by Cate Dean
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He studied his advisor, saw the signs of sleepless nights, of pain etched into a face that had never before shown his age. “I hope you know you can talk to me, Joseph. If someone is coercing you, I would protect you.”
“No coercion, my lord. Only misplaced belief.” Joseph cradled the pile in one arm, and bowed, lower than necessary. “If I may be excused, my lord. I find myself feeling unwell.” He raised his hand when Liam moved to him. “I will be fine. The illness I suffered this past winter is still plaguing me.”
“Please, rest as long as you need.” Liam remembered the deep fear at Joseph’s sudden, debilitating decline. Everyone refused entry to him, afraid he might contract whatever had Joseph in its clutches. “Once you are well, we can talk.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Liam watched him limp out of the office, arm pressed against his side. He would send his own physician to check on Joseph later, to ease his own mind.
Once he was able, they would talk. It was time to find out who gave Joseph these papers. Who was behind Micah’s abduction.
~ ~ ~
Lunch was even more uncomfortable than Micah predicted.
Raine barely touched the spread of meat, cheese, and still-warm bread. Finally, she stood, and Micah was afraid she was going to leave.
Just as he opened his mouth to say something, anything to break the awkward silence, she stopped at the other end of the table.
“What is this?” Her hand hovered over the model of his latest experiment.
“Wings,” he said, waiting for the ridicule. Instead, she looked at him, obviously waiting for him to continue. “It’s a scale model. I use them to gauge whether or not it will be worth the effort to try a full size version.”
“And was it?”
He smiled. “I’m working on them right now.” Thrilled that she showed interest, he joined her. “The pulley system, here,” he pointed to the miniature rope and wood pulleys that took him days to rework. “It helps the flier move and adjust the wings.”
“So they can steer, like a—”
“Bird.” They said it at the same time.
Raine laughed, and crouched next to the table, eye level with the model. “This is incredible, Micah. Do you really think they’ll work?”
“I’ll find out.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t mean—you aren’t going to—”
“I always test.” He held out his arms, his rolled sleeves showing the results of both successful and failed tests. “How do you think I earned these?”
“Gods, Micah. You’re crazier than I thought.”
Her words had his smile fading. He backed away, the disappointment hurting far more than it had with his family, and pretty much everyone in the castle.
“If you need to leave,” he said, focusing on the shelf behind her. He couldn’t bear to see the rejection, not from her. “I will understand.”
“Why would I want to leave?” He stared at her. Amusement glinted in her eyes, along with something he had not seen in a long time, not for this part of his life. Respect. “You are crazy, but I found that to be a normal trait with people who border on genius. And this,” she pointed at the wings. “This is genius. Even if it doesn’t work, that you even thought of it is beyond amazing. Does the model work?”
Micah was still processing the fact that she understood. About this, about him. “Uh—yes, it does. Would you like a demonstration?”
She tilted her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. He immediately pushed out the thought of kissing her. “Silly question. Do I even have to answer?”
With a laugh, he picked up the wings, careful to balance them in his palm, and headed for the courtyard at the back of the building. Other patrons in the library stared at them as they passed, some shaking their head.
Micah knew what they thought; at this moment, he didn’t care. For the first time since Liam lost even feigned interest, he was about to show off one of his creations. That he cared more than usual what she thought did not help the nerves jangling through him.
Because of the brisk spring weather, the courtyard was deserted.
“Stand over there,” Micah said, pointing to the far corner, near the high stone wall. “And don’t try to catch it. The wings are sharp.”
“All right.” She ran over to the wall and turned to face him. “Ready.”
After taking a few deep breaths, he brought the model up to eye level, adjusting the tiny pulleys. Months of watching Kres soar and bank through the gardens at the castle helped him design this. A short flight in the workshop told him the model would stay airborne, but that was a controlled environment, without a snapping breeze, or the cold, or—
Stop making excuses.
He nodded to himself, and threw the model in the air.
The delicate wings caught the breeze, floating, the lightweight, pounded silver catching the sunlight. Micah’s heart flew with them, beating faster as the wings stayed aloft, as if they were held up by invisible hands.
Then the breeze snapped, and the wings tumbled, headed straight for Raine.
“Get down!” Micah bolted forward. At that speed the razor edges would cut her—
He froze as she whipped her coat off and threw it at the wings. The movement was so fluid, her aim so perfect, he knew she had done such a move before. Many times before.
She caught the bundle before it hit the stone paving the courtyard, and carefully pulled back the wool.
“Oh, Micah. I am so sorry.” The model lay in pieces, the wings bent from the weight of the coat.
“Please, don’t be sorry. I can repair it, much more easily than the ugly cuts it would have given you.”
“Thank you.” He glanced up at her, confused. “For caring about me more than your model. I don’t expect I would have been as generous.”
“Raine.” He moved in, needing to be closer to her. No one had ever pulled him in like this.
She obviously understood his intent, because she handed him the bundle and backed out of reach. With his hands full, he couldn’t so much as touch her. Which he expected was the point.
He wanted to punch himself for not seeing it before now. She wanted nothing to do with him. Not in that way.
“We should head to the tavern,” she said. “Your shadow will be anxious to know you’re all right.”
“Of course. Wait here.”
He headed inside, back to his room, and gently settled the broken model to the table, removing it from her coat. After a quick examination, he nodded. It could be repaired—maybe even improved on. Now that he’d seen it really fly, there were more calculations, and more tests as he worked on the life size version.
With a sigh, he ran his finger over an intact portion of the wing. “I’ll return soon, and you’ll be right as rain before I’m done.”
For now, he had to take a long walk with a girl who wanted nothing to do with him. To meet a bodyguard he wanted nothing to do with.
Four
Liam stalked down the narrow passage, tired of his stepmother Elena’s power plays. She had kept him waiting in the main hall, again, and made him look like a fool in the process. Most of the castle staff and residents passed through there during the day; standing next to one of the pillars like a forgotten child shot his temper higher with every passing minute.
“If this meeting is so damn important,” he muttered, needing to siphon off some of his temper by letting the words out, if only to himself. “Why did you leave me—” He cut himself off as a figure stepped out of a side passage.
Shrouded in black, the heavy cloak and hood obscured the stalker’s identity. And Liam had no doubt this was a stalker. They had chosen the oldest part of the castle to surprise him. A part of the castle only he and Micah used on a regular basis, a fact known to family, and the few soldiers he trusted.
“Show yourself. Or are you too much of a coward to face me?” A low, nasty laugh escaped from under the deep hood.
Liam’s already stretched temper snapped. “Damn you—stop playing and show me who you are!”
The figure whirled and sprinted down the narrow passage.
With a furious shout, Liam chased after, his knife already in his hand. He was tired to death of the games, and the threats from those too cowardly to stand up and face him.
He skidded around the first corner, and straight into a trap.
~ ~ ~
By the time Raine and Micah made their way to The Black Arrow, it was closer to the evening meal than Raine expected. She would have to do some fast talking to her bond holder and employer, Celia Kerrow.
Micah’s presence might help; Celia loved the attention spawned by a visit from the local royalty. If Raine were very lucky, Damian T’Alon—the resident gambler and major thorn in Celia’s side—would be in the middle of another argument with her.
She wasn’t so fortunate.
Celia waited behind the bar, her gaze on the front door as Raine walked in.
“And where in the name of the gods have you been? Did you expect me to prepare for the evening crowd on my…” Her anger faded when Micah stepped in. “Milord—welcome! Please, have a seat.” She hustled out from behind the bar, all grace and manners. She did it well, and her personality made The Black Arrow successful. “What can I get for you?”
“An ale would go down nicely.”
“Coming right up. Damian—get your lazy arse up and earn your keep. Two ales—and bring the fresh baked bread.”
Damian pushed out of his chair, smiling at Raine as he headed for the bar. He spent almost as much time behind it as he did gambling. The beads woven into his waist length blonde braids clinked against each other as he moved, a soft, musical sound she always associated with him.
“Raine.” Celia’s sharp tone had her tensing. She turned, bracing herself for the older woman’s wrath. She did earn it, returning later than she promised. And Celia owned her time for the next two years. That she was generous enough to give Raine a bit of that time to herself was more than she could ask. “The vegetables for the soup are waiting on you.”
“Yes, mistress.” She nodded to Micah, who looked like he wanted to say something to her. Relief and disappointment fought each other at the fact that he didn’t dare say it in front of witnesses.
She was halfway across the common room when Micah caught up with her.
“Thank you for spending the afternoon with me. I know how precious your free time is to you.” He touched her hand, briefly, but long enough to send her heart racing.
“I enjoyed it.” To distract herself from the need to reach out and cradle his face, stare into those beautiful, clear blue eyes for an hour or so, she pulled a leather thong out of her pocket and started braiding her hair. “I have to get back to work.”
“Right. Of course.” He ran one hand through his hair, and she wanted to touch the shoulder length waves, tangle her fingers in what she knew was thick, silky hair—
Gods—what am I thinking?
He was so far above her station she shouldn’t even be talking to him. And if he ever learned about her past—what friendship they had would be cut short. No question.
“Take care, milord,” she said, and backed away from him. “Tell Thomas I said hello.”
“I won’t repeat his answer.”
Laughter burst out of her. “We did have a rough start.” She had bullied him and the new lieutenant Xander, after they brought Micah to her a few months ago, wounded and in pain. It most likely still brought his back up when he saw her.
“Anytime you want to see my latest experiment, show up at the castle gate. The guards will know you’re always welcome.”
This felt like goodbye, and she hated it. Hated that so much separated them. She let out her breath, and forced a smile. This was not the first time she said goodbye to people she cared about, and she knew it would not be the last.
“Wait.” She held up her hand. “Let me get the ointment for you.”
After tying off her hair, she ran around the bar and into the kitchen. Her stash of ointments was in a cupboard, in easy reach. She had used them more than once on customers who imbibed one too many, and had trouble telling the door from the wall.
The ointment she created to use on her old injuries was right in front, since it was useful for most of the bruises and scrapes she dealt with here. She also kept a good supply of it, so she grabbed three jars off the shelf, and turned to find a small cloth bag for them.
Micah stood in the kitchen.
“Gods.” She set the jars on the counter before she dropped them. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. He looked—hungry. Her heart skipped when he stepped forward. “Raine.”
She met him halfway, kissing him before she could talk herself out of it.
His hands framed her face, warm, gentle. The kiss ended much too soon, when she knew it would be their last.
“Micah.” She rested her forehead against his chest, took in the scent of wood, weapons oil, and soap. Uniquely him.
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head, and stepped back. “I thought after more than six months, these feelings for you would fade. That it was a physician/patient infatuation.”
“And now?” She didn’t want to know, because nothing was possible between them.
“I may be losing my heart.”
She swallowed, and held out her hand. Micah pulled her into his arms, whispering as he rubbed the length of her back. Finally letting go of her control, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat.
When she lifted her head, he kissed her, drawing it out until they were both breathless.
“Well, isn’t this an intriguing development.” Damian’s lazy voice jerked them apart.
Micah stepped in front of her, hands clenched. “You will not—”
“No threats necessary, my young lord. Raine is a friend, and her welfare concerns me more than any gossip.” Damian held out his hand, palm up. A Delta offer of friendship, with no conditions. Raine had never seen him offer it, ever. Not even to the Deltas who passed through Palamar. “You have my word.”
Micah hesitated, then laid his hand in Damian’s palm. The older man smiled, and closed his fingers, symbolically accepting the friendship. Micah didn’t know it yet, but he had just gained a strong, well-connected ally.
“Thank you.”
“I came in to warn you that my distraction for Celia’s attention has about run its course. Ah,” he spotted the jars of ointment on the counter. “That is magic in a jar.” Raine took his hint and put the jars in a small bag. “Use it well, young lord, and show your face in the main room sooner rather than later. I believe your heavily armed shadow just arrived.”
Loud voices proved him right.
Micah let out a sigh. “I better get out there, before Thomas commits some unforgiveable faux pas.” He turned to Raine, and took the offered bag; the care in his eyes sent an ache through her that she knew would not go away. “Thank you for the ointment. For today.”
“Send word if you need more.”
“I will.”
“Kiss her, lad.” Damian smiled at them. “I will stall the dragon lady and the bodyguard a few minutes longer.”
He slipped out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.
Micah traced her cheek, studying her face, as if he were memorizing it. She did the same, not closing her eyes until his lips met hers. After a too short, breath-robbing kiss, he eased away, one finger brushing the bridge of her nose.
“I have always loved your freckles. Damn it, Raine.” He kissed her again, hard and fast, and retreated. “Take care of yourself.”
“You do the same.”
She watched him back to the doorway, flash her a last brilliant smile, and walk out of her life.
~ ~ ~
Liam skidded on the worn stone, knowing before he turned around that he was surrounded.
“Whoever sent you, they won’t win.
”
“We got you outnumbered, milord—I’d say we win.”
The flash warned him just before the knife sank into his right shoulder.
He stumbled, agony exploding down his arm—and shocked the attacker behind him by lashing out with his left fist.
It gave him a much needed distraction, and he took it, running toward the only tunnel that didn’t have a dead end. He knew his way in the dark, having played in these tunnels as a boy. That might give him the advantage—one he badly needed, because the knife in his shoulder shot pain through him with every step.
Footsteps echoed behind him, angry shouts and curses bouncing off the walls. Liam kept going, using the wall to help him. His strength was running out, faster than the blood soaking his arm.
The scent of dirt and salt air brushed his sweat soaked face. He pushed himself, knowing he was close to freedom, and possible help.
Daylight blinded him as he stumbled out of the tunnel—and straight into one of his patrols.
“My lord.” Strong hands caught him, eased him to the ground. “Where did you—” He cursed, obviously finding the answer for himself. “Xander—take two of the men and find his attackers.”
“Already gone, Captain.”
“Ari?”
“Right here. Breathe, my lord, I’ve sent for Giles. I’m going to take a look at your shoulder.”
Liam nodded, barely able to hear him over the roar of pain.
One hand closed over his arm—and before Liam could open his mouth to protest Ari jerked the blade out of his shoulder.
The clawing pain eased, even after Ari pressed his hand against the wound.
“Thank you,” Liam whispered.
“I know how much a knife blade stuck in a body part can hurt.” Ari flashed a grim smile, reminding Liam of who he had been, before he escaped the desert. “How did you find your way out of the castle, my lord?”