Mistress Andra bustled in from the farmyard, a bowl of eggs in her hand.
“Good morning, Princess. I let you sleep as you were poorly yesterday. How do you feel?”
Alecia shrugged the question off. “Where is the captain?”
Mistress Andra frowned. “Gone. At first light. He said he had bid you farewell last night, so I didn’t interfere.”
Alecia nodded.
“Did I do right?”
“Yes, Mistress, you were correct not to wake me. The captain and I have said all that needs to be said.” She ran her hands over her abdomen and Mistress Andra frowned again at the gesture.
“It’s such a pity that the babe’s father won’t be here for his birth. He still has no knowledge?”
“No,” Alecia said more sharply than she intended, “and it will stay that way. Yesterday’s goodbye was once and forever.”
“None of us know what’s in the future, Princess, especially when we are joined by a child.”
“I can’t think about that.” Alecia fetched the bowl of porridge and sat with it at the table, spooning generous quantities of honey onto the mixture.
Her companion stood with her arms folded. “You’ll give birth to a healthy child and he’ll make you proud. One day he’ll know his father.”
The hairs on the back of Alecia’s neck stood on end and she looked at Mistress Andra. “That sounds like prophecy.” There was no response. “Is it?”
She laughed off the question. “I’m no prophetess, Princess, just a friend who is trying to cheer you up.”
Alecia smiled. “I don’t suppose you can continue to call me ‘princess’ if I shall be with you for months. My name is Alecia.”
“And mine is Dana.”
She smiled and ate her porridge, doing her best to push thoughts of Vard from her mind.
Vard shuffled deeper into his cloak and thought fondly of the Andra’s warm home, now several days ride to the south. Snow threatened again and Swift had been unsettled since he tethered him at dusk. The logs in the fire crackled but the snapping of the sap set his nerves on edge. He massaged the tight muscles across his shoulders and up his neck, but no amount of kneading seemed to smooth away his tension these days.
With nothing to restrain his transformation except the usual fear of being trapped, Vard had shifted into the wolf twice today, reveling in the freedom of movement through the snowy landscape and allowing his mind to truly embrace the predator. He had even enjoyed a brief run with a she-wolf until the creature had backed up to him. Spring was on its way but that was far more than Vard was willing to give. He shook his head as he imagined being the father of wolf cubs, if that was even possible. Damn, he should know all this, and still critical knowledge eluded him.
A strong eddy of wind tore through the small clearing bringing with it a flurry of snow. Vard looked up, sensing a threat. The wind grew until a great gale howled around him and he threw up his arms to ward off the stinging snow. The wind died and when he dropped his arms, Leth stood before him.
The sorcerer was dressed all in black – breeches, shirt and tunic – with silver embroidery on collar and cuffs and a sword at his hip. Vard had a fleeting thought that Leth had magically appeared but then saw the white horse behind him, all but disappearing into the wintery backdrop. He climbed to his feet, eyes never leaving Leth, thankful for the sword still buckled at his waist.
The silence stretched as Leth stared, a neutral expression on his face. His eyes told another story. The man was furious.
“You left without saying goodbye, Anton. Is that the way you repay someone who has tried to help you?”
“No, that’s not the way I treat someone who has helped me.” Vard tried to keep his own face as flat as Leth’s but it was difficult as the anger built within. “However, all your training has brought me is frustration. I don’t believe you’ve genuinely tried to teach me anything.”
Leth’s mask vanished, his brows dropping until they almost obliterated his eyes, his lip curling into a snarl. “Ingratitude! It’s not my fault you’re a dunce.” His eyes flickered around the camp. “Where is the princess?”
“Somewhere you’ll not trouble her, you mad bastard. I know you had plans for her. That’s why we left.”
Leth took a step forward, his eyes gleaming. “I did have plans for Princess Alecia and since you won’t leave this clearing alive, I’ll tell you of them.” He drew his sword from the scabbard. “I’ll find your delicious princess and make her mine. She’ll not be able to resist my powers of… persuasion. We’ll return to Brightcastle and dispose of her father and any others who stand in my way. Soon I’ll be king of Thorius and your princess will produce heirs to ensure the vitality of my line.” He paused for effect. “Indeed, she may already be pregnant with my seed.”
Shock hit Vard and his mind reeled, his breath hard to summon. He swayed before pulling himself upright. “You’ve touched her?”
“Oh, I have done a lot more than touch her Anton. I have lain with her, sampled her ripe womanhood. It is a pity you were there first, but virgins are overrated.”
Fury swept through Vard, clear thought swept away by betrayal and anger and hurt. How could she do this to him? How could Alecia betray their relationship by sleeping with Leth? Was it compulsion? Perhaps she hadn’t known what she was doing? No! He couldn’t allow himself to believe she was blameless in this. Better to give her the full weight of responsibility. Had he left her pregnant with Leth’s child?
Too late, he realized that Leth moved toward him, sword waving in the air between them. Vard drew his sword and stepped backward, desperately trying to bring his thoughts under control. He couldn’t win this with anger. Leth didn’t relent.
“Her breasts are my favorite feature, I think,” he said, surging forward and bringing his sword in a sweeping arc toward Vard’s skull. The blow was blocked in desperation, Vard scrabbling for calm amidst thoughts of Alecia’s breasts bared for Leth’s fingers. He leapt away, breathing deeply, thoughts still battering at his brain like moths in a jar.
“Just the thought of that white stomach, round and full with my seed, makes me hard,” the vile enchanter said, then swept in, his sword angled upward. Vard felt the tip catch on the front of his tunic as he threw himself backward. Without lightening quick reflexes, his guts would now be poured out on the snow. But Leth didn’t pause. His tongue reached for the next jibe.
“And the thought of her flesh, rich and ripe for the taking…”
Vard ducked under a wild swing of his opponent’s sword and spun to get his balance, but before he could attack, Leth was ready again. The man was at least equally as proficient as Vard at swordplay but how could he talk and be so effective? Perhaps that was his tactic. Talk any rubbish and get his opponent angry enough that they made a mistake. Vard quashed the thoughts that swirled through his mind. He knew beyond a doubt he couldn’t fight well when angry, with his thoughts in turmoil. Somehow, he must quiet his mind, but how, when the sorcerer rabbited on about Alecia in the most disgusting way?
He grasped the amber talisman at his throat, pouring his thoughts into it, storing all the anger and frustration of the last few months within the tawny stone. Slowly his calm returned, but not quickly enough to prevent Leth scoring a deep cut across his upper arm. His fingers on the sword loosened and the weapon almost slipped from his grasp. Leth saw the momentary weakness and pressed his attack, Vard backing off under the onslaught of dozens of lightening slashes, just barely managing to block several killing blows. He had to end this soon or he’d lose too much blood. He couldn’t leave Alecia vulnerable to Leth, no matter how she had betrayed him. His strength wavered at the thought. No matter what they had endured this last week or so, she had always been the epitome of all that was good and right in the world. And she had deceived him.
But if Leth walked from this clearing, he’d find Alecia in a matter of days and she’d become a pawn in his games. Vard couldn’t allow that, even if it meant his death. As blood t
rickled down his arm and dripped from his elbow, his strength waned, and Leth’s features blurred. This was what it came down to then – a sacrifice, his life for Alecia’s. Perhaps then he’d receive absolution for Frel’s death. He swallowed down the regret that burned its way into his throat and, gritting his teeth, welcomed the blade that pierced his skin as he slid his own blade up to the hilt through Leth’s heart.
Vard awoke hours later, hot breath on his face and a heavy weight over his legs. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, but the smell of blood and the searing pain in his left side came crashing in upon his awareness. Leth! His night vision allowed him to see the body of the sorcerer, stiff in death, slumped across his lower legs. As he sat up, waves of dizziness and pain were almost his undoing. Leth’s sword was still buried in his side. Every breath drove a fire of agony into his gut, but he managed to seize the sword and pull it out. His cry of torment echoed around the clearing, causing Leth’s white charger to snort dirt and snot over his shoulder.
“Thanks, boy,” Vard said, trying to distract himself from the pain. Blood oozed from the wound edges and he packed the area with snow then lay back. Breath still brought pain but not the core-wrenching agony of before. When he was sure the bleeding had stopped, Vard rolled Leth’s body off his legs and slid his sword free. Congealed blood marred the blade. He ran it over the snow and wiped it on Leth’s tunic. It could wait for proper cleaning.
He sat there, looking at the sorcerer’s dead face, beard and moustache frozen solid. Was he alone? It seemed unlikely but if not, where were his cronies? Did he think himself so far above Vard that he had not perceived him as a threat? None of this made any sense. For now survival was the goal. He’d been given a second chance at life and must grab it. If he made it past the next few days, perhaps he’d find his mentor and his place in the world.
Right now, he needed warmth. He clamped his teeth shut as they began to chatter. The fire had gone out and any dry wood was too far to reach in his condition. He looked around for Swift and found him only a few paces away. Praying this wouldn’t be one of the times the beast allowed his fear to run free, he crawled through the snow, stopping to take several breathers along the way. Swift snorted as Vard reached him but didn’t pull back as he caught at the stirrup leather and pulled himself to his feet. He hauled himself into the saddle and sagged forward over the cantle, his cheek brushing Swift’s snow-covered mane.
Alecia woke with a start, sweat sliding between her breasts. She shivered as the cold air of the bedroom struck her chest, and hauled the blankets back over her nakedness. She lay curled on her side, one arm cradling her stomach.
“Don’t worry, little one,” she said to her unborn babe. “Papa is well. It was just a dream. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears and her breath came in great gasps that she was sure would be heard by the other occupants of the small farmhouse.
She so wished she didn’t have such vivid dreams. Worry for Vard had constantly plagued her over the past three days since he had left, but when these nightmares disturbed her sleep, showing him afflicted with terrible injuries, she didn’t know what to think or how to deal with them. Dana knew of them and said they were just the product of an overactive imagination and worry, but Alecia thought differently. She had experienced true dreams before and these felt the same. Vard might be hurt and out there somewhere in the snow. If she was right, he had fought Leth. Her nails pressed into her palms in frustration. The sorcerer could be on his way to the farm this very moment and what could she do about it? He would use her just as Vard had warned, and all their strife and sacrifice would be for nothing.
No! She wouldn’t play the victim! She rose from the bed, drawing a blanket around her as she did so, and walked to the corner of the room. She lifted her bow and ran her hand down its smooth length then lay it down and gathered her knives and whet stone. Leth wouldn’t find her unprepared. If he dared pursue her then he should beware. She ran the first knife over the stone, seeking the calm she had always found in sharpening her weapons. It eluded her. Instead, with each scrape of the metal over stone, Alecia found a new reason to despair.
How would she endure the weeks and months ahead without Vard? It had been so easy to be angry with him with his solid presence at her side, but now her overwhelming feeling was loneliness. She had taken to sleeping naked, running her fingers over her body, exploring all the places Vard had awoken and imagining they were his hands instead of hers. It helped her feel less alone for a few short moments, but she knew if she didn’t break the habit, she’d go mad.
She dropped the knife and instead turned her thoughts to the tiny life within her womb. He was what was important now. Not Vard, not her, except as a vessel to carry this life they had created. The life of the child must be nurtured, and she would use that life to stay strong. But how she missed Vard’s arms around her, his lips on hers, her name whispered against her hair. Cold winter settled in her heart.
Vard awoke, the shallow cave cold and bare coals in the fire pit. Everything ached as he pushed himself to the back of the grotto to collect more wood, but the wounds in his left arm and side radiated pulsating waves of agony. He knew it indicated infection and that it would be the end of him. Days he had lain in this cave, fighting the transformation and trying to stay warm, but now it came down to survival. He needed the resilience of the creatures of the wild, or today would be his last day on earth. Already, it might be too late.
The decision taken, he acted lest he change his mind. Grasping the amber talisman at his throat, he focused on the stone and formed the image of the wolf in his mind. Transformation brought its own vitality, the snap of energy radiating through his damaged arm and down to the wound in his side.
As the wolf, Vard felt more life and less harm. He flexed his left foreleg and found the limb able to bear his weight. His long red tongue lolled from his mouth in the canine equivalent of a grin. The wound in his side was somewhat more of a concern, and already fresh blood congealed on his fur. He gave the area a lick but whimpered at the gentle touch of his tongue. Fresh warm blood was what he needed, the power of the forest in a form that would restore his broken body. He limped from the cave, his huge paws leaving marks in the hard, dry snow.
Vard awoke in the cave, human once again and his horse disappeared. He hoped Swift had fled and not fallen victim to his ravenous drive for blood. He remembered reveling in the feel of soft, warm flesh against his fangs, felt again the power of fresh meat. Days spent as the wolf had cured his wounds almost completely, but he felt less human. It had been too long, but he had needed that time to heal. Something had changed in his head, and he sensed the wildness of the wolf lurked just below the surface, ready to obliterate his humanity.
The past weeks seemed a distant thing and he tried to focus on Alecia. But thought skittered away from human pursuits toward the hunt, paws pounding through snow in search of prey and a mate. Now was the season to find a she-wolf. . . No! There lay ruin. He had resisted the transformation to prevent this very thing. What good was he if he became the wolf, or worse – some half-wolf and half-human beast, trapped in a limbo between two existences?
It was a very real threat. He felt halfway there already. Vard rose and packed what little he still possessed and left the cave, heading east.
Alecia sat in the rocking chair and gazed at the flames in the fireplace. Dana hummed to herself over the bread-making, and Master Andra mended a harness on the window seat on the other side of the room. Alecia’s dreams had stopped over the last few days, but then had returned this morning. The relief when the nightmares eased was a palpable thing, only slightly marred by her wondering what Vard was up to.
Her dreams this morning were of Vard in a shallow cave, looking more haggard than she had ever seen him. Dark growth covered his cheeks and his hair lay matted on his shoulders. His clothes were torn in places and blood stained his tunic. Golden eyes stared into the fire. He looked more the wolf than ever.
Sharp fingers of fear p
lucked at her heart, but she fought down dread and made herself examine the facts. If her dreams were true, then Vard was still alive and in his human form. His eyes …she shuddered at the feral light they contained…had been clear and free of fever. Vard might have survived whatever wounds he had received. But would he survive the next transformation? She simply must believe he was well and would continue to prosper.
The butterfly flutters in her abdomen told her that her babe was awake and hungry and so she pushed herself up out of her chair and walked into the kitchen.
Chapter 16
Months passed, winter merging into spring, and then spring into summer. Alecia fell easily into the rhythm of the seasons on the farm. She didn’t think she could have been so content without the child in her belly. Dana had said as much, speaking of her own pregnancies as a relaxed time of waiting. Perhaps the soothing presence of the farmwife played more than a little part as well.
Alecia could almost have declared herself happy. Her belly had swelled to alarming proportions and she wondered how something so large could ever escape via the passage that nature had fashioned. Dana assured her again that all would be well, but lately she had detected worry in the woman’s eyes when they discussed the impending birth. Dana hadn’t revealed the source of her fears and Alecia hadn’t the courage to question too hard. She would deal with the pain and difficulty when her labor began. And she would deal with whatever feelings the babe engendered in her.
Dreams of Vard had been few and far between. When they came, Alecia couldn’t make sense of them. She remembered little the following morning, only flashes of Vard’s hairy face and ever grubbier clothing. When she glimpsed his eyes, they were more wolf than man. It was the eyes that made her wake screaming. She no longer knew what the dreams meant, but the day after was always difficult, her mood low, her back aching and her appetite absent.
Princess in Exile Page 13