Why that surprised her, Aurora didn’t know. She recognized the signature. The distinct style too. Quinlyn’s hand was in the small details. Organized with ruthless precision, the room presented an uncluttered front. Even the chairs around the long oak table next to the hearth were orderly—each spaced with equal distance from one end to the other. High in the stonewall above it, three windows looked down on the large chamber. Daylight shone through the colorful panes, invading the space, bringing more comfort, chasing away the darkness while warming it to a yellow glow.
With a hum, Aurora let her gaze roam to the tapestry above the fireplace. Depicting the lord’s crest, the massive thing stretched wall to wall. Burnt red, gold, and black threads took shape and form, glinting as sunlight reached out to caress the embroidered insignia. Hmm, so beautiful and…huh. A memory tickled the back of Aurora’s mind. Where had she seen it before? Somewhere…some place…and recently too. She frowned, then shook her head. Strange, but for all her mental searching, she couldn’t place it.
Not that it mattered. Sooner or later, the information would come back to her.
Dragging her attention from the crest, she turned to examine the other side of the chamber. Stairs hugged the wall on the left hand side of the room, rising to meet the floor above. An open hallway made its home beneath, and from the decadent smell coming from that direction, Aurora guessed the kitchen lay not far beyond.
Absorbed in the details, she took in the mastery of the carved banister, following it down to— Her gaze lit on the man standing on the bottom step.
She flinched. Good lord. Where the devil had he come from? A good question, one that needed answering. And fast.
She opened her mouth to ask. Her throat dried up, and nothing came out. Well, wasn’t that just dandy? Her first encounter with the Lord of Alvars and words failed her. Typical. And far from favorable. Now wasn’t the time to become tongue tied. Or betray her nervousness. Vulnerability lay in the emotion, and any show of weakness left a woman open to attack.
Lacing her fingers to keep her hands from shaking, Aurora cleared her throat. The strategy worked, helping her find her voice. “My lord, I…well, umm, good morrow.”
His eyes narrowed on her.
Aurora resisted the urge to head for the nearest exit. She rubbed her palms together and tried again. “Hello?”
He didn’t answer her second attempt either. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, remained at the bottom of the stairs, and scowled at her. To be expected, she guessed. His dark expression made perfect sense. Most Viking warlords, after all, didn’t enjoy welcoming strangers into their home. Not without kicking up a fuss anyway.
Nate coughed and pushed to his feet.
The silence intensified. Aurora swallowed, becoming more skittish by the moment. Refusing to show it, she smoothed her expression. Naught good would come from showing her fear. Or allowing him to intimidate her. She must muddle through, despite his Viking-like demeanor. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she held his gaze. God’s truth, it was an apt description. Striking and strong, he did look like a Viking. Big with dark blonde hair, he epitomized mean, tall, and lean.
“Forgive me, sir, but as we have never met, I’m not sure who…that is to say, I would ask…” Mouth gone dry, Aurora cleared her throat again. It didn’t help this time. Nerves getting the better of her, each word came out whisper-thin, yet somehow split the silence like the edge of a battle-axe all the same. She swallowed, working some much-needed moisture back into her mouth. “Are you Lord Eamon, Quinlyn’s betrothed?”
Head tilted, he considered her a moment, then nodded.
Not knowing what else to do, she curtsied, only to marvel when she managed to regain her balance, instead of falling facedown in the rushes. “Sir…I mean, my lord, I am—”
“Lady Aurora de Marquise?” Eamon asked, his tone implying he doubted her identity.
Not surprising. She looked as though she’d been dragged behind a horse, then stomped on for good measure. Heat exploded across her cheeks. With quick hands, she brushed the dust from her clothing and tried to tidy the rat’s nest atop her head. She tucked a couple of errant tresses behind each ear. “Aye, of course, my lord. I know it is a bit of a surprise, and you really must excuse our early arrival, but there was a problem, and well, I…that is, we…just thought that mayhap…I’ve come for the wedding.”
One golden brow arched in response to her inept little speech. Eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips twitched. “You are over your illness then?”
“Illness?” Aurora frowned. “I…what illness, my lord?”
“The one your—”
“Rory? Lord above, Rory!” The shout came from the top of the staircase.
Aurora dragged her focus from Lord Eamon and—
Her mouth fell open.
Raven locks in wild disarray—and dressed in nothing more than a chamber robe—Quinlyn hung over the railing atop the landing. Gaze riveted on her, her friend’s knuckles turned white against the dark banister. “Oh, thank God. You’re here.”
Giddy with relief, Aurora waved and, forgetting her manners, skirted around Eamon to meet her friend at the bottom of the stairs. Reaching out, she clasped Quinlyn in a tight hug. “Aye, I really am…finally.”
Retreating a bit, Quinlyn cupped her face with both hands. Hazel eyes full of unshed tears, her best friend smiled, laughed, and then threw her arms around her once more. “Praise be…finally!”
Aurora returned the squeeze of affection. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Aye, well, you would never have—”
“I know, but ’twas—”
Quinlyn sighed and patted her cheek. “’Tis all behind you now and we’ll—”
“When? When is it to be?”
“Three days. You’ve arrived not a moment too soon, there are all sorts of—”
“Of course, I would be more than happy to—”
“For the love of God, you two. No one can understand a word of your conversation, if any can truly consider it that...and you are drawing a crowd,” Eamon said, tone gruff. An exasperated look on his face, he glanced over his shoulder at the servants clumped behind them. With a sigh, he shook his head, then scowled at his betrothed. “Quinlyn, did you not think to dress before coming down?”
“’Tis the truth, I didn’t think at all, but…” Wiping a tear from her cheek, Quinlyn stuttered to a halt when he raised a brow. “Oh, never mind! She’s here, Eamon…here! Did I not tell you it was all a pack of lies?” Taking hold of the front of his tunic, Quinlyn stepped in close. Flattening her hand on his chest, she met her soon-to-be husband’s pale blue gaze. “Be happy for me.”
“I am, love,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “More than you know.”
Amazed by the exchange, Aurora sucked in a soft breath. Oh, how marvelous. What an incredible sight to behold. Powerful men didn’t normally give…they took. But as she watched, wonder circled—picking her up, holding her down, making her heart dance—as Eamon gentled beneath the touch of his betrothed. Her throat went tight. And in that instant, Aurora gave her Maker his due and said a silent prayer of thanks. She was so very glad for her friend, for it was obvious to anyone with eyes, that the Lord of Alvars loved her.
“I told you that man is a liar,” Quinlyn said, tossing a pleased look in her direction.
Aurora huffed in laugher.
Eamon grinned. “Aye, you did. “More than once and rather vehemently.”
“Who’s a liar?” Worry poked at her, churning her stomach. Aurora swallowed the burn, refusing to panic just yet. Quinlyn could be talking about anyone. Not necessarily her uncle. Something told her, though, that was naught but wishful thinking. “Please tell me it isn’t—”
“I will explain everything, Rory,” Quinlyn said, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “In the meantime, your uncle can bloody well go straight to Hades…evil toad that he is.”
Oh no. Not good. Suspicions confirmed. “Tell me he doesn’t
know I am here, Quin. Please, tell me.”
“Nay, leastwise, not that we are aware of,” Eamon said. “But he will figure it out soon enough if he has any wits to rub together.”
“He has more than just a few, my lord.” Weariness pressing down on her shoulders, Aurora rubbed her upper arms. It didn’t help. The chill stayed with her, sinking into her bones along with the dread. “He is razor sharp. Beyond smart. In truth, I’m surprised I made it out of Garard Keep at all, never mind all the way to Alvars.”
Quinlyn snorted. “You are far and away more intelligent than that toad, Rory. Lord above, he actually expected us to believe the idiocy he sprouted when he returned the missive—”
“You sent a missive?” Aurora lips parted in surprise.
“Aye, of course.” Snuggling deeper into Eamon’s arms, Quinlyn smiled at her. “We requested your presence at our wedding. ’Twas the only way we could think of to get you out of Garard Keep without resorting to foul play.”
“You…” Aurora paused, an ache blooming in the center of her chest. She felt her heart constrict as she met Eamon’s gaze. “You thought to get me out?”
“I would never have heard the end of it had I not.” Eamon grinned when her friend blushed to the roots of her dark hair. “Truth be told, I already have men planted inside your uncle’s keep. They were merely waiting for the best time to pull you from beneath his thumb. I wanted your presence to be one of the gifts to my bride on the day of our wedding. ’Twould seem, however, you have beaten me to it.”
“Oh, Eamon, you are wonderful,” Quinlyn said, hugging him so tight Aurora thought she heard his ribs crack.
Fighting tears, Aurora curbed the urge to hug him just as hard. “Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your protection. But once my uncle realizes I am here, he will come to take me back.”
“Let him come.” Eamon shrugged. His lack of concern made her feel better. He seemed the sort, after all, to plan well—down to the last detail—then execute the strategy with a hard line and quick fists. All excellent qualities to have on her side. Particularly with her uncle in the mix. “You are safe here, Aurora. Your uncle will not be permitted to take you out of Alvars. If he persists, he will regret it.”
Giving him another squeeze, Quinlyn pressed her cheek to her betrothed’s chest. “Isn’t he wonderful, Rory?”
Smiling at her best friend’s obvious infatuation, Aurora could hardly do more than agree. Eamon was wonderful. She only hoped he stayed true to his word. Held the line as only a warrior could when her uncle arrived and laid siege to Alvars Castle.
EPISODE TWO
CHAPTER FIVE
No Accident
Immersed to the shoulders in a large tub, Aurora leaned her head back against its curved rim. Eyes closed and legs curled, she sighed in contentment. Oh so nice—the heat, the peace and quiet, the scent of lavender as steam swirled off the surface of the water and disappeared into the stillness of the room. Humming drifted from the chamber next door while the fire in the hearth crackled, coaxing her to let it all go…the stress, the strain, every single worry. Muscles and mind loosening, she succumbed, sinking into the sway and pull of total relaxation.
Nothing had ever felt so good.
Not since she’d been taken from her home and forced to live with her awful relatives had she relaxed so completely. But then, she no longer needed to be on guard. She was safe now, harbored behind the thick walls of Alvars Keep.
“You’ll be as wrinkled as an old crone if you stay in there much longer.”
Aurora jerked and drew her knees up. Tucked into a ball, she swiveled in the tub to look over her shoulder. “Nate! Get out of here.”
“Oh, please. You know my preferences and you are not it.” Eyes full of mischief, Nate closed the door in his wake. The soft thud echoed as he walked into the chamber. “Now, come…out of the tub before I am forced to go in search of a rolling pin to flatten the creases.”
With a grumble, she tossed her friend an annoyed look, trying to determine whether she should feel insulted or not. She stifled a snort. Not likely…neither would it do any good. Honest about his interests—at least, with her—she knew he preferred men. And honestly? Didn’t give two wits about it. Regardless of what the world thought—and the church said—she didn’t agree. Nate was not evil. Or immoral. He was who he was, and she loved him no matter what…faults, foibles, and all.
Stopping alongside the hearth bench, Nate picked up a linen drying cloth and flapped it at her.
She huffed. “Oh, all right. But ’tis something a maid should do.”
“Are you saying I am not a good maid?”
“Well, nay,” Aurora said, somewhat surprised by the realization. “Actually, you make a rather good maid.”
Wrapping the linen around her, he unfolded another towel and started drying her hair. “Good. Then ’tis settled and I may see to your care?”
Aurora blinked as understanding dawned. Nate’s worry—and the insecurities that drove it—hung in the air around her, making her chest go tight. God love him. He was afraid now that she’d reached Alvars she no longer needed him.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Glancing over her shoulder, she met his gaze. “Aye, of course, Nate. You know I could not do without you.”
Reassured by her admission, he smiled and picked up a stool. Setting it close to the hearth, he patted the seat. “Sit. I will brush and arrange your hair.”
Slipping into the robe he left her, Aurora complied and was soon half asleep in her seat, swaying to the rhythm of the brush. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, listening to thunder rumble in the distance and the hissing pop of the well-laid fire.
Nate drew another gentle stroke through her hair. “Did you inform Lord Eamon of the poor beast you abandoned in the forest?”
The question killed her contentment.
“Me? How quickly you forget your involvement.” Aurora frowned at her friend. Nate pulled her head back around with one swipe of the brush. “And I didn’t abandon him, as you well know.”
Nate chuckled. “You did not answer my question.”
“Aye, I told him,” she said, guilt getting the better of her. She had not, after all, told Lord Eamon everything.
Raising a brow, he stopped brushing. “You told him you stole—”
“Borrowed.”
“—the mount from a knight in Hexham?”
“Nay, not precisely.” Nate opened his mouth, no doubt to scold her. She jumped into the fray, cutting off any chance of a lecture. “I informed him where the roan was and that we had seen him in the woods upon our arrival.”
Nate stared at her with that look in his eyes—the one that said she asked for more trouble than she could handle.
Aurora fidgeted on the stool. “What? ’Twas the truth. I did not lie to him.”
“And what of the man who accosted you? Did you tell him about that?”
“Nay,” she said, praying the conversation would shrivel up and die.
“By the saints, Rory. ’Tis something he should know.”
“Why? I will never see the brute again.”
Irritated by the fact Nate might be right, Aurora pursed her lips and stared into the hearth. High flames ate at the logs, throwing heat into the room. Which, of course, reminded her of a different heat altogether. The kind that darkened gorgeous brown eyes reflecting deep desire. A shiver ran down her spine. God’s teeth, it wasn’t fair. Or in any way her fault. The big brute. Had he done what she asked and let her go, none of it would have happened. Not the necessity of her deception. Not her bashing him. Nor her fleeing Hexhem, on a stolen mount no less. But oh no, he’d persisted—insisted even—which in the end left her with little choice.
Aurora huffed. Aye, ’twas most certainly his fault, the overbearing devil. But my, what a handsome devil he had been. Such a shame. She really hadn’t wanted to hurt him.
She cringed at the memory.
The image of him falling to one knee as
he cupped the offended area, the whole while uttering obscenities, was burned into her brain. Regrettable really, but naught could be done to change the fact she had injured him…grievously. Her only hope was to never meet him again. No man would forgive that kind of assault. And she knew should they ever cross paths again, he would throttle her for the insult.
“Well, ’tisn’t the soundest decision you’ve ever made, I can tell you that,” Nate said, tone full of annoyance.
“Nate?”
“Aye, I know. Be quiet.”
With a snort of laughter, Aurora shook her head and motioned to her hair. “Can you fix this? I would like to visit the stables before supper.”
“You’ve not much time, Rory.”
“I know, but I must check on the roan and see that he is being well housed. Besides, I cannot resist the urge to examine Alvars’s stock.”
Nate huffed. “You and your love of horses. ’Twill be your downfall, you know. No lady loves those beasts as you do.”
“It cannot be helped. ’Tis in my blood. ’Twill be naught but a quick peek, and I promise to return to the keep and supper in the same condition in which I leave you.”
Nate raised a brow in disbelief.
She didn’t blame him. Her track record spoke volumes, none of it good when a stable full of horses entered into the equation. One hand over her heart, Aurora raised the other and pledged. “Truly.”
With a grumble and quick hands, Nate arranged her hair atop of her head, then turned toward the bed. “Which gown?”
“Which…” she trailed off and, popping off her stool, crossed the chamber. Laid out on the counterpane, two gowns—both cut of the finest quality—shimmered in the weak light. Misty-eyed, Aurora fingered the royal blue one. “Quinlyn?”
“She sent them earlier,” Nate said, tone full of satisfaction. Goodness, he was practically giddy. Aurora wasn’t surprised. Naught captured her friend’s interest better than a neat stitch or a well-turned hem. “The two of you are a similar size, so there was little alteration needed.”
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