Chapter 157 Countdown to Peace - Part 13

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ETAN

The covers of the bed flew as both of them leaped out of the bed on opposite sides.

Heedless of his own need to cover his nakedness, Etan scrambled from the bed to help Ayleth dress. While she hurriedly threw her nightdress over her head, then finger-combed her hair, he gathered the cloak that she'd worn over it from the floor and shook it out, turning it so she could put her arm into it as soon as she was clothed.

In seconds they had her bundled and buttoned until she was covered to her chin. Then they stopped, both of their shoulders rising and falling with their quick breaths, staring at each other in the dim light seeping through the crack in the door where their men waited for her to emerge.

"Etan.." whispered, her hands going to his chest.

She was shaking.

With an ache in his chest that physically hurt, Etan cupped her face in both of his hands and pulled her into a brief, but heated kiss, holding her there even when he spoke, his lips brushing hers as he hissed his love to her urgently.

"Remember, Ayleth. No matter what."

"I remember." Her voice was hushed, but strong. Fuck, she was amazing.

He pulled just far enough away to meet her eyes. "You are my heart, Ayleth. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise."

She nodded solemnly, tears in her eyes. "And you are mine."

"Etan." Borsche's voice was heavy with tight warning.

Etan kissed her quickly, used his thumb to brush away the single tear that had escaped her lashes, kissed her again, then forced himself to let her go, everything with him screaming against it so that he swallowed a groan and forced himself to hold her gaze until her fingers curled into his chest, then, without another word, she turned and ran for the door, the cloak flaring out behind her.

As she disappeared behind the door, it occurred to him that this was the last he would see of her for.. too long. He stumbled forward, but he was too late—Borsche, on its other side, had pulled it closed quietly and Etan was left in the dark, staring at the thin line of light around the frame, knowing his wife, his love, disappeared from his life on its other side.

With a curse for the hopelessness of it all, Etan turned and pulled his trousers on with short, sharp tugs, teeth gritted against the knot in his stomach that threatened to bring up the dinner he'd barely eaten that night.

He'd barely buttoned his pants when Borsche opened the door again—wider this time—and hissed at him. "Your wife is safely gone, and your visitor is in the corridor."

"Who is it?" he growled.

"Who do you think?"

Etan snapped his head up to meet Borsche's gaze and measure the man for a joke. But Borsche's eyes were tight, and his jaw flexing.

Fuck.historical

He strode for the door, head spinning and body recoiling from what he was about to do, but Borsche caught his elbow as he passed and pulled him to a halt.

"You play a dangerous game, Etan. Do not become overconfident."

Etan's jaw dropped. "A game?! Over-confident?!" he stared at his Man at Arms and shook his head. "Never speak those words to me again. I play with nothing but my own life, and my heart bleeds for her and no one else. I despise this, but it is necessary and if you ever imply that I would welcome another woman.."

Borsche didn't respond, but didn't drop his eyes either. "Do not breach your marriage vows."

Fury roared through Etan so that his hands twitched toward Borsche, ready to strangle the man. It would be a relief to put his hand to violence, to vent the frustrated rage and fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

But even as Borsche correctly read his intent and shifted his feet to prepare to defend himself, a soft knock sounded at the door of his chambers and they both froze.

Etan tore his eyes from Borsche, toward the door.

"The Lady Sarya Playne awaits your pleasure," Borsche said through his teeth.

"What is she doing here? At this hour?"

Borsche raised an eyebrow. "She believes herself betrothed."

Etan's stomach turned over and a wave of nausea made him tremble. Swallowing hard, he turned for the door to his bedchamber, blinking at the bright light in the living chamber, and striding for the door just as the knock sounded again, still quiet, but slightly more insistent.

Putting his hand to the handle of the door, Etan's jaw was so tight it had begun to ache. But he pursed his lips and turned it gently, pulling the door open just a few inches and standing in the gap, forcing himself to show surprise.

"Sarya, what—?"

"I got your note," she said, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders and her eyes sparkling in the dim light as she smiled up at him.

"Note? What note?"

Her face went still and her smile froze. "I.. a note awaited me in my chambers when I returned this evening. It wasn't signed, but.. I was certain.."

"I am sorry, Sarya, I did not send a note."

She'd been leaning closer to him, but straightened at the words, her face suddenly anguished. Even in this light he could see the red in her cheeks. "I am.. so sorry. I was.. I would never have—"

Footsteps sounded, clicking on the stone floor further down the corridor.

With a muttered curse, Etan threw the door open and grasped Sarya's elbow, tugging her into the room behind him, then closing the door behind her softly, and locking it.