N. Walters: Threads of Destiny

“You can let him live. For now, anyway. All that matters is finding a way for all of us to escape the city and get beyond the Gate.”

“All of us?” Logan sat very still beside her.

Releasing Tienan, she turned to him, licking her lips. She had the weirdest feeling that she knew what his kiss would taste like, what both their kisses would taste like.

That was one heck of a realistic dream she’d had. Forcing it to the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand—keeping all of them alive.

“All of us. I can’t stay here. Not now.”

“There is no safety for you beyond the Gate.” Tienan took her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “You should stay here.”

Kathryn shook her head. “I’d rather die out there, than stay in here and be party to more atrocities.”

Logan started to protest but she held up her hand. “My mind is made up. Either I go with you or I go alone.”

“With us,” Tienan declared. “You will not be alone.”

“Okay then, it’s time to try to get some sleep.” She tugged at the straps of her gown, pulling them back into place. Reaching down, she pushed the fabric back over her torso and legs. Her hand hit something and she frowned as she dragged it from under the covers. “What the heck?” A large, leather vest emerged from beneath the blankets, held tight in her grasp.

Logan frowned and then his eyes widened. “The dream.”

“What do you mean?”

Tienan’s eyes narrowed and he scowled at the garment before shooting Logan a look that she couldn’t interpret. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Now is not the time.” Logan nodded once and then turned out the light, plunging the room back into darkness. She expected both men to return to their pallets on the floor. Instead, they stretched out on either side of her in a protective barrier.

Kathryn pulled the vest close to her chest and inhaled the masculine scent. She had no idea how it had gotten in her bed. Maybe it actually belonged to either Tienan or Logan. She didn’t think so, but then, she didn’t know what was in the knapsack they’d brought with them when they escaped.

Had she found it in the attic and brought it down with her? She was so distracted these days that anything was possible. Maybe she’d wanted the fictional Marc to be real, so she’d used this prop to try to imagine it.

Yes, that must be it. Her emotions and thoughts were all a muddle the past few days and that was no surprise. The stress and tension must be getting to her worse than she thought. Still, she pulled the leather close to her heart before she snuggled beneath the covers. With her protectors on either side of her, she slept.

As he strode down the steps to the great hall for breakfast the next morning, Marc was still unsettled by the realistic dream from the night before. He could feel the smoothness of feminine skin beneath his fingers, taste her sweet lips and smell the perfume of her arousal. “Kathryn.” He whispered her name, savoring the sound of it.

He hadn’t slept much last night, instead tossing and turning as he relived every single moment he’d spent with her over and over again. His cock began to stir and he groaned. He’d been forced to give himself some relief during the night but it certainly hadn’t helped beyond the moment. He was still aroused and hungry.

The only problem was that the woman he wanted was only a figment of his dreams.

He still hadn’t found the missing vest but was trying not to dwell on it. Maybe he’d taken it off before he’d fallen asleep in the chair and a servant had sneaked in and taken it to be cleaned. That was the logical explanation. He had several vests, so there was no need for him to be concerned. It had been a dream. Nothing more. The tapestry had already been here twice in this generation and that was one more time than was normal.

Wanting his dream woman to be true did not make her so.

Although he still didn’t understand why there had been two strange men in the dream. If he’d had his way, he’d have been alone with her. But, dreams were what they were. The men had probably been there because, in Javara, no man had a woman to himself, so he expected to share her. That was enough of an explanation to suit him for now.

Jarek was already seated in his customary chair at the head of the family table, which was on a slightly raised dais with all the other tables perpendicular to it. Extra tables had been added for the three-day feast. Last night was just the beginning. There would be competitions and food aplenty for the next two days.

Christina spotted him first as she placed a large platter of food on the table and waved him over. “Come sit and talk with us.”

He strode toward her and offered her a smile. “Good morning.” Bending down, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. Sliding into the seat beside hers, he helped himself to a slice of the thick, brown bread and slathered it with honey. He wasn’t really hungry but knew that not to eat was to invite unwanted questions.

“I’ll just help Mara in the kitchen.” Christina shot him a worried look before hurrying off. He knew then that there was no escaping the coming confrontation with his brother.

“Marc,” Jarek began. “You have not been happy these past months.” He stared at Jarek, trying to figure out a way to explain how he felt that would not make his brother feel responsible in any way. Jarek was dressed as he was, in leather pants, boots and vest. They both wore thick bronze arm and wristbands and a four-foot sword sat in a scabbard at their waists. They were similar in build but their coloring was different. Jarek’s hair was black, while his was dark brown. His brother’s eyes were brown, while his were more golden in color. But the differences were more than just physical. In the past six years, Marc sensed a deepening contentment in his brother that had not existed before Christina came into his life. He was happy for his brother but he felt a growing restlessness inside himself.

“I have not been unhappy,” he began.

Jarek slammed his fist down onto the table in a rare show of temper. The plates and cutlery all shook and clattered and Marc had to grab the cup in front of him to keep it from falling over. “You are my brother. Do you think I do not know that you are feeling restless and unsettled? Do you think I have not noticed that it has been a year since you sought out Christina and our bed?”

Marc shook his head, setting the cup back on the table before facing Jarek. “I cannot.” It was as simple and as complicated as that. “I do not belong there. Christina is yours. She has always been yours.” He held up his hand to silence his brother. “Do not deny what is the truth. Christina has feelings for me but they are the feelings a woman has for a brother, not a lover. Everything was fine at first but changed when she gave birth to Baron. We both know he is my son.” The boy’s coloring was exactly as Marc’s—

brown hair and golden eyes.

The words Marc had never spoken were now there in front of them. Jarek sighed and nodded. “I know,” he whispered softly. “But he is the son of my heart. He is mine.” Marc nodded, forcing himself not to rub his chest as the old ache arose. “I know but I will not have another child I cannot claim.”

He heard a stifled cry behind him and whirled around in his seat. Christina stood there, her hand over her mouth, her face white. “Christina.” He pushed out of his chair and came to his feet, taking a step toward her. “There is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Nothing for me to be concerned about?” She repeated his words back to him, a frown forming on her face as she fisted her hands by her side. “How can you say that? I know you’ve been unhappy for such a long time now. How can I make it better?” His heart began to pound heavily in his chest. How he adored this woman. In fact, he loved her, but not in the way he had when she’d first arrived. Now he knew she was his brother’s woman. Surprisingly, he’d come to terms with it quite easily. It didn’t make being alone any easier but it was what it was. None of them could change how they felt.