Claimed & Seduced (4 page)

He’d thought of marriage one day to someone who respected and loved him in return. But he wanted this when he felt ready, not on his parents’ calendar.

Jarlath wasn’t even sure he wanted to take over the role. No, of course he wanted to be king. He was born for the position. Jarlath drank more apecot and consciously relaxed his shoulders. The duties, the responsibility—he’d trained for them all his life. His hard sigh lifted his chest.

Tomorrow he’d choose names off his mother’s list. Tomorrow, he’d take the first steps toward becoming king. Tomorrow, he’d seal his fate.

* * * * *

J
arlath woke—much earlier than normal—his mind full of the list and his dreams of steamy-hot sex with Keira Cloud. Eventually his busy thoughts drove him to leave his sleep-bed. He ignored the clothes Villars had set out for him and rifled through his replicator for something plainer and unobtrusive. Unable to find anything suitable, he wrinkled his brow. He needed clothing of the like favored by Lynx.

Ah! His brief dejection lifted, and he plugged in his brother’s code. A quite different type of garment showed on the replicator menu. Plain black. No insignia. Perfect.

Jarlath plugged in the code and checked his eye in his looking glass. Nice and black but not painful. He’d live. A quiet hum and the metallic tang on the air showed the replicator was doing its job. While he waited, Jarlath dragged a comb through his hair. On automatic, his fingers reached for pomade to settle his rebellious locks. At the last min, he drew back, frowned into the looking glass then nodded.

Routine was boring, boring, boring.

A
ding
signaled the replicator had finished, and he lifted the lid of the unit to retrieve his new garments. Plain black trews and a black tunic. Soft black boots completed his outfit.

Perfect.

Jarlath donned the garments and grinned at his reflection in the looking glass. The boots molded to his feet, and he could scarcely feel his blister. It was like a glimpse of his brother, and the possibility of freedom, even if it was for a mere few hours, made him want to whistle. He grabbed his sat-com, although he turned it to vibrate rather than summons mode and stuffed it in his pocket. At the last moment, he strapped a blaster to his hip.

That done, he crept from his chamber, not wanting to attract attention. Unusually, he didn’t see anyone except a maid wheeling a tea trolley toward his mother’s chamber. The queen was a habitual early riser, yet she never appeared until late morn.

Jarlath let himself outside and strode in the direction of the stables.

A sleepy stableboy greeted him, yawning widely in Jarlath’s direction. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m going for a ride,” Jarlath announced. “I will saddle Black.”

“Black? But that’s Prince Jar—”

The boy’s face paled and he bobbed a quick bow. “I’m sorry, Prince Jarlath. I did not recognize you. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” Jarlath waved away the boy’s stammered apologies and strode into the stable and headed for Black’s stall. The aroma of polymox hay, nroc straw and saddle soap filled the air, the scents bringing back lazy days of childhood. He nodded to the stableboy mucking out a stall then collected his personal saddle from the harness room and opened the stable door. His cambeest gave a rumble of welcome and nuzzled his chest.

Jarlath didn’t normally saddle his beest, although he knew how and kneed Black in the ribs when the creature tried to hold his air-filled belly. Not a trick he intended to fall for this morn.

He swung into his tan malpack saddle and guided Black toward the forest before giving his beest his head and letting him choose their path. The crisp air chilled his cheeks as Black surged forward. Part of him had expected Black to tread his normal trail, but the beest cantered down a new one Jarlath had never noticed. Instead of going through the forest, the path skirted the edge of the trees. Birds sang, sitting so high in the treetops he couldn’t see them. The blue-tinged grass grew tall, and if it weren’t for his knee-high boots, his trews would have soaked up the excess moisture.

In the distance, he saw farm dwellings, the lazy curl of purple smoke telling him they were burning the wood of the purple puzzle tree. An introduced species, this tree was an aggressive grower and threatened to choke their native forests. It had been his idea for their people to use it for fuel, and he was pleased with the results and the thinning of the puzzle copses.

The path meandered into the forest then exited near a small lake. The pale green waters steamed. Ah, his brother had mentioned this heated lake. He and his friends used to sneak alcoholic drinks and party here with their choice of the opposite sex. Lynx had seduced many a woman here, or at least rumor pointed that way. When it came to his brother, the tales were oft exaggerated. Lynx no longer bothered denying the gossip whenever he deigned to visit home.

Black trotted past the lake and into the forest again. Around twenty mins later, another farm came into sight, this one familiar. Jarlath hesitated, his heart skipping a beat as he struggled with his decision. This wasn’t a good idea, not when he should be at the castle whittling down his list to one marriageable woman.

But he didn’t give Black the signal to walk on when his beest pulled up outside the gate leading to Keira’s dwelling—an attractive cream farmhouse with two levels. Instead, Jarlath dismounted, opened the gate and led Black into the yard. He tethered his cambeest to a hitching post.

Someone was singing, the words in a foreign language. The language of the Cawdor, he thought with a frown. Ellard had said Keira came from Gramite.

He knocked and the singing ceased. Footsteps signaled someone was coming to answer the door. He stepped back, heart pounding. Was he walking into the parlor of their enemy? Ellard hadn’t mentioned anything about the House of Cawdor, and by mutual consent they’d ignored the subject of Keira after leaving her yesterday.

The door flew open and the scent of berries and baking flooded his senses.

Keira blinked at him in clear confusion. “Prince Jarlath.”

Jarlath hesitated now that this new knowledge battered his brain. Was this a honeycomb trap? Aware of the lengthening silence, he said the first thing that entered his mind. “I’ve come for pie.”

Chapter Three

K
eira stared at Prince Jarlath, took in the black eye in the aristocratic face, the ruddy cheeks, the dusting of stubble and the curtain of untidy black hair before his firm lips with the hint of sharp canines distracted her, brought a flash of a warmth. A tingle.

He was real. He was here—standing right in front of her—and he wanted pie.

“I’ve come at a bad time,” he said, a flash of chagrin making him seem less princelike. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

“No!” She seized his arm and tugged before he could retreat. She stared at her pale green-tinged fingers, felt the ripple of muscle from his hard forearm, even through the black sleeve of his tunic. Heat surged to her face, and she snatched her hand away. “Sorry. I…ah…you don’t have to leave. How is your eye?”

“It looks worse than it feels. The bruising will heal quickly.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Stupid, stupid fool. She was behaving like a jackass rabbit, drunken and silly from gorging on allyweed. It was that stupid dream, of course.

The hot, naked dream full of her vivid imagination and fantasies.

That cursed hotness in her face. Without fail, the prince would notice her vivid green cheeks. Gah! She thought she’d outgrown broadcasting her emotions long ago, all emotion sucked out of her by a stern father—the leader of the House of Cawdor—who demanded obedience. She sucked in a calming breath and backed away.

“Come in. The pies are cooking. They’re not done yet.” There, she sounded almost normal. Bolstered by this, she risked a glance in his direction. What she saw almost buckled her knees. Sweet, hot lust blazed from his moss-green eyes. No, not moss green, she decided as she stared, ensnared by his gaze. His irises were a curious color—a dark green in the center while there were bands of light green around the outside. Stunning, even with the decoration of bruises.

“I can wait.”

“But what about your duties? And where is your guard dog?”

Prince Jarlath shrugged. “I rose earlier than usual. No one was awake and I saw no reason to disturb anyone.”

“But you’re the prince.”

He grimaced. “I’m a man first.”

Keira cocked her head, his expression and tone prompting curiosity. “People don’t see you as a man?”

“They see me as an opportunity to exploit.”

“Ah,” she said. “This, I know something about. My father sought to marry me off to a man who brought wealth and power to his house. We are—were—both tools.”

She’d said more than she should have. He’d start asking questions. He must have heard her singing. Yes, already the queries were forming on his lips. To forestall them, she grabbed his hand, heard his sharp intake of breath and squelched a nervous laugh with difficulty.

“Come,” she said, tugging him. “I’ve done my morning chores and was about to sit out on the terrace and break my fast. I’d be honored if you’d share my meal.”

“My cambeest is out front.”

“You can turn him loose with my herd of malpacks. They should do well together. I will summon one of my employees to show you the way. You take care of your beest while I organize our meal. Hortese!”

Her employee appeared in the kitchen doorway, her bright pink eyes bulging with inquisitiveness since they didn’t receive many visitors. “Yes, Keira?”

“Can you call Melvyn and ask him to show Jarlath the way to the grazing paddock? He needs a safe place for his cambeest while he is visiting.”

“I will com Melvyn.” Hortese pursed berry-colored lips and her pink hair tendrils rippled and writhed about her head. A sure sign of intense curiosity. “Should I ask Hilda to brew some tay?”

“Yes, please. I’ll be in to check on the pies in a min.” Smothering her amusement, she waited until Hortese departed before turning to the prince. “I apologize for not using your title. I thought it would raise nosy questions.”

“I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

“You’re flirting with me.”

“Yes. Am I doing a good job?”

Flying stars, yes.
She moistened her lips and forced barriers between them, never taking her gaze off his attractive features. “I have a bad reputation. Your guard dog was correct. It’s not safe to socialize with me.”

Showering meteors, if he learned the identity of her father, he’d flee in the opposite direction. After Xavier Cronan—her father—had attempted to marry her to one of his Cawdor men, her mother had made contrary plans to get her off the planet, and she’d ended up with an arranged marriage to Marcus. Something she was grateful for since she much preferred the life of a farmer than one married to a Cawdor casino boss.

“No one knows where I am.”

“What if they panic?”

He tugged at his collar, some of the animation leaving his beautiful green gaze. “They will because I’m acting out of character. I did leave a message on my apartment statboard. The staff will find it soon enough, but they won’t worry, not at first because I attended the ball and didn’t seek my bed until late.”

“It must have been an enjoyable occasion.” Envy chased her words because she would have given anything to dance with the prince. Although she’d considered attending, the upper-class attendees would have pushed her to the outer fringes. No chance for her to dance with eligible males.

“The event was excruciatingly boring and by the end of the night my feet ached.”

“The women in the kingdom are clumsy?”

“No,” he said with a snort. “Every time I sought a respite my mother induced me to ask yet another young lady to dance.”

“Your parents wish you to marry?”

“Yesterday.”

“Oh.” Which didn’t explain why he’d come to visit. She was sure the castle chefs would make the prince a pie. All he needed to do was snap his fingers or dial one up in his chefmate. Gossip in the marketplace said the palace had many mod cons not enjoyed by the Viros citizens. “You are the heir. They want to see you settled.”

“Yes.”

There was a knock on the door, and Melvyn stuck his grizzled head through the doorway, his swarthy complexion wreathed in a broad smile of contentment. He was a tall man with a solid and fit build, despite his advanced age. As usual, he wore the swinging leather kilt made famous by his Scothage race and paired it with a plain gray shirt. “Hortese said you required me.”

“Melvyn, this is Jarlath. Can you show him the malpack paddock? He wants to put his cambeest out to graze during his visit.”

Keira caught the exact sec Melvyn recognized the prince. A man of few words, her employee didn’t do anything to cause her embarrassment.

“Of course. I wanted to check their water trough anyway. There was something wrong with the pump yesterday.”

Jarlath followed Melvyn from the room, and with his departure, she could breathe again. She’d liked the prince when she met him yesterday, but seeing him again was enough to make her foolish heart race.

He desired her. The signals were clear, but did she follow her instincts and let the matter go further? There would be no future in it, and worst of all, she’d be treading the same path as her mother by taking a man of power into her life with no hope of a future. A mistake she’d sworn not to repeat.

“What is the prince doing visiting this house?” Hortese demanded, her pink eyes protruding even farther from her face, confirming the full extent of her curiosity. “What happened to his eye? Did someone punch him?”

“I didn’t think you recognized him.”

“I’d recognize the rear end of Mr. Hotness from fifty feet,” Hortese said with toothy smugness.

Used to her outspoken friend, Keira bit back her amusement. “I don’t think the prince would enjoy being called Mr. Hotness.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Hortese said, waving her hand in front of her to illustrate her airy tone. “His eye?”