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Teagan had ridden all day and evening and wasn’t happy about it. The weather was warm but he’d ridden most of the way in the rain, slogging through the mud. Even his horse was cranky as they entered the courtyard of White Cliffs. He should have known this is where they were before the elf had given him the letter. In the eight years he’d owned the place, Alistair had never expressed any interest in it and now it had become his refuge. Leave it to Alistair to make even the simplest thing hard.
Despite the late hour, a servant ran to meet him, “Good evening, my lord,” he said pleasantly. “Is everything all right?” he asked concerned.
“Just fine Peter, thank you. I’m here for Ser Alistair and the Lady Rosalyn. Are they abed?”
Peter’s face took on an embarrassed look. “Not exactly, my lord. But I’m told they are fine. They were last seen on the beach near the stairs. Aggie just took down some blankets to ward off the chill. They…they don’t seem interested in going to bed, my lord.”
Teagan laughed, remembering how he was with his first love. “Very well. Get me a room and a bath, please, Peter. And some food, if you will. Just bring it to my room. Tell Ser Alistair I’m here when he comes up for air.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it myself. Your regular room is ready for you and I’ll bring the bath.” Peter rushed to take the horse to the stable, leaving Teagan in the hallway. He walked up the stairs to his room, stopping at the first door as he heard noises from inside. He took a step back as he realized what they were and quickly entered his own room. Clearly White Cliffs was having its usual effect on its guests. He’d brought more than one lover here himself over the years as there was something about the atmosphere that was both comfortable and romantic. Maric had told both he and Eamon the same when he gifted the property to Alistair. The king had even admitted that Cailan was conceived during a holiday there.
He walked out onto the veranda that wound around the back of the house and overlooked the sea. The wind was light and warm, the tide was out. Teagan took a deep breath and looked out at the sea below and dreaded what he had to do tomorrow. Eamon was a bear when he got going and Alistair and Rosalyn’s refusal to return to Redcliffe after they had finished at Orzammar was not setting well with him. “Selfish, uncaring boy!” yelled Eamon. “I won’t stand for it! Go get him now!” he had ordered. Teagan had nodded and sighed, and left to do his brother’s bidding.
Laughter floated up from below and Teagan realized that it was Alistair’s. He hadn’t figured on being able to see, much less hear them as they frolicked on the beach below, but it seemed he could. Alistair had Rosalyn by the waist and lifted her effortlessly out of the water and threw her forward in front of him. She squealed and landed with a splash, spitting water. They laughed as they swam together, stopping to embrace and kiss frequently. Teagan smiled, and then frowned a bit when he noticed they were nude and their kissing was becoming more than just kissing. He turned away and entered the room, closing the drapes behind him. “They should have this night,” he thought. “It may be their last.”
A knock at the door disturbed his reverie as Peter entered with one of the younger servants, bearing the large bathtub and buckets of water. Aggie, the cook’s girl, followed with a large tray of food and drink that she set on the side table. “There is still no sign of Ser Alistair and the Lady Rosalyn,” apologized Peter.
“Never mind, Peter. I found them. They are…busy. I’ll see them in the morning. Just leave everything and go to bed. You can clean up tomorrow,” Teagan told them. “Oh, Peter,” he said as an afterthought, “Would Lana happen to be nearby?”
Peter smiled, knowing exactly what the bann meant. “I’ll send her up immediately to take care of your washing, my lord. Ring if you need anything else.” Peter and the other servants bowed and left the room.
Teagan laughed and sliced himself some cheese and poured a glass of ale. He pushed open the drapes and walked back out onto the veranda. The laughter was gone, replaced with the sound of the wind and the sea. Alistair and Rosalyn were nowhere in sight, not doubt making use of the blankets that had been left for them. He laughed to himself again, thinking about Lana, the laundry girl. He’d passed more than a pleasant hour in her company while visiting in the past. Smiling wickedly, he took a long draw of ale and went back into his room, planning to take advantage of all White Cliffs had to offer.