by C. A. Szarek
I will protect her.
But first…he’d grovel.
Say whatever she needed to hear so they could have an agreeable remainder of the day.
Lady Elissa would have to put up with him alone—unless she wanted to dine later with Lord Avery—for the next day or so, until the next suitor arrived to woo her. The Duke of Tarvis and his son were planning on leaving before that. Then…Duke of Dalunas, Lord Camden Malloch, would arrive.
For some reason, he wanted to growl. Lord Avery was a lad. Barely a man, truth be told, but Lord Cam…
Alasdair knew the duke. Liked him even.
The tall fair-haired man could be a real match for Lady Elissa, and rumor had it he was seeking a wife, not just meeting the lass at the behest of the king. Lord Camden was a good man, and a hell of a fighter.
Alasdair rubbed his chest and rounded the corner toward the guest room his charge had been assigned. Next to the one that was his new home.
Too close to her, really. Yet, not close enough.
He’d enjoyed their one-on-one time together the previous day or so. Talking with her. Laughing with her. She was sweet and charming.
She’d made him laugh. Something he was more used to doing for the others around him. He’d been called a jester-knight more times than he could count.
The lass—was perfect.
Part of him, more than a part, hated the idea of sharing her.
Guarding her wasn’t the chore he’d first dreaded when Leargan had charged him with it.
Therein lay the problem.
It was becoming difficult to resist tugging her in his arms and taking her mouth. Especially when she showed him the fire in those hazel eyes. Even when she was angry with him. Perhaps even more then.
“Stop. Just get this over with.” Alasdair made a fist when he reached her door. He chided himself some more, and knocked twice.
Nothing.
Forcing himself to be polite, he knocked again, instead of barging in. She’d said she wanted to nap, that she’d had a headache after their argument.
Said I gave her a headache.
Alasdair scoffed and knocked a fourth time. Still nothing.
“Lass?” he called, pushing the door open.
Taking two steps into the room, Alasdair’s eyes landed on the bed. It was made up neatly, the curtains tacked to the oversized carved bedposts. A dozen pillows of different shapes and sizes were arranged against the headboard, as if they hadn’t been touched since the night before.
“Lady Elissa?”
He wandered to the private bathing room since the door was open. No lass yelped in fright for invading intimate space.
“Shite.”
Her rooms were empty and Alasdair was the biggest fool in the world. Losing his temper had made him…fail.
Without having laid a finger on her.
“Headache, my arse.” He barked every curse word he could think of and whirled. Should’ve never refused her request for a ride, even though his gut screamed she’d had other motives for wanting to leave the safety of Castle Aldern.
The lass had been shaken, something big had upset her, despite her denial and plastered-on polite smile.
He very much doubted it was nerves from meeting Lord Avery Lenore. “Run away,” he whispered.
She’d said it herself. It’d been a dare.
The lass snuck out. Why?
Alasdair had to figure it the hell out.
He griped as he stomped down the corridor. Then he paused, squaring his shoulders and forcing a breath. Needed to calm. Definitely wouldn’t want anyone to see him visibly angry. Wasn’t about to announce that on day three he’d lost his charge.
Alasdair gripped his sword and squeezed the hilt until his fingers smarted and his knuckles whitened, instead of kicking himself.
Quick steps had him out of the castle, across the bailey, and at the stables. He encountered none of his brothers or his captain—thank the Blessed Spirit.
Something told him she wasn’t within the castle walls—and he wasn’t about to question the instinct.
Most of the personal guard were on the training grounds, and he could easily avoid the area. The king and Captain Murdoch—as well as both dukes and Leargan—had declared they were heading that way when their meeting was over.
Here’s to hoping they’re already out there.
How Alasdair would be able leave the castle gates unnoticed was another dilemma. He swore again.
People were after her and she had no idea. It made him want to tell someone, in case of real danger—almost. Alasdair needed to do this himself. Get her back. And resist ringing her neck.
He tried not to bark at the stable lads when they failed to meet him at-the-ready.
Since Niall had taken young Alaric to squire, there were only two youngsters under the stable master, Gean, his sons. The only other adult responsible for their horses was an older man named Elden, and he was as out-of-sight as Master Gean himself.
Two sets of big brown eyes regarded him.
“Sir Alasdair?” The elder, Brinson—no more than three and ten—spoke.
“Have you seen Lady Elissa?”
“She left with the ladies.”
“Excuse me?”
When the younger lad, Idan, paled, Alasdair chided himself to watch his tone. He was only a turn or two behind his brother, but seemed so young—and scared. He’d not wanted to petrify the lads. He liked them both. They were good lads, well on their way to follow their father in his trade. They’d become skilled horse masters in a matter of turns.
Brinson stood taller. “Aye, Sir Alas. Wedding guest ladies, as well as some of our own, wanted to go to market. But not the duchess or Lady Aimil.”
“Did they take an escort?”
“Aye, sir.” This time, Idan answered. “A dozen men-at-arms.”
“When?”
“Not long, sir.”
He’d bet his favorite sword his little lass didn’t leave with the group.
How’d she get away, though?
Lady Elissa must’ve timed things exactly; lucky Lady Cera was not among the group. There was no way the duchess would’ve allowed her to accompany the ladies, no matter who their guards were.
None of his brothers must be in the escort, either. Normally, if the ladies of the castle went to market, his captain escorted them himself—especially if his wife was with them. If Leargan didn’t go, Niall did. Both his captain and the personal guard’s second-in-command were sharp. They wouldn’t have allowed the lass’ presence.
They would’ve called for him. Perhaps even demanded to know why he wasn’t at her side.
He ignored the sinking feeling in his gut. She had protection spells covering her. She had her own skillset. Powerful magic. Lady Elissa could protect herself, could she not?
If something happened to her, punishment from his captain and the king paled in comparison to what it would do to him.
Alasdair had let emotion get in the way of protecting her. He’d let her out of his sight.
Guilt crept up from the pit of his stomach, burning in his throat. His heart thundered and he swallowed hard. “Where’s your da and Elden?”
“Elden went to market, too. First thing this morning, not with the ladies. Da’s breaking a colt. He finally got him saddled and they went for a ride.” The wind shuffled the older lad’s sandy locks. “He left after the ladies did.”
“We’re supposed to be mucking stalls,” Idan offered.
Alasdair sighed. “What horse did you give her?”
“Lady Elissa?” Brinson’s voice cracked, like a lad about to become a man.
“Aye, lad. Quickly.”
“The gray, sir. The mare she rode in on.”
“Do you need your horse, Sir Alas?” Idan asked.
“Nay, lad. I’ll do it myself.”
The lads exchanged a look, but he didn’t have time to wait on children.
“But, sir—”
“No worries, lads. I won’
t tell your da.”
They followed him into the stable anyway.
His movements were stiff as he saddled Contessa. She could be finicky, and her whinny told Alasdair she could sense his mood. He calmed her with low nonsense, but his lass talked back, neighing and bumping his hands for a caress.
“Easy, lass. We’ll run in a moment.”
His horse was an elegant red roan from the finest Ascovan stock. He’d spent two months’ salary on her—and that’d been a discount. He’d had to negotiate hard with the Duke of Ascova’s brother, Roald, the finest horse breeder on the continent.
Tess was huge, as big as any warhorse and had an attitude to compete with the best destrier.
Alasdair didn’t wait to pull her from the stall to mount. She didn’t like that, shifting forward without command. “Just a moment, my lass.” He patted her neck and hollered at the lads to move away.
Tess fidgeted, hoofing the dirt floor of her wide stall. She wanted free rein to rush from the stable, but he held her in tight, making her walk. She grunted and flared her nostrils, but complied. Alasdair would reward her with a good run. They hadn’t dashed down an open road at top speed in months.
His gut told him his wandering charge had headed south. He didn’t know where the knowledge had come from, but he learned long ago not to ignore his instinct. Many a time, Leargan had said his senses were innate magic.
Alasdair had never had the guts to ask Lucan to probe him, to confirm or deny he had skills he’d never known about. “Lads.”
Both youngsters looked up at him.
“Muck your stalls, and mention to no one, not even your da, that I was here.”
“Aye.” Brinson nodded.
Guilt bit at him again. It wasn’t fair to ask the lads to keep a secret. But he wasn’t ready to admit to anyone he’d lost Lady Elissa.
She’d better be all right, because when he caught her, Alasdair was going to kill her.
* * * *
Chills raced down her spine when she heard the hooves pounding behind her. She slipped even further into the hood of her mantle and clenched her jaw. Elissa refused to look over her shoulder.
She’d ditched her gown for the breeches and a tunic she’d found in the trunk as soon as she’d made it outside of Greenwald Main. She couldn’t in good conscience part with the gorgeous silver gown, so she’d stuffed it in the larger of the gray mare’s saddle bags. Hopefully whoever had to clean and straighten it would forgive her. And that the wrinkles weren’t permanent. Maybe she’d be better off handling the task herself. It’d mean less explaining.
Elissa had almost gotten her size right with the borrowed breeches, but the tunic was too big. It kept slipping off her shoulder, until she put her cape on over it.
Thank the Blessed Spirit the stable lads hadn’t questioned her presence with the minor ladies and maids that had gone to market. The large group consisted of mostly wedding guests, and no one had recognized her as the queen’s cousin. They’d been too busy tittering and chatting, planning what they’d buy at the large market in the Province’s busy city-center.
She’d waited until they were all mounted up—as well as the guards who would accompany them. Luckily, none of the personal guard—all of them surely knew her—were included in the escort. There were only a few Castle Aldern men-at-arms. The rest consisted of men the guests had brought from their own households.
When the party had headed out into the courtyard, she’d rushed in as if late, apologized, and begged the two lads for her horse.
The sweet innocent lads had hurried Elissa’s mount to her. Apologizing that they’d delayed her.
She’d told them not to worry—she’d catch up. Assured them she was in no danger of getting lost. Elissa had smiled and taken off—urging her mare after the sizable party. It wasn’t until the ladies and their men-at-arms were out of sight that she’d turned off the main road, plunged into the woods and changed her clothes.
The hooves behind them pounded closer. Louder.
Fear rode under the surface, but she thrust the doubts all away.
I have to do this.
Damn the king and his secrets.
Tears threatened but she swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her whole life had been a lie. She shook her head and chided herself.
Elissa couldn’t focus on her betrayal at the hands of a man she considered a father. She needed to focus on her ride, and being invisible to the rider on her heels.
I’m just a lad on my way home.
Dread at being stopped, questioned, and discovered as female—highborn, nonetheless—skittered down her spine, but she tightened her hold on the gray’s reins and leaned closer to her mount’s neck.
Travel was free, after all. There was no legal reason for her to be impeded.
Elissa prepared a story in her head anyway. She lived on a Greenwald holding within an hour’s ride—due south. The hour’s ride part was true. Her former home wasn’t far; at least, she didn’t think so.
She was grateful she’d taken the time to study the map of Greenwald on the wall of the great hall the night of the wedding feast. She thanked the Blessed Spirit the Alderns proudly displayed it there. All Greenwald holdings—whether large or small—were greatly detailed on the vast canvas.
Lady Cera had told her it was new, drawn by the most famous mapper on the continent.
“Lady Elissa!” The shout had her freezing in the saddle.
Sir Alasdair.
She concentrated on the road ahead, ignoring the knight. The rush of hooves came even closer.
“Come now, my lady. I know there’s nothing wrong with your ears. And it’s not windy enough to obscure the sound of my voice.”
Still she said nothing. Refused to spare him a glance.
“You didn’t think this through, lass. Your cloak and your horse are too fine for your breeches. You stick out like a sore thumb. A lass on her own is never safe. It’ll be dark soon. Rein in your mount,” he said, as if his lips were right above her ear. His almost-gentle tone made her heart trip.
Elissa frowned. She refused to acknowledge the sense he made—especially his order for her to stop. She nudged her horse faster, banishing her physical reaction to him.
Sir Alasdair cursed.
His horse surged forward and he leaned in, pushing hard to reach for her mare’s reins, but Elissa tugged them away and the horse shied before darting right, off the road and into the woods.
The reins flew from her grip and she clutched the horse’s dark gray mane with shaky fingers. She screamed as her mare bucked over and over and careened past trees.
Elissa scrambled for the flying straps of leather. Her hand made purchase and she yanked as hard as she could, hollering at the gray to halt. The horse wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tugged or shouted, “Whoa!”
Panic took over and her magic gushed out of control.
Thunder roared high above and lightning flashed across the sky. Elissa tried to shut the magic down. She tightened her hold on the mare, but the newly born storm only frightened her—them both—even more.
The sky opened up and rain poured. She closed her eyes and took a breath, but her heartbeat resounded in her ears as much as the noises above. Her temples throbbed as magic bit at her.
Sir Alasdair cursed again, but the beating of hooves behind her suggested he’d followed.
Stop the storm. Now.
Elissa’s mare was breathing heavily, but she slid into an even harder run with the knight’s horse so close. As if the gray couldn’t stand to be chased. Or caught. “Stop. Please stop!” she beseeched of her magic, of her mount.
It did no good.
“Stop, lass!” her protector bellowed.
“I can’t! She won’t! I tried!” Elissa yanked the reins again, but her horse didn’t respond.
She heard him yelling at his own mare, urging the red roan faster.
Her mare screamed again when Sir Alasdair attempted to come up next to her. The gray shot for
ward, but her knight kept his horse close, until they were running abreast.
Rain drenched the wooded area, hammering down on their heads, saturating her mantle.
Elissa yelped when his large hand enclosed her wrist, but she didn’t yank away.
“I’m going to pull you to my horse. Jump when I say.”
“Wha—? Nay!”
“Do it. I promise I won’t let you fall.” His voice was steady, sure. Sir Alasdair seemed calm. His long dark hair was loose and flying, despite the rain soaking him as they rode hard. His deep blue eyes were trained on her face.
She trusted him.
Without question.
The rain eased as suddenly as it was born.
With a final breath, it was completely gone. Elissa bit her lip and joined both hands with the knight’s.
“Come. Now. Jump, lass!”
With a whimper, she crushed her eyes shut and pushed out of the stirrups hard. Sir Alasdair’s hands landed around her waist, holding hard, but he wasn’t hurting her. Elissa collided with his chest, and his grip around her tightened.
He righted her against him, tucking her shoulder under one of his arms, nestling her closer to his chest.
She bit back a gulp and glanced ahead.
The gray mare was still running from them, becoming smaller and smaller as she went and they slowed.
Elissa met the concerned sapphire gaze of her protector. She was lying across his lap, both her legs on one side of his horse. Despite his drenched clothing, she felt the heat of his body through her borrowed outfit. And the firmness of his thigh against her hip. She slid one arm around his waist for balance and wanted to gulp. He was solid there, too.
If Sir Alasdair minded her touch, he said nothing. His warmth surrounded her, staving off shivers from her magic storm.
“Are you all right?” His genuine concern made her heart skip.
“I am.” Her words cracked. “Thank you.”
“Was the storm your doing? Your eyes glowed blue.”
Elissa nodded, because her voice wouldn’t cooperate on the first try. “I…I…was terrified. I lost control of my magic.”
His grip tightened, but was comforting. Sir Alasdair didn’t comment and it took all she was made of to resist burrowing further into him.