Page 11 of The Maiden

“Probably because Daire is returning soon,” another one said slyly.

“Daire?” Jura said as if she’d never heard the word before. “Oh, yes, Daire,” she said quickly. Daire had never made her heart leap to her throat or made the muscles in her legs turn to fluid. “Yes, Daire,” she said firmly.

The girls looked at one another knowingly. Jura was getting old and losing her mind.

• • •

“Rowan! Where have you been?” Lora questioned sharply.

“I…I went swimming.” He was dazed, befuddled. His head swam with images of the woman. He could feel her skin against his palms and he was sure his chest was still red where she had sat on him. He had been able to dress and saddle his horse only because he had done it so often before.

“Rowan,” Lora said softly. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he murmured. So this was lust, he thought. So this was the feeling that drove men to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. If this woman had asked him to kill for her, to desert his country, to betray his men, he doubted if he would have hesitated.

Rowan became aware that people were looking at him. He was leaning on the high, wide pommel of his saddle, his body relaxed, a half smile on his lips, and below him Lanconian and English alike were gaping at him.

He straightened, cleared his throat, then dismounted. “The ride refreshed me,” he said in a dreamy-sounding voice. “Here, Montgomery, take my horse and give it extra feed.” The dear animal led me to her, he thought as he caressed the horse’s neck.

Montgomery moved close to his master. “They thought you couldn’t take care of yourself for even a few hours,” he whispered bitterly.

Rowan patted Montgomery’s shoulder. “I could take care of the world tonight, my boy.” He turned away toward his tent and stopped near Daire. Daire was a tall, silent man whose face did not show what he was thinking as Xante’s did. Somehow, Rowan did not feel as much contempt coming from Daire as from the others.

“Have you heard of a woman named Jura?”

Daire hesitated before answering. “She is Thal’s daughter.”

Rowan’s horror showed in his face. “My sister?” he choked out.

“Not by blood. The king adopted her as a child.”

Rowan nearly wept with relief. “But we are not blood related?”

Daire was watching him. “Geralt is your brother by blood. Jura and he share a mother while you and Geralt share a father.”

“I see.” All Rowan cared about was that she was not a blood relative. “She is a guardswoman? Like Cilean?”

Again, Daire hesitated. “Yes, although Jura is younger.”

Rowan smiled. “She is the perfect age, whatever that is. Good night.”

Rowan didn’t sleep much that night but lay awake in his tent, his hands behind his head, staring into the darkness and savoring every moment of his time with Jura.

He would marry her, of course. He would make her his queen and together they would rule Lanconia…or at least the Irials. Jura would be the softness in his life to make up for the Lanconians’ lack of belief in him. Jura would be the one he could share himself with. As God said, a helpmate for man. He had asked God for a sign and moments later Jura was there.

Before dawn he heard the first stirrings of camp and rose and dressed and went outside. The mountains were hazy in the distance and the air was crisp and cool. Lanconia had never looked so beautiful to him.

Cilean stopped near him. “Good morning. I am going fishing. Perhaps you would join me?”

Rowan looked at Cilean for a long moment, and for the first time realized there might be a bit of a problem in his plans to marry Jura. “Yes,” he said. “I will go.”

They walked together into the forest toward a wide stream.

“We’ll reach Escalon today,” Cilean said.

Rowan didn’t answer. What if King Thal insisted he marry Cilean? What if, in order to be made king, he would have to marry Cilean? Every punishment Feilan had devised for him rose to his throat. “May I kiss you?” he asked abruptly.

Cilean turned startled eyes toward him and color rose to her cheeks.