Welcoming the brisk, night air, she stepped onto the cobblestone street. A breeze ruffled the hem of her cloak, wafting across her bare legs, raising goosebumps. Her relief at being free of the loathsome tavern was short-lived.
A grandiose, covered carriage with spoked wheels as tall as her chest, waited on the street; drawn by a pair of shining, black mares.
A man in crisp livery and silk top hat snapped to attention at a nod from Tarrek. The coachman surveyed Reecah with obvious disdain.
Tarrek smiled for the man’s benefit. “This is the lady, GG. See to it she returns here when m’lord is finished.”
M’lord? Reecah shot a look at Tarrek, but before she could protest, the coachman opened the carriage door.
“Of course.” The coachman doffed his top hat and bowed, casting Reecah a dark look. With a white-gloved, underhand flourish, he motioned for her to enter. “M’lady.”
Reecah tried to back away but Tarrek caught her and urged her forward.
Waiting on the far side of the coach sat a pepper grey-haired gentleman clad in a frilly chested, white tunic beneath a striking, royal blue surcoat that was piped with golden filigree and fitted with padded shoulders. The man’s dark eyes felt like they were boring a hole right through her, but his mysterious smile softened his chiseled face. Without a word, those eyes beckoned Reecah into the velvet-lined carriage.
Lecherous Leader
Breathless, afraid of what her immediate future had in store, Reecah clumsily mounted the single step—the distance from the ground greater than the stride allowance of the restrictive skirt. Her raised foot fell short of the step and she fell into the carriage between the plush, upholstered seat and the front wall, emitting a squeak of surprise.
The gentleman reached down and grasped her by the wrist, his deep voice filling the compartment, “Easy, m’lady. We don’t need to turn an ankle afore we dine, surely.”
Climbing into the carriage on her knees, Reecah offered the gentleman a demure smile, gratefully accepting his assistance from the floor to a sitting position. She quickly pulled her hand from his grasp and directed her gaze to Tarrek and the coachman, well aware of how red her cheeks were.
Tarrek held a hand over his eyes, shaking his head, while the coachman’s disgusted glare admonished her as he removed the step and closed the door.
Relieved to have something to brace herself on, Reecah placed her back against the door and looked shyly at the posh gentleman from beneath a lowered brow.
“You’re not what I expected…” He paused, searching for her name.
“GG”
“Yes, GG. A peculiar name, that.”
“Heh, ya. It’s, uh, what they call me.” She swallowed, feeling foolish—expecting to receive an annoyed response.
The man surprised her by laughing. “Yes, I gathered that when you told me.”
The carriage shook and wood creaked as the coachman lowered his weight onto the open bench outside. The jingle of tack preceded the order, “H’ya,” and the carriage lurched forward, its iron-strapped wheels clicking on the cobblestones.
“Tell me…GG. Where are you from? Your name sounds exotic, though I’m thinking it’s short for something. Am I correct?”
Reecah’s mouth felt dry. Wringing her hands together she noticed how damp they were in comparison. “Um, yes. Yes, it is.”
The man waited for her to explain but she offered nothing further.
His colourless lips lifted in what appeared to be an impatient smile. “What’s it short for?”
She gazed out the side window. Quayside buildings passed by as the coach shook and creaked along the rough pavers. The name she gave Tarrek sounded silly but there was nothing to do about it now. She chanced a look into his eyes. Though dark and brooding, a kindness lingered there. “Grimelda Grog.”
His barely perceptible nod was interrupted as the coach took an abrupt left turn and started up a steep hill, the momentum throwing the man against her.
His heady cologne was overpowered by a musky aroma of sweat. If she had the right of it, the gentleman was as intimidated by this whole affair as she was. The dagger digging into her backside gave her the confidence she needed to curb her fear of the man’s closeness.
The gentleman’s cheeks reddened. Separating himself, careful not to touch anything inappropriate, he shouted at the driver, “Damn you, coachman! You’re going to unsettle the lady!”
A muffled response from outside let them know the coachman had at least heard, but Reecah couldn’t understand what he said.
The gentleman rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Honestly. If we were back at Draakhall, that man would lose more than his job.”
Staring out the side window, the skies opened up, drenching the streets. Reecah didn’t know what to say. If he was implying the coachman would be killed, she considered it harsh. No harm had been done. Thinking it better not to comment, she simply smiled and blinked at the gentleman.
“Oh, where are my manners. I know your name but I never introduced myself. My apologies…do you prefer Grimelda or GG?”
Every time she heard her aunt’s name, she was reminded of the fire. “GG, please, m’lord.”
Was that how she was supposed to refer to a highborn man? Avoiding his lingering stare, she peered out the window at the finely dressed people scrambling about the fronts of decadent establishments trying to find shelter in the downpour.
“GG it is. He dipped his head. “I am the Viscount of Draakhall. The caretaker of the palace if you will.”
Reecah blinked at him, having no idea what that meant, but it sounded like an important title.
“You know, the steward of the high king.”
Reecah smiled politely, none the wiser.
The viscount must’ve sensed her consternation. “Surely you’ve heard of Draakhall.”
Poppa had told her about his time at the royal palace—an episode in his life that had taken place long before she was born. She recalled him speaking of the palace with great reverence, but the details of his stories eluded her. She nodded.
“Well, anyway, my name is Vullis Opsigter the Third.”
He watched her struggling to mouth his name and laughed. “Aye. Two others were strapped with the name before me, if you can believe that?”
She smiled shyly, her fear at what the evening had in store robbing her of her willingness to appear too friendly. Vullis came across as innocent enough but she didn’t know him. Neither had she any idea where they were going—not that it would have done her any good.
The coach jerked to an abrupt stop, making them scramble to put their hands out to keep from flying off the seat and bashing off the front wall of the carriage. Vullis’ strong hand gripped her bicep, bracing her.
Not waiting for the coachman to open his door, Viscount Opsigter said through clenched teeth, “Wait here.”
He stormed from the carriage, slamming the door behind him, and proceeded to berate the coachman with several vulgar words Reecah had heard while shadowing the dragon hunt back home.
When the bellowing stopped, the carriage rocked slightly and the sound of the step being inserted outside her door grabbed her attention. A much-chagrined coachman, soaked to the skin in the heavy rain, opened her door and offered her a white-gloved hand to assist her onto the step. “My sincerest apologies, m’lady. Please forgive my poor manners. I have no excuse. My fate is in your hands.”
Reecah squinted in the lashing rain and pulled her hood over her head. Once safely on the ground, relieved she hadn’t tripped herself in the tight confines of her skirt, Reecah patted the hand seemingly unwilling to release hers. “It’s quite alright, honestly. I forgive you.”
The look of wonder on the coachman’s face made her smile. It was like he expected a beating. Looking like a scolded dog, he bowed twice more. “Thank you m’lady. Thank you.”
Standing behind the coachman, Vullis practically pushed him aside, rescuing Reecah’s hand from his grasp. “Release the lady, yo
u imbecile, before she catches her death in this cold and rain. Fortunately for you, GG is a gentle lady. I would have you dragged to Sea Keep in fetters and thrown you to the kraken.”
Reecah pulled her cloak tightly about, conscious of all the people huddling beneath the eave of the building—standing clear of a large set of double doors that fronted the grandest building on the hilltop overlooking Thunderhead. It didn’t take long to spot the chainmail sleeves and plated greaves of the guards on either side of the doorway—their barbed pikes more than decoration.
Vullis held his forearm out for Reecah to grasp and rushed her through the waiting crowd—well-dressed men and women bowing their heads respectfully to the viscount.
The guards manning the doorway snapped to attention at their approach. A dignified man, whose attire closely matched Vullis, bowed low and opened both doors, exposing a sweeping oak stairway ascending to a great hall.
“What is this place?” Reecah asked in wonder, the opulence of the interior made the luxurious tavern where her possessions remained appear as a hovel.
Accepting a cloth from an interior doorman, Vullis wiped his brow and slicked-back hair to soak up the rainwater before helping Reecah ascend a short flight of flagstone steps, conscious of her limited movement. Smiling, he asked, “Have you never been here before?”
“No, m’lord.”
“Please. Call me Vullis. You’re my date tonight. At least pretend we’ve met.” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes indicating the noisy throng of noblemen and stunningly apparelled women mingling about the great hall at the top of the steps. “I have an appearance to maintain.”
Reecah looked down, afraid she had insulted the viscount. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
Vullis stopped at the top of the stairs. “Really? And yet you work for him?”
She tried to smile for his benefit—nodding slightly, though she had no idea who Vullis referred to. She was making a mess of everything.
“Curious. I would’ve expected someone as beautiful as you to be in high demand at the baron’s residence,” he replied and led her onto the polished granite floor.
Reecah’s head spun. The baron’s residence? From what she understood, the baron of Thunderhead was the highest-ranking official on the entire southwestern shore of the Great Kingdom—with the exception of the Earl of Madrigail, many leagues to the south. She felt so inferior she wanted to shrink into a tiny ball and disappear. These weren’t her people. She didn’t belong here. She almost laughed aloud at that. She didn’t belong anywhere.
The viscount’s deep voice snapped her attention back to the present. “Huh?”
Vullis’ dark eyes searched her face. “I asked you if you cared for a refreshment.”
Embarrassed, it dawned on her that a young woman in flowing skirts stood patiently before her with a tray of fluted goblets filled with a pale, bubbling liquid.
Vullis raised his eyes questioningly, lifting his own drink to show her.
Not wanting to be rude, she smiled shyly and nodded, accepting a tall glass from the serving girl.
“To a beautiful woman on a less than beautiful night.” Vullis held his glass toward her.
She frowned, seeing that he expected something, but didn’t know what. Imitating him, she lifted her glass but pulled it away when he thrust his at her, fearing the glasses would smash together and break.
The viscount overextended his arm—his drink sloshing onto the floor at her feet.
“Oh!” She jumped back to avoid being hit and spilled the contents of her glass between them. Mortified, she covered her mouth, and stared at Vullis, fully expecting him to verbally abuse her like he had the coachman.
Vullis stumbled backward to avoid the splash. Catching himself, he stared open-mouthed at Reecah, his thin lips curving in a wide grin. “GG, you little prankster.” He raised his free hand and snapped his fingers. “Wench! Two more drinks and a rag!”
Reecah thought his manner rude, but no sooner had he beckoned than a different young lady scurried over with a tray of the fluted goblets.
Vullis plucked a glass from the tray, drained it, and grabbed two more, giving one to Reecah. Without thanking the servant, he held out his arm and escorted her deeper into the crowd.
“I should clean that up,” Reecah protested.
“Nonsense. That’s their job. You’re the baron’s guest. Do not insult the man in his own house.”
Reecah swallowed. Looking over her shoulder, she watched the servant girl stoop down. Catching her eye, she offered the young woman an apologetic look before being swallowed up by the crowd.
“Ah, there he is!” A loud voice bellowed from somewhere ahead.
The crowd parted to allow her and Vullis a clear path to an overweight, balding man sitting cross-legged on a plush, red velvet settee. The man handed a metal flagon to a busty servant girl standing beside the couch and attempted to pull himself out of its deep embrace.
“Baron, please. Remain seated,” Vullis instructed.
“What have we got here, Vullis?” The baron patted the sofa seat beside him. “Come, sweet girl, let’s get acquainted.”
Vullis must’ve noted the repulsive look on Reecah’s face. He hugged her hand against his side, silently letting her know to remain standing.
“Not so fast, good baron. I’d be loath to lose her to your brazen charm.”
The baron’s face reddened more than the obvious amount of alcohol he’d ingested—his words belying his disappointment at being cheated of his sport. “Of course, viscount. Just in case you’ve forgotten, denying a man his wish in his own house is frowned upon in these parts. Seeing as you are His Majesty’s royal vizier, I’ll allow the slight to go unpunished…this time.”
Reecah expected an argument, but Vullis grinned. “A wise decision considering I outrank you.”
The baron’s eyes darkened. He cleared his throat to cover his unease. “Yes, yes, of course. Now that you’ve finally arrived, perhaps we can get the royal celebration started.” He craned his thick neck, searching the crowd. “Is the princess not with you?”
“She sends her regards. She’s otherwise preoccupied. She may attend later at her convenience.”
The baron’s face turned purple. Reecah thought for sure he was in medical distress.
“Very well,” the baron croaked and turned to a male servant awaiting his command. “Tell the minstrels to commence.”
The servant nodded, fear evident in his haunted eyes. He started away, but the baron’s next words stopped him.
“Make sure they play something uplifting to raise the dull spirit in this hall or we’ll be having words.”
“Yes, m’lord.” The servant bolted into the crowd.
Afraid to look at the baron, Reecah unconsciously tightened her grip on the viscount’s arm.
“Wench! A hand,” the baron ordered the servant girl.
The petite lady, younger than Reecah, strained to keep from being pulled from her feet as she helped the baron stand with one hand while expertly holding onto his flagon with her other.
As soon as his girth rested over his feet, the baron snatched the flagon from her hand and raised it into the air.
Reecah flinched, hoping not to re-enact her previous debacle.
Vullis stayed her with a shake of his head and met the baron’s flagon with the rim of his glass. “To your health, good baron. May your blessings be plentiful and rife with joy.”
The baron snarled, leering at Reecah. Throwing back a huge swallow, he wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “What’s your wench hiding beneath that ratty cloak.”
“Good baron, her name is—”
“Steward!” the baron interrupted.
A middle-aged man with greased-back brown hair, appeared from out of the crowd. “M’lord!”
“Why has no one taken this lady’s cloak?” Not waiting for an answer, he shook his head and rolled his eyes, directing his words at Vullis. “Honestly. It’s like
I just trained them this morning.”
Reecah’s eyes opened wide, realizing what the baron inferred. A pair of hands touched her shoulders, grasping her cloak.
“M’lady.” Without waiting for a reply, the steward pulled Reecah’s cloak down her arms.
Not wishing to spill her drink, she had no choice but to allow the man to strip her from the sense of protection her cloak offered. She quickly made sure her sheathed dagger remained hidden against the small of her back. Conscious of how red her cheeks felt, it took everything she had not to cover herself with her hands.
She couldn’t be sure, but she was positive the baron did a double take as he spat a mouthful of mead back into his flagon.
“There you are, viscount!” A deep voice Reecah had heard before, interrupted.
Reecah did a double take of her own as a man dripping with water waddled up to Vullis. The same man she had encountered in the street with the buxom blonde when she’d first entered Thunderhead—the one who had given her a hard time.
“Clive! The good baron and I were wondering where the princess had gotten off to.” Vullis looked over Clive’s thick shoulder and frowned. “Is she not here?”
Clive dipped his head, his triple chin bulging. “No, m’lord. She’s, ah…” Clive gazed at Reecah and the baron, “indisposed at the moment.”
Vullis nodded. Clearing his throat, he turned to meet the baron’s brooding glare. “It appears, Princess J’kyra won’t be joining us this evening. She is otherwise preoccupied and sends her regrets.”
The baron’s jowls worked back and forth, chewing on words he appeared to be fighting to restrain. Reecah feared the man was on the verge of a stroke.
Ignoring the shaking baron, Vullis turned back to Clive. “What about the prince. Has there been any news?” The viscount pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from inside his tunic. “Here, dry yourself while you walk with me and tell me about it.”
The two men slipped through the crowd and disappeared, leaving Reecah and the irate leader of Thunderhead alone together.
Legends of the Lurker Box Set Page 31