“When the flax blooms, the earth mirrors the sky. Fields of blue as far as the eye can see.”
Her fingers twitched with the urge to twist into Ballard’s tunic. Cinnia would see the flax bloom; Louvaen would be in Monteblanco caring for their father and trying not to think too much about the master of Ketach Tor. Then again, she might be kept busy lying to all and sundry about where she and Cinnia had wintered if her sister ended up returning home with her.
“Ballard,” she said. “I have a question, and I want you to answer me honestly.”
He tensed, obviously bracing himself for more questioning about the flux and why it changed him. “Ask,” he said. She noted he didn’t promise her the honest answer.
She intended to do exactly as he suggested earlier and, at the risk of being turned into a toad, interrogate Ambrose about the oddities of the flux. For now, other things weighed heavily on her mind. “Will Gavin ask for Cinnia’s hand?”
Ballard caressed her arm. “You can put your fears to rest. I’ve no doubts he’ll do so within a sennight.”
She almost wilted with relief before another worry plagued her. While everyone knew Cinnia didn’t have two silvers to rub together, Louvaen felt she needed to remind Ballard of the fact. “My father’s remaining wealth and influence went down with his ships. Cinnia will come to this marriage without a dowry or family connections. She has only a loving heart and great beauty to offer your son, and beauty doesn’t last.”
Ballard brought Magnus to a halt. He twisted around to meet Louvaen’s eyes, his gaze flitting to the top of her head, to her lips and chin before returning to her eyes. The somber set of his mouth deepened. “The only dowry he wants from her is a return of his love. As for her beauty: the Cinnia Gavin sees now will be the Cinnia he sees when she’s as withered as a dried fig and clutching a walking stick.”
A bubble of emotion swelled in her chest and rose to her throat, almost choking her. How fortunate her sister would be, married to a man raised by such a father. “Thank you, Ballard,” she whispered.
He inclined his head, straightened in his seat and set Magnus in motion. Louvaen hugged his middle hard enough to make him grunt. “What other questions can I answer to earn such affection from you, mistress?” His voice took on a teasing note.
She pressed her cheek into his back. “That’ll do for now, my lord.”
They returned to the fortress by mid afternoon when the sky had faded to gray, and snow drifted lazily on a rising breeze. Louvaen’s teeth chattered, and she patted her nose with one hand, certain she’d find an icicle hanging from the tip. She was grateful when they rode into the stable’s relative warmth, eager to thaw her bones. The horse and Ballard’s body heat had kept her chest and back of her legs warm. The rest of her shivered and shuddered under the layers of wool and fur she wore.
Ballard dismounted first, swinging his leg over Magnus’s neck to drop lightly to the ground. He held his arms up and motioned to Louvaen. She slid into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck. He clasped her to him, his face pale from the cold, enigmatic in the stable’s feeble light.
She raised a hand to trace her thumb over one of his prominent cheekbones. “I wish I could be here when the flax blooms.”
He searched her face, his dark eyes turning even blacker. “Stay then.” His arms tightened on her back, and his voice deepened even more. “Stay with me at Ketach Tor.”
Oh, how badly she wanted to say yes; scream it to the nearby mountains over and over until they heard the echo all the way back in Monteblanco. The word stuck in her throat. Her allegiance belonged to her father. Even without the threat of the scheming Gabrilla Jimenin, Mercer Hallis needed his eldest child if for nothing more than to act as caretaker and keep him from falling into any more harebrained financial schemes.
Louvaen leaned her forehead against Ballard’s. “I can’t.”
He closed his eyes, giving her a view of his thick lashes and the delicate skin of his eyelids. “I know,” he said in the same low voice, though now it resonated bleak instead of impassioned.
She had the oddest sense that while he knew her reasons for not remaining at Ketach Tor, his agreement with her refusal sprang from something else entirely. She brushed her lips across his closed lids, over his brows and the bridge of his nose. Magnus interrupted them with an impatient snort. Louvaen grinned as the animal leveled a look on Ballard that conveyed his displeasure at being left standing in the stables still bridled and saddled.
Ballard grinned. “All right, lad, I’m getting to you.” He captured Louvaen’s hand and kissed her palm. “Go inside and get warm. I’ll tend to his majesty and join you soon.”
The snow fell faster, dusting everything white as she crossed the bailey. She skirted the portion of wall covered in the twisted mat of vermillion roses, so vibrant amidst surroundings washed in gray. So malignant and fetid. The vines rustled as she passed, their serpentine slide along the wall making the hair on her nape stand up.
Magda halted her at the door leading into the kitchen. “I just swept the floors. If you want inside and something to eat, you’ll leave those muddy boots on the stoop.”
Louvaen did as ordered and hurried to the fire to shed her cloak and gloves and warm her feet. She hid her smile behind her goblet of ale when the housekeeper barred Ballard from entering with the same command. After a few muttered epithets and the remark that a conquest of his fortress by adominashouldn’t have been so easy, he toed off his boots and joined Louvaen at the fire.
“Wretched old hag,” he groused and took the goblet Louvaen offered him. “One of these days I’ll toss her skinny arse out into the snow.”
Magda sniffed as she strode by them on her way to the pantry. “Will never happen. You’d marry me if I’d have you—which I won’t—and you know it.”
Ballard glared at her back for a moment before joining Louvaen in her laughter. “She’s right you know.” He leered at Louvaen. “I’d still keep you as my leman.”
She harrumphed. “Then you’d be dead because one of us would kill you for even entertaining the idea. I don’t share easily, especially husbands. I doubt Magda does either.”
She yelped when he suddenly yanked her against him, almost spilling her ale. His easy smile faded. “Nothing to hide from Cinnia now, and you claim you trust her to do as you ask. Come to my chambers. Give me the remainder of the day and all of the night.” His eyebrows rose when a sudden gurgling noise rose between them.
Louvaen grimaced. “We’ve kissed the hare’s foot, and I’m hungry.”
Her statement that they’d missed dinner didn’t deter him from his plan. He simply handed her his goblet, plucked the leftover bread, cheese and dried apples Magda had left for them and ushered her from the kitchen, through the great hall and up the stairs to his chamber.
