall remind me of beasts. But there’s something different about the dark-haired male who prowls toward us.

It’s not just that he wears breeches instead of a kilt. It’s the calculated disinterest on his face, and the fluid way he moves.

He reminds me more of a cat than a wolf.

People much bigger than him watch him warily as he passes by.

When he stops in front of our table, Callum leans back in his seat, a look of dislike etched onto his face.

“Brought your pet to the feast, I see?” says Blake.

He’s almost as tall as Callum, though not as muscular. He looks like he’s in his early twenties like Callum, too. I catch his scent of shadows and pine—like a forest at night.

“We need to talk,” says Callum.

A slow smile spreads across Blake’s face, and dimples puncture his cheeks. “So we do.” While Callum’s voice is low and rough, Blake’s is smooth like silk. “After we eat.”

He looks at the door on the left-hand side of the hall and Callum inclines his head.

Blake drops into a seat by Robert and starts a conversation.

“I’m not a pet,” I say quietly.

Blake meets my eyes and smirks.

Again, I feel that small tug of recognition. I wonder if I saw him at my father’s palace. If I did, what on earth is he doing here?

“No. Course not,” Callum says absently, stabbing a potato.

“What if he says something about me to Robert?”

“He won’t. He’s a self-interested prick. He’ll want to find out what you’re doing here in case there’s a way for him to exploit it,” continues Callum, lowering his voice. “There are too many ears in this hall. We’ll speak with him later.” He nods at my plate. “Enjoy your food. It’s good, I promise.”

***

The Great Hall gets louder with bagpipes, shouting, and slurred song as the night progresses. I’m starting to enjoy the music, although that could be because a small troop of musicians have taken over from ten-year-old Brodie.

While it’s difficult to imagine anyone could turn into a wolf, the people at the feast move, and shout, and dance, as though no sense of propriety binds them. A fight has broken out by the entrance, and a man and a woman are kissing against the far wall.

I watch, fascinated, as I eat.

I count six different clan colors running through the hall—two different blues, a yellow, two greens, and the red that Callum wears. That means the Wolf King, whoever he is, must have united six clans. Perhaps seven. Blake, dressed all in black, is certainly set apart from the rest, and I wonder if his people are elsewhere.

People approach Callum throughout the evening—speaking to him deferentially and dipping their heads when addressing him. Some ask about the siege and the whereabouts of the other Wolves who still haven’t returned. Callum tells them he’s sent someone out to look for them, his jaw tensing as he relays this information.

He must be worried about Ryan. I am, too. I’ve no doubt Sebastian will have sent men after me. What if they caught up with the group Callum and I left behind?

A couple of hours into the feast, Blake finally gets up. He weaves through the crowd and exits the Great Hall through the door he nodded at earlier.

Callum waits a couple of minutes before rising. “Ready?”

My limbs are stiff, either from the horse-riding or from sitting down for so long, but I let Callum steer me through the boisterous crowd. His huge body creates a protective bubble around me.

When we reach the door Blake went through, Callum puts a hand flat on my stomach and I still. His warm breath tickles my ear.

“Just to warn you, Wolves tend to use this room on nights such as this when they want a bit of. . . privacy.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? That’s what we want.”

“Aye,” he says carefully. “But others may want privacy for a different reason. If you catch my drift?”

I don’t, but I nod anyway.

“When we get in there, I’ll need to tell Blake I’ve taken you prisoner,” he says. “That’s not the way that I see you, okay?”

He opens the door and hustles me inside.

The room is warm and dark, full of nooks and alcoves and small round tables where candles flicker. It smells like woodsmoke and spice, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust.

There’s a woman straddling a man on the leather armchair to our right. The top of her dress is pulled down, exposing her breasts, and the male has his mouth around one of her nipples. She rocks against him, moaning softly.

I gasp, jerking my head in the opposite direction.

Callum nudges me forward. “It’s okay. Keep walking.”

We head toward the hearth at the end of the room. There are two armchairs facing it, and Blake sits back in one of them, his long legs stretched out in front of him toward the crackling flames.

When we reach him, I look for a third space to sit down, but Callum hooks his arm around my waist and drops down into the vacant armchair—pulling me down onto his lap. When I try to get back up, his arm tightens around me.

Blake watches our almost imperceptible struggle, his dark eyes glinting.

He leans forward.

“Caught yourself a little rabbit, have you, Callum?” he says.

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Chapter Twenty

My mouth dries.

Blake’s gaze pins me to the spot, while Callum’s thick arm holds me against his chest.

I’m not used to being so close to a male. Back at the palace, I had to dance, and smile, and sweet-talk nobles at social gatherings. If any of them had held me like this, they would have been executed. This is not appropriate. And it’s certainly not the way I wanted to meet the male that Callum said is the most dangerous wolf in the Northlands.

But it is the strange heat pulsing beneath my skin that finally makes me try to shuffle out of Callum’s grasp.

“Behave,” growls Callum, and I stiffen.

He has not used this tone on me before, and panic surges through me. Have I misjudged this male?

But then I remember he was going to tell Blake I was his prisoner. I do not see how that can work to our advantage, though. If Blake knows who I am, then it only makes me look weak.

Before I can decide how to react, Blake takes my hand in his and presses his lips to my knuckles. I freeze.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, little rabbit,” he says.

A low growl rumbles in Callum’s chest and the corner of Blake’s lip quirks before he releases me.

“You remind me of someone I saw back at the Southlands palace,” says Blake. “Did you know that the daughter of the king has red hair, just like yours?”

“Give it a rest, Blake,” growls Callum. “I know you know who she is.”

Blake sighs, before leaning back in his chair and reaching for a glass of wine on the round table beside him. “Very well. Let’s be direct with one another, if you don’t want to play.”

“Where’s James?” asks Callum.

“There was a disturbance near the border. He went to sort it.” Blake sips his wine. “You intend to trade her for the Heart of the Moon, I suppose?”

“Aye.”

“If the Wolves find out who she really is, they’ll tear her apart.”

I frown. Must they speak about me as if I’m not even here?

But then Blake’s eyes move to mine. Curiosity ripples off him. “Why did you choose to come here, little rabbit?”

“She didn’t choose. I took her,” says Callum. “And I’ve just told you why.”

“Very well. I’m interested in how this is all going to play out. I’ll keep your secret.”

“If Magnus gets back before James, he could cause some trouble,” says Callum.

“Are you asking for my help, Callum?”

“Aye,” Callum grits out.

“Say please.”

Callum’s thighs tense beneath me, and I can feel the restraint in his chest. If he launches himself at Blake like I sense he wants to, we’re going to be in trouble.

“Please,” I say, giving him a hard look.

Blake’s grin widens, and again I notice the dimples in his cheeks. “Looks like your pet has better manners than you, Callum. Very well. I’ll deal with Magnus.” He turns his attention back to Callum. “And you can put your rabbit in a hutch for safekeeping. The chambers in the western tower are empty—”

“She stays with me,” says Callum.

Blake puts his glass down on the table. In a sudden movement, he reaches for me.

Callum grabs his wrist, stopping him.

I’m jolted forward.

“Look at you,” says Blake. “You’re like a dog guarding his favorite chew toy. What happens when you decide you want to play with it?”

“She’s my prisoner,” says Callum.

Blake chuckles. “Please. You’re not a kidnapper, Callum. You’re a savior. Perhaps you told yourself that you brought her here for the Heart of the Moon, but we both know the truth. You saw a woman who needed saving, and you wanted to be the one to do so. She’ll stay in the room in the tower where we can both keep an eye on her.”

“No,” says Callum.

“You truly wish for me to believe you’re holding her captive?” Blake arches an eyebrow. “Fine. Prove it. Make her do something.” His lips curve into a smile. “Tell her to come and sit with me.”

“That is not—” I splutter.

“The day I feel the need to prove myself to you is the day I relinquish my title as alpha of Highfell,” says Callum.

Blake somehow manages to look bored even with Callum tightly gripping his wrist. “If you want my help, you’ll put her in the tower.”

“No.”

“Fine. Keep her in your room. Have her sleep in your bed.”

Panic, mingled with something else, surges through my body.

“Out of interest, have you had many dealings with noblemen in the south?” Blake continues, conversationally. “I have. They’re a primitive lot. Did you know they require their brides to be untouched? Did you know, on occasion, they check?”

The blood drains from my face and Callum’s biceps clench. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I’m curious, Callum. How do you expect to get her betrothed to agree to a trade when it’s only a matter of time before you have your cock buried inside her?”

My cheeks flame. “That’s not—”

“That’s enough, Blake,” growls Callum. “She’ll be staying where I can keep an eye on her.”

“The room in the tower is close to my chambers, and to yours. Do you think anyone would be foolish enough to try anything with either of us so close? She’ll be perfectly safe.”

“She’s too valuable to risk.”

“And what of the Heart of the Moon?” asks Blake. “How valuable is that? How will you trade her—”

I jerk forward, freeing myself from both of them and stumbling across the flagstones. Both turn their heads toward me.

Callum’s body is hard with tension, whereas Blake seems merely intrigued.

I’ve had enough of this charade. Blake knows who I am, and he seems to have the measure of Callum, as well.

“Does my opinion factor into the equation?” I ask. “Or are you going to keep on speaking about me as if I’m not here?”

Blake’s eyes gleam, while Callum looks a little sheepish. He releases Blake, and the dark-haired wolf leans back, resting his elbow casually on the arm of his chair.

“What is it that you want, Princess?” Callum asks, seemingly realizing the pretense is over.

Freedom. That is what I want. I want to be free from Sebastian, and to not have my fate determined by powerful men.

For that to happen, I need to be alone so I can figure out my next move.

I can’t plot against the Wolves, and find out more information about the Heart of the Moon and the Wolf King, if I am kept in Callum’s room, in his bed.

“I’ll need my own chambers,” I say. “If Sebastian found out that I’d shared a room with another man, I’d lose my value. You heard what he said back at the castle.”

The muscles along Callum’s jaw tighten. He sighs and inclines his head.

“Very well,” he says. “But I have a condition. And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

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