by Barb Hendee
Amelie led the way outside. “I believed him.”
“So did I.”
They headed back for their horses, to continue on and check the next inn.
* * *
“A lady about eighteen years of age, with red-blond hair, and she would be accompanied by a tall man in chain armor and a yellow tabard?” Anton explained to a sleepy woman in her nightdress and wrapped in a shawl. “The woman is my sister, and the man is her guard. We’re traveling together, and I sent them on ahead tonight when my horse threw a shoe . . . but we neglected to name a meeting place here.”
Anton, Céline, and Damek had entered the first inn they came across. As Damek had almost no capability for polite inquiry, he’d let Anton do the talking.
“No, sir,” she mumbled back. “I’ve no one here like that tonight. The only folks I have staying here now are regulars who come through every autumn to sell goods.”
He could see she spoke the truth, and he thanked her politely.
Turning, he saw Damek’s expression darken, and he motioned his brother toward the door. “Out.”
Thankfully, Damek obeyed, but the moment he was through the door and on the porch, he hissed, “This is madness. It will take all night.”
Anton had not yet closed the door, and worry over his brother’s mood gave him a spark of an idea. He looked back inside. “Madam?”
The woman was shuffling off, but she stopped, “Yes?”
“How many stables are there in town? If we find where they stabled their horses, it would help narrow our search.”
Rubbing her eyes, she nodded in approval. “Oh, that’s clever. We have three, all on the outskirts of town, one on the west side, one on the east, and one on the south. The east stable is the largest.”
“Thank you.”
When Anton stepped outside, Damek studied him curiously. Céline had not appeared to be listening, and he was becoming concerned about her. She’d been nearly silent and did not seem herself.
“What are you thinking?” Damek asked Anton.
“Exactly what I said. There are only three stables, so we should check those first. If we find a roan stallion and a white mare, we’ll know for certain that Maddox and Rochelle are here, and we’ll have narrowed the search zone.”
Damek tilted his head. “Sometimes I underestimate you.”
“Sometimes?”
Anton walked toward his horse, Captain Kochè, and the Kimovesk guards, but he glanced back at Céline, who followed him without really looking where she was going. Something was wrong. He suspected it had to do with the scene back in the village.
“We need to head west for the outer edge of town,” Damek ordered the guards. “We’ll start with the closest stable.”
Anton helped Céline onto her horse and then he mounted up. She didn’t speak or look at him. His concern grew.
They headed west and began doing a search for the stable on the outskirts of town. It didn’t take long to find. However, at this hour, the large double doors—wide enough to drive a wagon through—were barred from the inside, and the stable master had long since retired for the night.
Captain Kochè walked to a small door near the left front corner of the stable. “My lord?”
Damek walked over and Anton followed.
“I could break this one quietly,” Kochè said.
Damek nodded.
Kochè gripped the latched, put his shoulder to the door, and shoved a few times. The door cracked and broke inward.
“I’ll take a look,” Anton said. “You stand watch out here.”
He knew Damek would have no interest in mucking about inside a stable, so he expected no argument—and neither did he get one. But then he reached out with one hand and motioned Céline toward him. “Come with me.”
At that, Damek did raise an eyebrow. Hopefully, he would assume that Anton simply didn’t wish to leave her alone with the men from Kimovesk.
She came to him and followed him inside, but her expression was still lost.
He pushed the door back in place as well as he could and then started toward the back of the stable. “This way.”
They walked down a long row of stalls, and he peered over the tops of the doors. There were no roan horses. He did stop at the stall of a white mare, but she was older and her coat was rough, and Anton knew the animal would not belong to Rochelle.
The final few stalls were empty. The door of one was open, and there were crates stored inside.
“Come in here and sit for a moment,” he said.
“What?” She spoke for the first time, since leaving Kimovesk Village, and her eyes cleared a bit.
He sat on a crate and pulled her down beside him. “We don’t have much time, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Her dark blond hair hung forward over her face, and her cloak was askew, revealing the shoulder of her gown. “There’s nothing wrong.”
He wasn’t good at this . . . at drawing things out of people. He was highly skilled at concealing emotions, but he had no idea how to draw them out of someone else.
“If we find Maddox and Rochelle tonight, you will be needed. You’ll need to be my seer, and right now . . . you are not. Tell me what is wrong.”
She stared at the straw on the floor. “I’d just forgotten how very little life or suffering counts for here. I’ve been in Sèone too long. Damek could have cut that boy’s hand off and then ridden away, and by the time he reached the edge of the village, he’d have forgotten the boy existed. But the boy would have spent the rest of his life maimed.”
“I would have spared you seeing that if I could.”
“I’ve seen worse, much worse. I’ve lived through worse.”
Here, he was on dangerous ground. He knew that she and Amelie had suffered much at the hands of Damek’s soldiers, but the truth was . . . he wasn’t certain he wished to know how much they had suffered. He knew this was cowardly and self-centered, but he couldn’t help it. He had his own demons from the past, and he wasn’t sure he could effectively wrestle with the demons of someone else.
“They killed my father,” Céline whispered. “Soldiers from Kimovesk.”
He turned on the crate to look straight at her.
“I saw it,” she added.
“Oh, Céline.” Instead of awkward discomfort, a pity he could not describe washed through him. “How old were you?”
“Nine.”
Without thinking, he reached out and pulled her against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” And he was.
“He was trying to help someone else,” she whispered with one side of her face pressed against him, “and one of the soldiers stabbed him and then just left him there like he was nothing. There was no one to whom we could complain or report. There was no one like Jaromir to deal out justice. Those men rode away and forgot him, leaving two daughters without a father and a wife without a husband.”
With nothing he could possibly say, he laid his face on the top of her head.
Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him. “If you were grand prince, could you change things? Could you protect the people in a province like this one?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I would try.”
Her mouth was inches from his, and the pain in her eyes cut through him. Unable to stop himself, he touched his mouth to hers, and to his absolute wonder, she kissed him back and moved her hand up to the side of his neck, brushing it with her fingertips.
It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. He opened his mouth and kissed her more deeply. She responded, but the pressure of her mouth was soft and gentle, eager and unsure at the same time. His whole body felt alive, and he moved his right hand inside her cloak, feeling her small rib cage. She pressed in closer to him, and he’d never wanted anything in his life more than this.
<
br /> Then bells of warning rang in his head.
She had been in a sorrow-filled and vulnerable moment. . . .
He was taking advantage. . . .
He could not marry her. . . .
Damek and Captain Kochè were right outside.
With a strangled cry, he jerked himself away and stood up.
“Anton?” she asked in confusion.
“We can’t . . . Céline, we can’t. Not like this.”
She stared at him, beyond hurt. He knew he could never erase what he’d just done, but there was more here at stake, and he dropped to his knees. “I need you to be my seer tonight,” he begged. “I need you to come back to yourself. Please, Céline.”
She blinked. “Is that why you . . . ?” She stood up.
He’d said everything wrong. He had not kissed her or been kind to her so that she would recover herself and be useful to him.
“Of course, my lord,” she said stiffly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Anton!” Damek called from the front of the stable. “What are you doing? Have you found anything?”
“No. We’re coming,” he called back.
Céline wouldn’t look at him. “Which stable next?” She sounded so cold, but maybe that was best. At least he couldn’t hurt her if she wouldn’t let him get close.
“The one on the east side. The innkeeper said it was the largest.”
She walked away, heading for the front of the stable.
* * *
After trying several inns with no success, Amelie and Heath spotted a two-story tavern with what looked to be separate rooms on the upper floor—or at least from what they could guess by peering up through the windows.
The bottom floor was well lit, and voices came from inside.
Amelie shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
She had opted to walk and lead her horse, as she couldn’t bear the thought of climbing into the saddle again. So Heath walked beside her, leading his mount as well. They both passed their reins up to a Väränj guard.
“Wait out here,” Heath told the men.
He and Amelie headed for the front door of the tavern.
Inside, it was less populated than she’d expected. There were only four patrons inside, all at the same table, but they were laughing loudly and appeared nearly drunk. A spindly man with an equally spindly beard stood behind the bar.
Heath walked up to the bartender. “Good evening. Do you rent the rooms above-stairs?”
The man glanced at Amelie, back to Heath, and smiled. “I do, sir. Clean rooms, and I’ll give you a fair price.”
“Do you have any guests already tonight?”
The man’s smile faded. “Why do you ask?”
Something about this caught Amelie’s attention, and she watched the bartender as Heath repeated his story about the miscommunication with his sister. When he described Rochelle and Maddox, the man’s expression flickered.
He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t help. I don’t have any guests and haven’t seen ladies with red-gold hair. I’d remember if I did.”
This time, Heath smiled. “One moment, please.”
He motioned Amelie to remain where she was, and he walked over to the door, cracking it and peering out. “Lieutenant?” he called, and held up two fingers.
As he came back to the bar, two Väränj guards in red tabards walked in and the table of drunkards fell silent. The bartender began backing away, and like lightning, Heath grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand down on the bar.
The action caught Amelie by surprise. Heath didn’t look strong enough to pin another man like that.
With his free hand, Heath pointed to a dagger on the belt of a Väränj guard. The guard drew it, and Heath turned back to the now terrified bartender.
“I am here in the company of Prince Damek,” Heath explained calmly.
“Prince Damek . . . ?”
“So you will understand that I have leave to do anything I wish,” Heath went on as if he’d not been interrupted. “If you have the two people I am seeking upstairs in your establishment, or if you know where they are, you’d better tell me now. If you don’t”—he pointed to the guard with the dagger—“I’ll have him begin cutting off your fingers, one by one, starting with the thumb on this hand.”
The man’s eyes went wide, and Amelie fought back a gasp. At the moment, Heath sounded just like Damek.
“Not here,” the bartender babbled. “They’re in the stable . . . a few blocks east. I own part of it, and I put ’em in a room in the back. But that soldier paid me well to keep quiet, and I’m no welcher. You understand . . . I didn’t know Prince Damek was lookin’ for him and the lady.”
Heath smiled again and let the man go. “Of course I understand, and I thank you for your trouble.” He turned on his heel and walked to the door.
With little choice, Amelie followed him and the Väränj guards back outside. Before reaching the horses, she caught his arm. “Heath, you wouldn’t really have cut that man’s fingers off?”
He stopped. “Cut his . . . good gods, no. I thought you knew I was bluffing. I’ve no idea what I’d have done if he hadn’t begun talking.”
Taking this in, Amelie couldn’t help laughing once. He was certainly unpredictable.
But then she grew serious. They had found Rochelle and Maddox, and she feared he’d not be so inhibited when it came to dealing with Maddox.
She was ready for anything.
“Let’s find that stable,” she said.
* * *
Riding in front of Damek and the Kimovesk guards, Céline and Anton located the stable on the east side of town with fair ease. Anton put a hand up and halted the small contingent about a block away.
The stable was huge, built of solid oak with glass in the high-set windows.
Céline was both on edge and miserable at the same time. She knew she had to be at her best here, gauging a rapidly changing situation and being at the ready to protect Rochelle, or possibly Maddox, depending on how all this played out. And yet, for once, her mind was not on the crisis. She’d been wallowing in self-pity on the ride here, mourning afresh for her lost father, and feeling angry at the lack of justice that had prevailed for so long in this province. Then . . . Anton had shown amazing kindness, followed it up by kissing her, and she’d let herself become lost in him, in the warmth and pleasure of his touch. She’d been startled and hurt when he pulled away.
Moments later, no matter how shattered she’d felt inside about so many things, she understood why he’d pulled away. Now she wished she could talk to him. She knew him well enough to know he’d be racked with guilt. In truth, it still hurt when she thought about him drawing away from her, but here, in enemy territory, they both needed to keep their wits about them. Getting lost in each other was a pitfall that could not be risked.
Even from a block away, Anton’s eyes moved up and down the large, well-maintained stable. The wide front doors were open.
“This town,” he said slowly, “appears rather prosperous.”
“You mean for a town under my control?” Damek returned. Anton said nothing, and then Damek confessed, “The mayor is a good friend of Father’s, a friend of old, and I’ve thought it wise to take a light hand here for now.”
Anton dismounted. “The front doors are open, so there is most likely someone on watch inside. I’ll check for the horses.”
Without waiting to be asked, Céline climbed down off Sable. Damek and Captain Kochè watched her join Anton.
“Try to be a little quicker this time,” Damek said dryly.
Anton started toward the stable and Céline followed. They didn’t speak as they walked, and Céline resigned herself that any further words—about themselves or each other—would have to wait.
A single hanging lantern just inside the w
ide stable doors provided some light. Various tack and harnesses hung on the walls, and two wagons were parked here up front. Céline followed Anton past two empty stalls, and then he paused in front of a third stall. Its door was open, and Céline peered in to see a youth of about sixteen years sleeping on a matt on the stall floor. He didn’t even stir. If his job was to guard the horses from thieves, he wasn’t much use.
Anton put his finger to his lips and then motioned Céline forward.
They walked quietly on, looking over stall doors, but they found no roan stallion or white mare in the front section of the stable. They reached a stout support wall with a doorway and passed through into the back half of the building. Here the only illumination was moonlight coming through the upper windows—along with any residual light from the lantern glowing through the door behind them.
Four stalls down, Céline peered over the top of the door to see a fine white mare with slender legs and a silky mane. “Anton.”
He looked in and then went to the next stall. “A big roan.”
For the next moment, they both stood there. They’d found the horses. That meant Heath’s speculations had been correct all along. Maddox and Rochelle were nearby . . . somewhere.
Movement sounded from the front of the stable and a young male voice called out, “Hallo? Is anyone there?”
Anton frowned. Down at the end of the row of stalls was a closed door. “Out the back,” he mouthed silently.
She followed him down the remaining stalls, but when he reached the door and tried to turn the latch, the door didn’t budge.
“It’s locked,” he whispered. “And I’d rather not alert anyone to our presence here yet.” Turning back, he put his shoulder to the door and was about to try to force it when it jerked open in his hand from the other side.
Captain Maddox stood there, his face awash in shock, holding a sword with the blade pointed toward the ceiling. He struck out, catching Anton in the face with the fist gripping the hilt. Céline couldn’t help gasping and rushing back out of the way. Somehow Anton hit the floor, rolled up almost directly beside her, and drew his own sword in the same motion. His mouth was bleeding.