Page 28 of The Maiden

“And if she is with Daire?” Lora whispered.

“She will not be,” he said coolly, and left the room.

Lora stood where she was for a moment, then she thought of what could happen if Rowan found the woman he loved in the arms of another man. She ran from the room to search for Xante. Xante would know what to do.

“Meddling fool,” Xante said when Lora told him some of what she had said to Rowan. He was saddling his horse. “Jura is no murderer and she is a maiden. She does not lie with Daire. You should not have told Rowan these things and made him doubt.”

“He is my brother and I must protect him.”

“As Geralt is Jura’s brother, but she would no more poison Rowan than you would poison Geralt.”

“You don’t know women as I do,” Lora said stiffly.

“No, but I know Jura.” He stopped and looked at Lora, standing there biting her lip with worry. He adjusted his saddle. “Did you love the man you married as much as you love Rowan?”

She was startled. “Yes,” she answered.

Xante didn’t reply as he mounted his horse. “I have an idea where Jura went. The women hunt there sometimes.” He looked down at her. “Go inside. I will protect your brother from himself.”

• • •

Rowan’s head swam with the images Lora had planted there. Since that first meeting with Jura he had known he loved her. No other woman had affected him as she had, so of course it was love. But had she felt the same way? He had assumed she had, but had she said so? As he tried to recall their three quick, tempestuous meetings, he couldn’t remember her saying much of anything—at least not in words.

He dismounted some distance from the place where he first met Jura and walked silently through the darkness. Already he could hear voices raised in anger. He walked closer until he could hear them.

“You lied to me, Jura,” Daire was saying. “How many times did you meet with him in secret? He told me of how you ran to him.”

“I did not,” Jura said, and her voice was strained as if she were repressing tears. “I met him twice by accident and once he tricked me into meeting him. I never wanted to see him. You know how I’ve always hated him. He does not belong in Lanconia. Geralt should be king. He has no right—”

“It seems he has every right now,” Daire spat at her. “He has the right to touch you, to hold you. Is that why you trained so hard, competed so hard? So you could win him and share his bed? Does your lust rule your head as well as your body? Will you pant after him day and night and forget about your people? Will you betray us because of your lust?”

“No!” Jura screamed. “I am no traitor. I do not lust after him.” She was lying and she knew it, but she couldn’t bear to lose this man who had been her friend for so many years. He used to hide her and lie to Thal about her whereabouts when Thal was angry with her. “He attacks me. I have never invited his touch.”

“Ha! Will you say that tonight when he beds you?”

“I wish to God I did not have to bed him,” Jura said.

“You shall have your wish,” Rowan said, his voice full of controlled fury as he stepped from the shadows and into the moonlight. He drew his sword. “And you,” he said to Daire, “shall die for touching my wife.”

Daire drew his own sword.

“No!” Jura screamed, and threw herself on Rowan. “Do not hurt him. I will do whatever you want.”

Rowan snarled at her. “I want nothing from you.” He pushed her aside as if she were an annoying insect, and Jura landed a couple of feet away in the damp grass.

She watched the men circle one another and wished for a way to stop them. She drew her knife, planning to step between them when a big hand clamped onto her shoulder and made her remain seated. She looked up to see Xante.

Quite calmly, Xante stepped between the men, facing Rowan. “You have the right to take this man’s life, my lord,” Xante said, “but I beg that you do not. Today he lost his betrothed and he has lost her abruptly and publicly.”

“There is more to it than that,” Rowan snapped. “Out of my way.”

“No, sire, there is not,” Xante said, not moving. “There is no treachery. Merely two hot young bucks fighting over a female.”

Quite suddenly Rowan became aware of what he was doing. He was acting like Feilan always feared he would. He was behaving like an emotional Englishman and not a Lanconian. At all costs he must control himself. The scar on the back of his leg twitched and hurt almost as much as it had the day his tutor had branded him. He straightened and sheathed his sword. “You are right, Xante. Daire, the woman is yours. I will not force myself on her. Take her.”

The three of them did not move as Rowan turned back toward his horse.

Xante recovered first. “She is your wife, my lord. You cannot discard her so easily. The people would be so angered they—”