Arranged: An Array Novel (Book #1)

by Hazel Grace

  I slapped him. Hard. My body reacted without warning, and his initial look was shock boiled into fury. He grabbed my face with his hand, pressing his meaty thumbs into my flesh.

  “I’m going to have to teach yer prissy little ass some manners,” he hissed.

  “Put her down,” Garrett’s voice demanded. Relief flooded me when I heard his voice. I didn’t need to turn around to see him. I felt hope. I narrowed my eyes at Pierce.

  “Don’t ye try to headbutt me, lass. I’ll—” Cocking my arm back, I swung, my fist connecting with his cheek. He bellowed, rage filling his eyes. He mimicked my prior actions, swinging his head forward. Pain pulsated through me, and he dropped me mercilessly to my feet. Before I collapsed, he grabbed my arm.

  “Fer that, I’ll keep ye with me as my personal whore for the rest of yer life,” he growled in my face before shoving me to the ground. My sight went blurry, as I was greeted by a vigorous kick to my ribs. My breath left my body in a grunt, and I rolled over once to get away from him. “Lord Cranfield,” I heard Pierce say. “At last, we meet.”

  Sitting up while holding my side, my eyes met Garrett. His face was filled with indignation while he glared at Pierce. “Step the fuck away from her.”

  The thug scoffed. “I don’t take orders from bastards, bastard.”

  “Touch her again, Pierce, and I’ll cut off more than you signed up for,” Garrett growled. He looked like an animal; his breathing heavy and his stare pierced through him.

  Pierce chuckled again. “Being a little confident, are ye?”

  Garrett nodded at his brother. “Knock him out?”

  “What makes ye think I only knocked him out?”

  “Because you aren’t really a great swordsman.”

  Pierce didn’t seem affected by the comment. Garrett looked over at me, his face softening. “Are you all right, darling?” I nodded, as I got to my feet.

  “Darling?” Pierce repeated with furrowed brows. “Did I fight the wrong brother?”

  “Any brother is the wrong brother,” Garrett snarled. “Not that I think you’ll tell me, but who do you work for?”

  Pierce shrugged. “Get paid too much to open me mouth.” I felt Pierce’s eyes on me as I walked cautiously over to Garrett. Looking around for the first time, I noticed that his men were either dead or held prisoner. Pierce didn’t look a bit scared. “These men aren’t scared to die.”

  “Oh, they won’t die,” Garrett countered. “They will be interrogated and when they don’t answer, they will be tortured. Then, if they still don’t answer, I’ll let their bones heal and torture them again.”

  “These men have been tortured before,” Pierce added.

  “Who hired you?”

  “Think about it, lad. My men and I cost a pretty penny. Must be someone wit money.”

  “A king?”

  Piece shook his head. “Fer ye to figure out.”

  “Maybe I’ll just string you up for everyone to see. Make a complete fool out of you.”

  Pierce grunted. “And maybe I’ll kill the prince and have me fill with the lass”—he lowered his voice—“until she screams to be killed. I like her spirit; might get her pregnant, so I can continue my legacy.”

  Garrett turned toward me and placed his hand on my stomach, guiding me back. “C’mon, Avie,” he said. “I need you to stay back.” His face softened slightly, and I was entranced by the man standing in front of me. “Dry your tears, sweetheart. Everything’s all right.” He brushed one of my cheeks with his thumb. “Pierce would have already taken off with you if he was dead. If you study him closely, you can see him breathing.”

  I moved my body to look around him but was cut off. “Now”—he put pressure on my arm—“when I start going at this man, I need you to continue to stay out of the way.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will,” Garrett asserted, pulling me up from the ground.

  “Hurry up!” Pierce shouted. “I want this over.” Garrett reached for my hand and squeezed it before walking away. No fear reflected in his eyes, and that fascinated me more than anything.

  I watched his back straighten and, lifting his sword, Garrett swung down.

  Garrett

  Chapter 8

  The clashing of metal on metal rattled my bones. The vibrations rippled up my arm, making my teeth clench. Every strike tested my body’s endurance. Pierce met me at every turn, blocking and twisting, to try and get a clear thrust straight into my body.

  I stayed focused, biding my time, and waited for him to make a mistake. Pierce swung at my head, and I barely dodged it. I didn’t want Ava to see this; to witness a man die, because one of us would.

  Pierce’s sword skimmed across my skin, swiveling off my sword to hit my bicep. Blood seeped profusely from my right arm and the son of a bitch grinned, hollering at Hanson for another sword.

  Fucking cheater.

  “We are gonna finish this quickly, eh?” Piece taunted. A sword flew in his direction, and he swung both around in the air. “Any last words?”

  I stood silent, keeping my focus off the pain. Pierce whirled both swords at me, aiming for my right arm again. Switching hands, I paid special attention to his left hand, hoping to spring the sword free. Pierce noticed my gaze and charged.

  Dodging him, I watched Pierce stumble forward when I tripped him. A mouthful of curses cracked through the air and I lunged, slicing his back and ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Pierce howled in pain and flung one of his swords at me, his back still toward me. I easily evaded it and stepped closer to my victim.

  As I raised my sword, Pierce quickly turned, blocking my blow. Being a larger man, he shoved me back, knocking off my footing. Taking full advantage, Pierce elbowed my chest and brought his arm up to crack me in the jaw. Pushing off me, he kicked me in the stomach, driving me to the ground.

  “You sure you don’t want those last words, son?” he goaded.

  “Fuck off,” I croaked. Pierce shrugged and pivoted his sword down. I rolled onto my injured arm as another blow came from Pierce. I kicked at whatever body part I could land and struck his knee.

  “Damn it!” he bellowed, his face red from exertion. Wincing, I pushed myself up with my bad arm, blood running into the grass and pain exploding in my head. The air fled my lungs as Pierce's foot slammed into my chest. He raised his sword again and froze. Another blade exposed itself through his chest and quickly disappeared. Pierce’s eyes widened as he coughed up blood onto my face. Falling to his knees, his hands clutched his chest. He gasped for air and collapsed to the ground.

  A bruised and bloody George stood behind him.

  ∞∞∞

  The night was alive with the whispers of crickets and the eerie call of an owl. I watched Ava sitting near our small fire, aglow in the orange light. She was wrapped in a blanket for extra warmth, the day’s emotions painted on her face.

  She’d made George lie down for the night. He looked like shit; black eye, bruises everywhere, and a nice slice on his side. Once George killed Pierce, Ava had ordered my men around like they were hers. She made them fetch water, had another make a fire, and the rest take their prisoners away, tied “extremely tightly,” she had said. That had made me smile. None of them complained; they did as she asked.

  Afterward, Ava asked one of the men to bring something for George to eat and a decanter of brandy. Kneeling on the hard ground in front of me, Ava began to tend to me. Her soft fingers had ripped at my shirt sleeve, so she could evaluate my bicep. I didn’t know if she could tend wounds, but I didn’t care. I just watched as she took the brandy and tore a piece off her dress to tie around my arm. She asked me questions, but I was focused on her, not her words. The way her auburn hair cascaded off her shoulders, her eyes narrowing and concentrating at dabbing her brandy-soaked dress on my wound.

  Now, four of the Elite Eight were huddled around the fire with her, passing worried looks amongst each other. I noticed that she hadn’t eaten much at supper, but I
wasn’t going to push it. I sat next to her on the stump of a fallen tree while she glanced at me. Looking back at the men, Ava nodded, and they departed from the fire.

  “Are you the leader of my men now?” I asked with a raised brow.

  Ava played with her fingers. “I wanted to speak with you.”

  “Oh?” I replied, picking at a small branch. “Is it that bad?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Her lips thinned in a straight line. “No need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “My men seem to think otherwise,” I retorted softly as I glanced at her. The firelight shone softly on her face, showing off her small chin and high cheekbones.

  “You mean, your little spies?” she retorted, the corner of her mouth coming up.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Who said that?”

  “Those men.” She nodded in the direction they had gone. “You’ve ordered them to look after my father and I for the last three years. I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I can never repay—”

  “George told you,” I accused, in a harsher tone than intended.

  She nodded again, not affected. “Yes.”

  I looked at her. “Does he tell you everything?”

  She let out a weak laugh. “Obviously not. I didn’t know he had so many attempts on his life until recently. I’m sure there is more I don’t know.”

  She looked at me then, the fire reflecting in her eyes. “I am forever in your debt. I don’t know if I should be honored for eight men, or insulted that you thought I was so much to handle.”

  “I’m starting to think I didn’t need any,” I put in. “I don’t know of any woman who would headbutt someone.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Why did you do it?”

  “I didn’t want my good deed of bringing you back to good health to go to waste.”

  “I didn’t ask you to stay that long,” she countered. True, she hadn’t; I’d wanted to. I had no reason to stay that long, I could have had one of my men report back to me.

  I shrugged. “My father wasn’t going to do it. So, I decided to use mine.”

  “So you trained eight men to protect me.”

  I looked at her, wide-eyed. “How much did my big-mouthed brother tell you?”

  Ava smirked and glanced at me. “Enough.” She stood up and brushed her dress off. “Good night, Garr. Sweet reveries.”

  She walked away in the darkness, her hips swaying with the sweetness of her voice echoing in my head.

  Ava

  Chapter 9

  I marveled at the spotless marble floors, stepping on them with my dirty shoes. Nothing looked different at the palace. It was as though I had stepped back in time. Tall ceilings were painted to look like a stained glass window and were supported by wooden beams. The walls were decorated with paintings of men and women with crowns, remembering kings and queens of the past.

  I followed George as he bellowed out orders to have me shown to my room. His attitude had been dark and dismal since the attack. George wasn’t one for coddling, so I’d given him his distance, but I worried.

  “George.” I paused, touching his forearm. “Are you okay?”

  George grumbled. “I told you to stop asking me. I’m fine.”

  “It’s just that you’ve been very distant, and I—”

  “Just tired,” he cut in, then issued more orders to the servants.

  “Don’t worry,” Garrett whispered in my ear. His breath tickled my skin, sending chills down my arms.

  "Why, if you aren't still the most beautiful creature in the world." A deep voice echoed through the hall. A large man wearing a crown approached, dressed in deep red.

  King Edward Brandon of Telliva.

  He had gained weight since my last remembrance of him, his hair and beard now gray. He strode toward us, two guards following behind him.

  “Welcome back, my dear,” he greeted with a smile lining his face. He stopped before us and looked at his sons. “What in Femme Fatale’s name happened to the both of you?”

  “We were attacked yesterday,” George snuffed.

  Edward’s wrinkled eyes narrowed, landing on Garrett. “Who?”

  “Pierce.”

  “The pirate who rape—who assaults women and kills for fun?” he snapped. Garrett nodded, and Edward inhaled deeply. “Where is he?”

  “Dead,” George replied. “I ran him through.”

  “We’ll talk about this later tonight,” Edward advised, and looked back at me. “How is your father, Ava?”

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” I replied flatly.

  “I hear you are heading that trading business of his. I must say, I’m not surprised. You’ve always had spunk.” He looked at George purposely. “Always was a clever girl.” He gestured down the hall. “Go, get comfortable in your room. You’ve had more than an exciting trip. We’ll have a small dinner tonight to welcome you back.”

  Before I could tell him I’d rather not, a bustle ricocheted in the corridor.

  A lavishly dressed woman swept toward us in a rush of ruby skirts, adorned in jewels. Lady’s maids followed, as well as six guards, and I knew instantly it was Queen Cecilia. She wore red, to match her King, and her dark blonde hair was pinned in curls. Cecilia had aged extravagantly, which was no surprise; she was always over the top in everything she did.

  "My dear!" she exclaimed. I flinched at the loudness of her voice, laced with forged sincerity. I forced a smile and curtsied. Cecilia held me and kissed my cheek. "Did you have a satisfying journey?"

  “They were attacked on their way home, my darling,” Edward reported.

  Cecilia’s eyes widened. “You are still pure, are you not, my dear?”

  My mouth dropped as I clenched my fists to my side.

  Of all the—

  “She is fine, Mother. Everyone is fine,” George reassured her.

  Cecilia gasped when she looked at him. “Oh, my sweetheart! Your eye!” She reached to touch his face, but George batted her hand away.

  “I’m all right, it’s just a black eye. Ava gave me at least two of them, and I lived through those,” George retorted.

  “Yes, well”—Cecilia straightened her skirts—“as long as our Ava was untouched, we won’t need to worry.”

  “We took diligent care of her,” George assured her in an irritated tone.

  “We are going to arrange a small dinner tonight,” Edward said, clearing his throat.

  “That is a splendid idea,” Cecilia chimed, grabbing her husband’s arm. “I’ll invite a few friends and—”

  “No need,” George held up his hand. “This is just a small affair. We’ve all been through enough this week. Don’t want to have to speak to a million people.”

  Edward nodded. “Whatever you want, George.”

  “I understand you’ll be staying with us for some time then?” Cecilia pried.

  “I will be,” I replied. “Until this situation is taken care of.” I looked into her eyes. “Then I will go back home. I have things to do when I return.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “Such as?”

  “My father’s business, for starters,” I began. “And I have children from the orphanage that I am taking care of.”

  “We’ll see you at dinner.” George ended the conversation and yanked me around his parents.

  Cecilia frowned, her eyes following us. Turning to look at Garrett, I held a hand up to say goodbye.

  ∞∞∞

  Stretching lazily, I woke up from my nap. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I studied my surroundings. Across the room, on the closet door, hung a maroon-colored gown I didn’t recognize. Hopping out of bed, I found a note pinned to it.

  Because all your dresses were ruined, and I owe you one from years ago. I hope you like it.

  Garr

  A little thrill flicked down my spine. The dress was beautifully made. Roses laced in gold adorned the bodice and plain maroon silk flowed from the waist. I too
k the dress off the door and glanced around for a mirror. Finding one at the vanity, I walked over, placing the dress against my body.

  I cringed as I stared at my reflection.

  My hair was tangled from the bath I took earlier, and a purple bruise plagued my cheek from Pierce’s blow. I looked as though a carriage had run over me and then came back around again to do it again.

  Laying the dress over the bed, I sat down in front of the vanity. Raking my fingers through my hair, I pulled it up, then to the side, thinking about how I should wear it. Opening one of the drawers, I found a brush and various blushes and eye pencils and pulled them all out. I needed all the help I could get right now.

  A knock sounded at the door as I rubbed my hand over my colored battle wound.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door clicked open as I watched a blonde and brunette female peek around the door.

  “My Lady,” the blonde greeted, opening the door wider to curtsy. “It is lovely to meet you. I’m Lucy.” She motioned to her companion. “This is Miranda. We are your ladies.”

  I nodded. “Nice to meet you both. But I don’t need any—”

  “We must get those locks under control,” she said bleakly, examining me with sandy brown eyes. I narrowed my eyes at her.

  Nice way to get right to it.

  “Oh no, my Lady,” Miranda chimed, playing with the ends of her hair. “You are beautiful.”

  “May I brush your hair, my Lady?” Lucy already held a brush.

  I blew out a breath. “I guess I can use all the help you both can give.”

  The girls pinned my hair up in a loose bun, strands dangling from it. Miranda placed a white carnation in my hair for “an added look” and applied powder to my face. It felt nice to be pampered for a few moments, since I didn’t have a personal maid at home.