Loving Lies (2 page)

Chapter Three

The loud knocking woke Willow from sleep, from dreams of a handsome man holding her, of his lips touching her neck and whispering sweet words of love and desire. She smiled; she hadn’t had such a dream for four years but she remembered many such nighttime visits from a dream lover who offered her the world in his arms. It was a pity she couldn’t find someone like that.
B
ut real men like that didn’t exist except in the romance novels she devoured.

“Okay, okay, I can hear you,” she called, heading for the front door. Her best friend, Helen stood outside, an anxious look on her face and a hand lifted to bang on the door again.

“The door was locked. You never lock the door. Why did you lock it?” The fair-headed woman bustled through the half-opened door, pushed past a startled Willow and headed straight into the compact living room. It was empty except for the black cat washing himself on the windowsill, bathed in warm morning sunshine. He raised his head to stare contemptuously, feline derision sparking out of his green eyes. She’d never liked that animal; she didn’t know why Willow had kept it. Helen spun on the spot as a noise in the kitchen caught her attention. “Is someone here? Did someone stay over?”

“No, of course no one stayed over,” Willow followed her friend’s frantic footsteps. There was something she wanted to talk to her about, something bothering her but her head was muzzy and whatever it was lurked somewhere in the furthest reaches of her mind. “Want a hot drink?”

“Tea or coffee?” a deep, very sexy voice asked.

Both women turned to stare at the tall, dark and damn gorgeous man in the kitchen doorway. Willow blushed; he was sexy last night but in the morning light streaming through the windows, he was fit to die for. His dark hair was damp, hanging to his shoulders, although a day’s growth of beard gathered on his face, a slight shadow of pure man.

“You’re still here,” Willow cursed her lack of originality.

“I used your shower,” his voice was deep, gravelly and her knees wilted a little under its tones. She nodded, unable to think of anything sensible to say. All thoughts of his unreasonable demands the night before faded beneath the excellence of his looks. He’d changed his clothes, the dark shirt replaced by a white one, pristine and unbuttoned to his chest. His trousers were dark and tight-fitting in just the right places, but his feet were bare and, for a reason she couldn’t hope to explain, that appealed to a spark deep inside.

“Who are you?” Helen stepped closer, watching the interaction between her friend and the stranger. Willow had never had a man over to stay; she’d never even had a boyfriend. What was going on?

“This is Donovan,” Willow moved to the man’s side, her hand automatically touching the wall only inches from where his shoulder rested; her action a barrier between her best friend and this man. Why was she so protective of a stranger?

“Donovan, who?”

“Just Donovan,” the man’s voice was cool, his dark eyes scathing, but he stepped forward, deliberately placing his body in between the two women as the cat jumped elegantly down, winding himself against Willow’s legs. “Perhaps you should get changed. I can keep your friend company.” Donovan muttered low, leaning into Willow’s ear, his breath causing a shiver to dance down her spine. Willow nodded, she was grateful of the chance to move away from him and yet fearful to leave her pretty friend alone with this sexy man.

“Don’t be long,” Donovan whispered as he disappeared back into the kitchen. Willow hesitated only for a moment before she headed into her bedroom. A quick shower and she’d be back.

Chapter Four

“What are you doing here?” Helen hissed, filling the space between the living room door and kitchen. Her mouth was curled in a snarl, her eyes without their customary sparkle. “I know who you are and I won’t let you take her back.”

Donovan turned, hot kettle in hand, his face blank of all expression.

“If you know who I am, then you must
kn
ow there is nothing you can do to stop me. Tea?”

“Who cares about tea?” she spat, but he was right. Against the power of the Kingdom, she was defenceless but, for Willow, she would fight.

“You have had her for seven years; she is mine now. Sugar?”

Helen faltered, her face reddened and her hands curled into fists. Her next retort died beneath the mundane nature of his question. Who cared about sugar when Willow’s life was in danger?

“This isn’t fair. You can’t do this. She’s happy. She’s forgotten all about the Kingdom and made a new life here,” Helen took the mug offered, muttering an automatic thank you. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“I knew you had something to do with this,” Willow’s voice echoed through the kitchen, a humorous tone contradicting the noisy clatter of her heart tightening at the sight of her best friend getting cosy with Donovan.

“What? Oh yes, it was just a joke and now Donovan is leaving,” Helen quickly took her cue.

“I am going nowhere,” Donovan snarled, a dark presence filling the room as Helen automatically stepped away from him. Willow stepped toward him.

“You must leave,” Helen backed into the living room. The light shone friendlier in there but that damn cat seemed to be everywhere and, the loud screech as she trod on its tail, sent her flying into the side table, knocking the vase-come-weapon of the previous night to the floor. Fluffy beat a rapid retreat, his fur fluffed up to the cat door and the safety of the outside world. Willow ran to Helen’s side, a hand on her arm to help her up before bending to pick up the broken pieces of glass.

“It’s fine. I can do it,” Willow brushed away her friend’s concern, ignoring her apologies. “It was an old thing anyway. I was going to throw out.”

“You have cut yourself,” Donovan’s large hand took hold of hers, his concern flooding her mind as he lifted her palm to his mouth. His breath was warm
o
n her skin and the touch of his tender
tongue s
oothed away the hurt. Willow’s face burned as an ache deep within her began to flicker
—
a fire she’d not experienced with any other person and once lit, she feared could never be extinguished.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, wanting to snatch her hand from his, yet hoping he would never let it go.

“I will be the judge of that,” Donovan’s eyes caressed her skin as he turned her hand over to inspect the wound that wasn’t there. She’d seen the blood; she’d felt the slash of the glass, yet her skin was undamaged.

“What did you do?” Willow gasped, her breathing shallow as though she waited for more from him. What he could offer, she didn’t dare imagine and although she didn’t know him, she wanted his lips on her, not just her palm but also her mouth, her face, her body.

“Willow, come away. He isn’t good for you. Make him leave.” Helen tugged her friend to the sofa, one arm around her shoulder, a protection against the man now scooping fragments of glass into his hands.

“What do you know about him? I feel I should know him but…” Willow whispered as Donovan trod into the kitchen to dispose of the broken pieces.

“I can’t believe you’d be so foolish to allow a stranger in after everything we’ve warned you about. How could you be so stupid?” Helen hissed back.

“Willow has never been stupid; do not call her so,” Donovan returned, sweet tea in a pink mug for Willow, his voice cold and his eyes glaring. His glance took in Willow’s confused face; his next heated comment stolen by the purity of her beauty. She wore a white blouse, open-necked with dark jeans and he wondered if her choice of clothes had been a conscious decision, echoing his. Like him, she wore no shoes and could have cut her feet on the shards of glass. The thought brought a soft growl to his throat, causing the two women to huddle closer before he realised how little he should care about any injuries she brought on herself. He shouldn’t care at all…. except he remembered how sensitive her feet were, how she hadn’t like him touching them although he’d wanted to caress every part of her body, to know intimately every curve, every shadow. A memory he would be better forgetting once more.

“Am I interrupting something?”

They all turned as Helen’s father, a tall man with greying hair, stood in the space of the open front door, key still in hand. His astute silver eyes took in the situation, as Donovan reached in the air for a weapon, a huge blue sword sparkling in the morning light.

“Garion, I should have known,” Donovan lowered the sword, his eyes dancing over Willow’s frightened face and, despite his own feelings, he didn’t want to see the shadow of fear flooding her pretty eyes.

“My Lord Donovan, I’d say your presence fills me with joy but that would be a lie,” Garion nodded his head, keeping his eyes on the warrior. “It has been many years.”

“Seven,” Donovan inclined his head, keeping the man in his sight.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” Willow stood; shaking off her friend’s restraining arms. “You both seem to know him and, although I feel I should, I don’t.”

“Lies will not work here, my lady,” Donovan spoke, but his eyes remained on the man opposite. “It is seven years too late for falsehoods. I believed you once but I will not be fooled again.”

“What lies? What are you talking about? I’ve never met you before….” Willow paused, her brow creased in thought but whatever eluded her managed to conceal itself in the midst of her memories. Whenever an image of this man floated to the surface, another dragged it down again and she was unable to get anything other than slim glimpses of what had been. She stepped in front of the tall man as his dark eyes dropped to hers, his midnight hair framing his dark looks. She reached out.
She
hadn’t meant to, but felt a need to touch him so her fingers caressed the skin just above the V of his open-necked shirt. He flinched, moving a step back as though her fingers were molten, burning through to his heart.

“Do not do this,” he whispered painfully as his hand snatched hers, lifting it from his flesh. “How much more pain do you think I can endure?”

“I don’t know you.” It was a plea, a prayer he should answer. She didn’t know what was happening but it shook her to her core. She wanted to touch him again. She needed to touch him but his hand wouldn’t release hers and a spark built between their fingers, a burning heat along the contact of their skin. She watched with wide eyes, amazed this man should have this effect on her. “What are you doing?”

“This is not my doing, my lady. This is your power but, after all these years, I wonder how it could still be true.” Donovan dropped her hand, stepping back to the window. He averted
his eyes f
rom her face; he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face the feigned innocence. He couldn’t absorb any more pain; his soul already swam in an abyss of hurt and only she could hurt him further.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Willow pleaded to his back. He was important to her but only he could explain why. “Don’t turn your back on me; tell me what I need to know.” But Donovan didn’t speak.

“The Gathering has been called?” Garion asked
en
ding the silence with his question. He’d known this day would come but, in truth, he’d hoped beyond hope that it wouldn’t

“Colson demands her presence. Felicity draws near to the end of her reign and the leadership must be decided,” Donovan explained

“Is there no way….” Garion began but Donovan’s cold words ended any hope.

“None at all. If I do not bring her in time, Lord Colson will declare himself leader and bring death to your world.”

“Willow, I’m so sorry, I thought I could hide you from this but…” Garion’s words faded once more. He couldn’t think of anything to add.

“Hide me from what?” she asked Donovan. He would tell her the truth.

“You are Lady Willow, daughter of Queen Felicity, niece of Byron and cousin to Colson. It is your duty to face Lord Colson upon the battlefield of honour to decide which of you should rule the Kingdom. I have been assigned the obligation of returning you to your homeland and I suggest you do not run, for my Lord has a short temper and long-reaching arms. You will not escape his notice again.”

“This can’t be right,” the woman protested but she read the truth in those midnight eyes. He wasn’t lying. “My name is Willow Wiccan. My mother was called Barbara. I have no uncles, no cousins and I am no lady. Tell him, Helen. You’ve known me all my life, tell him.”

But Helen didn’t speak; it was time for the truth. She couldn’t maintain the lie woven around Willow these past seven years. The reluctant shaking of her head demonstrated her regret.

“My Lord Donovan,” the cat was back, darting through the cat flap like his tail was on fire. “Two fellows outside want a word with you. The ratty faced one says his name is Cestar and they both wear the uniform of the Kingdom. I think you should talk to them.”

“I must go,” Donovan looked down into Willow’s distraught face; he hadn’t wanted to bring such desolation to her pretty features but the time for hiding was over.

“You can’t go; we need to talk about this,” she protested, her hand poised to touch him again, but he stepped further out of her reach.

“If I do not, they will come in and that will be so much worse,” Donovan cautioned but he wondered at his need to protect this woman. Despite his rage, his pain, he had no desire to see her hurt at the hands of her cousin and, although he denied everything including the beating of his own heart, he knew the love he carried for her hadn’t died. Perhaps it never would. He’d given his word to forever protect her and he couldn’t foresee a time when he wouldn’t but, for now, that protection meant he had to leave her here. “These people can explain more than I. Perhaps you will be more inclined to believe their words.”

“Wait,” Willow called as he strode powerfully toward the door and those awaiting him. “You didn’t tell me your part in this.”

“My name is Lord Donovan. I am your husband.”