Page 44

Amelia crossed the front hall and headed for the library – and the sideboard loaded with bottles. Lady Leda had brought plenty of her own stock to beef up the wine they’d found here, and a nice glass or two, or three, in front of the library fire sounded better than the wild chaos of camp at the moment.

The double doors stood ajar, and she slipped inside without having to push them wider. She–

Froze.

Two people stood silhouetted by the fire, but the way they stood – the tall, thin man standing bent over a woman, her hands clasped within his, her head tipped back so their faces were angled intimately – was so damningly tender and romantic that it took Amelia a moment to believe her eyes. Candlelight gleamed gold on their profiles, illuminated their faces. She blinked, but she wasn’t hallucinating: there stood Lady Leda Primrose, gazing up entreatingly at her stepson, young Lord Colum.

They were speaking, and though Amelia didn’t believe in eavesdropping as a general rule, she held her breath the better to hear them.

“I should have gone,” Colum said, with feeling, his gaze intense on his stepmother. He was always so quiet and reserved at the council table, his expression pale and pinched. It was ripped wide open, now, mobile and near-anguished. Brow furrowed and mouth twisted, eyes glittering in the firelight. “I should have been there with them – with the men who are defending our homeland!”

Leda shook her head. “Col, your leg–”

“My leg is fine!” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice rang out through the quiet room, deeper and more resonant than it sounded during meetings, when he made a rare, monotone interjection.

Leda made a low crooning sound, and reached to cup his cheek. Colum leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. He looked sodifferent, like that, shadows of his lashes on his cheeks; he looked handsome. “Oh, darling, I know it is. But there’s fine for living, and then there’s fine for battle.”

His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t move away from her hand; if anything, he leaned into it more firmly. When his eyes opened, they were wet – with anger, she thought, and not sadness. Frustration of a sort she knew well. “I’m not a child anymore, Leda.”

Leda. NotMother, normy lady. The sound of her name on his lips felt too intimate, and Amelia nearly ducked back out the door, save she worried they’d notice the movement.

“I know you’re not,” Leda said, stroking down his jaw, the side of his throat. She rested her hand on his chest, over his heart, her voice thickening. “I know you’re a man, now.”

His head tilted, somehow deepening their eye contact, and he said, pleading, “Then you must understand that I can no longer hide behind my – my impairment. It’s an old injury, long-healed. Men march now bearing fresh injuries. They rot in dungeons – our own crown prince is held captive and I – I sit, and I–” His breathing had gone ragged and too-quick, choking him.

“Shh,” Leda murmured, pressing her fingertips to his lips.

Amelia had stopped pretending there was anything maternal about their relationship at this point.

“I know, I know,” Leda continued. “I know you want to prove yourself–”

“I want tohelp.”

“Darling, you are helping.”

His face creased with pain, and he tried to turn away, toward the fire.

Leda touched his jaw and turned him back. “And what of me?” she asked, gently. “What shall I do, if you go off to war, and you don’t come back?”

The pained look intensified. “Leda–”

“Are you so eager to leave me?” Her smile was impossibly sad. “If you come home victorious, you shall have your pick of maidens. Spit and you’ll strike a potential wife.”

“No,” he murmured, soft and broken. “No, I…I would never.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart. You should have a maiden. A wife. A whole passel of children.” She reached to touch his face again, lovingly, with heartbreaking care. “You should have a future.”

He captured her hand in his, and brought it to his lips, kissed the back of it. “I will. With you. Afterward.”

Leda blinked, and the fire illuminated the crystal teardrops that flecked her lashes. “Darling. My sweet boy.” She pulled him down, and he went easily, readily. A kiss that was not new and tentative, but familiar, desperate.

Loving.

Amelia tiptoed backward a step – and promptly bumped into the door. Its hinges creaked, and she winced.

The kiss broke, and both their heads whipped around.

Colum swept a protective arm around Leda’s shoulders and tried to tuck her behind him. She clutched his sleeve in turn, her smile wry, caught-out. “Relax, darling. It’s only Amelia.” In a louder voice: “Welcome back, my lady. Congratulations are in order, I hear.”