Stupid ribbon!
With her hair untied, her headache improved. Her mother and sister sent her worried looks.
“Are you sure you’re well?” her mother asked.
“Yes, please stop fussing.” This day was worsening at a gallop. If only she could remember what Bevan had said at breakfast. He was normally the quietest of lads. So, why hadn’t she paid attention when he came in for a chat?
In fact, now she thought of it, most of this day felt unusually shadowy. Strange, since she normally had an excellent memory, unhappily so. Of course, this morning she’d been distracted, planning her evening with Thyel. When Bevan showed up, Tamara had even momentarily wondered if the queen had sent her grandson to spy on her truculent daughter.
Concentrate. What had Bevan said about those times he went away? Something about meeting a stranger, yes, that was it. She turned back. “I remember now. Bevan said a being visited him and told him of a foreign land. You know how fanatical he is about seeing new places. He probably went to see for himself what it was like.”
That caught their attention.
“What did this stranger look like?” Saira asked. “And where is this foreign land situated?”
Tamara rubbed at her forehead. The throbbing had returned with a vengeance. Then in a flash she saw the person Bevan described. As clear as if she gazed at his portrait. “The man has a narrow face, icy blue eyes, pale white hair and skin. Oh, and he spoke with a soft musical voice.” Of its own accord, her arm shot up until her hand hovered high over her head. “And he was this tall,” she said, though she felt as unsure of that fact as her arm seemed certain of it.
It had green skin, stood knee high, and was nasty tempered, Tamara. It was very rude.
She frowned, confused. Had she imagined Bevan saying that last bit? The words swept by in the whisper of a cold, north wind. The latter description was so different from the picture that stayed glued to the forefront of her mind. She delved deeper into the memory and the hammering in her head thundered. She cried out.
Saira was at her side, her hands covering Tamara’s head. “Let me look at you. You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine!” Her sister’s fingers burned. She pushed Saira away and stumbled backwards. “Leave me alone. You’re making my head hurt more. Why must everyone crowd me?”
Tamara edged away. The further she went from Saira, the less her head hurt until she could finally look around without squinting with pain.
“I’ve never heard such an odd description,” her mother said, thankfully keeping her distance.
“Neither had I,” Tamara agreed readily. “Truly, Mother, I thought he’d dreamed it or I would have spoken sooner.”
“What else did Bevan say?” her mother asked.
Did he say something was green? The memory faded. “Nothing I recall.”
Her mother turned to Saira. “The Erovians were a myth until you introduced them to Rycan society. Could this tall, white-haired stranger be real, too?”
“I don’t know, Mam.”
The pet name surprised Tamara. It was an old nickname Saira had used as a child because she couldn’t pronounce Mamosia. The slip showed how upset her sister must be, for she was always careful to refer to the queen only as “mother” these days.
The queen approached and gently took Tamara’s fingers. “Try to remember, dear. What else did Bevan say?”
Tamara trembled within her gentle hold. Could her nephew truly be in trouble? Had she made a terrible mistake in not listening to him? Looking into her mother’s worried blue eyes, Tamara’s guilt spiked. Could Bevan die because she had allowed Thyel to distract her? The large room shrank, crowding her. “I don’t remember anything else.”
The disappointment in her mother’s eyes brought a lump to Tamara’s throat. She freed her hands. Maybe if she had some privacy and space, all what Bevan said would come back. “I’m going to my room to rest. If I remember anything else, I’ll send word. I promise.”
“Should we contact Garren at the university to let him know what’s happening?” Saira asked.
“No,” Mamosia said. “You’ve contacted Anna and Marton. That’s enough for now. Let’s leave Garren be. I don’t want your brother troubled as he focuses on his studies.”
Tamara ran out before she burst into tears. Two guards stood watch outside. She was half way down the corridor when she remembered Thyel had heard Bevan, too. He might remember what her nephew said. She ran back to the two guards. “Where has Thyel been taken?”
The men remained silent.
“Tell me!”
“I’m sorry, your highness. You are not to see Master Thyel again. Queen’s command.”
With a frustrated shout, she stormed off. Further down the corridor she halted a female servant passing by. “Do you know where Master Thyel was taken by the guards?”
“Out of the castle, your highness,” the young girl said, voice quivering. “To the docks, some say. I’m so sorry.”
It was too late for a ship to set sail tonight. Without sunlight to guide the way, a vessel could never navigate safely past the rocks that surrounded Tibor’s harbor. That could mean he was being held on board a docked vessel, awaiting a morning sail.
If so, for once, time was on her side.
Realizing she still held the shaking servant girl, Tamara released her with a muttered apology and thank you for the valuable information. She hurried along the twisting corridors. Picking up her skirts, she sprinted down the curved stairs that led to the front entryway.
She had to find Thyel. Talk to him about Bevan.
The guards posted by the heavy front doors lowered spears to bar her way. Furious, she pivoted and sped back up the stairs. Other doors led to the outside. Surely not all would be guarded. Footsteps pounded behind her. A shoulder check showed a guard in pursuit.
Could her mother have ordered her confined to her quarters? She sped up, racing up to the second floor. She ran past a courtier and several startled servants. Around another corner and she came across the servants’ stairs. She headed up to the third floor. What she needed was a safe route to the outside and she knew exactly where to find it.
It sounded as if the guard was gaining ground so she slipped behind a heavy wall-length tapestry and held her breath. Her pursuer flew past where she hid. She was about to go in the other direction when her palms skimmed past a hidden catch along the rough-cut stonewalls. A smile of triumph spread her cheeks wide.
As a child, Tamara had used the castle’s secret passageways many times to evade her governess. She pressed two depressions on the wall and a panel at her back slid open, sweeping out cool air. She fell backwards into the passage and then instantly regretted her rash action. Before she could run back out, the door slid shut on her face and the lock clicked closed. A frantic search with her hands in the dark confirmed no handle or latch on this side.
She covered her mouth tight to stop her scream releasing. Getting caught by a guard would be worse than being stuck in here. There was a way to escape, but was she capable of doing it? She had run down these hidden corridors enough times to know where the next opening was.
Fears born of her long entrapment in the time spell, however, were creeping closer. Her legs quivered in the drafty corridor. Her knees buckled and she slumped onto the cold stone floor, knuckles scraping along the walls. Anger, frustration, and horror engulfed Tamara.
Years of being held immobilized returned with a vengeance. Then, her mother cast the charm to protect her. Now, Tamara’s mind cast its own spell of terror, one her body unconditionally obeyed.
How could she have been so foolish as to put herself in this position? Her heart raced as if it planned to tunnel out of her chest. Her palms and forehead grew sweaty, and her throat closed in so tight, she couldn’t have screamed even if she wanted to.
Minute by minute she became as immovable as the stone walls that surrounded her. All the while, her body stayed frozen in place.
Chapter 2
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nbsp; Tamara stayed crouched in the dark, trembling, her mind shouting at her to, Get me out of here!
But time stood still.
Again.
In the silence, drums sounded a call inside her head.
That’s what Bevan had said this morning. Something about hearing drums. Her nephew needed her. He could be in danger. What if he was killed because she didn’t help?
Along either side, the corridor stretched the length of the castle. There were other openings with handles on this side of the wall. All Tamara had to do was get up and find one.
Sobbing, she forced herself to stand and move along the musty enclosure, one forced step at a time. Little things scuttled away from her bare feet in the dark. She tried to ignore the sound of skittering nails in the darkness ahead. Palms flattened against the wall, heartbeat thundering, she repeated, “Breathe, Tamara, and take a step. You are free.”
An interminable time later, her hand brushed across a lever. She slammed her weight against it and a panel slid open. Crying in relief, Tamara tumbled in and fell to the floor. A glance up confirmed this was Saira and Tom’s bedchamber. At least neither of them were here to witness her breakdown. As she lay there, every wasted moment ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Tamara managed to crawl to the bed but once on it, she had to lie still while her head settled from its spinning motion. A rustle brought her alert. She squinted in the faint moonlight and noticed a man standing in the middle of her sister’s bedroom.
Was that Tom? Had her sister’s husband come in?
The outline of the intruder showed a tall spare-framed male wearing a floor-length robe cinched at his waist and clutching a fat book. His skin was dark enough to blend into the shadowed room, but his distinctive white robe proclaimed him as none other than Jarrod of Erov. That’s why she hadn’t heard the door open.
An Erovian had the ability to pop in and out of places, and only Jarrod carried that silly tome wherever he went.
Jarrod’s interest had always been allied solely with her sister Saira. He would never come to see Tamara in the middle of the night, without warning, and in an obvious fluster about something. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure. Surely Tom wouldn’t approve of a handsome single man invading his wife’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She disregarded the fact that she’d invaded her sister’s room uninvited.
Jarrod came around the side of the bed and knelt. He was about her age, perhaps a year or two older, but where her skin was ivory, his was ebony. She might have never seen him in the darkness if not for his white robe. “Saira, I have urgent need of your help.”
He was here for Saira. Always, Saira. At all royal functions, he ignored Tamara. On rare occasions when they found themselves face-to-face, he avoided eye contact.
Tamara gave a curt nod. “Good evening, Jarrod.”
“Princess Tamara. Where’s your sister?”
A quick succession of pictures flashed through her mind. Saira fast asleep by a camp fire in the woods, waking up inside a hut, speaking formally to long-robed Erovians in a multi-colored tent city.
Saira had said Erovians could share their feelings without saying a word to each other. They were circumspect with outsiders, never intruding unless invited. It surprised her that she could sense Jarrod’s thoughts in this instance, and so clearly. Did he realize he projected them? Even more intriguing was the idea that these images were how Jarrod viewed her sister.
The scenes fit Saira’s adventures to rescue her family. Seeing the story through this quiet, studious man’s dark gaze brought those stories to life. Except, her sister had looked frightened in Jarrod’s memory. How strange. Tamara had always thought Saira was the bravest of her family.
“Where’s your sister?” Impatience gained ground in his normally calm tone.
She didn’t care where Saira was. Tamara needed to find Thyel and ask him what Bevan had said this morning. She swung her legs to the floor. Could Jarrod be of help with her need? “There’s a problem with Bevan. My sister’s helping with that matter.”
“Perhaps I can help her.”
Ah, Jarrod to Saira’s rescue, not Tamara’s. With an irritated sigh, she jumped off the bed and then regretted it as the room shifted as if she were underwater.
“Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her with a hand at her elbow
“No time.” She waited for her sight to settle and then shook off his hold and ran to the door.
He hurried after her. “I must find Lady Saira-Gilly. It’s imperative.”
Tamara stopped to turn and say, She’s busy, when she noticed Jarrod’s gaze transfixed to her shoulder.
Was he avoiding eye contact again? She itched to slap him to relieve a bit of frustration. Then she noticed that because of his earlier hold on her, her already loose gown had slipped to reveal a generous glimpse of her pale shoulders.
Well, well, well. Could it be that the strikingly aloof Chief Councilor of Erov was not as immune to her charms?
She lowered her shoulder and her dress obligingly slipped to the edge of her bosom.
A delightful frown appeared on his forehead.
“Jarrod, would you mind tying my gown in place?” She turned, to give him a clear view of her bare back.
His precious volume dropped to the floor. Tamara bit her lip to keep her laughter in.
His fingers fumbled as he pulled the cords tight to tie it. His hands were warm on her cold back and she leaned into his touch. “Please stand still, Tamara.”
She thrilled at the tremor in his voice. He’d forgotten to address her as princess. All too soon he was done and he picked up his book, shuffling loose pages together.
She turned to observe him, her mind running rampant on how she could use his attraction of her to her advantage.
He straightened, his precious book clutched like a shield. Sending her a frowning glare, he opened the tome and followed a line of script with a finger. “Where Saira is should be marked in here,” he muttered. “I don’t understand why I can’t find the notation.”
It was Tamara’s turn to squint at what he looked at. He couldn’t possibly see anything in the dark. The bit of moonlight from the window barely highlighted his handsome dark face. Erovians were intrinsically magical, so perhaps the script was spelled to allow him to read even in the dimmest chamber.
A useful talent, if one was a scholar. Useless to her. Jarrod had another talent that could work on her behalf. His ability to pop in and out of places without anyone noticing.
To gain time to plan her next move, she allowed him to read in peace as she lit a candle and then deliberately, brushed by him on her way to set it on the hearth’s mantle.
He practically jumped at her touch.
Priceless! Hiding her jubilant grin, she set the candle down and swung to confront him. “I’m curious, Jarrod, how did you get into this room?”
The glance he sent her way was filled with deep intensity and an odd appeal. A shiver spiked along her spine in reaction. So, this was what it felt like to have him look directly at her. Her stomach fluttered and heat rose up her cheeks. Of their own accord, her bare toes curled on the sheepskin rug.
Tamara noted all these reactions with a sense of dismay. All of Thyel’s love talk and kisses had never stirred her like this. Jarrod had done it with one glance? How? He was a tedious young man who was in love with her sister.
She enjoyed having a sexual impact on him, but her reaction was unacceptable. She took a few breaths to slow the blood rushing through her veins like a flooding river and to quiet that odd music ringing in her ears.
“Jarrod,” the word came out breathless. She cleared her throat and adjusted her next words to sound coy, instead of captivated, “How do you travel from place to place?”
He went back to looking at his tome. “We’re born with the ability, princess. Now I must find your sister. There’s no reference to where she might have gone. Unusual. All royal events should be recorded here and that includes Saira’s mov
ements. She was due to return to the castle this evening. Even stranger that I cannot sense her presence anywhere.”
“She’ll be back soon,” Tamara said. “While travelling, can you take someone with you?”
He shook his head, his soft black curls swinging. “I don’t have time to explain. Where could Saira have gone?”
“If you agree to take me, I can guide you to where Saira is.” A lie, but it might get her transported out of the castle. She moved closer and leaned in to pick up one of his long strands of hair. It felt as silky and light as she’d always imagined. He smelled faintly of ink, parchment and fresh air. Odd that such ordinary scents could seem so alluring.
He stepped back until she released her hold. “Tell me where she’s gone and I’ll find her myself.”
“Take me with you, or you may wait here for her return.” She gave him an inviting smile, twirling her own hair and watched with hidden triumph as his gaze followed the movement. “I believe she said she might be several hours.”
He ignored her and turned a page.
Her annoyance peaked. With Bevan’s life on the line, she didn’t have time for this. She slammed the tome closed. “Stop looking at that ridiculous book.”
His finger barely escaped, uninjured.
“Your choices are simple, Jarrod. If you wish to see Saira, allow me to guide you.” Already regretting her show of temper, she soothed her face into a teasing smile. She raised her chest, and while his gaze went there, she reached back unobtrusively and loosened the cords at her back. A dropped shoulder and her gown obligingly slid to reveal what her mother would consider a shocking amount of bare flesh. “Or we can wait here for Saira, together.”
* * *
In great distress, Jarrod couldn’t tear his gaze from Tamara’s pale smooth bare shoulder. His hands holding Falcon’s Tome turned clammy. His heart pounded as if someone knocked with great urgency inside his chest.
His thoughts slowed and his logical reasoning became as sluggish as walking through quicksand. Think! Could Tamara truly know where Saira was? If so, why was she being so difficult?
Hushed, Tales of Ryca, Book 2 Page 2