The Serpent Bride. Sara Douglass

moved, breathed just a little more heavily, disturbed the shadows clinging to him, and Ishbel instantly realised his presence.

      She leapt to her feet, staring at him, and Maximilian very slowly unfolded his arms, straightened up from the wall, and stepped forward.

      “Ishbel —”

      “You are Maximilian.”

      He came to a halt some three or four paces from her and gave a slow nod, his eyes not leaving hers. She was angry and hurt and frightened, and he was surprised by none of those. He was also intrigued: she had not taken a step back at his approach, and, even with her knowing who he was, he would have expected that.

      “How long have you been standing there?”

      “Since you entered,” Maximilian said.

      She drew in a long breath, her eyes huge, her face paling, then suddenly flaring in colour.

      “Yes,” Maximilian said, “you may think all those things of me, and more. My behaviour has been inexcusable, but necessary.”

      “Why?” The word was shot at him, almost hissed.

      “Because I needed to see you for who you are, without any artifice.”

      “And for that you used all the artifice you could muster.”

      He tilted his head, conceding the point, his eyes still locked onto hers.

      “I am sorry you are so very alone here,” he said, and that sympathy accomplished what his previous words had not.

      Her eyes flooded with tears, and her shoulders sagged. She half turned away from him, a hand over her mouth.

      “Can we talk?” Maximilian said. He had taken a step closer to her.

      “No. Go away.”

      “It is better we talk now, than be forced to talk before our assembled retinues at our ‘official’ meeting at my ‘official arrival’ in three days’ time. Far better we talk now, Ishbel.” He took another step closer.

      “Go away!”

      “Ishbel …” Now Maximilian was very close, and she turned back, ready to throw off his hand.

      But he was standing again as he had been when first she’d seen him, arms folded, leaning this time against the high post at the end of the bed.

      “Why do you want to marry me?” he said.

      “I don’t.” Ishbel was too tired, and still too shocked by Maximilian’s appearance, to dissemble.

      “Then why are you here?”

      “Because the Coil told me to come. They were the ones who insisted I marry you.”

      “Why?”

      A small hesitation. “I don’t know.” And that was only a small white lie, Ishbel thought. She had no idea at all why the Great Serpent thought marriage to this man would make a difference.

      “They are prepared to offer me you and all your riches … just because …”

      “I have never questioned the way of the Coil,” Ishbel said, relieved that a measure of dignity had crept back into her voice.

      He smiled, and Ishbel was taken aback by the difference it made to his face. He had striking looks with his aquiline nose and deep blue eyes, but was somewhat forbidding (not even considering the circumstances of his arrival into her room). But his smile lit up his face and made his eyes dance with mischievousness.

      “You were honest,” he said. “Thank you. But you do realise,” he went on, “that once married to you, I will owe the Coil no debt? They have offered you, but I shall not be tied to them through that offering.”

      “They would not expect it.”

      “I am marrying you, not the Coil.”

      “I did not realise we had settled definitely on the marriage.”

      He smiled again, that slow, mischievous smile.

      “And Star Web?” Ishbel said, desperate to say something, anything.

      He sobered immediately. “I apologise for StarWeb. She took matters too far. She —”

      “She took matters as far as you gave her licence.”

      “I wanted to push you. To see if —”

      “You have almost pushed me too far,” Ishbel said, very softly.

      “Then take my hand,” he said, holding out his left hand, “and let me pull you back from the brink.”

      She waited a full five heartbeats, wishing she had the strength and the resources to clasp her hands behind her back and step away from him. Then, with a soft sigh of resignation, Ishbel offered up her hand.

      Maximilian clasped it in his, then jerked a little, his eyes widening.

       In that instant, as his flesh touched hers, Maximilian’s entire world tipped on its axis. Gods! He had expected everything but this!

      Ishbel might bear the name Brunelle, but she carried within her the ancient bloodlines of Persimius.

      Maybe she did carry with her the ancient, lost memories!

      While Maximilian’s mind and heart were in turmoil, his calm exterior returned virtually instantaneously.

      “I seem to have arrived most unexpectedly,” he said, “and do not have a place for the night. May I sleep in your bed, my Lady Ishbel Brunelle?”

15

       PELEMERE, CENTRAL KINGDOMS

      Ishbel allowed him to do what he wanted, for two reasons. Firstly, the Great Serpent had told her to allow nothing to stand in the way of this marriage, and Ishbel supposed that refusing Maximilian here might anger him enough to withdraw his offer. But the principal reason Ishbel allowed Maximilian to lead her slowly, gently, towards the bed was that he overwhelmed her utterly. She had expected to find a man who was … tedious. Someone she might regard with contempt. Nothing she’d heard had prepared her for the sheer presence and, she had to admit it, charm, of the man. She was tired and emotionally overwrought, but she could use neither of these states as an excuse.

      Ishbel was simply incapable of refusing him.

      Besides, when he’d touched her, something had happened. He had been shocked for a moment, and she … well, there had been something … enough, when combined with everything else, to strip Ishbel of all resistance.

      He led her to the bed, took her face in gentle hands, and kissed her.

      Ishbel struggled momentarily, then relaxed, again succumbing to whatever presence it was that Maximilian commanded. She allowed him to unclothe her (he had already witnessed her naked, what did it matter now?), and to run his hands and mouth over her body, and to bear her down to the bed and then, eventually, to mount and enter her.

      It was not as abhorrent as she had expected. It was easier to relax and to allow his warmth and care to comfort her than it was to resist, or fear.

      He was, she supposed, a good lover. She understood that he took great care with her, was infinitely gentle, and suffused their bedding with a self-deprecating humour that had her, unbelievably, smiling with genuine humour on one or two occasions.

      There was some pain, a little discomfort, but mostly … an extraordinary sense of sinking into someone else’s care. Ishbel had expected to feel used, or violated, but Maximilian made her feel none of these things.

      Everything about him was not what she had expected.

      They