Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(27)

After he took the last mouthful of his bread and cheese, he began to pull the roast chicken off the bone and offer her the choicest tidbits.

She accepted a few bites then declined any more, content to watch him finish the meal, which he did with relish. He had been right. Eating had steadied her.

His head bent, he kept his gaze on his task. The firelight picked up bright glints in his hair. His hair had a tendency to an unruly wave, and he kept it short and no-nonsense, no doubt, she thought, in some effort to tame it.

When he finished the chicken, he tossed the bones onto the fire, shook out the handkerchief and wiped his hands on the cloth.

She had gotten so used to the silence that when he spoke, she startled. He asked, “Do you mind if I ask you a question about something that is really none of my business?”

She should say no.

She should politely, gently erect proper social barriers between them.

She should do a lot of things, but some renegade part of her was growing greedy for any excuse to relate to him, any opportunity to extend and deepen the sense of companionship.

“Please do,” she said. A tiny, tattered remnant of caution caused her to add, “I may not be able to answer, but you may certainly ask.”

With that, he looked up, spearing her with his gaze. “Why are you with Calondir? It’s quite clear that you and he do not live in accord.”

The heat and intensity in his eyes was searing. She could only hold his gaze for a few moments. Jerking her head away, she stared blindly at the fire. She felt shaken to her bones.

She told him, with difficulty, “That’s a long, very old story.”

“I have time,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. “We don’t live as husband and wife, and we haven’t since—well, since too many years to count. We’re business partners. Our business is running the Elven demesne, and we do that very well.”

“You were with him, then you lived apart for some years,” he said. “When you got back together, he had his son, Ferion. That’s really all I know.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she murmured. Ancient memories played through her mind. “Originally, we did live together as husband and wife. In the beginning, I thought I loved him. He could be so charming and charismatic when he wanted to be, but I think he married me to acquire a prize. At any rate, for me it was a disastrous mistake. After a brief time, I left him. I had no intention of ever speaking to him again. Then he came to me one day with Ferion.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Ferion’s mother had died giving birth to him, and he was so tiny, so completely innocent and new, I could almost hold his entire little body in one hand.”

“I didn’t realize he was so young,” Graydon said. His gaze never strayed from her face.

She didn’t mind his scrutiny. It was as warm as a physical caress. “He was only a few days old. Calondir put him in my arms and said, ‘My son needs a mother. If you want him, you may have him to raise as your own. But if you do, you must return to me. I will not let any son of mine live away from me.’”

He let out a long sigh.

It sounded so heartfelt, she gave him a sidelong, wry smile. “Well, you can imagine how I felt. I had wanted a child for so long, and you know how rare that blessing is for us. As soon as I held that sweet baby boy, I couldn’t let him go. He became my whole world, and I adored him completely.”

She had twisted her fingers together in her lap. One large hand came down over both of hers. Graydon said softly, “That happened a long time ago, Bel.”

“Yes, it did.” She turned her hands over to cup his. He had thick, long fingers and a broad callused palm. His skin was warm. “A very long time ago. Meanwhile other things happened, and tensions grew in various factions among us. None of it is relevant today, except that creating the Elven demesne outside of Charleston was actually my idea.”

“I didn’t know that, either,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “The thing was, I had been gone from that particular group—the kernel of what became our demesne—long enough that people looked to Calondir for leadership, not to me. So, we created a charter and set sail, and established our demesne outside of Charleston. It was all very forward thinking and exciting, in its own way.”

His mouth took on a sour slant. “Calondir became Lord, and you became consort.”

She nodded. “Ferion grew up, and I planted the seeds for my Wood and nourished it into growing, and it’s been my home ever since. Usually, Calondir and I don’t get in each other’s way, except when it comes to Ferion. Often I go weeks without seeing him, as either one of us might be either in the Wood or in residence in the Charleston home.”

His fingers tightened. “It’s a business arrangement.”

“Yes. Except for Ferion, it is.” She sighed. Calondir was actually not that bad as Elven High Lord. He just made a rotten husband and father.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked. “Have you never wished for anything else—for something more?”

She lifted her eyes to meet Graydon’s dark, steady gaze and whispered, “For the most part, our personal arrangement has never really mattered, before now.”

He turned toward her, leaning forward. She shifted as well, her face turned up to his.

Her gaze dropped to his rough-cut, sensitive mouth, and her body pulsed as she remembered the warm caress of his lips on her forehead.