Her King's Command Page 7

  Shannon's eyes widened with fear. Did he intend to take her womanhood as well as her dignity? His hand stroked her face. "I see that look in your eyes. I will not be forcing myself upon you. You will remain unsullied until your wedding day, but we will be making several stops along the way for lessons. Have you questions?"

  "I have many, but ones that you cannot answer," Shannon pouted.

  "In time, then. I ask you this," Dom stood up and smoothed her tousled braid. "Do you wish to take Marta with us as your handmaiden?"

  "I do not. Her fear of the king annoys me, as does her ignorance."

  "You have chosen then. I hope you will not regret it. Prepare to depart," he called to the soldiers. Shannon watched the men resume their positions on their horses and the carriage, grateful that none tried to make eye contact with her.

  "I have chosen what, Master Moarte?"

  "Call me Dom, if you please," Dom said, hoisting himself onto the back of his horse.

  "Dom. What is it I have chosen?"

  "You have refused a handmaiden. That simply means," he waved to the footman to help her into the carriage, "that you will receive my assistance instead. From this moment on, I alone will be responsible for all your personal needs."

  "What? No!" Shannon shouted. The carriage door shut abruptly in her face. Dom was to be her handmaiden? Such a thing was unheard of! A keening like a cold night wind rose in her throat, and she released her wail within the carriage walls. Dom Moarte would pay for her humiliation one way or another!

  CHAPTER 6

  "That be a banshee cry, Your Grace," a guard whispered to the stoic man.

  "Aye, it is. But fear not," Dom patted his shoulder, "it is not aimed at anyone, nor can she harm you or any of the men unless you threaten her life. Right now, she cries for herself and her tender bottom."

  "Is she truly a witch, Sire?"

  "I know that not," Dom sighed. "But if she is, I promise to teach her how to use her gifts to help, not harm."

  "What of you? If she turns her cry upon your blood, she can kill you."

  "She cannot. Please gather the men away from the carriage, so that I might explain outside her hearing. My father told this to me," Dom said, from atop his horse. "The banshee of her clan cannot destroy those who mean her no harm. Nature will not permit it. As long as you are loyal to the crown and seek no injury to either me or our country, you will be safe."

  "How would being loyal to you protect us from that?" a man asked, rubbing his skull as Shannon's cries began to cause them headaches.

  "You are the blood elite who know of my gifts, and the only ones I trust to keep my secret from a fearful and over-zealous society. She is connected with me. I have dreamt of her, and have seen her in the water viewing. Since meeting her, I must believe that the fates have brought us together for a purpose. So, to answer your question—to protect me is to protect her. My bloodline and my gift make me immune to her cries. Just like your blood magic allows you to sense if I am in danger, you need only to think pleasant thoughts of me and the headaches will cease."

  The men nodded, glancing back and forth at each other. One by one, their headaches were resolved. The wind began to calm, and Shannon's plaintive cries grew dim. With a nod and a wave of his hand, Dom ordered the journey to begin.

  ***

  Shannon mixed a pinch of oil of peppermint to a mixture of rose, lavender, bay and sage, and then applied it to her temples. She massaged gently, closing her eyes and deeply inhaling the scents. She groaned as her bottom bounced uncomfortably against the seats of the carriage. Even with thickly stuffed cushions, the ride was excruciating. She clutched her aching posterior and rubbed gently. How dare that man lay his hands upon her!

  She wrapped her shoulders in the shawl give to her by the king. "You wait, Dom Moarte," she growled, kicking her legs upon the bench before lying down upon her side. "You will pay dearly for this mistreatment. Why does my scream not remove you and your men from here?"

  The answer to her question disturbed her as greatly as the pain to her bottom. She knew that her screams failed to work because neither Dom Moarte nor the escort of soldiers were a danger to her. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the combination of her anger and the agony induced upon her backside prevented her from resting. The wine was weak, just enough to make the water drinkable, but she sipped sparingly to delay the inevitable need to relieve her bladder. The thought of Dom assisting her with her personal needs was revolting, and Shannon was determined, come hell or high water, to avoid accepting his assistance as much as humanly possible.

  Several hours into the ride, her personal needs began to call for attention. Shannon looked desperately for a chamber pot or clay vessel under the seats. There were none. She eyed the small door on the carriage floor, made to spill the contents of the pots through, and wondered if she could squat without falling. Holding her breath, Shannon flipped back the little door, lifted her skirts and opened the ties of her braies. She held her breath and tried to hold herself steady. The carriage jostled, and Shannon fell on her bottom, jammed snugly between the two sets of benches. With a discouraged sigh, she positioned her body over the open window and released her water onto the moving ground.

  To her horror, the carriage drew to an immediate stop. Shannon struggled uselessly to regain her footing.

  "You should have told us that you wished to stop and relieve yourself," Dom said, opening the carriage door. "I must admit, you are very inventive."

  Shannon blushed shamefully from her place on the floor between the seats. "There was no chamber pot, and certainly no reason to stop. I made use of my situation as best as I was able."

  "You look like you're stuck." Dom leaned against the carriage, his arms crossed, and smiled. "May I assist you in returning to the bench?"

  "I don't require a useless dolt to help me."

  "I thought we had already had one talk about your manners, Mistress McCleary. Do we need another one?" Dom asked firmly. "Answer me."

  Shannon turned her head from him. "No. Please help me to stand."

  Dom entered the vehicle, easily lifted her by the armpits and sat her upon the bench. He sat across from her and, again, folded his arms. "Well?"

  "Thank you," Shannon mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

  "You are welcome. Would you care to step out and take a walk? We are in a most beautiful forest, and I have need to stretch my legs."

  "Would you be walking with me?"

  "I would."

  "Then, no. Thank you," Shannon forced out.

  "You will quickly learn three things about me, Shannon McCleary. One, I will not accept no for an answer. Two, I do not make a habit of repeating myself. And three," he leaned forward to look at her, "my hand can deliver much more pain to your backside than that which you've already felt. With those things in mind, what say you?"

  "Do you intend to beat me every time I refuse you?" Shannon snarled.

  "No, but I do intend to spank you every time I suspect a poor attitude. We have a long journey before us. You might even decide to become my friend."

  "Like hell I will."

  "Madam," Dom cleared his throat, "I am not a man of God by any means, nor am I a saint. What I am is a person of integrity with a very short level of patience. Out with you."

  Shannon glared at him hatefully, muttering Gaelic curses under her breath as she stomped by. He smacked her bottom and wagged his index finger at her when she turned around to rebuke him. "Language, young lady."

  "You don't speak Gaelic!"

  "No?" Dom leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Go mbeadh tú a bheith ionadh leis na rudaí a fhios agam, mo Ghile Mear."

  "I would be surprised with the things you know?" Shannon repeated in English, stunned. "And do not call me your darling."

  "Must you always have the final word?"

  "Must you always be a brain-boiled cur?"

  "Will someone cut me a switch please?" Dom called out. Shannon's eyes widened as ten switches were offered to h
im within a breath's time. "It appears to me that there are ten escorts who are in agreement with me regarding your disposition. Would you care to choose one to bring along with us? Just in case I have need to keep you in line."

  Horror and disbelief registered as Shannon looked at him, and then shifted her view to the stern faces of the ten men. "When my betrothed hears of this treatment, he…"

  "I assure you, he would not only applaud, but would have been the first one to cut a stout stick," Dom said, waving a thick switch of his own in the air. "Chose one."

  Shannon snarled, snatched the closest stick to her hand, and stomped into the woods. The laughter that followed her brought another wave of anger. She turned and screeched into the forest.

  "Get out of the way!" she heard Dom shout, as the trees dropped hundreds of pinecones from their branches, pelting the group of men. The horses reared, neighing loudly as they broke their tethers and raced away. "Damn! Go get those horses. Where is that woman? I swear I am going to thrash every inch of flesh off her rump!"

  Shannon paled at the sound of his anger. Lifting her skirts to her knees, she began to run into the thick woods. She dodged around tree branches, leapt over stones and logs, and splashed through tiny streams. She could hear the sound of Dom's boots crushing the underbrush, growing closer and closer despite how quickly and how far she ran. Tears raced down her face, blinding her. Still she ran, her breath catching in her lungs, zigzagging recklessly towards an unknown destination. She slipped on a bed of moss and cracked her knee solidly on a rock, releasing a pained cry as she clutched her bleeding leg. She tried to stand, lost her balance, and collapsed heavily upon her palms. She bowed her head forward and touched her forehead to the ground while panting heavily.

  A pair of boots stepped in front of her face. Shannon slowly lifted her red-rimmed eyes to look into the stern face of her pursuer. A sob escaped her mouth and she lowered her face into her arms, her shoulders shaking in defeat. Wordlessly, Dom lifted her up, and began the long walk back to the carriage, with her pressed against his heart.

  ***

  Shannon's sobs touched his core. They also baffled him, for he should be immune to her tears. But these were the tears of a frightened, confused and injured child. He juggled her body, pulling her nearer to his chest.

  "Shhh," he whispered, pressing his cheek to her dirty forehead. "You must calm yourself."

  "I'm sorry," Shannon wept. "I only needed to let out my water. And my bottom still aches dreadfully from that horrid plank set upon it."

  "I know. Quiet down now." Dom's voice was soft and soothing. "Shannon, look at me."

  "I cannot," Shannon sniffed.

  "This is the last time I will repeat myself," Dom said firmly. "When I tell you to do something, you are to obey. Without question and without argument."

  "That might be what you are accustomed to, but not I. The king," Shannon sobbed, "he always told me to question everything. To challenge everything said to me, and never to be blind to life. He wanted me to be a queen and to make him proud. I cannot be the way he wished. I have failed him and his son. I've failed his country. I've failed…"

  Dom lowered her carefully onto a pile of fallen leaves and moss, and sat down next to her. He stroked her wet cheeks and damp hair as he tucked her firmly under her left arm. "The only one you can fail is yourself," he said softly. "King Malkai was a very wise man, but he also lacked focus. When he passed, he left many things unfinished in his country. His son needs a strong woman by his side, one whose thoughts and actions are not ruled by her emotions."

  "What is wrong with that? My mother's actions were dictated by her heart, not just by the needs of the people she served."

  "Those same people ended up killing her in the end. Shannon," Dom placed his hand over hers, "my mother was also taken from her family due to ignorance. We must rise above the ignorance of the world, but we also must find a way to fit into our place. There are ways to question, and challenge, that cause neither insult nor danger to others."

  "You frighten me. You are like a giant bear that I fear will devour me if I don't fight back. Why do you hate me so much?"

  Dom wrinkled his forehead. "Hate you? I am preparing you to survive in a world very different than the one to which you are accustomed. The cloister could not teach you the ways of men, or how to rule a kingdom. Your education began the moment you stepped into this carriage. You became a queen at that moment."

  "I did?" Shannon lifted her face to him.

  "Yes, you did," he said, as he gently removed her hand from her swollen knee. He probed it gently, and then lifted both her palms to study the bloody scratches left on them. "Stay here while I get water to cleanse these wounds."

  "I'm sorry," Shannon lowered her face. "I can help. There are herbs in my travel pouch."

  "I have medicines as well. Hush."

  Shannon bit down on her lip as Dom scrubbed her wounds clean of dirt. "That hurts."

  "Yes, I know it hurts. Stay still."

  "Ow!" Shannon growled, as his whiskey-soaked cloth pressed against her palms.

  "You are acting like a little child. Are you really holding your breath? Your face is turning quite a lovely shade of red."

  "It huuurts," Shannon hissed, from between clenched teeth.

  "I see that," Dom chuckled. "You look like a wild woman, Shannon. I thought your cloister taught self-control with the use of a cane."

  "They taught mental discipline with a birch," Shannon corrected, blowing desperately on her stinging hands after waving them frantically in the air. "I was never good at it."

  "Why don't you try? Give me your knee. Will you please stop moving?" Dom rolled his eyes as Shannon wriggled to avoid his touch and keep the pressure off her paddled backside. He had finally pressed the cloth to her knee when a breathless guardsman rapidly approached him.

  "Sir, we have only retrieved three of the horses. What would you have us do?"

  "Three? That does not bode well for us. Shannon?"

  "Yes?" Shannon looked into his face, her brows drawn together in apology.

  "The truth. I have heard the keening and have seen the skies respond to your anger. Are you banshee?"

  Shannon swallowed hard. To make that admission aloud could mean death, especially with the religious and political unrest in the world. The Grand Dame's warnings to trust no one with her gift reverberated in her head. That is, no one who has not proven themselves to be trustworthy. This man was immune to her gift. Did that mean he was gifted as well? Or perhaps that he was worthy of her trust?

  "What if I am?" she asked softly.

  "If you are, then we need you to call upon the forces of nature and bring back our horses. There are bears and wolves in these woods, and we don't want to lose our animals to either predators or thieves."

  "If I help, will you forego my beating?"

  Dom raised his brow. "Your beating? I am assuming you are talking about the spanking you're owed for the temper tantrum you threw, which ended up with you hurting yourself and us losing the horses."

  "Then your answer is no." Shannon sighed, looking down.

  "My answer is no. However, a show of integrity might help you earn some respect from your guardsmen."

  "It might or it will?"

  Her voice was so childlike and innocent, Dom felt a sudden need to soothe and protect her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. He lifted her chin and nodded. "It will."

  Shannon took in a deep breath and allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. "Will it make you change your mind about me?"

  "What do you want to change in my mind?" He hid his amusement, beginning to understand the fascination his father had had for the girl.

  "You think I am spoiled and rude. That I am not fit to become a queen."

  "I do think those things, but it is up to you to change my mind by showing me that you are willing to learn and grow. Rectifying a problem that you caused is the action of a mature adult. Do you believe yourself to be a woman grown?"<
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  "I used to. I used to believe that I could handle anything that came my way. My world is not what I thought it would be. It is too different for me to handle."

  "Then change it."

  "Change it?"

  "Either change your way of thinking, or change your world. Doing nothing changes nothing." He kissed the back of her hand. "I do not mean to scold. I just see that there is more to you than you see of yourself. Forgive me, my lady."

  Shannon swallowed dryly, staring at the hand that held hers. It was so much larger and darker than her own delicate, long-fingered appendage. Memories of the strength of that hand, and the hardness of that palm upon her bottom, made Shannon quake. He did not have to say it—Shannon could always sense the underlying threat directed at her backside.

  "I need a candle," she said.

  "You heard the lady. A candle!"

  Dom watched as Shannon anchored the tallow candle in a nest of rocks upon the ground. She looked at him nervously.

  He touched his forehead to hers. "You will not be judged for using your gift for good. Do you need me to light this?"

  "No. Please, you must be silent while I concentrate. I am not good at spellbinding. Do not interfere either, or I will burn myself worse than usual." Shannon lifted her eyes to his. "I tell you the truth, my skills are poor. I fear I will fail."

  "You are forbidden to speak of failing again," Dom said sternly. "I have faith in you, Shannon. Confront your fear and show me the strength of your heart. Put aside the things taught to you, and allow your instinct to guide you. Trust me."

  "May I sing?"

  "You may sing."

  Shannon's gaze burned deeply into his eyes and neither one of them breathed as they drank in one another's souls. Shannon was the first to blink and break the eerie contemplation shared between them. She placed her right hand above the candle and blew on the wick with a whisper's breath. A tiny line of smoke arose from the darkening fibers, lifting higher and higher into the air until the tip of the candle burst alive with flame. Shannon lifted her face to the canopy of trees and began to sing softly. Her lilting soprano brogue danced in a haunting melody among the branches above as she called upon the forces of nature to help her in her task. Her voice seemed to separate from her body as she sang, and the flame stretched upward towards her extended hand. Closer and closer the flame came, beginning to lick her flesh. Shannon continued to chant, her eyes closed as she concentrated.