Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1)

by Shari Branning

  “No, you may not!” She sputtered. “And yes, you are. Early!” She swatted his hands out of her hair and spun toward the house. “Excuse me.”

  She stalked through the back hallway and upstairs to her room. “The only thing worse than eating a tomato is looking like one!” She slammed the door and scowled fiercely at her mirror reflection. “Tomato!”

  She was red from hair to neck, and she turned even redder still as she realized her blouse was scandalously unbuttoned halfway down her chest, revealing the lace of her undergarment, and some softly curved skin she would rather not have shown anyone.

  “Aaagh!” The loose buttonholes must have slipped as she was feeding chickens and battling the prairie wind. And of course it hadn’t mattered when she was alone with an hour—so she thought—yet to wait.

  “Jackass!” She didn’t know if she was insulting Aaro for showing up early, or herself for being so careless. She tore through her closet, looking for something, anything appropriate to wear.

  A soft knock came at her door. “Lady?” It was her serving girl. “Can I help?”

  “Yes!” Rowan flung the door open, holding a gown up to herself. “Buttons!”

  The girl, only a couple years younger than Rowan herself, came in and helped her finish climbing into the gown, a deep blue eyelet lace with a modest V neckline, then did up the fifty or so little buttons at the back.

  “Your hair?” she asked.

  “Just get it up so it doesn’t blow in my face. Serve the idiot right for arriving that fast, if it looks like a bird’s nest.”

  Despite Rowan’s grousing, the girl had her hair twisted up into an attractive knot at the side, just behind her right ear, within a few minutes.

  “You look very handsome, lady.” She tucked one last pin into place and stepped back.

  “Handsome? My mother was a handsome woman. I’m just…” Rowan looking into the mirror and snorted. “Well, not freckled at least. That’s one small comfort.” She leaned closer. “Ugh. Never mind. There they are. Hiding under all that tomato color.”

  The girl tried to cover her giggle, and Rowan winked at her.

  “Not so very freckled, my lady. Only enough to be charming.”

  Downstairs, Aaro had been welcomed into the house, and stood talking with Uncle Lance in the front room. He raised his eyes as she descended the stairs, and their gazes met. Rowan could feel her face burning, but she lifted her head high and descended the stairs like a queen.

  “Mr. D’Araines.”

  “Miss Keir.” He bowed ever so slightly from the waist, holding his wide-brimmed hat in his hands. He wore a brown leather gun belt today, slung low across his hips, with a dagger sheath behind each gun holster. His chestnut hair had been pressed down in a circle by the hat, but his eyes still snapped with their mix of laughter and danger. “I’m sorry you felt you had to change on my account. You looked as lovely before as you do now.”

  Rowan felt a growl building in her chest. If there was one thing in the world she both hated and loved, it was someone who could match her wit-for-wit and knock her off balance. But he certainly had the advantage in this instance. He’d caught her by surprise. And all the retorts that sprang to mind would be deemed inappropriate.

  He offered his arm, this time with his sleeves rolled down. “Shall we?”

  “Certainly.” She stuck her nose in the air and walked past him, ignoring his arm. Behind her she heard her uncle cough as Aaro bid him good day and followed her out the door. She stopped in the courtyard. Not a horse or carriage of any kind was in sight.

  “Forgive me,” Aaro said. “I already stabled my horse. I hadn’t brought a buggy into town, and besides, I thought perhaps you were the kind of girl who’d rather walk. It’s a short distance into New Town, and the day’s heat hasn’t set in yet.”

  Rowan snapped open the fan at her wrist. “Walking I don’t mind. As for the heat—being from the East, I have to disagree. It would be this warm at the peak of the day, and most ladies would be languishing indoors.”

  Aaro grinned as he plopped the hat back onto his head. He stuck his thumbs into his belt and cast sidelong glances at her as they walked. “Truly, you cut a fine figure in those trousers,” he said after a little while. His eyes twinkled. “And I do believe I prefer your hair down.”

  “Perhaps not the most appropriate style for a windy day amongst people, though.” Not to mention she’d be the gossiped horror of the town if she showed her face in public with loose hair.

  After another long pause, he said, “I’ve been right on two counts so far today. That you would like to walk, and that I’d find you outside, rather than waiting indoors. I’d like to know if I’m correct on a third, as well.” He waited until she looked over at him, eyebrows raised, then continued. “That you’re the kind of girl who’s more likely to ignore a man you fancy than to throw yourself at him. Which leads me to think you must have another motive for your invitation this morning.

  She squinted at him. “I am, in fact, attempting to avoid your cousin, who is coming to lunch today. But since you intend to try to marry me, I thought it would be no great loss on your part.”

  Aaro threw back his head and hooted with laughter.

  “To answer your other insinuation though,” Rowan went on, “that I ‘fancy’ you—I refute that as arrogant, assuming, and ungentlemanly.”

  “But not untrue?”

  “That is a moot point.”

  He offered his arm again, and this time she rested her hand lightly on it. They had crossed the creek and were coming into New Town, the portion of the city that had been built within the last generation, where the buildings were pine and man-made brick, rather than old oak and stone. It felt like stepping from one world into another.

  “So you would risk the king’s anger by not being present when he comes to call on you today?” They were walking past the hotel, with its wide front porch rimmed by wilting flowerbeds.

  “He did not specify that he was calling on me.”

  “But he is.”

  She shrugged.

  Aaro gestured to the hotel. “Will you come into the dining room with me and have at least a glass of water before we go to the market? Your invitation this morning caught me in the midst of some business, and I never filled my canteen.”

  Rowan nodded, suppressing the uncomfortable notion that they must look quite like a couple going to lunch. Several ladies on the street watched them, whispering behind their fans until she and Aaro entered the still-cool dining room. There weren’t as many people about at that hour, being too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. Another couple sat in the corner sipping coffee. Beyond that they had the room to themselves.

  Aaro pulled out a chair for her, then sat down with his back to the wall so that he faced the empty room. He took his hat off and set it on the table at his elbow. A serving girl brought them glasses of water without being asked, paused to see if they would order anything, then left.

  “You were watching me last night,” he said once they were alone.

  Rowan pressed her lips together and held his gaze. Meeting those eyes, intensely blue and penetrating, made something inside her jump. They were both exhilarating and unnerving. “You certainly have a gift for belting out whatever’s on your mind, Mr. D’Araines.”

  A flicker of a smile touched his face. “When I wish.”

  She folded her arms across the table and leaned forward, studying him. She didn’t doubt that more stayed hidden behind those blue depths than what he so bluntly voiced. “I remember you watching me more than once as well,” she said. “It’s common, I believe, for people to look at one another when gathered in social settings, such as last evening’s ball.”

  “Some people draw the eye more than others, though,” he replied, running a finger around the rim of his water glass and never moving his eyes from her face. Perhaps it should have made her uncomfortable, but Rowan wasn’t in the habit of backing down from anyone.

  “Sir, for
all your bluntness, I don’t see your point.”

  Again with the almost smile. This time it reached the corners of his eyes. “What did your uncle think of my proposal?”

  Rowan laughed and leaned back. “I think even he couldn’t tell you that. Since you’re in the business of speaking your mind, I’ll tell you that he wonders which of your cousins you most take after. King Heymish, or King Ormand.”

  “I see. And you?”

  “I could hardly say. You don’t resemble a king.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, with his weapons belt, wide-brimmed hat, and riding boots. “If I must say anything, I’d say you’re your own man. What kind of man, I don’t know.”

  “You think me arrogant?”

  “Audacious.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “It’s not my custom to be intimidated by men.”

  He half stood from the table to give her a bow. “It’s true, I spent the whole of last evening watching you, as did every other gentleman in the house. But they will not have the final honor of making you their bride.”

  Rowan squinted at him and took a sip of her water as he sat back down. “Probably not.”

  The conversation turned to other things. She asked him about his family, and he explained that his father had died—supposedly in an accident—right after Ormand came into power, leaving the ranch in Aaro’s hands. His mother had gone back east to stay with Aaro’s married sister.

  Rowan had no idea that a large chunk of time had passed until the serving girl came back and asked if they were having lunch. The dining room had filled while they sat and talked. They ordered lunch, then sat back, silent for the moment as the comfortable buzz of conversation circulated around them. The room was beginning to be warm and stuffy, though not uncomfortably so.

  It was good to know, Rowan thought, that the man across from her could hold an intelligent conversation, and not just flirt. Though he had done plenty of that as well.

  “Why did you come west?” Aaro asked the inevitable question.

  She touched the knot of hair at her neck and looked away for a moment. People were always eager to judge. Especially there seemed to be a deplorable double standard for women. She didn’t want Aaro to be one of the ones looking appalled at her independent streak, telling her what she should have done. On the other hand, if he was one of those people, then she would have no further use for him, and she’d know it instantly.

  “I came because I didn’t fancy my aunt’s matchmaking, nor my father’s insistence on marriage, nor both of their overbearing, suffocating plans for my life. As though being unmarried and independent at nineteen were a horrendous blight on the family name.”

  Aaro looked at her in silence for a moment, his eyebrows raised, and she steeled herself for the disappointment that was to come.

  He started to chuckle, and then he laughed out loud, drawing several people’s attention from the neighboring tables. Rowan watched him, waiting.

  “You came west because you didn’t want to get married?”

  “Exactly so. They might not have forced me, in so many words, but you have no idea the pressure put on noblewomen. If I was a man, it would be perfectly acceptable to put off all that family business, to travel, or do whatever I pleased. But the most I could get my father to agree to was giving me the funds to come stay with Uncle Lance. A compromise, but still a victory, for I’m no longer under father or Aunt Rose Marie’s thumb.”

  “And what do you plan to do with your independence, now that you have it?” Aaro said, still chuckling.

  “I don’t know.” She let her gaze wander past him to the window and the brassy noon light outdoors. “My mother was Uncle Lance’s sister, and he’s much more tolerant of a free spirit. My father… has not been quite right since she died. He made it clear that I was not to come back until I saw things his way. Mother could always talk him out of his straight-laced notions, but I fear I do not have that power over him.” She paused. “I like horses. I fancy my cousin Dyllan would let me come and work for him, once he gets his ranch established. Or perhaps I will find someone I fancy and get married after all. Not any time soon, though. And not the boy they had chosen for me.” She laughed. “The puppy.”

  Aaro sat back, arms folded across his chest, smiling. “I consider myself fortunate then. Your escape from him brought you to me. And if you still want to work with horses, I have those as well.”

  “Well! I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” She laughed.

  * * * * *

  After a long lunch they returned to the street, strolling around the town square, past the turnoff leading to the livery stable and the messenger service headquarters. Vendors sat under awnings, fanning themselves and watching passerby. Few of them were ambitious enough to stand and call out their wares in the growing afternoon heat, unless someone showed an interest.

  They walked slowly, staying in the shade of the vendors’ awnings as much as possible. Rowan had her fan on its little string around her wrist, and occasionally she fluttered it at her face, though even that seemed like more effort than it was worth. She imagined her face must be a brighter red than her hair by this point.

  “Is it always so hot here, or are we in some sort of a drought?” she asked.

  Aaro seemed undisturbed by the heat, despite a trickle of sweat working its way down his neck. “Pretty normal for this month,” he replied. “Mostly high summer is drought season. Just hope we don’t get tornadoes.”

  Rowan paused at a stand selling jewelry and other trifles. It was a mask that caught her eye, made of leather and silver mysteriously fused together in a strange, fierce pattern. Curious, she put out a finger to touch it, and a tingle ran up her arm, and down her spine, making her blink. She raised her eyes from the mask to the merchant. Magic? With all the talk lately, it was the first thought that sprang to mind. Was magic something a person could feel? She shivered, and resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt.

  The merchant rose slowly to stand behind the table. Age bent her back, her face darkened and weathered by the sun, more than anyone Rowan had ever seen, and suddenly another question was gnawing at her tongue. Shonnowa?

  “It is a masterpiece, no?” the old woman said.

  “It’s truly amazing.”

  “But perhaps not suitable for a young noblewoman.” The old lady reached into a box behind the table and brought out a copper pendant on a braided black leather thong. It was hammered into the image of a wolf.

  Rowan laughed in delight.

  “You like it?” Aaro asked from behind her.

  “It’s my emblem,” she said, picking up the necklace and gazing at it in the sunlight. “My cousins call me the Red Wolf. Usually when I’ve done something ridiculous and unladylike.”

  “You must have it then,” he said, drawing out a handful of coins from his pocket.

  Rowan looked from him to the gleaming copper wolf. “Principle demands I should refuse, since I’ve not accepted your proposal. But…”

  “All in good time.” Aaro winked at her. “I’m a patient man, and I don’t mind investing in a sure thing.”

  “You’re really so insufferable that it almost makes you charming.”

  He gave the woman her money and took the necklace out of Rowan’s hands. “May I?”

  She turned her back, and felt the gentle brush of his fingers on the back of her neck as he tied the leather cord. Goosebumps raced up her arms, and his hands lingered for just a second before pulling away. He turned her around to face him, the wolf pendant now resting in the hollow of her throat above the V neckline of her dress.

  “Perfect.” He looked pleased with himself.

  The merchant woman, all but forgotten for a moment, spoke again. “Perhaps the mask is more to the gentleman’s taste.” She watched them with piercing, almost black eyes, and a look that Rowan couldn’t decipher. “It has far more worth than what is in the craftsmanship alone. Try it, if you like.”

  Aaro tipped his hat to the old woman. “Perhaps
on a different day.”

  “Perhaps.” She smiled, showing missing teeth.

  They had moved on down the street to the next vendor when someone called out from behind them. They both turned, and Aaro greeted the other man, who looked to be around the same age, dressed similarly to Aaro with tan trousers, a black leather vest over his shirt, and a gun belt. He didn’t wear knives behind his gun holsters as Aaro did though.

  “Jake, may I introduce Miss Rowan Keir. Rowan, my foreman, Jake.”

  Jake tipped his hat, his eyes sparkling as he glanced between her and Aaro. “Ma’am.”

  Aaro turned back to her. “Forgive me. This should only be a moment.”

  Rowan wandered away as they spoke, looking for something to catch her interest. The dull clatter of horses’ hooves approached up the street, and she glanced up to see a dozen men, dressed in King Ormand’s blue and gray livery. All except for the man in the middle, who wore a silver circlet in his dark hair that flashed in the sunlight.

  Rowan’s pulse spiked, and she turned away, feigning interest in a length of crocheted lace. The horses slowed. She forced herself not to turn around.

  “Pardon, my lady.” The king’s voice was as she remembered it—low and smooth like Aaro’s, but without his hint of a drawl.

  She moved on, pretending she hadn’t heard, and spoke to one of the merchants. Behind her, she heard the creak of saddle leather, and the soft thud of boots hitting the ground.

  “Of all the—” she muttered under her breath.

  “Miss Keir?” Ormand said, directly behind her now. She couldn’t very well ignore him any longer, so she faked a little jump as though just realizing he was there, and turned.

  “Sire!” She curtsied, still acting surprised. “I beg your pardon.”

  His gaze felt cold and somehow slimy as it flickered up and down, covering her entire figure. “You are even more ravishing in the sunlight than you were last evening in the lamplight. I trust you are well today?”

  “Much better! Thank you.” She snapped her fan open. “It was incredibly warm last night, was it not? I’m afraid I’m not used to dancing in such stifling heat.”