Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (9 page)

“You’re sure the shard’s here?” Rika said.

“Yes, it’s what we’ve worked for. We’ll get it. Stop worrying,” Ronan said.

“I hope you’re right. Because wearing this uniform makes me sick.” She pushed a few errant strands of hair under the ministry officer’s cap.

“We’ll ditch them as soon as we get inside,” Ronan said.

Outside the high lord’s gates, nobles mingled awaiting their turn at the guard’s station. The orchestral harmony of Freehold’s Symphony Orchestra drifted outside providing a festive backdrop to the evening’s perfect weather.

On their approach, Rika drew lingering stares from the gathered noblemen. They feigned interest in conversation as they tracked her movements approaching Lord Randal’s gate.

Ronan suppressed a smile. He’d grown used to the attention she received, and he doubted she noticed the subtle glances that drifted her way. He had a hard time blaming the noblemen. She’d blossomed into a stunning young woman during their five year partnership.

“Why are those nobles staring at us? Do you think their suspicious?” Rika said.

“They’re not staring at me. I think they’ve got other motives besides suspicion.”

Rika blushed. “Get your mind out of the gutter Ronan Latimer. Let’s just get inside.”

Ronan walked past the nobles standing in line and headed straight for the guard checking invitations. “We’re here to inspect the lord’s manor by right of the Ministry of Culture. Stand aside,” Ronan said.

The guard’s eyes bulged, and he moved several feet away from the gawking nobles. With his voice lowered he said, “But sir, there’s a shard ceremony taking place tonight. This post never received notification of an inspection. We have orders-”

“That’s why it’s called a surprise inspection you idiot,” Ronan said raising his voice. “What’s your name and address soldier? I’ll need it for the report.”

Fear blossomed in the guard’s eyes. “There’s no need for that sir.” He forced a nervous laugh. “I’m the first to support his majesty’s culture ministry. Please go inside.”

Uneasy silence replaced the laughter and light conversation among the gathered nobles. Nobody wanted a visit from the Meranthian Culture Ministry.

“If I discover the lord of the manor received warning of our arrival, I’ll make sure it’s included in the report.” Ronan kept his voice raised.

The guests near the guard post avoided eye contact as Ronan glared.

Ronan and Rika cleared the checkpoint and walked toward the manor’s towering entrance. A pair of servants wearing House Randal colors held open giant bronze engraved double doors.

Ronan held his head high and haughty as he stepped into an expansive carpeted foyer.

Knights, dignitaries, and nobles clogged the foyer making pleasant conversation before entering the party. Orchestral music drifted from the ballroom mingling with the idle chatter of arriving nobles. Servants entered through a side door carrying trays laden with champagne, pastries, and various appetizers. They weaved through the foyer offering guests refreshments as they entered the great house.

Ronan leaned in close to Rika and whispered in her ear. “The servant’s entrance.”

She kept her expression neutral as she give a quick curt nod.

A tall wiry man wearing House Randal’s crest emblazoned on his formal jacket appeared in front of Ronan. “Welcome to House Randal.” He bowed with a formal stiffness reserved for the upper crust. “My name is Simmons. I’m Lord Randal’s personal steward, and I’m privileged to offer my assistance on behalf of his lordship.” A greasy smile slid across his thin face. “Officers of the cultural ministry are always welcome, and his lordship’s home is open for inspection.” He extended both arms in a welcoming gesture. “In fact, Secretary Mathers himself is in attendance this very evening. I’m sure he’d be pleased to know his guard is turning over ever stone in pursuit of the work Elan intended. If you’ll wait here, I’ll find him right away.”

A chill crept up Ronan’s spine. “There’s no reason to bother the secretary. We’re here to work, not intrude on the Secretary Mathers’ personal time.”

“His Lordship would insist. Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll return with Sir Mathers in just a few moments.” Simmons spun and disappeared among the throng of party goers.

Sweat gathered on Ronan’s palms, and his thoughts froze. The sideways glances and hushed conversations of the surrounding nobles pricked his ears. The crowded foyer grew cramped, and he pushed away an urgent need to tear away the constricting ministry uniform.

Three house guards stood straight-backed and stiff spread along the foyer’s perimeter. They ignored Ronan and Rika, and their blank expressions gave nothing away.

Ronan moved toward the swinging door the servant’s used. As he brushed past a guard, his skin prickled anticipating a move to intercept him.

Rika followed Ronan, and the guard remained motionless as they passed through the door unmolested.

Ronan felt the guard’s icy glare bore a hole through his back as the door swung closed behind them.

“I don’t think he believed us,” Rika said in a nervous whisper.

The red carpet of the foyer gave way to a parquet covered hallway that stretched out thirty feet ending with a second swinging door. On the hallway’s left side, the final remnants of the late afternoon sun laid an orange glow across the hallway’s wood grained floor. On the hall’s right side, ornate double doors stood open. Near the hallway’s end a small ordinary door stood closed.

“Rika, the last door on the right. Hurry,” he said.

The double doors revealed a library empty of guests. Floor to ceiling bookcases crammed with thousands of books filled every wall inside the room. An inviting fire burned in a wide hearth on the library’s far wall.

Ronan hurried past the library and yanked open the second door on the right.

Sheets, pillows, and extra blankets lined the shelves of a tiny linen closet big enough for a single person.

“There’s not enough room for both of us. You go,” Ronan said.

“We’ll make it work. Come on.” Rika pulled him in behind her and shut the door.

Dim light filtered through a transom leaving the room layered in gray shadow.

Rika’s body heat sent flutters rolling through Ronan’s stomach leaving his knees weak and rubbery. As they fumbled in the small space, their bodies intertwined, and her thigh slipped between Ronan’s legs making his head spin.

She worked the buttons of her ministry jacket and stripped it off revealing a black strapless ball gown underneath. Her tight uniform had forced the dress to slip down just enough to display her deep ample cleavage smashed against Ronan’s chest.

Rika had remained modest during their years together, and Ronan had never seen her expose herself so freely. He tore his eyes away before the distraction overwhelmed him.

Rika pulled off her hat and let her dark hair tumble over her shoulders. Her familiar fragrance of lavender and cinnamon filled the closet’s trapped air, and she gave the front of her gown a tug covering a fraction of her large bosom.

Ronan’s head spun, and his knees slackened. He leaned against the wall for support and began unbuttoning his own jacket.

“Hurry up Ronan. They’ll be here any second.”

He pulled off his hat and jacket and wadded them into a ball.

Rika ran her fingers through her hair doing her best to undo her hat’s damage. The action only accentuated her devastating curves. “Do I look passable?”

How could she understand his feelings? He’d never broken his promise to her, even though he wanted her more with every moment they spent together. “I don’t think anyone would ever mistake you for a ministry officer.”

A smile lit her face. “Thank you. You’re not bad to look at either.” She straightened his bow tie and smoothed out the creases in his white cotton shirt. “Ready?” She pushed the door open and light flooded the closet.

Ronan gathered her uniform and added it to his own before stashing them both on the linen closet’s highest shelf. He straightened his jacket one last time and shut the closet door behind him.

Near the hall’s end, the foyer door swung open toward them.

Ronan’s stomach lurched as he prepared for the unavoidable confrontation.

Rika pulled Ronan through the double doors and stopped before the library’s hearth. She leaned in close, and her lips brushed his ears. “Kiss me.”

Her warm breath tickled his ear before curling behind his neck. His heart rate doubled, and his toes curled. A strange expression of longing he’d never seen crossed Rika’s face.

Rika wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and pulled his mouth onto hers.

Her lips, soft and full, found his, and she tasted every bit as good as he’d dreamed. He halfway parted his mouth, and her tongue brushed his lips before intertwining with his. A jolt of longing lurched through his body, and he moved his hand to the small of Rika’s back pressing her harder into him. He devoured her moist full lips, and the kiss deepened growing more urgent and hungry with every passing second.

“Excuse me please,” an unpleasant nasally voice said.

Ronan’s head buzzed, but he forced himself to pull away. Rika’s eyes never left his and suggested a look of hunger that left him speechless.

Her face flushed as she turned toward the voice.

Ronan’s legs wobbled, and he fought the urge to collapse in the nearby armchair. Her performance had convinced him. He hoped they’d convinced the culture secretary as well.

A short heavyset man with wisps of gray atop his balding head waited at the library entrance. His black and gold uniform gave away his station at the Culture Ministry, and the columns of decorations on his chest and shoulders dispelled any doubt to his identity. An enormous mustache covered the lower half of his face hiding his lips from view. He glared at Ronan and Rika with his hands clasped behind his back. Two of the three guards from the foyer flanked him. “This room is off-limits to guests.” As he spoke his mustache bounced leaving his lips hidden from view.

“I’m sorry sir,” Ronan said. “We thought we might find privacy in this room. We didn’t mean any harm.”

Sir Mathers stood in silent appraisal for a long moment. “What are your names?”

“I’m Peter. Peter Hessell.” Ronan slid his hand across Rika’s back. “This is my fiancé, Holly Treadway.”

Rika curtsied before Secretary Chalmers. “Good evening Mister Secretary. I hope you’ll accept my apology.” Rika had altered her accent to sound like a Meranthian born noblewoman. “My Peter can be somewhat insistent.” Rika squeezed Ronan’s hand holding him tight.

“If you want such privacy, your bedroom might be a more suitable location. You can either find your way to the celebration, or these guards can lead you from the manor,” Sir Mathers said.

“There’s no need for that sir. We’ll be on our way. Sorry again. Come on Holly,” Ronan said.

Sir Mather’s glare followed them as they hurried out of the library.

Ronan led Rika from the library, through the foyer’s swinging door, and disappeared among the arriving nobles inside the foyer.

“Holly Treadway? Is that the best you could do?” Rika said.

He shrugged. “Would you rather I’d named you Candy?”

“Real funny.”

They followed the flow of guests and wine into the ballroom where Merric Pride’s new world order gathered to witness the world’s newest knight receive his power. Laughter, music, and conversation layered the room with a festive ambience.

Commander Renault, Tyrell’s successor at the citadel, led his wife in a minuet at the center of the dance floor. Clustered around Renault, a half-dozen shard knights, and their dance partners moved to the orchestral harmony of Freehold’s symphony.

Most modern day shard knights came to power under Pride’s harsh rule. He’d forced knights loyal to Commander Tyrell to die or give up their shards. But, several young lords scattered around the ballroom attended citadel with Ronan.

“Rika, I know a few of these lords. They’ll recognize me.”

“They knew an awkward fifteen year old boy. Not a six-foot, two inch, twenty-year-old handsome man. You’ve changed quite a bit over the past five years, and your beard makes you harder to recognize. Besides, I wore this dress for a reason.”

Ronan reached up and touched the stubbles of his beard. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now, stop talking and dance with me.” She took Ronan’s hand and dragged him toward the dance floor.

Knights parted as Rika walked past, and their hungry eyes followed her every movement as she weaved through the dancers. Head’s turned following Rika’s trail as if she held them on an invisible leash.

Of the knights Ronan recognized, none spared him even a brief glance. She’d covered every detail.

He pulled Rika into his arms and led her across the dance floor as the orchestra played a slow waltz.

“See? I told you this dress would work. They aren’t even looking your way.” She whispered into his ear for the second time that evening.

Ronan leaned into her ear and whispered, “I can’t blame them one bit.” As the tempo of the music rose, he swept Rika across the dance floor, and they glided in perfect synchronization. He knew her love for dance. They’d spent many hours dancing at the Queen’s Heart, but never to a formal waltz. And never so close. She laughed when he spun her, and for a moment, Ronan forgot his thirst for revenge, Merric Pride, and the shard waiting on the third floor.