The Lady's Choice

by Bernadette Rowley

  Benae could not believe her ears and Ramón looked to be having as much difficulty.

  ‘Ramón Zorba,’ King Beniel said, his voice ringing around the small room, ‘will you accept this task?’

  Ramón swallowed twice and Benae stared at her beloved squire, hardly believing they had the king’s permission to be together.

  ‘I will give everything I have to ensure the health of the kingdom and of Princess Benae and her child. No one will ever sacrifice more.’

  ‘Ramon Zorba, I name you Guardian of Brightcastle,’ the king said.

  Ramón bowed low as Beniel placed a golden chain of office around his neck.

  ‘Do not be deceived,’ Beniel said. ‘This task will not be easy and you must both be vigilant. I cannot stress enough the precariousness of this kingdom. You must guard yourselves, for you will all continue to be targets. I will leave soldiers to help and you must train more. Vorasava can deal with those details. Princess Benae, I think your female guards are an excellent idea but their numbers need expanding. Intelligence must be stepped up so that we are made aware of threats. I will send my best people to help with this.’

  The king stood and so did Benae. ‘I leave for Wildecoast at first light with the body of my brother. I leave these territories in good hands.’ Benae curtseyed and the king pulled her up and kissed both her cheeks. ‘Farewell, sister-in-law. Let there always be friendship between us.’ He turned to go and then stopped and faced Ramón. ‘Find my niece, Zorba. That is almost as important as keeping Benae safe.’

  ‘I will do my best, Your Majesty.’

  The king strode from the room and Benae knelt in front of Ramón. They gazed at each other for long moments, Benae basking in a warm wave of contentment that finally she could love Ramón without guilt and subterfuge.

  Ramón broke the silence. ‘I love you.’ He leaned forward and she met him halfway. Their lips touched and Benae’s stomach fluttered. This man thrilled her so!

  She pulled back and smiled. ‘You give me everything I need. You are so much more than other men and you have proven this over and over. You never lost faith, even though I turned my back, even when circumstances kept us apart. Many times, you could have just ridden away. You didn’t.’

  Ramón’s handsome face creased in a rueful smile. ‘I thought of it many times, but I could never take that step. You held me near you. I could not leave you alone to fend for yourself.’

  ‘You will never know how glad I am that you didn’t.’

  ‘I think I have some idea. When will I be healed enough to show you how I feel?’

  Benae shook her head. ‘Incorrigible rogue! It will be at least a week until such a time, but I can think of many pleasures we can indulge in before then. I promise you will not be disappointed.’

  Ramón drew her back to him, his warm lips capturing hers, turning more demanding as she responded. She threw her arms around his neck and he gasped in pain. Benae pulled back.

  ‘I promise an evening you will never forget,’ she said, her mind already exploring the possibilities, ‘when you are well enough.’

  Ramón frowned and Benae had to restrain a giggle at his grumpy expression. Wasn’t she the impatient one?

  ‘I need you,’ he said

  She smiled. ‘You will never know how much I need you too.’

  ‘You have me, now and forever.’

  Benae smiled. ‘Now and forever.’

  Acknowledgements

  To Louise Cusack for her inspiration and excellent advice over the last seven years.

  To my editors Carol George and Sarah Fairhall, for continuing to have faith in my stories.

  To my agent, Clare Forster, for her guidance and advice.

  To the Destiny authors for their fellowship and support.

  To the 2007 YON Townsville Writers, North Queensland Romance Writers and my 2011 RWA 5DI group for friendship during my writing journey.

  To Romance Writers Australia (RWA) and Queensland Writers Centre for assisting writers, especially in the regions.

  To the Friends of Princess Avenger, for their enthusiasm and support for my stories.

  To my husband, Michael, and my sons for their unending love and belief and for sharing in the disappointments and triumphs of a writing life.

  About the Author

  Bernadette Rowley is an author of fantasy romance who grew up on rural properties on the Sunshine Coast. Her teenage years were spent training her beloved horses, reading the fantasy stories of Tolkien, Brooks and Eddings and dreaming of becoming a vet. She graduated in 1987 and bought her own practice at Bli Bli 2 ½ years later.

  Bernadette now works part time as a vet, allowing her five days a week for her passion, writing. She now lives in Townsville with her husband of 25 years, their boys (now all teenagers) and Slippers the cat. Her other interests are reading (fantasy and romance), singing (a capella), cricket and music.

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  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2013

  Copyright © Bernadette Rowley 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  Woman: Shutterstock/Melpomene

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  ISBN: 978-1-74348-397-8

  Chapter 1

  Pain dragged Alecia Zialni of Brightcastle back to awareness. Gentle fingers grazed her left cheek and she froze, willing her body to remain still but unable to slow her racing heart. The sharp metallic odour of blood swamped her senses as her mind sought to explain her predicament. The fingers moved from her head to her arms and legs, brisk and practised, deftly exploring her body for hurts.

  She gathered her nerve and opened her eyes. Pain shot through her left temple and she blinked tears away. A man in a charcoal-grey soldier’s uniform leaned over her, his dark curls falling forward to frame a face all hard planes and straight lines. Gold flecks sparkled in sea-green eyes that reminded her of the stormy ocean at Wildecoast.

  ‘You should be more careful with whom you pick a fight.’ His deep voice caused a thrill of unease within her. He rose and strode down the cobbled street, his dark cloak swirling against the taut muscles of his calves.

>   Alecia released her trapped breath, mesmerised by the grace with which the soldier moved: more like a stalking wolf than a man. Where is he going? And then she saw the body of the burly redhead, the handle of a knife sprouting from his chest, the crude tattoo of a serpent and dagger on his forearm. Alecia’s insides clenched at the sound of steel against bone as the dark stranger pulled the blade free, cleaned it on the victim’s shirt and slid it into his boot. She glimpsed a ridged scar on the back of her rescuer’s left hand as he returned to her side.

  Alecia raised tentative fingers to her cheek and tears threatened to spill again. Her skull throbbed in time with her face. Jumbled images crowded her mind but she sorted through them and remembered the inn and the mercenary. She peered at the hand the man offered her and followed the arm up to eyes that now held more than a trace of impatience. Her heart lurched in her chest. The man had likely noted her every feature! She touched her head and sighed with relief. At least her hood still hid her long blonde hair. If only he didn’t look too closely at the clothes she wore, perhaps her secret was safe.

  ‘You —’ Alecia struggled to speak around the lump in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. ‘You have my gratitude,’ she said, her voice husky. She clutched his hand and he pulled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a child.

  The sudden movement sent a shooting pain through her skull and she wavered, dizzy and disorientated, her palms on the silver buttons of his broad chest. The soldier caught her wrists and the hairs on Alecia’s arms rose at the contact. Her gaze locked onto the curious amber stone that hung at his throat. It emitted a faint ochre light that flared and then died as she pulled away. Her eyes must be playing tricks.

  When the world stopped spinning, she pulled free and straightened the longbow across her shoulders, then stooped to retrieve her quiver and arrows. Her movements caused the soldier to arch one strong dark brow and Alecia’s face grew hot. He didn’t seem impressed by her armoury.

  ‘You’ve the look of trouble about you, lad.’ The soldier, a captain by the insignias on his tunic, stepped closer.

  Alecia’s heart raced. So far her disguise held, but for how long?

  ‘I’m not looking to cause trouble,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on my way, if you don’t mind.’ Damn, why had she asked him for permission?

  ‘I do mind.’ The captain’s words were low and gruff. ‘I’d like to know why you picked a fight with a man twice your size.’

  More like three times, Alecia thought. His closeness made her skin tingle. What was wrong with her? He was just a man – and a soldier at that!

  ‘If you can’t explain yourself you must come with me to the guardhouse.’

  He seized her arm and her body stiffened, heart thudding against her ribs. Any one of her father’s soldiers might recognise her.

  Alecia pretended to go along with the captain as he walked past the inn towards his horse. As they neared the mouth of Firedrake Alley, the weak midday sun struck the quartz walls of the hilltop castle that gave the town its name. The captain threw up his arm to shield his eyes from the glare and Alecia seized her opportunity. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and bolted between the buildings. The odour of rotten garbage and human waste assailed her nostrils but she barely noticed. This was her world.

  Captain Vard Anton swore. Damn, the lad was fast. But he wouldn’t get far. Vard wasn’t familiar with this part of Brightcastle Town but he did have a nose for a trail, and that nose still twitched with the lad’s scent. Was it lavender? He shook his head and started towards the lane. The youth was already halfway to the first crossroads.

  ‘Blast!’ The stiff leather of his new military boots pinched his toes. It was typical of Prince Zialni to supply boots for show rather than comfort. The air was thick with the foul stink of the slop that caked the alley. Each step brought new and hideous smells to his nose but he grasped the amber talisman at his throat, mentally sorted through the jumble of odours and locked onto the faint hint of perfume. Despite the slippery surface, he picked up his pace and was gratified to see that the young man hadn’t pulled any further ahead.

  If Vard could just stay within sight, the lad would tire soon. He recalled those startling lilac eyes as they stared up at him out of that battered face. Why not just turn around and get back to his horse before some scoundrel rode off on it? But he knew he wouldn’t. The sharp prick of instinct told him he needed to discover why the young man had attacked an armed mercenary on a public street in broad daylight.

  He slid to a halt in the dirt of the alley and strode forward to the next laneway. His quarry had disappeared. A scrawny dog rifling its way through a pile of refuse sniffed at Vard, whined and ran the other way. Vard smiled. He could still put the canines in their place.

  He sent his senses out into the surrounding alleys, searching for a scent or sound of the lad. The faint echoes of a racing human heart drifted back, several alleys towards the town centre. No need to give up yet. That lad needed help and, if Vard’s instincts were right, it might well have something to do with the tyrant, Prince Zialni. The groan of a swollen timber window being forced open sounded and he glanced up. The contents of a chamber pot cascaded over his head and down his shoulders, the stench overwhelming. He spat the fetid concoction out of his mouth and wiped his eyes clear in time to see his quarry’s amused lilac gaze as the window slammed shut.

  Alecia gasped, hands on knees, her face throbbing in time with her thumping heart. She had circled around and was now only two alleys from where the captain had found her. His gold-flecked eyes burned in her memory. She thought she knew all her father’s soldiers, but her dark rescuer was a stranger. Something about him put her on edge, suggested he was neither tame nor civilised.

  Her left eye had swollen shut. The one person who could help her now was Hetty, her childhood nurse and a gifted healer, who lived on Firedrake Alley. She settled her bow and arrows over her back, feeling for the knives in her belt and right boot. The hard knot of fear in her gut softened at the touch of the weapons.

  The hide of her boots made not a sound as she crept to the end of the lane and peered around the corner of a two-storeyed brothel. From here she could see the rear of Hetty’s small double-level shack and had a clear view back to the main street. Foot traffic had returned to the market precinct in the short time since she had fled from the captain, but the narrow street that ran behind Hetty’s was deserted except for the whiskered drunk who snored against a wall several doors up.

  Alecia crossed the street to Hetty’s and climbed onto the edge of the rain barrel, reaching for the handholds below the second-storey window. Once she was high enough to peer over the sill, she removed one hand to give the window a shove. It opened a crack. Alecia grasped the sill, pushed the glass all the way open and pulled herself through. She landed with a soft thump on the wooden floorboards of Hetty’s bedchamber and crossed to the window that overlooked Firedrake Alley. Nothing moved down there.

  A shoe scuffed against the floorboards and she spun, knife in hand. Hetty stood near the door, hands clutching a stained apron, her bushy grey eyebrows bristling above eyes so dark they were almost black. Deep wrinkles framed those eyes and wild silver hair spiked unrestrained from her scalp.

  ‘Did your mother never tell you it was bad manners to enter the house of another without permission?’ Hetty’s low voice rasped past a throat horribly burnt some years ago when Prince Zialni had sentenced her to burning at the stake. Alecia had been her saviour.

  Alecia pulled the cap and hood back to bare her head, flinching as she brushed her injured face. ‘My mother is dead,’ she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. ‘How did you know it was me?’ she said, pointing to her outfit.

  Hetty frowned. ‘You call that a disguise? You were lucky this time, though by the look of that eye, your fortune almost ran out.’

  Alecia fingered the puffy flesh around her left eye and a wave of nausea struck her stomach. How would she explain the injury to her father? ‘Please
do not lecture me, I feel bad enough already.’ Her belief in her fighting skills had been misplaced. Twenty-four summers of sheltered royal existence had been no match for the violence of that mercenary.

  Hetty dropped her apron and folded her arms beneath her scrawny bosom. ‘Come down to the kitchen.’

  Alecia followed Hetty down the stairs and left her bow and quiver in the hall. A small pot bubbled over the fire in the kitchen hearth and the odour of rotten eggs, stinkweed and garlic hung in the room. Hetty shuffled across to the window, drew the heavy curtain and turned up the lamp.

  Alecia wandered over to the shelves on the opposite wall. No matter how often she visited Hetty she always felt a reluctant fascination for the brains, spiders, eyes and teeth in the glass containers.

  Hetty clutched Alecia’s arm and pulled her to a seat at the small wooden table in the centre of the room. Her gaze softened as she examined Alecia’s injuries at close quarters. ‘I can help you, Princess, but it’ll take all my skill.’ She soaked a snowy cloth with water from a wooden bowl and bathed the crusted blood from the damaged eye.

  ‘Ouch!’ Alecia’s eyes watered at the sting of bruised flesh and she gripped her knees to stop herself from pushing Hetty away.

  ‘Nearly finished,’ the old woman said, her gaze gripping Alecia’s. ‘Did he do this to you? The man with the gilded eyes?’

  Alecia frowned, recalling the disturbing eyes of the captain. How did her old nurse know of him? ‘He was my rescuer. One of the mercenaries lies dead.’