The Sentinel Mage

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX





AFTER THEY’D WRESTLED, Harkeld went with Tomas to the men’s bathing chamber, rinsing off dirt and sweat before retiring to the steam room, with guards outside the door. He slouched on one of the benches, his eyes closed.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him awake some time later. “Asleep, old man? Lenora too much for you last night?”

Too much? No, she’d been just what he needed.

Harkeld grunted and pushed himself up from the bench.

A plunge in a cool bathing pool woke him fully. He toweled himself dry, and realized that Lenora was just what he needed again.

Justen brought him clean clothing. “I’ll pay Lenora a visit,” Harkeld told Tomas as he dressed. “See if she wants company.”

Tomas grinned. “Company?”

Behind Tomas, he saw Justen frown.

“What? You’re planning on helping her with her needlework?” Tomas teased. “Sort the threads for her, perhaps?”

“I’m perfectly happy to help her with...a number of things,” Harkeld said, pulling on his boots.

Tomas laughed. “I bet you are.”

Justen didn’t laugh. In fact, the armsman’s expression was clearly disapproving.

Harkeld felt a flicker of irritation. A prudish armsman is just what I need. “I don’t require you this afternoon,” he said, turning away from Justen.

“But, sire—”





PETRUS WAS IN the stables, choosing a horse for the journey into Masse. A piebald mare had taken his fancy. He ran his hand down the horse’s flank and then crouched to examine its hocks.

He heard footsteps behind him “He’s gone to visit Lady Lenora.” The voice was Justen’s. “I’ve been dismissed for the rest of the afternoon.”

Petrus grunted. “I’ll take this one,” he said to the groom, straightening.

The man nodded, not meeting his eyes. He tugged the horse’s bridle, urging it back to its stall, clearly anxious to put as much distance between himself and a witch as he could.

Petrus sighed. At least the mare won’t care what I am. He looked at Innis. “Lenora?”

Her mouth twisted, an expression of disgust. “What does he see in her?”

“If you really were a man, you’d know,” Petrus said, grinning. He regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Innis turned away. “I’ll guard him this time—”

“No,” Petrus said, more sharply than he’d intended. He grabbed Innis’s arm. “I’ll do it. You choose a horse.”

“I can do it.”

Petrus lowered his voice. “Innis, what I meant was... Sometimes a man needs to scratch an itch. And Lenora is—”

Innis pulled her arm free. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

I don’t think you do. Petrus blew out a breath. “Stay,” he said. “Choose a horse. I’ll watch the prince.”

He strode across the straw-strewn floor, heading for the vaulted doorway and daylight. At the threshold he glanced back, at Justen, at Innis. I’d rather have you than Lenora.

A flight of stone steps led up to his right. He began to climb them two at a time.





“PRINCE HARKELD,” LENORA said, holding out her hand to him. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Harkeld turned her hand over and placed a lingering kiss on her palm. Arousal and anticipation hummed inside him. He glanced around the parlor, seeing tapestries, candlesticks, a delicate fire screen. “What a charming room.”

“Thank you.” Lenora looked up at him through her lashes. “Would you like to see the other rooms?”

The bedchamber, yes. “If it pleases you.”

Laughter danced in her eyes. “It does, Prince Harkeld.”

The first room she showed him was a workroom, with a loom set up beside the window. Harkeld made appropriate noises of appreciation. The second room was the bedchamber. He tried to drag his eyes from the bed, to examine the other furnishings, to comment on them. “Nice, er...tapestries,” he managed. “Very colorful.”

“Thank you, Prince Harkeld,” Lenora said demurely.

“And the...er, candlesticks are very...elegant.”

“Thank you.” A dimple quivered in her cheek. “And the bed, Prince Harkeld?”

The bed was wide, with a rose-colored coverlet and a pile of soft pillows. It invited, beckoned, promised. Harkeld swallowed. His arousal pressed against his trews. “The bed is very...” His mouth was dry, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of words; all he could think of was stretching out on that rose-pink coverlet, of undressing Lenora, of burying himself in her.

She laughed softly. Her hand was on his arm, drawing him closer to the bed, to bliss.

It went swiftly after that. He didn’t have to speak, didn’t have to concentrate on anything except kissing her, unlacing her gown, stripping off his own clothes. He lay alongside her on the bed, naked skin to naked skin, and began exploring her with his mouth, with his hands. She was so deliciously soft, so warm, so...

“What the—?” The ripe curve of one breast was marred by a fresh bite mark. “I didn’t do that.”

She smiled languorously and reached for him. “Do what?”

Harkeld pushed her hand away. He stared at her, panting slightly, striving for clarity. “That.”

It wasn’t the only bite mark. He could see other places where teeth had nipped her soft skin, could see the beginnings of bruises where someone had gripped her arms. His arousal began to fade. The signs of someone else’s lust on Lenora’s body made her seem tawdry, soiled. He drew back. “You’ve been with someone else today.”

Lenora’s smile faded. She covered the mark on her breast with a hand. “I... Does it matter?”

Yes, it mattered. Had she bathed since then? Was he laying his kisses on top of another man’s sweat, another man’s spilled seed?

Lenora reached for him, tried to kiss him again. Harkeld pulled away. Had she pleasured that other man intimately, taken his organ in her mouth?

Probably, given her willingness to do that for him last night.

He looked at her ripe body. Lust clenched inside him, a base, animal emotion. He still wanted her, but not to kiss, not to taste intimately. He wanted her like a whore, not a lover.

Why did you have to spoil it?

Lenora must have read his thoughts on his face. She reached for the coverlet, hiding herself from his gaze.

That’s that, then, Harkeld thought sourly. He got off the bed and reached for his clothes.

“Prince Harkeld...it wasn’t what you think.”

He pulled on the underbreeches and trews, hiding his arousal. Curse it. Now he’d have to find a willing maidservant to slake his lust on. He shrugged into his shirt.

“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to. He forced himself on me.”

Harkeld stiffened. “What?” He swung round to face her. “What did you say?”

Lenora wiped her eyes with the edge of the coverlet. “He forced himself on me.”

Anger swept through him. “Who?”

She sniffed and shook her head.

“Lenora...” Harkeld took control of his anger, softened his voice. “Tell me who did this to you.” And I will rip his balls off and shove them down his throat.

“It was your armsman.”

Harkeld stared at her, his mouth open. “Justen?” He shook his head. “No. Impossible. He’s been with me all day...” Except when I was in the steam room. In a flash, he understood. It hadn’t been disapproval he’d seen on Justen’s face; it had been fear. “After the wrestling,” he said grimly. “That’s when he came.”

“He said...he wanted to try his master’s whore for himself.”

Rage flared inside him, so hot, so intense, that for a moment he was blind and deaf.Harkeld blinked, shook his head to clear it. “Why didn’t you tell me—”

“He said he’d hurt me if I told anyone.” Lenora dabbed her eyes.

“He did, did he?” Harkeld pulled on his boots with angry haste. Thrice-cursed son of a witch. I’ll kill him. His hands shook with fury as he buckled his sword belt.





THIS TIME, PETRUS took the shape of a cat. But when he leapt down onto the stone window sill and peered in through one of the diamond-shaped panes, there were no lovers entwined in the bed. He watched as Prince Harkeld strode from the bedchamber.

That was quick.

The lady seemed satisfied, though. Her smile was smug.

Petrus shrugged, leapt lightly up onto the guttering, and padded back across the slate roof.