Broken Dove
Page 8

I stopped thinking of Pol and followed Apollo’s breeches to his dark brown boots that were kind of shiny like someone attempted to take care of them, but they weren’t worn as a fashion statement. They were just worn.
Up my eyes went and I saw topping these was a cream shirt, full-sleeved and the collar was clearly meant to go up high on his neck and cover his throat, possibly with one of those poofy neck cloth thingies, but he wore the collar open at the throat, exposing the strong column of it, creating a miracle. Because at the sight of his throat, I forgot about his breeches.
I tore my eyes from his neck to look at his face.
Yep, this was Pol Powerhouse.
Or Apollo Powerhouse.
Pol didn’t hold a candle to this guy.
Not even close.
I watched his gaze slide through me and he turned his head toward the door he’d just walked through.
I looked down at the pillow beside me that was dented seeing as his head had rested on it through the night, wondering distractedly how late it was and how long he’d been gone seeing as he was dressed and had already gone about facing the day.
Then I looked back his way to see that he was in the room and he wasn’t the only one.
A troop of women came with him. I stopped counting at six (and maybe was half done) when he started talking.
Or more accurately commanding, his gaze on one woman. “She’ll need to be bathed and dressed. Take measurements in order that you can commence creating her apparel without delay. You’ll have one week to provide her with a wardrobe that will see her through travel, on land and at sea.”
Uh.
What?
He wasn’t done.
“Send a missive to Lunwyn urgently. They’ll need to prepare for her arrival. We make haste to Lunwyn so inform them that they have two months.”
Wait.
It took two months to get to Lunwyn?
Two months?
He turned to me, took two steps toward the bed but stopped which put him at about ten feet away.
His eyes were blank when they fell on me, which I thought was weird but I didn’t have a lot of time to think on how weird it was because he continued talking immediately.
“Obviously, I was not prepared for your arrival and in your current condition”—he looked to my check then back to my eyes—“the children shouldn’t see you.”
All the air compressed out of my lungs, and due to lack of oxygen they started burning.
Children?
He seemed not to notice my response for he went on.
“Indeed, I had planned carefully for how you would be introduced to them therefore you may be traveling separately from us so I can take that time to prepare them. We mustn’t delay in being away, however, for the witches are conniving with Baldur and whatever strike they intend to make is possibly imminent. We need to make haste in all of us arriving at the Ulfr estate in Lunwyn where I can leave you with the children in safety and rejoin Frey, Tor and the Dax.”
Clearly he thought Valentine was a lot more forthcoming during our conversation last night because I had no clue what he was talking about but he seemed to think I did.
But I didn’t ask.
I was still stuck on children.
Therefore, I wheezed, “Children?”
“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Your children?” I pushed out.
He stopped looking blank in order to look mildly impatient. “Yes. My children. Christophe and Élan.”
Christophe and Élan.
A boy and a girl.
Or maybe two boys (I’d never heard the name Élan).
It didn’t matter.
Children.
Apollo of this world and his dead Ilsa had children.
Two of them.
Two of them.
Suddenly, I was certain I was going to throw up but luckily he spoke again so I had something to focus on and could swallow it down.
“These women are ladies maids and seamstresses. They will attend you.”
I didn’t need ladies maids and seamstresses. I didn’t even need a bathroom anymore.
I needed Valentine. Like now.
So I asked, “Where’s Valentine?”
“I do not know. She disappeared in the night, as is her wont.”
Disappeared?
Why?
Shit!
“Uh…I think she left a lot out last night,” I informed him.
“I’m late being away to the children’s school. You and I will talk later. But I’ll warn you now, I’ll have little time. There’s much to be done before we embark on our journey, so think on your questions and use that time wisely,” he stated and turned to leave.
Wait.
Hang on a second.
Who was this guy? And where was the guy who was all affectionate and kind and concerned and fierce?
“Wait!” I called when he’d almost made the door.
He turned back to me, definitely impatient now. “Ilsa, as I said, I’m late being away. I should have left half an hour ago.”
“I…” I hesitated and tipped my head to the side. “Are you okay?”
His impatience fled, the blank mask slid over his face and he answered, “I will be, if you leave me to go collect my children.”
“Right,” I said softly. “Of course.”
He didn’t acknowledge that. Not with a nod of his head, a lift of his chin or anything.
He just turned and walked out the door, and without pause, the troop of women rushed forward and descended on me.
* * * * *
It was late evening.
After Apollo took off, I’d been measured for clothing and then led to a room down the hall, which fortunately had a screen painted with a lovely landscape with people picnicking on it, behind which, unfortunately, there was a chamber pot.
I wasn’t fired up about the chamber pot business but it was something that didn’t include me tiptoeing through the tulips (or whatever) to answer nature’s call, so I used it.
The room also had a fabulous porcelain bath with silver claw feet and high sides.
It was safe to say, I was fired up about that.
The girls left and I was allowed to take a bath alone but I noted there was no plumbing, although there was a drain. Still, the water was warm, the shampoo smelled of citrus, the soap of lavender, and the washcloth was slightly rough in a loofah kind of way.
When I got out, I grabbed the towel they left me on a dainty stool by the bath. It wasn’t terrycloth but it was soft and absorbent and a fabulous shade of blue.
They’d also left a robe. It was silk, there was a fair bit of delicate lace and it was butter yellow.
Okay, it was safe to say I was getting fired up more and more.