Page 32

A Powerful Ally

Her long, slender fingers clutched the arms of the velvet tufted throne, extracting every precious drop of regal power from the carved, gilded wood.

An elaborate golden crown, encrusted with enormous emeralds, sat atop an equally elegant crown of intricately woven braids of lustrous black tresses coiled upon her royal head.

Morag straightened her spine, smoothed the voluminous folds of her deep green silk gown, and raised her imperial chin to reveal her slender neck.

She glowered at the six royal guards cowering at her feet, dutifully awaiting the fatal judgement of the livid, scowling queen.

“You have failed in your duty. Because of your incompetence, the prisoner has escaped. You scoured every inch of the Hazelwood Forest. Where is she ?”

The captain of the guards, his head bowed, replied solemnly. “A young blond woman in a deep green cloak was seen with a male escort in village of Sligeach. They booked passage to Cornwall from the inn at the seaport. The vessel departed three days ago, my queen.”

She flashed a furious glance at Lord Voldurk, silent in his black silken robes at her side. His dragon eyes glowed in the golden light.

“And Lords Cian and Bolduc?” Her eyes sliced like a blade across the lowered heads humbled before the wooden dais.

“There is no trace yet, my queen. But our soldiers are hunting them. The traitors will be found.”

“And you will bring me their heads. Or I shall have yours.” Morag hissed, her lethal stare fixed upon the captain of her royal guards.

“Yes, my queen. As you command.”

The guards quickly rose to their full impressive height, bowing graciously before the glacial queen. Turning as one, they exited the throne room with military precision, the clatter of metal swords against the gleaming chain mail armor, glinting in the morning sun.

Morag’s frosty voice gusted through the vacant throne room. “Bring wine, with a platter of cheese and fresh fruit to my royal chambers. At once.”

Four meek attendants scurried from the room like frightened squirrels. Morag addressed her Royal Advisor, her voice iced with anger. “Lord Voldurk, come with me. I am in need of your sage counsel.”

****

Morag stared out the window beneath her mauve velvet draperies, gazing at the courtyard where Lord Liam had so often ridden the dappled gray mare.

A sight I no longer have to endure, she sighed inwardly.

Now that her husband was weakened by violent purgings and frequent bloodlettings, his strength sapped by merciless, insatiable leeches—he could no longer watch the Master of Horse ride the palfrey from his bedroom window.

The king could no longer stand, let alone rule.

Thanks to her husband’s royal physician , who now stood at her bedroom table, pouring two silver goblets of rich ruby wine.

Yes, she’d gotten rid of the damned horse, Morag thought bitterly, as she turned to face the dark wizard and drained the proffered chalice.

But her stepdaughter still posed an intolerable threat to her tenuous hold on the Irish crown.

A hold Morag intended to solidify with the powerful ally in silken black robes whose golden eyes glowed deeply into hers.

“My stepdaughter is still alive. I cannot fathom it. For years, I believed her dead. Those guards—who happened to pass through that village blacksmith shop one day—received the report that the princess had been hiding in the Hazelwood Forest all these years. Living with that damned witch!”

Morag hurled her empty goblet across the room to clatter against the white limestone wall. The grating sound of metal scraped on the tile as it rolled over the cold, hard floor.

Voldurk removed his black robe and draped it across one of the two chairs tucked under the lace covered table.

His long dark hair touched the wide shoulders of the black velvet tunic she longed to touch.

She raked appreciative eyes over his lithe, powerful form, the dark breeches clinging to the tight muscles of his long, lean legs.

Sensing her attention, he gazed at her with sultry, golden eyes.

The blazing eyes of a dragon, enflaming her frozen veins.

He placed his goblet upon the table and sauntered toward her, his towering presence comforting as he wrapped her into a strong embrace.

He lowered his full, warm lips to her bare shoulder, his tantalizing tongue teasing her pale, frosty skin.

A ripple of pleasure shivered through her as she leaned back into his hold and exposed her swanlike neck.

He kissed her pale throat softly, the trail of his lips weakening her quivering legs. Yet, instead of the bed, as she had hoped, he led her to the table, where he sat her down upon the lush velvet chair, refilling his own goblet and handing it to her.

“Drink, my queen. It will abate your anger, and warm you to the idea I wish to propose.”

He walked across the room and retrieved the chalice from the floor, wiping it with a napkin from the platter of fruit. As he filled the goblet and drank deeply, his eyes locked with hers. Morag swooned in the golden, glowing pools.

“I wish to sail to Cornwall, my queen,” he said cautiously, pulling his chair up beside hers as he lowered himself to her side. “For there is someone I wish to meet. A powerful ally to aid in our quest.”

Morag raised an eyebrow, sipping her delicious wine. Intrigued, she tingled with anticipation.

“The dwarf Frocin, my queen. A wealthy baron who lives in the dark Forest of Morois, on the outskirts of Cornwall. An otherworldly creature with a most unique power of clairvoyance.”

He grinned slyly at Morag, sending a thrill up her spine. “Frocin can not only read the stars and see the future. He also has the extraordinary ability to track the gift of sight.”

Voldurk knelt at her feet and took her hand, warming her icy fingers with his wicked lips. Her breath hitched at his touch.

“Like you, my queen, I believed the princess dead.” His golden eyes bore into hers.

“Once, as I covered the king with leeches to suction his blood, I sensed someone watching. A presence, an aura of power. The deep green eyes of a young blond woman observing me, transfixed with terror. I had no idea who she was. Until we received the report that the princess still lived.” He rose, peered down at her, the golden gleam of challenge in his serpentine eyes.

“Princess Issylte has the gift of sight— a form of magic that leaves a telltale trace whenever it is used. A trail that Frocin, with his clairvoyance, can track for us.” He pulled Morag to her feet, his eyes glowing like embers.

“Frocin will follow the verdant trail of her magic. He’ll find her for us.

And his merciless mercenary knights will eliminate the sole threat to your throne.

” He raised her chilled fingers to his fiery lips. She shivered with sensual delight.

“May I have your leave, my queen, that I may sail to Cornwall? To garner the alliance of the dwarf Frocin?”

Morag raised her eyes to his, a sultry smile spreading across her face.

“Yes, my loyal Royal Advisor. Obtain this powerful ally. And return quickly to your most grateful queen.” She pursed her luscious lips into a provocative pout, tantalizing him with the tip of her dainty tongue as she tasted the rich, ruby red wine.

His snakelike eyes devoured her as he roughly pushed the lacy sleeves from her shoulders to expose her bare breasts.

Morag moaned as his molten lips assaulted them, his tongue a flickering flame melting her like a wax candle.

He led her at last to the bed, unlaced her corset, and grinned wickedly as her dress fell in a puddle of silk at her feet.

He laid her back upon the bed, deftly removed his tunic and breeches, hovering over her, his serpentine eyes blazing with golden desire.

Morag wrapped her slender legs around his hips and pulled her dragon deep inside, engulfing them both in flames.