Page 32 of The Cordial Bride

He shushed her with a quick shake of his head.

“I’ll bring lunch to your room, if you’d like. And…see to everything else.”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Thank you.”

Calan said nothing, curled up in his arms, limp. As soon as Ian laid him down on the bed, however, the boy clutched his tunic, forcing him to lie next to him.

Ian didn’t have to be convinced. This was the only place he wanted to be at the moment. He rubbed the palm of his hand down Calan’s back. “It’s all right, darling. There was nothing you could have done to cause a different outcome.”

His wife sniffed. “I know. She took control of her ending, and I can’t say I’m sorry she did. I worried about your being forced to deal with her. That wouldn’t have been fair to you, not that I would have held any decision you made against you. She did try to kill you, after all.”

Ian shouldn’t have been surprised that his wife had been in step with this thinking all along. He kissed the boy’s head. “Darling, I only ever worried about you. Her madness would have caused her to turn against you if she’d been allowed to remain free. I could never have taken that chance, but she did the right thing in the end, so no need to fret over it anymore.”

“No, I won’t look back, but as her only kin, I must see to her funeral rights and settle her estate, such as it is. It will mean staying here longer and filling at least one wagon with the furniture and other mementos of my family I’ll want to keep now that she doesn’t own them.”

“Of course, darling, whatever you need.” There was a knock on the door. “Here’s Isabeau with our luncheon. Do you feel up to eating?”

Calan pulled out of his arms in order to look him in the eye. “As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.”

* * * *

When Calan’s parents had died, he’d been too young to send them off in the proper way. Celia had done it for him. As her only remaining family, it fell to him to honor the Shadow Valley funeral rights. It didn’t matter what the woman had done in life. There were customs to be observed for his own sake and that of their community as much as anything she desired. So, he went into proper mourning, cladding himself in black and rending the collar of his tunic to demonstrate his grief. Ian and Isabeau caused him to tear up when they followed suit, even though it was nothing they were used to. They didn’t even ask the why of it, simply followed his example. They even helped him cover all the mirrors in their rooms and sat all day with him as people came to express their condolences. No one mentioned Celia’s perfidy or the fact that she had ended her own life—something their culture frowned upon.

Calan was beyond grateful for all the support. And as he walked past the crowd gathered at the funeral site, torch in hand, he kept his head high. There were no tears, though. He’d shed what he had in him right after her death. Now, even though he did his duty to her, he couldn’t forgive his aunt for trying to kill his husband. Madness it might have been, but he knew she understood very clearly what she was doing. He’d seen clarity in her gaze that last time they’d spoken in the workshop. What she’d done had been calculated, and she’d shown no regret before downing the poison that had killed her quickly, if not quite painlessly. She hadn’t given Ian that consideration. Whatever she’d used, it had been meant to kill Ian slowly and agonizingly.

He stopped in front of the pyre where Celia’s body lay wrapped tightly in a white shroud. Isabeau had taken over the chore of seeing to the preparation without being asked. He owed her so much for that gesture and for trusting him to take care of Ian. She stood beside her brother, and Calan shot a quick smile at them both before turning back to his task. He stuck the torch into the kindling underneath the pyre and stepped away as the flames caught quickly.

The heat of the fire started to rob him of his breath and still he remained standing there, watching what was left of his family burn. That was the wrong way of thinking of his life, though. Ian reminded him that he still had a family—a new and loving one—by coming to him and pulling him into his arms and away from the flames. Calan clung to his husband and leaned on the strength of his embrace as he watched until there was nothing more than ashes. Once they cooled down, villagers would come and take some to mix in with fertilizer for fields and gardens. In this way, the departed helped renew life for those left behind. He wouldn’t be gathering any. There was a new life waiting for him in Moorcondia and given recent events, he wanted to take only those things that mattered to him.

Ian squeezed his shoulders. “Shall we leave now?”

“Yes.” Calan allowed his husband to steer him away. “There’s one ritual left to observe, if that’s okay?”

“Certainly, darling. You must mourn your aunt in whatever way pleases you. I’m not going to leave your side, either.”

“Thank you and it’s not anything burdensome. There’s a special cake for us to eat and wine to drink back in our room. We’re supposed to raise a glass to Aunt Celia’s memory, but I don’t really want to do that. I’ve given her what I could, and there’s nothing more left in me.”

“You’ve been a dutiful nephew, Calan. No one can ask more of you.”

He said nothing more as they walked, emotion forming a lump in his throat. It wasn’t grief, but love that did so. Being Ian’s wife, living the rest of his days with this man, was more than he’d ever hoped for. He was determined to make the most out of the gift the gods had given him.

Back in the room, he made short work of his final gesture to his aunt. He poured two glasses of sweet wine and broke off two pieces of the small, dense cake that had been left at his request and handed one of each to Ian. Saying nothing, he took a bite of his cake and a sip of his wine. His husband did the same, and when Calan put the rest down, so did Ian.

“Is that all that needs to be done?”

Calan nodded. “Yes, the cake is too dry and the wine too cloying for my tastes. I don’t think anyone enjoys them, to be honest.” He glanced at the bed and gnawed at his lower lip. “How are you feeling?”

His husband got a gleam in his eyes. “Fully recovered, wife. Why do you ask?”

Calan held out his hand, understanding Ian knew only too well why. “Take me to bed.”

* * * *

Calan felt no guilt over letting Ian take control. It was a blessed relief to let go of the stress of the last few days and allow his husband to play with his body however he wished. First, Ian undressed him, then pulled back the sheets to lay Calan naked and already flushed with the first heat of passion onto the cool bedding. His cock was achingly hard. They hadn’t made love since that horrid night of the poisoning. He was beyond ready to be ravished into oblivion. And the way his husband’s hungry gaze roamed over him as he quickly shed his own clothes made him shudder with anticipation.

Ian grabbed the pot of cream that Calan had made sure was handy and pouring some into his palm, slicking his hard dick. “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s been too long. This first time is going to be more rushed than I would like.”

Calan closed his eyes to half-mast and groaned, bucking his hip as he did so. “I want it that way. Fuck me, Ian, hard and fast. Don’t hold anything back.”

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