Iloria by Moira Rogers

Chapter One
     
    She was untouchable.
    The men who’d thought to try their luck were quickly turned away by her family’s lofty plans for her future. She was to wed the High Lord, of course, and no mere noble could hope to compete with that.
    Then the High Lord took another as his mate, and those men who had looked at her with covetous eyes began to wonder why. What fault had he uncovered, what infirmity did she bear?
    She was untouchable.

    If he hadn’t already known madness ran in his family, Farran would surely suspect its presence now.
    Iloria walked beside him, every inch the perfect well-bred wolf. A torment, to have her so close, her sweet scent curling around him as they paced the endless corridors of his ancestral home. She was a beautiful creature, as out of place surrounded by the gray stone walls as a delicate flower on a battlefield.
    He’d been mad to bring a woman here, madder still to bring one so proper she’d been intended for the High Lord himself. They’d been home for a candlemark and he already wondered if he could send her away.
    That she was too polite to look as if fleeing was her fondest wish only made it more difficult. They’d walked too long in silence already. He had to speak before she thought him mute.
    “The castle has little in the way of decorations, but if you wish, you can add your own touches.”
    “Of course I shall.” She sounded grateful and entitled, all at once.
    Such a perfect lady. Ciar might have known how to handle her, but the High Lord was already mated to a wild woman who made his heart sing. Iloria would have to settle for him. “There are some things which should not be changed. The housekeeper can tell you what those things are.”
    She turned to him, dark eyebrows arched over dark eyes. “Should not be changed for what reason?”
    On some things he could not bend, not even for beautiful eyes. “Tradition, my lady. Tradition that must be respected.”
    “I see.” Her expression told him plainly that she did not, but she would obey just the same. “Will your housekeeper also explain how you prefer domestic matters to be handled? I’m told I shall have plenty of time left over from my social duties, so I can attend such things myself.”
    If she performed any social duties, she’d be the first lady of the castle to do so since his grandmother had passed away forty years before. The nearby village looked to them for protection, but only the bravest ventured forth for an audience with the lord of the castle.
    More might, if they knew Iloria’s smiling face would greet them instead of his severe frown. “To be honest, I’ve been so rarely at home that my staff has made all the decisions for me. Perhaps, now that I’m likely to be here for a time, you and I can come to a new consensus together.”
    She offered him a smile, tentative but genuine. “I would like that very much.”
    Oh, but she was dangerous. So bold in some ways, yet so shy in others. Young and untouched, as any woman hoping to mate the High Lord would surely be. The war had dragged on for many years, and his body ached at the thought of one of Iloria’s sweet smiles curving her lips as he touched her.
    Dangerous, indeed. Farran found it necessary to clear his throat as he urged her down the hallway again, though in truth he’d forgotten their destination. “Some find the castle’s layout perplexing, but it was designed as a defensive keep and expanded later.”
    “I’m sure I can manage.” Her pale cheeks colored, and she stared straight ahead. “Where are my rooms in relation to yours?”
    He shouldn’t answer. He did, regardless. “We share a wing of the castle.”
    “Oh.” If anything, she seemed relieved, not frightened.
    The knowledge shouldn’t have intrigued him. “Shall I show you now?”
    “Yes, please.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I would speak frankly, if it suits you.”
    If she spoke frankly on the subject of bedrooms and beds, he might still terrify her.