Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1)

by Shari Branning

  She found Annalie, and together they slipped back into the dining hall, where there was another door with only a single guard. They stepped out into the night, and Rowan breathed deep, feeling suddenly light and free and wanting to laugh with the joy of it. Annalie spoke to the guard, and he went to summon her carriage.

  “Did you manage to find out what the gunshot was?” Rowan asked as they waited.

  “Yes. Apparently, there was a snake in someone’s saddlebag. They shot it dead.” She shuddered.

  “A snake?”

  “A garden snake, is what King Ormand’s guards said. The stable hand is saying it was a viper. No one knows where it could have come from.” She went silent as the guard returned. Their carriage would be another few minutes before the horses were hitched.

  “Whose saddlebag was it in?” Rowan asked.

  “They didn’t say.” Annalie’s gaze darted to the guard for an instant.

  They waited in silence after that until the carriage drew up. The vehicle started with a jolt, swaying as they turned down the drive and onto the road.

  Annalie lifted aside the little curtain across the window and peered out as though making sure they were alone, even though they were moving at a steady clip.

  “Well?” Rowan said, leaning back and studying her friend in the fickle light of a lantern hung from a corner of the carriage roof.

  Annalie turned back to her, her face worried, her little hands squeezing each other and plucking at their gloves. “My father says Ormand is seeking a new queen,” she said.

  “So I’ve heard,” Rowan muttered. At her friend’s startled look, she explained, “Aaro said as much when King Ormand arrived.”

  “He warned you already?”

  Rowan shrugged. “I am not the only woman in West Talva. I don’t see why you’re so worried.”

  “As you said tonight, ‘woe to the girl with red hair and long legs.’ You’re more beautiful than any of us. More—compelling, I suppose.” She looked away, whether out of embarrassment or jealousy Rowan wasn’t sure. “Any man would have to be blind not to notice you. And your wit is as compelling as your appearance.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Rowan felt impatience clamping around her chest.

  “Forgive me if I speak bluntly. The lesser king will seek you out. Everything about you demands it. But you could never be controlled, and submission is one thing Ormand demands of his subjects—and especially his queen.”

  Rowan strangled on her anger. The tiny carriage felt like it was closing in on her, smothering her. “This is ridiculous!” She wanted to laugh or to scream, but the closeness of the carriage forbade it.

  “Ormand was married before. For a year. His wife, Queen Embur, died shortly before you came here. Her saddle girth broke as she was riding, and she fell and was trampled. No one believes it was an accident. And she, too, had red hair.”

  “Please! I danced half a song with him, and you’d already have me married and murdered.”

  “Does it not make you pause that Mr. D’Araines, the king’s own cousin, also warned you?”

  For a moment, Rowan didn’t reply. The image of Aaro’s dangerous blue eyes, his unruly hair and rolled-up shirtsleeves flashed in her mind. “Whose saddlebag was the viper in?” she asked again.

  Annalie looked down at her hands. “They didn’t say.”

  “But you guessed.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Aaro D’Araines doesn’t speak openly against his cousin, but he cannot be swayed, or cowed, or bribed. And he attracts loyalty where he does not seek it. Ormand has always treated him like a threat.”

  “I see.”

  They rode for a long time in silence before the carriage finally rolled to a stop. One of Uncle Lance’s men opened the door, offering his hand to Rowan. She flashed him a smile, but ignored his hand, stepping down lightly on her own. She turned back to the carriage.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

  Annalie reached and grabbed her hand before she could turn. “Please. Even if you don’t believe me, pretend that you do, and be cautious.”

  Rowan looked into her friend’s worried eyes and smiled. “Of course. I’m not such a fool as to toss out a friend’s words when they’re so earnestly given.”

  The carriage pulled away again, and Rowan took herself up to her room, though she didn’t stay long. She shed the gown with its suffocating corset, and the little cloth slippers, and instead slipped into a pair of trousers she’d stolen from Dustan, and her boots. She crept out the kitchen door into the garden, and beyond, climbing the short dike that separated her uncle’s land from the open prairie. Darkness robbed the world of color, while moonlight washed it in silver. Mist hung above the hollows of the land, and far, far away came the lonesome cry of a wolf.

  For a little while she brooded on the evening. Letting her anger boil to the surface, and then subside. Remembering Aaro’s eyes, and the feel of his hands, then laughing them away. Feeling the chill from Dustan’s talk of magic and curses. She loosened her hair from its coil and tossed it into a mess in the moonlight, walked along the top of the dike and sang a song to herself. Then, satisfied that she’d shaken off the whole, foolish, maddening evening, and the worries that had come with it, she went back in and went to bed. But not to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  A marriage proposal?!” Rowan spun from the window on her boot heel and glared at her uncle. She wore Dustan’s trousers again that morning instead of a skirt, a small act of rebellion against last evening’s stress.

  “One offer of marriage, and several others who seek permission to come courting,” he answered, peering at her across the desk and over top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. His moustache twitched, and he rubbed the corner of his mouth. His eyes twinkled. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised at the proposal. But considering the source…”

  “Who?” She stomped across the room and snatched the letter out of his hand. “And for the love of creation, why do they send such things in letters, when not a one of them has said a single, solitary thing to my face? Have I no will of my own? No mind of my own?! For the sake of all reason, do they think me incapable of forming an opinion? And if I were such a drudge, what could possibly endear me to any of them?”

  Despite her walk in the moonlight, and all her attempts to shake off the events of the party, she hadn’t slept well, her mind refusing to slow down. She felt irritable and high-strung.

  She returned to the big bay window overlooking the line of cottonwoods and the slender ribbon of creek that separated Old Town from New Town, the proposal still gripped in one hand, while she tugged furiously at the end of her long braid with the other. Already a haze of heat and dust hovered above the road that crossed the creek near the house. As she watched, a lone rider crossed from New Town, pausing just this side of the creek and glancing up at the window where she stood. Even from a distance she could see the icy blue of his eyes.

  Aaro smiled up at her. He raised a hand and tipped his wide-brimmed hat before urging his horse on out of sight. Her heart stuttered. Suddenly she had no doubt whose proposal she still clutched in her hand. She held it up to the light from the window and read.

  Sir,

  With due respect toward the convention of offering pleasantries, let me get right to the point. I intend to marry your niece. Take this as a proposal, if you will, and consider me one step ahead of the others who will shortly be seeking to court the lady Rowan. I expect she will not be easily convinced, but I consider this a reasonable obstacle. There is no need to pressure her, as is common toward daughters of noble families, and I have no need of a dowry from her. Please consider yourself free of any responsibility beyond allowing me to carry out my intentions, which, I assure you, are honorable, both to the lady and her reputation. Also, please advise if there is anyone else to whom I must apply for blessing. The lady mentioned a father in Heymish’s East Talva.

  Yours,

  Aaro D’Araines.

&n
bsp; The seal following the signature was a modified version of the royal crest, proclaiming its bearer to be a member of the extended royal family.

  “Of all the—” She stood frozen for a moment, then let out a snort, which turned into a giggle. In a moment she was doubled over, eyes watering, hiccupping with laughter. “Of all the—” she tried again, but the attempt only made her laugh harder. “By all that’s unreasonable. I already love him for his audacity.”

  She wiped her eyes and turned back to her uncle. “You see? You can tell your dear Miss Gisela that she needn’t pressure me any longer. The problem of what to do with your pesky niece has been all straightened out, and she is free to win your heart once again.”

  Uncle Lance snorted. “That woman. But, my dear, you are a very beautiful problem that I don’t mind in the least having around. Though why you agreed to move to this uncivilized wilderness is beyond me.” He leaned back in his chair and mopped sweat off his face with a hanky.

  “Hmm. You can be sure that when I did, I had no idea that women were such a commodity here. Or that they could be so… smothered.” She sat down on the corner of the desk and tossed the letter back onto the pile, rubbing her forehead. If she didn’t end up with a headache by the end of the day, it’d be some kind of miracle.

  “West Talva can be a bit old fashioned, I supposed, despite being the newer frontier.” He took off his spectacles to clean them. “But about this proposal. I’m not well acquainted with the young man in question, only his reputation. If you wish, I can warn him off. Or if you’d rather handle it on your own. I know you prefer not having people meddle.”

  “Oh Uncle, you don’t meddle, so I don’t mind. But perhaps… oh I don’t know.”

  “You have an interest in the young man?”

  She rubbed her head again. “Interest? I don’t know. We only just met last night.”

  “Well. I know he speaks his mind, if nothing else. Diplomacy seems to have skipped that branch of the royal family. Regardless of that, he seems to attract an inordinate amount of loyalty.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Rowan muttered, remembering Dustan’s lengthy monologue on the subject during last evening’s carriage ride. She shoved away from the desk and paced. “Please! It makes me squirm to speak of it! I’ve no intention of marrying him or anyone else before the year is out, at least. And I’m not completely incapable of looking after myself. I have two hands, the same as any man, and if it came to danger, I don’t think any would try to lay a hand on me twice.”

  A new voice spoke from the doorway. “Pity the man who tried the first time.”

  Rowan spun toward the door as Dustan strolled in, thumbs hooked in his belt.

  “Honestly, I pity the man who must woo our Red Wolf at all. I can’t even keep her from stealing and wearing my clothes.” His eyes twinkled as he claimed Rowan’s deserted perch on the corner of the desk. “I imagine we have a veritable flood of the poor schmucks after the dance. If they weren’t all scared off by the D’Araines rivalry. Speaking of which…” he turned to Rowan. “I told you there would be a shooting last night. It just involved a snake.”

  “Rivalry?” Uncle Lance frowned.

  Rowan snorted.

  “Everyone knows the saying ‘red hair draws danger.’” Dustan yawned affectedly. “That must be twice as true when it’s accompanied by such ferocious wit.” He picked up Aaro’s proposal and scanned it, and his face grew more serious. He folded the paper up and tapped it against his leg, frowning.

  “Now what’s wrong?” Rowan could feel her irritation setting in again like a physical itch.

  Dustan’s gaze rested on her, studying her, but he spoke to his father. “There was a messenger this morning. I was coming to tell you. The lesser king is making his rounds, visiting some of the nobles today, and he expects to dine here with us at noon meal.”

  “Delightful.” Uncle Lance’s moustache drooped, and his brows puckered. “Lovely of him to give so much notice. And I wish you would not let yourself fall into the habit of calling him the ‘lesser king.’ It’s liable to slip out in front of him when you’re not intending.”

  Dustan shrugged, glancing from his father to Rowan. “I’d be more worried about other things. Like the length of time our King Ormand has been without a queen, since the last one so conveniently died.”

  “And now let’s go ‘round again!” Rowan scowled. She owned a razor-edged dagger that she carried on her person more often than not. At the moment, she had it strapped to her forearm under her sleeve, and as she spoke she pulled it out, contemplating what she could throw it at without causing damage.

  Dustan and Uncle Lance both raised their eyebrows.

  “It’s not even been a full day, and I’ve been warned about your noble king twice already. And now you both must take it up. So I danced half a dance with him. It’s no reason to make the leap into full panic.”

  Uncle Lance sighed. “There is a reason he’s called the ‘lesser king,’ besides that he rules beneath his brother’s authority. Unfortunately, his quality of character is rather less than his brother’s as well.” He pushed his spectacles up his nose and shuffled the papers together on his desk. “His cunning, on the other hand, is not lacking. You say he danced with you last night?”

  “A dance he interrupted from Aaro,” Dustan cut in. “The whole party was talking of it afterward. Rowan snuck out after the dance, and Ormand was obnoxious in trying to seek her out. I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection before.” He looked downright worried now.

  “I know why,” Rowan said. “Since last night your head has been too filled with your young lady to leave room for less important matters…”

  Dustan turned red.

  “…Which this truly is,” she finished, glaring.

  “My dear, I know you have no patience for anything you deem unreasonable, or trite,” Uncle Lance said. “But in this instance, listen to those of us who’ve been under Ormand’s rule longer. Pick one of these young men that have shown an interest in you, and spend the day in New Town at the market. I’m sure any of them would jump at the chance. And you might find it enjoyable, if you let yourself.”

  “Dustan can go with me.”

  “If King Ormand is coming, he will expect my sons to be in attendance. There would be fewer questions that way, and fewer questions from our king is entirely a good thing. I will merely tell him you had made plans with one of the young men who showed interest last evening.” Uncle Lance peered at her, waiting.

  Rowan met Dustan’s eyes briefly. He gave a tentative half shrug, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. That the king might take it worse, rather than better.

  She walked back to the window. None of this was the fault of her uncle or her cousins. They weren’t overbearing, the trait she found so intolerable, and the one thing that had ultimately sent her from her home in the east, not realizing that the attitude was even worse on the frontier. Always cloaked in the guise of protectiveness, of course, and of social ritual. Still, she had to smother the urge to lash out. She huffed a sigh through her nose.

  “Very well. You may send for Aaro D’Araines, if he is still in town, and inquire if he would be my escort to the market this noon. If he isn’t to my liking after a day’s tedium shopping, then all’s well. He’ll have served his purpose.” She strode for the door, more than ready to dismiss the conversation, but turned back to them in the doorway, raising a saucy eyebrow. “Will you send him the message, or shall I?”

  * * * * *

  Unlike many of the nobles back east, Uncle Lance and his household were typically up with the sun each morning, so even with an hour’s debate after breakfast, several hours remained until she could expect to see Aaro D’Araines. She wasn’t about to wait around for him, especially since she couldn’t get him out of her mind, and she’d go crazy if she didn’t find something to do. So she went out and fed and watered the chickens before the kitchen staff could get to it, and hunted for eggs. Then she strolled
the edge of the property.

  Her uncle’s estate was part of what must once have been the city’s outer defenses, back when Old Town had been built by the ancients. The dike she’d walked the night before had been a sod wall at one time, though now it was sunken down and covered by long grass, an embankment between them and the open prairie. No one seemed to know much about the original people who had hauled stone and dug wells and built the ancient cities out here on the frontier. Perhaps the Shonnowa people knew. Or perhaps it was one of their races that had built the stone castles and foundations, though now most of them were nomads.

  Thinking of the Shonnowa put Rowan in mind of her conversation with Dustan the previous day, before all the muddle with the king and Aaro happened, and those chilling rumors about magic and curses. She scoffed to herself, trying to drown out her secret childish desire to meet one of the Shonnowa. Ridiculous notion.

  Wind whipped around her, blasting hair across her face and pressing her blouse and trousers against her body. She had put off getting changed, another small act of rebellion she could throw in the face of all the ludicrous conventions and worries that were constantly forced upon her. Today, of all days, she hadn’t the patience for them. And she didn’t expect Aaro for another hour—at least she didn’t until the moment when he spoke from behind her.

  “Looks like I might be a bit early.”

  She’d been trying to get a strand of hair out of her mouth, while the wind kept blowing the rest of her mane across her face. She whirled blindly at the sound of his voice, tottering on top of the dike, tipping precariously and flapping like a stork.

  He caught her around the waist and lowered her to the ground in front of him. She still couldn’t see, thanks to her mass of curls, until he swiped them back from her face, using both hands to pin her hair behind her head. She found her view suddenly unobstructed, looking right into his laughing blue eyes.

  “May I?”

  His face was only inches away, and she wondered if he was asking permission to go on holding her hair, or to kiss her.