Trust In Love: A Love Mark Romance

by Linda Kage

  She leaned toward me, huskily taunting, “Or what?”

  Arousal pounded through my system as I imagined all the or-whats I could do. I smirked, feeling arrogant and good. “Or I’ll—oomph.”

  Sharp, sudden pain lanced my left shoulder and spiked its way down my arm until it exploded out the tips of my fingers before abruptly going numb.

  Nicolette screamed.

  No longer in the mood to flirt or do anything but curl into a ball and howl in agony, I tried to inspect the paralyzing intrusion that had punctured me, but when I looked down, my vision darkened at the corners. Dizziness ensued. My conscious brain flickered.

  “Ah, fuck,” I muttered when I finally caught sight of the long, thin shaft with a feathered end sticking out of my shoulder, right in the front tender, meaty area under my clavicle, in that empty space the rib cage didn’t cover.

  Someone had shot me. With a fucking arrow.

  “Farrow!” was the last word I heard shouted before I tipped sideways off Mint and plummeted toward the ground.

  14

  Nicolette

  Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!

  An arrow was sticking out of Farrow’s chest, near his left shoulder, just under the collarbone.

  “Farrow!” I screamed, leaping off Caramel so I could race toward him when he slumped off Mint and landed lifelessly on the ground.

  When something whizzed past my ear, the wind from its passage dusting my cheek, I realized more arrows were pursuing us.

  “Bloody bastards,” I hissed, ducking my face and falling to my knees to make myself a harder target to hit.

  But who the devil would be shooting at us before even finding out if we were threatening or not?

  Ire beginning to rise over the entire situation, I crawled frantically toward my wounded mate, who was lying supine and gasping as he clutched his arrow’s shaft only for his fingers to fall back limply to his side as if he’d passed out.

  “Farrow?” I whispered, hovering above him and barely making out his features in the early morning light.

  Seriously, who could even see well enough to aim bows and arrows at this time of day? If I found out the idiots were merely hunting and had mistaken us for lunch, I was going to cut a fool.

  Farrow’s eyes fluttered open. “Nic.” He reached for me, keeping the top half of his arm tight against his side and only bending at the elbow as he clutched my arm. His fingers were slippery with blood.

  “Dammit.” I clutched his hand tight and cringed. “I was really hoping you’d remain unconscious for this part.”

  “What part?” he slurred, only to forget his question when the sound of horse hooves approached. Fast. “What’s that?”

  “We’re about to receive company, I’d say.” We both looked over and could make out half a dozen riders charging across the grassy sand toward us, still a distance away but coming in hard and aggressive.

  “Oh, hell.” My intuition told me they were not hunters seeking food.

  “Nic…” Farrow gripped my hand desperately. “Listen to me. You need to run. Men are coming for us.”

  I nodded. “Yes, dear, I see the men coming.” Lifting his fingers to my lips, I kissed them in reassurance. “And don’t worry. I’ll be having a word with them about the proper decorum when it comes to greeting and introducing themselves. Because shooting first before you even find out whether a newcomer is friend or foe is hardly—”

  “Nicolette, dammit,” he panted, trying to shove me away and get me to run. “I assure you; these are not friends. They just saw us attempting to enter Far Shore land from Donnelly. So they hate us. And when they catch a look at your tattoo, they’ll turn even more unfriendly. Now, go while you still have a chance to—”

  “But if we just explain to them why I’m—”

  “Woman, I said run.”

  “Oh, whatever.” I rolled my eyes over the macho, male command. “I’m not leaving you here like this. Are you insane?”

  “They’ll kill you. I know this type. They cannot be reasoned with. And I’m injured. I can’t—”

  “Not for long, you’re not,” I told him. “Just hang on, and I’ll fix that.”

  “You’re not listening,” he started, gritting his teeth in supreme frustration.

  “Neither are you.” I set my hand gently on his injured shoulder, and even that slight bit of careful contact caused him to grimace and gnash his teeth. “Now, hear me, my love.” Keeping my voice level and calm, I focused on his eyes.

  He was beginning to sweat profusely, as the pain was getting to him, but he still managed to meet my gaze through his panting rasps.

  “Hold on to me tight,” I instructed. “This might sting.”

  “What—”

  But he didn’t get to finish the question. I gripped his shoulder hard and simultaneously clutched the arrow’s shaft, yanking it from his flesh as hard and fast as I could.

  He arched up his chest, roaring in pain, but the arrow tore free. I held it up for a triumphant moment, a little awed that my ministrations had actually worked. I hadn’t been all that sure I could pull it off. Honestly, I’d been fairly certain I couldn’t.

  But I had.

  “Incredible.” Still amazed, I shook my head as I flung the bloody shaft aside and returned to Farrow, cupping his face in my hands and smiling down at him encouragingly. “You did great, darling. I’m so proud of you.”

  “What the…?” He panted up at me, his eyes glazed with pain but also a horrified kind of awe. “What the hell? Did you just pull a fucking arrow out of me?”

  “Yes. And now I’ll make it all better,” I said, wiping beads of sweat away from the side of his face before I leaned in to delicately press my lips to his.

  Typically, I caught Farrow off guard whenever I kissed him; he rarely had much of an opportunity to kiss me back. So I was kind of used to him freezing in stupefied surprise whenever our mouths locked. But this time, he must’ve been prepared because almost as soon as our lips came together, his tightened against mine and then he opened for me, seeking with tongue and teeth.

  He kissed me as I’d always wanted to be kissed: desperately, passionately, tenderly while still a little bit savagely.

  His fingers drove into my hair to clutch my face and his teeth sank into my bottom lip, tasting me. I whimpered in delight and gave back everything I got.

  He grunted and pulled me back off him, gazing up at me with a look of acute wonder. Then he gave a low, impressed whistle.

  “You’re absolutely insane, princess,” he announced before a dazzling grin lit his face. “But I find it to be quite addictive.”

  Happiness burst through me, and I had to smile back, cupping his cheeks in my hands, ready to kiss him again.

  Except...

  Our guests had arrived.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, growing peeved about their interruption. Farrow seemed to want me—me, with all my weird, crazy, cracked parts and everything. It was the first time he had softened toward the idea of an us, so these assholes breaking into our perfect moment and killing the mood set me off on the wrong, freaking foot.

  “Excuse me a moment,” I told my mate from between clenched teeth.

  It was time to show these irritatingly rude men some manners.

  Grabbing the blood-soaked arrow from the ground next to Farrow, I stood and slowly faced the newcomers. Five riders sat atop their horses, surrounding us in a half circle. They sneered arrogantly as if they thought they were so superior. All of them had bows slung over their shoulders in a lazy show of force.

  I gifted them with a hard, angry smile. “I’m sorry, but was this meant for us?” After holding up the arrow to show it off, I gripped each end, then I hiked my leg up from between the slit in my skirt to snap the shaft over my knee and break it in two. Then I tossed it aside with a sniff. “Hmm. Too bad you missed.”

  “High Cliff bitch,” one sneered. “Looks like you need to be taught a lesson in submission.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.
“I’d like to see you try.”

  Accepting the challenge, all five riders dismounted as one, four of them tossing aside their bows to brandish new, different types of weapons. The one who’d kept his bow, however, nocked an arrow and pulled the string back, aiming it straight at my heart.

  I glowered just before Farrow stepped in front of me, blocking me from the threat. Irritation made me scowl at his back and start forward to step up to his side, but he must’ve sensed my move because he held his hand back toward me in a stay kind of gesture, cautioning me to keep put.

  Tipping his face to the side so he could remain watching the others but also address me, he murmured, “I’ve got this.”

  I paused, letting him have his way, since these were his countrymen.

  It was obvious who the leader of their merry little band was. He stepped forward, towing a lazily swaying chain mace at his side. Instead of one ball studded with sharp spikes hanging from it, however, this mace had three chains, containing three spiked metal balls.

  Totally overcompensating, if you asked me.

  I winced when I focused on one of the balls, though. Was that a chunk of flesh and hair still impaled on one spike? Eww. I had a bad feeling it was.

  He really ought to clean his tools more often. That was most unsanitary.

  “So, who do you think you are?” he asked Farrow as he lazily began to swing the mace-and-chain in a circle as I’d seen children do with jumping ropes down in the village outside our castle.

  Farrow didn’t seem intimidated by the man’s show of force. “I’m none of your concern, friend,” he answered. “Now, I suggest you look the other way and forget you saw us.”

  “Oooh,” their leader crowed as if impressed by Farrow’s speech. He glanced at his followers, and they sneered as well, easing in on us and tightening the circle.

  I unconsciously moved closer to Farrow, not sure how apt he was in combat. I mean, the Donnelly army had just captured him when we’d first met. That never left a person sparkling in a good light. I touched his back to let him know I was there and wouldn’t let anything untoward happen to him, and he opened one of his hands to reassuringly touch my side as if trying to reassure me of the same thing.

  I grinned, happy to see he cared, and ran my fingers over his knuckles.

  The ruffian dropped his gaze to our linked hands.

  “You may be dressed in the war gear of a royal palace guard,” he said, “but we’re not fooled. No one wanders around the Vast Desert as if they’re coming from Donnelly with a whore bearing a High Cliff mark and calls us friend.”

  “Well, that’s where you’d be wrong,” Farrow replied mildly. “Because I am a palace guard. And I’m currently on assignment from the king himself.” He hitched his head in my direction. “This isn’t a High Cliff chit either, you idiot. She’s the princess of Donnelly, and I’ve been tasked with the duty of kidnapping her from the Iron Castle and escorting her back to the king himself, where he plans to hold her for ransom until her brother pays a tidy sum to get her back. Now…” He waved a hand as if to shoo our harassers along. “Step aside and let me on my way or answer to King Torrance himself for your treasonous behavior.”

  For a spur-of-the-moment lie, I was quite impressed with Farrow’s ability to slap such a quick fabrication of a story together. And it was so very detailed too. I squeezed his fingers encouragingly. Cutthroats like these would have no mercy for the truth about his mother; they’d respect violence and brutality much more.

  Brilliant thinking, love, I wanted to cheer him on.

  In front of us, the leader blinked before glancing back at his friends. Together, they burst out laughing.

  Damn, they weren’t going to swallow the lie.

  “A kidnapping, eh?” Swinging back to mock Farrow, he motioned toward me. “Then why ain’t she bound in chains? And why’s there only one of you if this is such an important king’s mission?”

  Farrow didn’t have a ready response, so I sniffed and lifted my chin haughtily. “Captive princesses don’t go anywhere in chains.”

  Their leader whistled as if impressed. “My, she’s a hoity-toity little tart, ain’t she?” He flicked a lizard-like tongue over his bottom lip as he eyed me lasciviously, then sauntered forward, still swinging his chain mace. “I never had myself a real-life princess before.”

  Farrow stepped into the other man’s path, once again blocking me. “And you never will.”

  I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but his back muscles were definitely tensed in ire. At his side, his fingers fisted tight around—wait. Was that one half of the broken arrow I’d just thrown down?

  It still dripped red from being embedded in his flesh.

  He must’ve picked it up when he’d risen.

  Clever boy.

  The leader squinted his eyes as he stared at Farrow hard. Whatever look Farrow sent back didn’t sit well with him. A muscle jerked in his cheek and he stopped twirling the chain mace.

  “Whatever you’re thinking to do or say next,” Farrow warned softly. “I suggest you don’t. It won’t end well for you.”

  But the other man merely snickered. “Think you can take us on, knight? Five against one?”

  Uh, excuse me. Had they just said five against one? Was I invisible here or something?

  I leaned around Farrow and cleared my throat. “I think you mean five against two, sir.”

  He glanced at me, blinked, and burst out laughing yet again. His degrading little snickers were really beginning to annoy me.

  “Didn’t know captive princesses helped their kidnappers fight in scuffles,” he mocked.

  I lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “To help kick your ass, I’ll gladly step in.”

  This time, it was Farrow who barked out an amused snuffle. I glowed, thrilled to have entertained him.

  All the while, Mr. Chain-mace glowered. “Don’t worry, little slut. I’ll try out your royal cunt soon enough; right after I take care of this dead fucker here.”

  As I wrinkled my nose in disdain, the brute made a big production of winding his arm back before slinging his spiked balls forward, toward Farrow’s head.

  He put all his effort and energy into that one swing, so he wasn’t able to catch himself and stop when Farrow easily ducked under the flying spikes, avoiding them with ease.

  Using the half arrow still gripped in his hand, he lunged upward and jabbed, embedding the arrow tip straight into the center of the ruffian’s chest.

  I nodded, growing impressed. Maybe my true love did know how to fight decently after all. Thank God.

  As his opponent wheezed in shock and pain, frozen in mid-swing as his life drained from him, he lost his hold on his chain mace, and it tumbled toward the ground. Farrow caught it by the handle before it landed, swinging as he came up so he could catch the next attacker who was nearly upon him on the underside of his chin and rip his throat open.

  “Eww.” I winced for the poor dead man. “Gross.”

  That left three more rushing in. Completely ignoring me, they all converged on Farrow, where he let go of the chain mace—as two of its balls were still stuck in the other man’s neck—and slipped a dagger from his ankle strap, flinging it out as he stood.

  Its blade landed in the left eye socket of the third assailant, which caused the last two to pause long enough for Farrow to free the wooden staff from its scabbard on his back.

  Except both of his opponents carried battle axes, and they must not have thought a wooden stick was much of a defense, because they surged forward again, hacking madly as they came.

  I had to give Farrow some serious credit, though. He was utterly handy with his stick. He made me proud.

  But the long staff was quickly becoming a short nub with each block and parry as the other two chopped away at it, hewing it apart in pieces.

  I sighed, fed up with watching the boys and all their ridiculous silliness. Turning to Caramel, I dug through the satchels on my pack until I came up with the weapon Indigo
had given me nearly a year ago for my own protection. He’d told me it had come from his great-grandmother, and now that I thought about it, I’m sure he meant the one who hadn’t been born here in the Outer Realms because the device certainly seemed other-worldly. I’d only been allowed to practice with it a handful of times as Indy had said it could only be used so much before it became useless.

  Hoping I remembered how to use it correctly, I aimed the cylindrical tube toward the ruffian who was swinging his axe toward Farrow’s head, and I curled my index finger around the little lever to activate it.

  Immediately, an explosion rent the air, the sound so loud that it left my ears ringing. A moment later, blood seeped through a small hole in the other man’s forehead. The axe-handler gasped out an inarticulate sound and then tipped over backwards, dead, dropping his blade as he went.

  15

  Farrow

  The boom came from nowhere. It was so loud it seemed to stir the sand dunes and rattle my teeth. Worried the sky was falling or something equally apocalyptic had happened, I hunkered my shoulders, ducking down to avoid certain death, only to realize the man who’d been attacking me with a raised axe remained frozen, his mouth gaping open in paralyzed shock.

  I frowned up at him, confused, until blood welled from a minuscule hole that appeared in his forehead.

  “What the fuck?” his comrade whispered before whirling to gape at me as if I’d caused the calamity. But I just shrugged, equally perplexed.

  So his wide-eyed stare of horror strayed past me to Nicolette who was still behind me. Seeing her, his gaze immediately narrowed.

  “You,” he snarled, raising his axe.

  Before he could charge, though, the explosion came again, just as deafening as the first time. But following this report, the front of the attacker’s tunic bloomed red in the center of his chest. He gaped down in fear, patted himself frantically, then gurgled as blood bubbled from his mouth. A second later, he too pitched to the ground, as dead as the rest of his friends.