Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries - By Valerie Douglas Page 0,21

“Get out or I’ll gut you where you stand and hang for it. Then what will your parents do? Where will your drinking and gambling money come from?”

He eyed her with a sneer.

“I had to do you in the dark to want you anyway,” he said and slammed out.

If it hadn’t been for the memory of Dorovan, the words would have hurt more, but they still pained her.

Delae bit her lip to hold back the tears, listening intently until she was sure he’d returned to his rooms and then she slipped down the hallway to the guest room where Dorovan had spent his first night.

She curled up around his pillows, pretending they were him and cried herself to sleep.

Miles away Dorovan awoke in the night, troubled by thoughts and dreams of Delae, his friend-of-the-heart. Rubbing his hand over his heart, he went out to the veranda and looked out over the railing at the sleeping Talaena Enclave spread around him, the smallest of the Enclaves and the most insular.

Delae was in trouble, something pained her. He had the strongest feeling she needed him and although it was very likely that whatever troubled her would be well over by the time he reached her; he also found he missed her presence.

Travelling that distance would grow easier with time and he would have to take care not to raise questions with his absences. In truth it was likely none would notice or question. It wasn’t their way.

Still, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find out who he went to see, more so if anyone found out he made love to her, however much they were friends-of-the-heart. It was forbidden with one of the race of men; however less fertile Elves were as a race.

It would take only care but he needed her and it was clear she needed him. Badly at the moment.

Charis awaited him at the stables. They had to take the short cut across the Gorge but it would still be a day or two before they reached Delae’s isolated homestead.

Chapter Seven

It took a long hot bath and a lot of scrubbing before Delae felt clean again. She only dared bathe while Kort was occupied with his parents.

She didn’t even attempt to hide the bruise on her face although his parents pretended it wasn’t there. No one else dared speak of it. Kort scowled at the sight. She simply went about her business, although it pained her deep in her belly to walk after his attentions the night before. It was as if she were bruised inside.

Knowing Kort, she ordered Morlis to take all of the best animals over to the lands of one of the smallholders. The last time Kort appeared he’d ridden off with her prize stallion to sell as riding stock. It had taken two weeks to get it back and she’d been lucky to get the animal before he’d been gelded.

Kort had sold him for a fraction of what he’d had been worth.

Petra held a cold piece of meat to the Delae’s bruise to ease the pain.

“Why is he here?” she whispered.

“Either I’m not sending him enough coin,” Delae said with a sigh, “or he’s spending it too quickly. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

She didn’t dare offer him more money to leave either or he’d be convinced there was more she wasn’t giving him, that she’d been holding back from him.

Which of course she was.

Over the course of the day many of the folk of the homestead reported Kort skulking and poking about as if he looked for something. He was short-tempered and angry - so much so that most of their people actively avoided him.

There was an air about him even Delae found disturbing, as if he were on edge for some reason.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he was frightened. But what could he be frightened of here? There was no one to challenge him except her. Yet he was clearly nervous and irritable, even more so than usual. It was disturbing and unsettling.

She knew better than to ask, it was unlikely he would tell her.

In disgust, Kort slammed his knife down at the food offered to him for dinner.

“Tasteless slop,” he snarled. “I get better in the slums of Doncerric.”

Most days Delae ate alone, save when Dorovan had been here. It was only on the rare occasions when Kort was here that they ate together as a family. It was a sham, a sop to convention, but it kept the peace and