The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “Kipp could return at any time. We must learn why the king has sent for him,” she says.

  “He will not go with them.”

  “No.” She appears thoughtful. “He will not. But Kipp will be better prepared if we learn their purpose. ’Tis been many years since the king has attempted to claim him.”

  So why now? Does it have anything to do with the latest disputes at the border?

  “Be careful, my child. If I were stronger, I’d accompany you.”

  I hate that Amma rarely leaves the manor. These days, her longest walks are to the forge. Distances and stairs pose difficulties for her.

  “I will be well,” I assure her, tying a gold-threaded rope belt around my waist. “He is kind enough, for a nobleman.”

  Amma lifts her chin. “Do not mistake cunning for kindness.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I will deal with your father.”

  I wrap my arms around her, breathing in the scent that is uniquely my grandmother. “Thank you, Amma.”

  She lets go.

  “Be well, child.” She looks into my eyes. “I do not like this. Not at all.”

  Amma’s instincts are never wrong. Her words send a chill through me, but I end our conversation by saying, “But all is well in Murwood.”

  I’ve grown up with that expression, used to end all conversations about happenings in the two kingdoms we distance ourselves from.

  “All is well in Murwood,” she repeats.

  But her expression belies her words.

  Chapter Eight

  Vanni

  “How are the men?”

  Thomas winks at a maid, who smiles back at him as she passes us. Another day, another maid for Thomas to flirt with. Standing at the front of the inn, waiting for Aedre, my companion attracts more attention than I would wish.

  “Going mad,” he answers.

  We’ve been in Murwood End for one full day. I’m restless and imagine the others feel the same way. While they spent the day ingratiating themselves to the locals, I met with two of Murwood’s lords to assure them our visit is an unofficial one.

  Unofficial for their purposes, at least.

  For Kipp Aldwine, it is very official. We are here to offer him the crown. Prepared to give him anything he desires to convince him to come south.

  “Did Lord Bailor press you on our purpose?”

  Another woman, another wink. The man is incorrigible.

  “Aye.” I consider my meeting with him that morning. “A bit, but I pacified him, I believe.”

  “You didn’t mention the boy’s name?”

  I’m unsure why Thomas insists on referring to a man older than him as a boy.

  “Of course not.”

  “There she is.”

  At his words, I push away from the wall and stand tall. Which, of course, prompts a fit of laughter from Thomas.

  “You chastise me for flirting?”

  Hitting him, prompting an “ow,” I watch as the Garra approaches.

  So serious. Her full lips are pursed together, brows furrowed. She does not smile easily, that I can tell. Even so, her beauty dulls even the bright blue sky framing her from behind. Dressed simply but elegantly, she glides toward me, greeting those around her with a simple nod.

  “She’s beautiful, that I’ll allow.”

  Ignoring Thomas, I prepare to greet her. Prepare to spar with her.

  For there’s no doubt she doesn’t like me. An affliction to which I’m unaccustomed.

  “Good day,” she greets us.

  Lavender overpowers the scent of salt air.

  “Good day, my lady,” Thomas says smoothly, bowing.

  Her response is polite but cool. At least she appears to like Thomas as little as she does me. I can’t help but grin at his stricken expression.

  “Shall we?” I move toward the door.

  “Nay, not in there.” She gestures for me to follow her, her expression brooking no refusal. Thomas and I exchange a look, but she’s already walking. I bid him farewell, and the last thing I see before I hurry after her is Thomas winking.

  The Garra walks from the inn toward the docks. No ships are in port, but the area still bustles with activity. A fishing village never sleeps, and this one is no different.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as the docks end.

  “Away from prying eyes and overly curious ears.”

  It’s clear we’re following a path, and with my attention on our surroundings—timber-framed buildings with thatched roofs, others built of stone—I don’t notice when she veers off in another direction. But she certainly notices.

  “Nay! This way.”

  I stop and strain to see what’s ahead.

  “Why don’t you wish to continue this way?” I ask.

  She grimaces.

  “I shall go ahead and see for myself.”

  Aedre exhales loudly, frustrated. “That way lies the forge where my father works.”

  Ah yes, she’s the blacksmith’s daughter.

  “He would not be keen to see us together?”

  Understandable, as Aedre is an unmarried maid.

  “Even less if he knew the reason. This way.”

  Following her through the winding paths between buildings, I consider her words. So her father does not care for her chosen profession. Interesting. Back home, without a father’s approval, she would find it difficult to pursue such a path.

  A dog emerges from what appears to be the tailor’s shop. Stopping, I reach down to pet him without thinking. It’s attention he wants, and I’m more than willing to give it.

  “Good day, Lady Aedre.”

  The tailor.

  “And . . .”

  I stand, offering my hand. “Lord d’Abella, at your service.”

  Though quite old and unable to stand completely straight, he shakes my hand vigorously. “Ronald, my lord.”

  I step back, aware Aedre wishes to move on. “Good day, Ronald. To you and . . . ?”

  “Dog.”

  Did I hear him correctly? “Your dog’s name is Dog?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  I try not to smile. “Very good. ’Twas my pleasure to meet you both.”

  As we move away, I notice something quite surprising.

  “You’re smiling,” I say to Aedre without thinking. But the smile disappears as soon as I mention it, my words snuffing it out of existence.

  “This way,” she says with an aggrieved sniff.

  Emerging once again at the water’s edge, the docks giving way to a rocky coastline, we continue to walk. As the buildings fall away, I watch her. Curious.

  “Should we not stay in the village?”

  No answer.

  “You do not know me. What if I . . .”

  She stops, moving so quickly I’m not in the least prepared for the knife she points at my neck. Where did it even come from? I shove away a vision of it tucked between her breasts.

  Curia Commander indeed.

  Eyes blazing, she doesn’t move her hand away. The tip of her blade is so close I can feel its presence just above my skin.

  “Once again, you underestimate a woman’s place.”

  Definitely lavender. I can smell it easily. Although my well-being should be foremost in my thoughts right now, it’s not.

  “I vow not to do so again.”

  From the look in her eyes, it’s obvious she doesn’t believe my claim, but it’s true. We are at an impasse, one I have to end.

  “Shall we begin our training now? You are a Garra. Tell me, Aedre, what am I thinking?”

  I’m thinking of two round breasts nearly pressed against me. I’m thinking of her sweet scent and the small smile I spied back in the village. I’m thinking this woman is unlike any other.

  Something flashes in her eyes. “Do not . . .”

  Too late.

  “You are quite beautiful.”

  She lowers her hand, but I grasp it before she moves away.

  “What am I th
inking?” he presses.

  “I’m not sure what tall tales you’ve heard, my lord, but I do not read thoughts.”

  Her wrist is so small, so delicate in my hand. Very much unlike her personality. Delicate is not a word I’d use to describe her. Not at all.

  “But you do read expressions? Feelings?”

  She snatches her hand back. “I do.”

  “And?”

  She makes a most unladylike sound. “And yours says you’d like to stick your cock in me. What of it?”

  She continues on, forcing me to take long strides to catch her.

  “Nay, Lady Aedre.”

  We reach an outcropping of rocks and, weaving her way through it, Aedre climbs deftly toward one particularly flat stone. She arranges her skirts and sits, and I settle in beside her. Though it is large enough for both of us, we sit closer than we might have elsewhere.

  The sound of the surf and seagulls reminds me of home, and the spot is as beautiful as the woman beside me.

  To our right lies the village, a circle of buildings with the road we took to reach it from the south clearly visible. And in front of us, my favorite of all, the sea. Not a turquoise blue like back home, but an angry grey-blue—defiant, like the people of Murwood. Like the woman sitting next to me.

  Much too close.

  “I’d not stick my cock in you, if given the chance.”

  Her brows rise. “Then I am not the Garra my grandmother thinks I am.”

  She misunderstands me.

  “Oh, you do not misread my thoughts, Aedre. I’ve thought of it, aye. I’ve wondered if you might smile if I kissed you. I fell asleep last eve imagining myself making love to you.”

  If I said as much to any woman at court, my cheek would have already been properly slapped. Then again, not one of them would accuse me on our second meeting of wanting to stick my cock in them.

  “Which brings us to your affliction.” We both know I have none, but she says it with confidence. “Do you find yourself entertaining such thoughts every time you meet a woman you desire?”

  “Nay, I do not.”

  “Tell me, Lord—”

  “Vanni.”

  “Tell me, Vanni, why you’ve secured my services.”

  Leaning back against my hands, I consider her question.

  “You are preparing to lie to me,” she accuses.

  Something about Aedre’s very casual position, legs crossed under her skirts, so at odds with the daggers she shoots from her eyes, makes me smile.

  “’Tis not amusing.”

  “I’m not laughing at your words.”

  There’s no denying her guess was somewhat accurate. I do not mean to lie to her, precisely, but the version of the truth I provide will be a tailored one, intended to help me gain information.

  “Then you are laughing at me?”

  “Are you always so combative?” I gesture out to sea, to the blue sky beyond. “’Tis a glorious day. Is this such a bad way to earn coin?”

  No answer.

  “Why do you dislike me so?”

  That she answers easily.

  “I do not know your purpose, and like most Southerners, you have antiquated notions of women. And . . .” She pauses.

  “And? ’Tis not enough?”

  Apparently not. I can feel myself smirking.

  “I dislike nobles. Most especially your kind.”

  “If I came from the court of Edingham, would that make a difference?”

  She pulls her skirts in tighter against her crossed legs. “Nay.”

  Small relief.

  “You resent that I’m a king’s man,” I guess.

  She nods. “Surely you know my ancestors have not been treated kindly by either court.”

  “Many years ago, perhaps. But there is no longer much public antipathy toward the Garra. Well,” I qualify, “except by some in the church.”

  She looks at me as if I were a boy of five.

  “That does not equate to kind treatment. Are Garra openly welcomed in d’Almerita? Are they given the opportunity to practice? Or are they relegated to the outskirts of town, allowed to exist only if they follow Merian customs, and only then if ’tis deemed appropriate?”

  “I know of no Garra in d’Almerita, but they would be accepted there.”

  Her expression is beyond incredulous.

  “The king is a good man who cares for his people,” I continue.

  “He is a fool.”

  At least her vitriol extends beyond me. I will not argue her point, not even for Galfrid, but I cannot allow our conversation to continue on in this vein.

  “My purpose,” I say, changing topics, “is to learn what I can of Master Aldwine in order to sway him to our cause.”

  I can tell she’s taken aback by my candidness. Which I hadn’t been prepared to offer. But whether it’s her profession or her nature that makes it so, Aedre is unnaturally astute. Half measures will not do with her.

  “Which is?”

  “One question each day,” I remind her.

  “But I’ve asked none.”

  She does not flinch. Recalling her words, I realize she is correct.

  I do not know your purpose here. Tell me, Vanni, why you’ve secured my services.

  “You are clever, indeed. Go ahead then, ask it.”

  “What cause sends you to Murwood End to speak with Master Aldwine?”

  She does know him.

  I see the truth of it in her eyes. Too eager for an answer that has little to do with her. The question now is, how well? Is she the woman with whom he’s been linked?

  Are they . . .

  Something tightens inside me, and I ask, “How do you know him?”

  “You first.”

  Though I cannot tell her the entire truth, some of it will suffice.

  “I’ve a message from the king for him.”

  Unsatisfied with my answer, she’s about to ask another question when I stop her.

  “One each day. Now tell me how you know him.”

  Even I can hear that my voice is too tight.

  “I mean to say, ’tis clear you know the man. Will you tell me how?”

  She lifts her chin and smiles, although this isn’t at all the smile I’d hoped for. There’s something secretive about it. Triumphant. “We were raised together,” she says, “here in Murwood.”

  Which is an interesting answer, but she gave me precisely nothing useful.

  “You asked why I’ve secured your services.” I breathe in the crisp sea air.

  “And you answered already. To gain information.”

  I sit up and cross my legs to match her manner of sitting.

  “Aye, but also for my other affliction.”

  “So you are overly amorous? Or are your affections just not returned? Because that is a very different sort of problem.”

  I choose to laugh rather than be insulted. “Nay. You accused me of having antiquated notions of women. And indeed, I know of none at court who sit the way you do in public, so casually, or accuse me of wanting to stick my cock in them.”

  A cock that I’ve been attempting to tame since the moment I spied her outside the inn. Everything about Aedre—her long, loose hair, her thoughtful eyes and full mouth, the intensity of her expressions, her quick wit. Everything about her entices me.

  “You will instruct me of your women. Your ways.”

  “Will I?”

  I take out a coin purse and hand it to her. Fool that I am, I’m grateful for the excuse to touch her.

  “Can you resist such an offer?”

  Can you resist me?

  “I could,” she says confidently. “It serves my purpose not to.”

  “Hmm. And what purpose is that?”

  When she stands, I realize the sun is beginning to set. Have we been out here so long already?

  “Mayhap I will tell you on the morrow.” She puts the coin purse in a pocket sewn into her gown. Likely the same pocket where her knife resides. “Or mayhap not.”
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  Chapter Nine

  Aedre

  Smoke rises from the forge, the smell of coal dust and molten iron oddly comforting. I walk inside, grab an apron, and begin to work. Father doesn’t pause as he hammers away, the clanging sound of hammer meeting iron ringing in my ears.

  I look at his work.

  A sword, and a fine one at that.

  Amery, my father’s apprentice, nods in greeting. Though he’s not seen twenty summers, he’s a fine apprentice and will make a master smith someday.

  I pick up a set of metal spoons in obvious need of filing and begin to smooth the sharp edges. Though part of me wishes my father was between pieces, as we need to talk, the other part of me is glad for the respite, as it will be an uncomfortable conversation.

  Amma waited for me last eve, as she typically retires early, to tell me that Father had gone to Hester’s Tavern. As it was his second visit in a matter of days, Amma is convinced he has feelings for the alewife. I disagree. He’s visited the tavern more oft of late, there’s no denying that, but not once in all my years has Father shown interest in another woman. I would welcome it, of course. But when my mother died giving birth to me, he swore, according to Amma, he’d not take another woman to his bed or as his wife.

  And he never had.

  Despite both Amma and I encouraging him otherwise.

  “Daydreaming will not get those spoons filed.”

  Despite Father’s gruff tone, I turn and wrinkle my nose at him. I’ve done this since I was a babe, according to him, and he cannot resist it.

  “Come.”

  Wiping his hand on an already dirty apron, he strides from the dark room into the bright light of the day. The docks are visible from here, the sea beyond them rough this morning.

  Picking up a jug of water from the ground, he pours it into a leather skin. Father leans against the side of the stone shop and drinks deeply.

  “’Tis a fine weapon you were forging,” I say, wiping my hands instinctively on my apron before I register they aren’t yet dirty.

  “A commission from the new lad.”

  Everyone is a “lad” to my father. If King Galfrid himself had seen one less summer than him, Father would call him lad as well.