The Duchess Quest (Jordinia Book 1)

by C. K. Brooke

  The violet-haired woman clenched her teeth. “I cannot believe I have to do this.”

  Cosmith tossed back his head impatiently. “Get on, then,” he groaned.

  Clearly begrudgingly, Selu climbed atop Folly Silver and took her place behind Cosmith. She kept her arms taut at her sides, scooting as far back as possible.

  “Not that I’d mind should you fall off,” drawled Cosmith, holding the reins, “but if you don’t hold my waist, you surely shall.”

  With an enormous roll of her violet eyes, Selu resentfully hugged him from behind, and Cosmith heeled the horse into action.

  Macmillan was taken aback at Dainy’s infuriated face as she watched them, her eyes narrowed at Selu’s back.

  Spitfire whinnied to see the other horses moving, and pedaled his hooves impatiently at the dirt. Macmillan did as he’d watched the others do, and grabbed hold of the reins, swung his leg over the horse’s side, and pulled himself onto its back behind her.

  He leaned over, gripping Dainy by the waist as she held out her arms to him. In one powerful movement, he hoisted her up and plopped her rather unceremoniously before him.

  To his great relief, his sloppy handling did not seem to upset her. Rather, she laughed, grabbing hold of the reins, and asked with some excitement, “May I?”

  “Be my guest.” He dared to slip his arms around her. She was warm, her tunic soft, and she still somehow smelled faintly of the beach, like coconut and sunshine, although it could’ve just been his imagination.

  Dainy stiffened slightly at his touch, and jiggled Spitfire’s reins. Macmillan felt her legs tighten against his as she brought her heels to Spitfire’s sides. The horse pranced in response, tossing its mane splendidly, clearly eager to take to the road.

  “Bit of a spry thing, isn’t he?” Macmillan chuckled.

  Dainy smiled. “Jon,” she called out. They caught up with Cosmith and Selu, their horses matching speed. “Spitfire is proud and august. Reminds me a bit of you,” she teased.

  Cosmith gave her an appreciative grin. “Well, I’m pleased you managed to think of me your first time mounting a stallion.”

  Dainy stared at him.

  Macmillan groaned. “For the love of…”

  “You are foul, Jon Cosmith,” the duchess decided, lifting her chin.

  Cosmith roared with laughter as they passed him.

  “Nice work, Dainy,” Macmillan told her.

  “Thanks!” She beamed. “Bos is right; it’s fairly easy to ride.”

  Macmillan frowned, securing his grip around her as the horse fell into a canter. He’d been referring to her spurning Cosmith, not to her riding.

  DAINY HAD NEVER KNOWN THE meaning of jealousy until she’d watched the other woman climb atop the horse behind Jon and wrap her long arms around his waist. The sight made her dizzy in the worst of ways.

  Mac rode with her, resting his head tiredly against her shoulder, his arms around her waist. Though she liked him well enough, as he somehow felt like an old friend, his touch felt merely companionable. It didn’t send chills up her spine the way Jon’s did.

  Evening approached, and all were becoming hungry and sore when Jon rode to the lead. “As long as we have horses,” he told the group at large, “we should spend the night at an inn with stables. I don’t want the creatures stolen.”

  They rode into the city in search of lodging. It was past dark when they settled on a building with a clean stable in back. It was next door to a rather noisy tavern.

  Mac dismounted Spitfire first, and emitted a hiss of breath as he rubbed his legs. He then reached up to help Dainy down. She moved her legs over the stallion’s dark neck and slid down its side. She was shocked at how badly her thighs ached. Never would she have suspected that riding could make one’s legs nearly as sore as walking did. She also noticed her backside was numb.

  The stable boys led the horses away, and the party entered the inn. Jon paid for two rooms, one for the women and one for the men. Afterward, the innkeeper served them dinner. Once everyone had been served a platter, Dainy popped a forkful of vegetables into her mouth, barely tasting them. She was exhausted.

  Jon devoured a leg of chicken, gristle and all, before downing two mugs of ale, one after the other, without pause. With the back of his forearm, he wiped his mouth and stifled a belch.

  “Cor, Cosmith.” Mac raised an eyebrow. “Did your mother never teach you table manners?”

  Jon shrugged, shoveling a heap of beans into his spoon. “My mother abandoned me when I was a boy. She didn’t stick around long enough to teach me much of anything, I s’pose.”

  Dainy looked up in surprise. She watched Jon, the shadow of a beard on his masculine face, and her heart softened. She’d lost her own mother, too, but barely remembered the tragedy. She couldn’t imagine Paxi or Priya voluntarily abandoning her.

  Mac looked down, saying nothing in apology.

  “I think more ale is in order.” Bos banged his fist on the table for the staff’s attention.

  Selu rose to her feet. “Well, you fellows can drink to your hearts’ content, but I, for one, am tired.”

  Dainy couldn’t help it; she yawned.

  “You two go on,” said Bos.

  “Please do not drink too much,” warned Dainy, standing and pushing in her chair. “We’ve another long day ahead tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  She and Selu climbed the dark stairwell together. When they reached the top, Selu opened the rickety door to their room and removed a lantern from the wall, holding it aloft as they peered inside.

  Before them, sitting high above the ground, was not a straw mat, but a real bed. Dainy was not sure if she’d ever seen one before. The thick, feather-stuffed mattress rested invitingly atop high wooden crates, and freshly-laundered linens were topped with plump pillows.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever slept on a mattress like this before,” she confessed.

  “I cannot recall the last time I slept on one, either,” replied Selu.

  Dainy almost smiled at her, but recalled the way the woman had spent the day with her arms around Jon, and found herself grimacing instead.

  “May we speak?” asked Selu tentatively.

  Bemused, Dainy sat with her on the edge of the bed.

  “Look, I can tell you don’t trust me. And today, I could plainly see….” Her voice faded, and Dainy’s heart pounced. What could she see?

  Selu moistened her lips. “You can trust me. And I’m sorry,” she added, “for the conditions under which we held our first meeting.”

  Dainy sniffed. If one could call being held at knife-point a meeting….

  “I lost my father in the Revolution,” Selu informed her. “He was a member of the Emperor’s Guard, slain in battle.”

  So, this woman’s father had given his life for hers. Dainy felt a twinge of guilt.

  “After he died, my mother and I were destitute. When the rebels won, Mother and I were imprisoned for our royal ties.” She swallowed. “The rebels starved us, shaved our heads, and…did horrible things to us.”

  Dainy’s stomach dropped.

  “Comrade Hoste, Jordinia’s current leader, released some of the political prisoners when he was elected, and my mother and I were free, if you could call it that. For, by society, we were shunned. Everyone knew my father had served the emperor, so no one wanted to associate with us. We couldn’t find work. We were untouchable.”

  It was not difficult for Dainy to piece together the rest of the story. That was why Selu had taken to a life of thieving. She’d had no other choice. Already, Dainy’s throat was tightening.

  “Finally,” continued Selu, “when I was your age, I married.”

  Dainy lifted her head. “You are—?”

  “He’s dead,” said Selu.

  “Oh.” Dainy looked down.

  “When your
parents reigned, they upheld laws to protect widows. Any widow received a stipend upon her husband’s death. But the Republic,” Selu annunciated the word bitterly, “altered this provision, so that a woman need have been married at least a full year in order to be eligible for a widow’s stipend.”

  “But that’s unfair,” frowned Dainy.

  “Brutally unfair,” agreed Selu. “So when my husband contracted the gray fever and died ten months after our wedding day, I was left, again, with nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dainy whispered.

  Selu shrugged. “There I was, homeless once more. My mother’s still out there on the streets of Jordinia, looking for work, hungry and cold.”

  Dainy’s heart tore. Selu had been wronged by the New Republic, as had Dainy. The woman had suffered. It wasn’t her fault for the means to which she’d been forced to resort.

  “When I saw your uncle’s bulletin,” the woman continued, “the idea of fifty pounds of gold for my mother and me…well, you can imagine why I disguised myself as a man and joined the search party.”

  Dainy gasped. “You did?”

  “Of course.” Selu laughed. “Did Cosmith not tell you?”

  Dainy stiffened. She didn’t like hearing mention of the woman’s history, whatever it was, with Jon.

  “Ah, but of course. Jon Cosmith. The other reason you don’t like me.”

  Dainy felt her face burn.

  “I’ve never been interested in him, nor would I ever be. So you can relax, and stop shooting me daggers with those minty eyes of yours next time I’m forced to ride with him.” She smiled knowingly, making Dainy feel nothing short of mortified.

  It was one thing to hold private feelings, but it was quite another to have them detected by someone else. Had Dainy’s eyes truly exhibited her feelings so plainly? Had everyone else seen through her too? Was it evident to Jon?

  Had she even admitted it to herself?

  “Forgive me,” Dainy whispered.

  Selu waved her off. “It’s an honor to know you, Eludaine. My father must be smiling down upon me from the Evermore.”

  “Our fathers must be friends up there.” She took Selu’s hands in hers. “As are we.”

  THEY COULDN’T ELIMINATE THE STENCH of horse from their clothing, but there was no time to waste laundering them. So the five bathed in their rooms at dawn with sponges and buckets of cold water, before donning the same apparel and departing for the stables. Once the stable boys had fetched their horses, Bos mounted Storm and Selu took Folly Silver by the reins. Cosmith was about to meet her when, unexpectedly, she tapped Macmillan on the shoulder.

  “I cannot ride with Cosmith another day,” said the woman loudly. “I prefer to ride with a gentleman.”

  Macmillan looked mildly uncomfortable. “But, Dainy—?”

  “She’ll be fine with Cosmith,” Selu dismissed him. “She doesn’t loathe the man half as much as I do.”

  Cosmith raised an eyebrow. He was unsure what Selu’s game was that day, but he didn’t necessarily mind where it was going.

  “Seluna.” Bos frowned at her from atop his steed. “I don’t trust Cosmith with the duchess.”

  “Oh, please,” snapped Cosmith. “After all this time?”

  “Do you think I’d let anything happen to Eludaine?” Selu defended. “If Cosmith tries anything, I’ll corral their horse faster than a heartbeat.”

  Bos sighed. “I’ll trust your judgment, then. Please do not disappoint me.”

  The woman gave a reassuring smile, then grabbed a reluctant Macmillan and pulled him with her onto Folly Silver.

  Dainy came forward, leading Spitfire. She seemed to be concealing a smile, and Cosmith was surprised to greet an unnamable, unfamiliar sensation in his gut at the sight of her. “What was that all about?” he inquired under his voice.

  The girl grinned openly, although she looked shyly at the grass. “I asked her to do that.”

  Cosmith laughed. Dainy, too, giggled intimately as they inched closer. The ground felt unsteady beneath his boots, a most peculiar sensation, and his heart trembled strangely as he took in the smooth creaminess of her skin, the elegant curve of her throat….

  Too soon, she slipped away, using a stool to mount Spitfire. Cosmith ascended behind her.

  “You’re steering, then?” he asked as she took up the reins. He wasted no time pressing up against her and squeezing her middle with playful tightness.

  “Not if I can’t breathe,” Dainy laughed, prying at his hands, but he only held her closer. Oh, to feel her up against him was elation beyond even his reckoning.

  Shifting his weight against her, Cosmith realized that he hadn’t been with a woman in some time. Not since meeting Dainy. Not only that, but he’d not so much as contemplated another since the night they’d shared on the beach.

  “Jon.” Dainy sniggered. “I’m serious. That’s too tight.”

  He finally loosened his grip, but only slightly. “I don’t wish to fall, Dainy,” he murmured in her ear. To bring his face so close to hers suddenly made him feel as though he were comprised of a million flittering creatures.

  “You won’t fall,” the duchess promised him, leaning back against his chest. She flicked the reins and kicked her satiny heels into Spitfire’s sides. The horse began to trot, but Cosmith felt as though it were soaring.

  Oh, but he shall fall, the man realized, brushing his thumb against her waist as he held her.

  He already had.

  EXHILARATING WAS DAINY’S WORD OF choice to describe her day with Jon. Her heart flew skyward outside of her body as his arms remained secured around her. She couldn’t even eat when they stopped for lunch, wishing only to return to the intimacy of his company.

  Midday, they switched seats, Dainy behind him, and she hugged his waist as tightly as he’d held hers. But Jon did not once complain of her snug grip, nor ask her to loosen it.

  They shared stories and laughter, and Dainy’s spirit flew like a gull. She didn’t even notice the surrounding landscape as they rode. Was this the way Priya had felt for Pascale? No wonder her aunt had been so giddy. Dainy noticed the usual ache of sorrow at the thought of them was more muted now. Somehow, everyone from Beili had begun to seem as far away as the moon. Jon had launched her into the heavens, and she now rode among the stars.

  She couldn’t believe the day was already over by the time they went into the next city for lodging. They found a crowded inn with a few rooms to spare, and Dainy felt surprisingly energized when she took Jon’s hand and went into the noisy dining hall.

  Two strummers, a fiddler, and a percussionist performed lively music. The room was so loud and full of smoke and the aromas of foreign food, Dainy had to squint past it all to make out where they were going.

  After wading through the masses, they found a patch of table with just enough space on the benches for the five of them to squeeze onto. Those sitting on the other end were engaged in a game of dice, and paid them no mind.

  Everyone else ate, even Jon, but Dainy could scarcely touch her food. Her heart lollopped every time she looked at the man, and she could think of nothing else outside of his warm grip at her stomach and smell of his skin and hair.

  Dainy’s companions began to imbibe quite a bit. And no wonder, for wine was continually being served to them, their goblets refilled by the staff again and again. Shrugging, she helped herself to an extra glass more than usual, until she felt even warmer and tinglier, and perhaps a bit sleepy.

  As the evening wore on, Mac had clearly drunk the most, his freckled face glowing and a somewhat impish smile on his lips. Dainy laughed as he danced with himself in the aisle between their table and another. Mac wasn’t the only one doing it, but still, he looked silly.

  Breathless, he tugged at her sleeve. “Come,” he shouted over the din. “We must sing!”

  “Sing?” Dainy repea
ted, cupping a hand over her ear.

  Before she could protest, Mac pulled her to her feet and wove her through the congested hall, leading her up to the musicians. The room applauded as the band finished their number, and Dainy glanced around, unnerved.

  “S’cuse me!” Mac bellowed to one of the strummers. He nudged Dainy by the small of her back, and she gave a reluctant hop forward. “But this girl has the finest voice in West Halvea, and she wants to sing with you!”

  A wave of horror washed over Dainy. What the dickens was Mac doing? She couldn’t sing there, then, in front of all those people!

  The lead strummer fixed his twinkling eyes upon her. “And what shall we play for you, dear?”

  “Erm….” Dainy looked to Mac, her heart flapping. Her mind went blank with nerves, and she wished he had not pushed her into this.

  “She will accompany me in The Lover’s Ditty,” Mac decided. The musicians nodded and adjusted their instruments.

  “But I don’t know this song,” Dainy protested, eyes wide. She felt like crying. “How am I to sing it before all these people?”

  Mac laughed. “It’s easy. Repeat what I sing, exactly as I sing it. You’ll do fine,” he assured her. And suddenly, he jumped onto a stool, and climbed up to stand on the bar. “Come on!” He pulled her up with him.

  Though Dainy could scarcely believe what she was doing, she climbed onto the bar with him. The patrons stared up at her, their half-drunk mugs and goblets at her feet.

  A low bass note rang out, reverberating around them, and a hush rippled through the hall. Heads turned in their direction. The musicians began to strum a peppy tune, and soon the percussionist kicked in, batting his tambour and jangling his bells in an upbeat rhythm.

  Mac tapped his feet and took Dainy’s hands. He began to sway her, and she found herself relaxing with the movement. She tried not to think about the people watching her, and hoped she’d be able to repeat Mac’s lyrics with accuracy.

  With a nod at the lead strummer, Mac began to sing in a clear, powerful call that silenced his listeners. “Love, it so tears me asunder when I am apart from thee.” He nodded encouragingly for Dainy to repeat him in the next measure.