Caller of Light (7 page)

“My sleepyhead, it took you long enough,” Marissa quipped, acting as if she always dined with them. Carina also noticed Marissa sat beside Marek today instead of at Father’s right hand.

During the meal the men talked about inconsequential matters as servants brought in silver platters containing sausages, egg casseroles, fruit, breads, and drink. At first, she concentrated on what they said, but ultimately lost focus. Instead, she surreptitiously watched Marek. She noticed the gold ring on his right hand with his signet on it. The way his strong hands worked the knife and fork, his enticing lips as he spoke, and his intoxicating voice as it flowed around her. His voice penetrated to her core, prompting the same dull ache from her dream.

“Excellent meal, Regin. Thank you. Now, I must prepare for our departure.”

Although Carina had disappeared into her musings, her distraction didn’t prevent a wash of remorse from rolling over her at his statement.

“Yes, I understand,” Regin replied, sounding uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry about me, King Marek. I spent most of last night packing and should be ready within an hour.” Marissa beamed, pleased with what she obviously considered a huge accomplishment.

Marek kicked his chair out from underneath him and stood, looking irritated. He stared at Regin in an expectant manner, but Regin seemed very interested in the liquid in his goblet.

“What’s wrong?” Marissa asked.

“King McKay,” Marek said in a crisp tone.

All eyes focused on the chubby man at the end of the table as he fidgeted in his chair like a schoolboy. After a long sigh, Regin appeared resigned to the consequences he was about to set in motion. “Marissa, my dear one, Marek’s intentions have changed.”

“To what, Father?” Marissa asked. A slight twitch at the corner of her mouth cracked her otherwise unwavering smile.

“I said his intentions have changed.”

Carina cringed. Father was never good at explaining delicate matters and attempts at subtlety usually resulted in frustration.

“Oh.” Marissa’s simple two-letter word voiced a volume of unspoken concern. She glanced down at her plate before asking, “King Marek, am I to follow you in a few days then?”

“Oh, Criton’s breath,” Regin muttered. “He’s decided to take a mistress. You’re going nowhere.”

Marissa sucked a long, ragged gasp down her throat as if someone had just kicked her in the stomach. Her hands flew to her chest in a protective gesture while the color drained from her face. Carina waited for the tantrum, but to her surprise, Marissa composed herself.

In a small voice, Marissa whispered, “Well, since a mistress is beneath my station, I imagine he’d have to choose another.”

“Yes, of course dear. I’ll contact King Villar Remy who has also asked for the opportunity to court you.” Regin returned to his breakfast with the gusto of a starving man.

Carina stared at Marissa as she picked at her food. For someone who had never been denied anything in her life, Marissa seemed to be handling the news extremely well. Carina nibbled on a buttery roll and mulled over what had just happened. Although a little dismayed she’d have to endure Marissa’s continued jibes and insults, Carina thought it a worthwhile consequence knowing Marissa would not be accompanying Marek.

She was so intent on watching Marissa that she didn’t notice Marek staring at her until the hair on the back of her neck rose. She turned to find him. He stood in a shaft of sunshine. The radiant beam bathed him in brightness as if the Mother Source had chosen him as the perfect example of raw, masculine beauty. The grey flecks in his eyes glimmered in a secretive, knowing way that warmed her body and scared her at the same time. Her heart pounded as she stared at him in helpless amazement, wondering why he hadn’t left to prepare for his journey home.

As if she had spoken, Father sputtered with a mouth full of food. “Carina, you best hurry.”

“What?” Carina’s and Marissa’s voices echoed in unison, motivating Regin to glance up from his plate. What chore did father expect of her?

With a wave from the hand holding a half-eaten croissant, Regin motioned to Carina. “You will join Marek as his mistress.”

Everything in the room slowed…and…stood… still. Carina gazed at Marek.

A small smile played across his lips and the deepened creases around his eyes indicated his amusement.

After a moment of silence, Marissa screeched and slammed her fists on the table before storming from the room.

At last, the tantrum Carina had been waiting for, but her thoughts turned inward when she realized she’d stopped breathing. She tried to calm her sputtering heart with a deep inhale of air, but could only manage little gasps.

His mistress?
How could this be?
She had resigned herself to spending her life at Brookshire, striving to please a father who didn’t love her.

“Carina!”

Father’s shout catapulted the room back into focus, but she viewed her surroundings with confused, unseeing eyes.

“I told you to get moving!”

“Yes, Father,” she croaked. Using the table for support, she stood on shaky legs.

After an awkward curtsy, she fled the room and the blinding light that had just revealed her future in stark clarity.

9 – LIES and DECEIT

Marissa stomped through the flower garden trying to subdue the hatred blistering through her veins. But even in her angered state, she stepped with care to avoid brushing against a thorny bush and snagging the beautiful yellow, satin dress she had made especially for King Duncan. With a low cut front and tight waist, it didn’t leave much to the imagination, which she had hoped would entice him. Instead, he’d barely noticed her, acting like Carina was the only one in the dining hall in that silly dress. Then of all insults, to endure complete shame when he chose Carina over her pure breeding.

She followed the little stone path through the rose bushes. Normally, their perfumed scent comforted her, but today she didn’t appreciate their aroma. No one, not even Father, could humiliate her and get away with it. By now, all the servants must know of her disgrace. If she caught any of them laughing at her, she’d make their miserable lives…well…more miserable.

Across the lawn, she spotted Marek striding toward the barn where his Criton waited. He wore a short sleeve, rust colored shirt that emphasized his muscular arms. Even from the distance, she could see the definition in his biceps, which fueled her desire to chase after him. She could convince him that Carina’s misfortune in life was no reason to choose a mixed blood over her.

With a frustrated exhale, she caressed the soft petals of a perfect, red rose. She controlled the fate of the flower cupped in her palm, the velvet petals so delicate and frail. In a calculated, slow movement, she fisted her hand around the fragile bud and watched the crushed petals drift to the ground.

She could make him realize his mistake, but Marissa McKay didn’t chase after anyone. She was the one to be sought after, not the other way around. As Marek disappeared into the barn, she had the uncontrollable urge to kick something, anything to ease the anger broiling inside her. No one denied her without facing the consequences.

A sudden, bright thought burned a searing path through the fury in her mind. She giggled as the plan blossomed, its simplicity making the idea brilliant. Her anger dissipated, leaving her body on a quiet exhale. Yes, that’s exactly what she’d do. She smoothed the front of her dress and strolled toward the guest barn in search of King Duncan so she could offer him some advice on dear sister’s behalf.

10 – The END of a BEGINNING

Carina sat alone, already packed. She didn’t have many clothes and few personal items of importance aside from her mother’s necklace. Her sparse room containing only a bed, dresser, and armoire had been her sanctuary for most of her life. She stared at the bare walls and regretted never making it more intimate. The small space appeared as if a guest had lived within its confines for all these years, but maybe that’s what she’d always been.

She walked to the room’s best feature, a tiny window overlooking the training grounds. A group of young soldiers were sparring under Master Sabian Dupree’s watchful eye. Their grunts and groans reverberated off the castle walls while the slash and thrust of their swords caught flashes of sunlight.

She skimmed over the bare chests of the grappling men until her eyes found the aged master trainer. Although not a tall man, Master Dupree’s demeanor exuded the confidence of a fierce fighter. And the scar running diagonally from the middle of his forehead across his right eye toward his ear only enhanced his intimidating appearance, ensuring obedience from his young students.

She remembered the day she first met Master Dupree. She’d just watched a group of trainees and snuck into the weapons bunker to play with a small dirk. Since girls were not allowed to fight, she thought she could practice the maneuvers hidden from prying eyes.

She’d been so focused on moving her body as Master Dupree had instructed that she didn’t notice him watching from a darkened corner until she turned to lunge and almost drove her blade into his stomach. Scared for being caught and horrified at almost plunging a knife into someone’s belly, she dropped the dirk.

Master Dupree’s grim look of disapproval as the weapon clattered across the stone floor still haunted her. She tried to fumble out an apology before begging for forgiveness with the promise to never touch a weapon again, but his threatening glare smothered her voice.

As he picked up the small blade and handed it back to her, his scolding words ricocheted throughout the room like dive-bombing fireflies. “Not paying attention to your surroundings was your first mistake. If I was the enemy, you’d be dead. Dropping your weapon was your second.”

With an agile spin on his heel that prompted his grey ponytail to swish back and forth like a cat twitching its tail, his gruff voice drifted over his shoulder. “Keep the dirk. If you want to learn how to properly handle the weapons you play with, meet me in the small clearing above the north hunting pasture tomorrow after the trainees. Don’t be late,” he shouted as the door slammed behind him.

She’d stood motionless for several minutes after Master Dupree’s exit, but as his words sank in, a small kernel of excitement had unfurled inside her. The
master trainer
had just bestowed a great honor, one that could get him—and her—into trouble. Self-preservation warned against going to the clearing. But her life had become such drudgery that she couldn’t ignore the invitation.

Master Dupree became her sparring partner, pushing her harder than the men. And although her body was often so sore or bruised she could hardly move the next day, she always went back. He taught her how to fight with a sword and dirk, how to grapple, and perfected her skill with the longbow to such an extent that he’d praised her for being better than his other trainees. But most of all, he had become her friend—the best gift he could’ve given her. She turned away from the window blinking away tears.

A soft knock at the door was her only warning before Milly entered. Never one for formality, Milly always barged into her room without waiting for approval. Carina’s eyes widened in surprise when Milly properly addressed her.

“Are you all packed, my lady?” Milly stood at attention.

“Why did you say that?”

“What?” Milly asked with an innocent lift of an eyebrow.

“My lady.”
Carina rolled her eyes. “You’ve
never
called me a lady.”

“Pshh,” Milly scoffed with a wave of her hand, dismissing any pretense. “Because you’ve never been chosen as a mistress before.” A mischievous glint burned in Milly’s eye and she laughed with delight. “Oh, Carina, I would’ve given anything to see Marissa’s face.”

Carina smiled. A deep sense of satisfaction rippled over her skin knowing Marek had chosen her. She barely knew him, yet for the first time in her life someone had noticed her and her entire body glowed in the warmth of that knowledge.

“Ah, good,” Milly said, nodding in approval. “You’re packed.” She walked over to the bag and tied it. “I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

Fear knotted Carina’s stomach at the thought of leaving the only home she’d ever known. She sat at the foot of the small bed and clasped her hands together in her lap. Milly plopped down beside her and placed a comforting arm around her waist.

“Sweetie,” Milly whispered. “You know King McKay will never accept you as his daughter.”

Carina knifed her hands between her legs and tried to ignore the onslaught of tears. “Why, Milly? Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Because dear one, his heart is small and he only has room for two, Marissa and himself.” Milly rested her head on Carina’s shoulder. “Haven’t I always looked after you?”

Carina nodded, splashing tears onto her riding pants.

“Go with King Duncan and be
happy
,” she urged. “He seems nice and fair. With him you have a chance at a good life. If you stay here, you’ll grow old long before your time.”

Carina clutched Milly’s calloused hands. “You and Master Dupree are my only friends. What will I do without you?” She choked down a sob as a fresh set of tears tumbled over her lashes.

Milly pulled Carina into a tight hug and rubbed her back while making little
shhh-ing
noises. “You’ll do fine, Carina. You’re strong and
so
like your mother.”