The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Sarah placed her hands on her hips, her blond hair blending with the wheat-colored grass that surrounded the group, moving about her as the wind picked up.

  “You cannot be for this. She takes her suitors on this journey, leaves the kingdom to my father and we travel to Guardian knows where to find a mysterious relation. It is by far the worst thing. Oh! and let me expound: the fragment and rival clans lay scattered about and could kill us all before we reach the fabled Cape Cod,” Charles challenged.

  “I should not have brought you,” Clara said with sadness. “I knew that things had changed in our understanding, but I wished for it to be as it had been before.” Clara looked at Charles with such sadness, a longing for the easy friendship they had shared.

  Charles beheld her expression and could not understand why she didn't see reason. He was the choice for her. The Band? The Band be damned! It did not matter a fig that she was some select? What of it? He fumed.

  Matthew said, “We have not seen fragment these thirty days,” he shrugged a bare shoulder.

  Charles turned on him and Clara saw Thomas tense. “What say you? You are so busy chasing her skirt that you let your duties for her protection wane to your voluptuous appetite.”

  Clara turned in one fluid motion and slapped Charles' face, his head rocked back and she instantly regretted it.

  Her wrist felt broken, for one.

  A red imprint of her small hand lay upon his face. His nostrils flared and he turned without a word and stalked off into the woods.

  Matthew took the hand that she cradled against her chest and turning it, he laid a feather's kiss on the inside of the wrist. He looked deeply into her eyes and she cast hers to the ground, her soft walking moccasins buried in the pale flesh of the grass.

  Other shoes appeared beside hers and she looked into Sarah's cornflower blue eyes. “He has lost all sense. Can you not see? He does not 'advise' any longer; he rants,” Sarah said as she put a piece of copper hair behind Clara's ear.

  Clara knew this. She could no longer shake the memory of what they had been together. Her best friend, her most loyal cohort in all things. The one that sought her relentlessly through the Outside to save her from an uncertain fate.

  But he was no longer that person.

  Charles could not accept a friendship that did not also include romance.

  Matthew stood quietly beside her, as was his way. His hair danced along the tops of his shoulders, his eyes intent on her.

  She sighed again. “My Lady,” Thomas began, the one guard in the royal contingent that had been left behind when her mother made her devastating journey Outside. “What would you have of me?”

  Clara was mortified. She had lost her temper in a most repugnant fashion in front of her first officer of the Royal Guard. She was remiss. “Thomas, I am truly sorry you had to witness...” Clara floundered.

  But Thomas broke in before she could continue, “We of the guard understand the position you are in with Charles Pierce. We think he is an excellent man of worth.”

  The but stood in the air.

  Sarah said what only she could, “He will have to serve in another capacity, Clara. He is too near to you emotionally to offer sound advice, of anything.” She shrugged.

  Clara looked at Matthew and Thomas. “Please, gentlemen, leave Sarah and I to finish this conversation in private.”

  Matthew shook his head. “There must be someone standing watch at all times, Queen Clara.”

  “Clara,” she corrected him and he gave the barest incline of his head.

  “Fine,” she said, vexed. Clara began to pace back and forth and Sarah tracked her frenetic rhythm.

  “Matthew, Thomas, give us but a moment alone together so we may converse. She needs to be attended by a woman presently.” Sarah stared at Matthew.

  He relented reluctantly. “I will stand right there,” he pointed to a stand of evergreens that heralded a natural break of entry into the forest. “I will be observing, very closely.” He moved forward and pressed a kiss to Clara's forehead and met Sarah's eyes over the top of her head, his filled with clear warning.

  Clara felt the electric tingle that spiraled from the point of contact, his lips departing a thin thread that ran from the warmth of his mouth pressed against her skin to other areas. She blushed, feeling the heat of her embarrassment acutely, visible for all to see on her fair skin.

  Matthew gave her a rare grin. He was very aware of what reaction a kiss would elicit from a select so closely affected by one of the Band.

  He gave another look at Sarah. Be careful, that look said. She nodded and he made his way toward the trees, his long stride eating up the distance. He arrived and turned, leaning against the tree and sharpening one of his many blades against a stone, the ghost of that smile still riding his lips.

  *

  “Tell me I am not mad like one of King Otto's relatives,” Clara said.

  It was well-known that people from that sphere were too closely related, causing minds that were soft or worse.

  Sarah grinned, pressing her forehead against Clara's. “Dear Heart, you are many things, but mad is not one of them.” She leaned against Clara and wrapped her in an embrace that was tight and fierce. Clara let herself relax against her friend.

  Finally, when she thought she could speak once more, “Is this a fool's errand, Sarah? Is Charles correct?”

  Sarah deliberated. She would tell Clara the truth, that is what friends did. True friends.

  Slowly, Sarah shook her head. “He has a seed of truth in his argument.”

  Clara's face crumpled and Sarah rushed on, “He does not understand what it would be to be a royal orphan. And it is somehow worse than that, Queen Ada was not your true blood.”

  Clara stared at Sarah and whispered, “I should not have struck him. I am ashamed. After the violence I suffered at the hand of the Queen and Frederic. I should not have.”

  Sarah laid her hand within Clara's and squeezed the smallness of it once and Clara winced.

  “What?”

  “It hurts!” Clara laughed.

  Sarah grinned. “Ah, from the bludgeoning you laid on Charles?” she said coyly.

  Clara nodded. “Yes, that.” A small smile began to spread across her face, her somber self-recrimination floating away for the moment.

  Clarence approached and his eyes were for Sarah first but then fell on Clara. Her guilt over the interchange came surging back in a tide of emotion.

  “Queen Clara,” he bowed and she executed a small curtsey. She had long-since given up coaxing him into calling her Clara. He was too formal by far to comply.

  Sarah looked up into Clarence's face. “Why hello, Clarence,” she murmured while batting her eyelashes. Sarah knew full-well her effect upon him. He blushed a maddening brick red and muttered a greeting.

  Sarah was antagonizing him. They had been friends, as Charles and she had, the four of them inseparable. But now there was a shift in awareness happening. The journey east had revealed many things.

  He turned to Clara, ignoring Sarah for the moment and managed to get out, “Charles is remiss, Queen Clara. Please, would it be too much to ask that you engage in a reconciliation?” Clarence's eyes pleaded with her to understand.

  Of course Clara understood. She wanted nothing more than for she and Charles to come to an understanding.

  Sarah interjected, “She is sovereign here. Charles needs to quit acting the fool and allow her to rule, Clarence. It is he that needs to defer to her.”

  Clarence turned with a glare on his face and she stepped uncomfortably close and his anger eased, his face softening before her closeness. “I know well your friendship. However,” her hand reached out and ran a gliding finger down the front of the royal purple vest that he and the rest of the small guard contingent wore, “you must be cognizant of how his feelings muddle his intent.”

  Clarence tracked her hand, utterly forgetting Clara's presence, she noted with amusement. Sarah was playing a very dangerous game.
Clara was not sure of Sarah's true feelings for him. And as she thought it, Philip came charging up on his horse. His eyes took in the scene of Sarah with her hand on another man. His brows shot down over his intense eyes, his steed's hooves dancing in nervousness underneath his massive body.

  Sarah snatched her hand away from Clarence and he woke as if from a dream, startling.

  “I was coming to fetch the Queen and Sarah,” he said in way of explanation.

  “Yes, I see that was so,” Philip said with amusement laced with anger riding the prominent planes of his face.

  Sarah smoothed her linen skirt and adjusted the neckline on her thin cotton blouse that needed no adjusting.

  Sarah was always nervous in the presence of Philip. Bracus' brother was the largest of the Band, even more so than Bracus and Matthew. He dismounted, his head above the shoulder of his horse. The muscles in his forearms bulged as he slung the reins over the horse's neck and took it by the bridle, mindful of its mouth.

  His gaze went to Clara and he nodded. “Clara.”

  Clara nodded back. She had an easy alliance with Philip. After he had stepped down as a contender for her hand, there had been no reason not to. As this year had passed, she had come to realize he may have his heart set on Sarah.

  But Sarah would have none of it. She avoided all the Band and seemed determined to skim the surface of civility with them. It was an infuriating dilemma. One of the many tasks she had to address.

  Philip caught her gaze and she held his for a defiantly swollen moment then turned to Clarence. “Our Queen is in apt hands, let us go to the camp.”

  She turned to look disdainfully at Philip. “I assume you and the others have readied it?” she cocked a brow in his direction.

  His jaw tightened in response to her subtle rankling of him. “It is done. That is why I rode here.”

  She smiled up at him. “Good, clansman.” The insult was not lost on Philip and his fists clenched.

  Sometimes Clara thought for all Sarah's intellect she could not see what was in front of her face. The Band were not males to be toyed with. But warriors with an objective of clarity: kill to protect.

  Those violent biological imperatives, part of the very fabric of their nature were not to be played as a musical instrument.

  Sarah looped her arm through Clarence's and strolled off, giving a backward smirk to Philip.

  And Clara had thought her amusements with Clarence dangerous!

  Philip regained his composure and addressed her directly, “Clara, as I mentioned to your friends,” he exhaled forcefully and she controlled her expression, “the camp is ready for the night.”

  Clara nodded and he helped her mount the horse. When they were upon the steed's back her eyes found Matthew's. His legs were spread far apart, his hair floating on the breeze, eyes pressing on Clara like an erotic weight.

  Philip dug his heels into the horse's sides and they moved forward, toward the forest.

  Toward the men.

  CHAPTER 2

  The camp fire was ablaze, the heat warming Clara's skin, her body blooming to life. The day's heat was long gone but the remnants of seven hours on horseback rode her body aggressively. She was tense everywhere. Clara felt the only place free of tightness was her big toe.

  Bracus approached her and she watched Charles notice his path and scowl. She sighed.

  Males.

  She rose and he met her, his hands clasping hers and his eyes softening. They were much alike, Clara thought. They both worked to protect and rule their people in fairness.

  He spoke first, “We have searched and have a special surprise for you.”

  A genuine smile broke across Clara's face. “Tell me.”

  “A soak in a hot spring should take the soreness away,” Bracus said.

  Clara felt joyous. She had only had access to the lone pools of water that were icy cold. They tore the warmth away from her body and bathing was something to be done quickly. To have a warm bath after... She looked at Bracus. “How long since our last spring discovery?”

  She watched his face as he thought about it, palming his chin, a shadow of stubble sprinkled on his jaw. “Two weeks past.” He nodded. “Yes, it has been about that.”

  He held up a finger and Clara knew what would come next. “We must send one of the Royal Guard and one of the Band to accompany the women,” he shrugged.

  This is the one point that Clara and he disagreed on. She was uncomfortable knowing that males were about. She understood it was not completely rational, but much had transpired that made her have an urgent sense of vulnerability in that regard.

  Prince Frederic filled her mind's eye and she shuddered. The memory of him was enough to give her pause. Even now, surrounded as she was by the Band, she could not make her mind cease its conjuring of his whereabouts. She remembered the way he had looked upon her in the meadow glade during the battle.

  He would not quit until he had her.

  Bracus captured her chin with his finger and lifted it until their gazes locked. “He cannot hurt you. Nay, we know not even if he survives?” Bracus rolled his massive shoulders into a shrug. “Mayhap he perishes slowly, somewhere lowly and vile. A befitting end for one such as he.”

  She could not find a rebuttal better than that. Still she was frightened.

  Her eyes left his and sought Charles'. Her face must have shown some of the alarm that swirled about her consciousness because he stood, rapidly making his way to her. Bracus graciously moved away so Charles stood directly in front of her.

  They stared at each other for a lengthy moment and Clara blurted, “I am so sorry I struck you.” A hot tear blazed a trail down her cheek.

  He swept it aside with a finger and folded her into his arms, whispering against her head, “It is alright, Clara. It is alright.”

  Clara trembled on the disastrous abyss of a breakdown, building herself back together by sheer willpower. She had wanted this journey. But the further they traveled from her home sphere, the less certain she became. Had she endangered the group for her quest?

  “What has put that expression on your face?” Charles bent down and studied her. The pores of her skin laid bare under his scrutiny.

  “Bracus has said they have found another spring,” she said , looking at Charles and he nodded. She went on, “That someone must stand watch.”

  She shifted her weight in discomfiture. “He is right in that,” Charles conceded grudgingly. “We cannot have our Queen bathing and our other females...”

  “Precious females,” Bracus interrupted in correction.

  Charles nodded in agreement and continued, “Unclothed and vulnerable Outside without protection because it offends your sensibilities.”

  Bracus frowned. “It is not that, Charles,” Bracus began with surprise. “Do you think she so modest as to not understand the protection imperative?”

  Charles nodded. Yes, he did. He had known her all her life. With the exception of the despicable select rite of the prior year where she had been tested and matched for possible future mates, she was the epitome of female decorum. Charles huffed, “Then what is it, pray tell?”

  Clara did not think she needed to say it but, “I am still having some trouble with what has happened.”

  Charles did not understand. “With whom?”

  “Prince Frederic,” she whispered.

  Charles frowned. That dreadful serpent was no more. There had not been a whisper from anything or anyone about his hide spotted in the Outside or sphere alike.

  “He is not about.” Charles waved his arms around dramatically and the Band by the fire flicked their eyes to his movements, Matthew's gaze heavy on him. “You worry for nothing!” Charles said, planting his hands on his hips in righteous indignation. Did she not think they would all die to protect her? She was entirely frustrating.

  Clara lowered her head in shame. How could she articulate that she awoke with a scream buried within the depths of her throat more nights than not? That Anna caught
her gaze and a silent communion of understanding passed between them. That her fear around males of small acquaintance made her terribly anxious, her palms sweating silently as she fought for composure.

  Bracus studied her and replied in her stead, “It is not his uncertain demise, my friend, which makes her fret. It is what he inflicted upon her that has changed her into someone that is skittish around males; as a colt.”

  Charles looked down at Clara. He really looked. Suddenly the dark circles under her eyes and her pinched expression meant so much more than travel weariness. The realities of last summer had left their mark upon her. She was not free of her experiences even though they no longer threatened.

  “Come here,” she collapsed into him, biting her lip to stave off tears and he patted her back,murmuring the things one does to comfort. All nonsensical. All quite necessary.

  Finally, she broke away from his embrace. And with a shaky exhale she looked up into three faces: Bracus, Charles and Matthew.

  “What is happening here?” Matthew asked without preamble, his gaze scanning their environment as if there was a threat permeating their camp.

  Clara put a hand on his arm and his breathing quickened. She quickly let it drop. It was obvious that touching him casually was ill-advised.

  Not that she could do anything casual with him.

  Or Bracus.

  The Band was not an informal lot.

  Sarah bounded up with a knapsack and Philip stood from his position by the fire, his form utterly blocking the blaze as his shadow fell over their group. Her relief was profound. A month's traveling with two virile men of the Band, both their attention set on her had been a fragile thing to balance and she felt herself losing her footing with the pair.

  “Ready?” she asked, her smile quick, bathing implements in hand. Anna stood behind her with Thomas and Joseph flanking.

  Clara nodded. She needed to be braver than this. She must be a Queen even Outside. A Queen did not shirk her duties. She would bathe, she would behave normally, she would not let the disquiet of her memories rule her.