Destined for a King

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “If you don’t stop this nonsense, your chance to escape will be gone.” She stooped at his feet, trying key after key until the chains about his ankles fell into the dirty straw on the floor. In the next moment, the heavy weight of the shackles dropped from his wrists. She pressed a dagger into his hand. “Take this as a gauge of my earnestness, if you need one, but we must hurry.”

  She came for you.

  She had. He stared after her, while the other men pressed forward, eager to be released from their bonds. Chains clanked against the floor, a counterpoint to the steady hammering rhythm that echoed from the back of the cell. Ever since Torch had relinquished his Stone, Brother Tancrid had been pounding away at it, the gods only knew why.

  Not that it mattered. Torch no longer cared what happened to that useless bit of rock. It had done nothing but steer him wrong since he embarked in his quest to retake his throne. It had led him to Calista, convinced him she was his destined bride. And she’d betrayed him. Or so he’d thought until a few moments ago.

  Now he no longer knew what to think.

  A choked sob broke through the din. Not Calista, though. That was not her voice.

  “Oh, what have those brutes done to you?” Near the door, Tamsin knelt next to Owl’s prostrate form, brushing lank strands of hair off his forehead.

  “What are we going to do about the lad?” Hawk stood nearby, rubbing his newly unbound wrists. “If we need stealth and speed, he’ll only be a hindrance.”

  “We cannot leave him here. We must find a way.” Somehow. Not that Torch had any notion what sorts of obstacles stood between his Brothers and freedom.

  “What’s happened to him?” Calista asked. She’d crouched next to her maid to lay a gentle hand on Owl’s beardless cheek.

  So young. Too young to die. Your fault if he does. You should have reacted faster.

  “Head wound,” Torch told her. “He hasn’t woken since.”

  The shadows hid her expression, but her tone, when she replied, was grave. “He is in no condition to take into hiding. He needs quiet until he comes out of this state on his own.”

  “She’s right,” Hawk concurred. “He’ll only slow us down.”

  Damn it all, Torch knew they were right. “I won’t leave him in enemy hands.”

  “Please, sir.” Tamsin stood, shaking soiled straw from her skirts. “Leave him to me. I’ll dress him in Blackbriar livery, and if anyone asks, I’ll say he’s a stable boy who’s taken ill. A horse could have kicked him.”

  Torch narrowed his gaze on Calista. “What about your mother? Will she betray him to the king’s men?”

  “No, I don’t believe she would.”

  “Why?” Torch couldn’t leave it at that mild dismissal of his concerns. “Why would you say that when she’s shown herself to be nothing but loyal to Magnus?”

  “Because whatever she thinks of Magnus, she is more loyal to my father. Since Owl poses no threat to him, she ought to ignore the boy.”

  Loyal to her husband, indeed. How admirable. He opened his mouth to remark on what a becoming trait that was in a wife, but the voice in his head stopped him.

  She came for you.

  Perhaps, but that did not negate one fact. She’d committed a far worse sin when she’d denied their marriage. In doing so, she’d denied him, damn it, and all he claimed to be. She’d all but called him a bastard.

  But if she wished to hand him the means to escape, he would take it, and by the same token be quit of a mistake. “So be it.”

  A few muttered orders sent two of his men to pick up Owl’s form and steal off down the passage with instructions to rendezvous at the postern gate. Fingering the hilt of his dagger, Torch turned back to Calista. “How can I be sure they won’t be caught?”

  “You can’t, no more than any of us can be certain of making it out of here.” As well he knew, but he’d asked to assuage his own misgivings. Calista swept an arm toward what looked like a bundle of rags on the flagstoned passage—an utterly still, man-sized bundle of rags to be certain. “But there is this.”

  Closer inspection revealed one of the guards, a dark cloak hiding his mail and arms. The hood had been pulled up to conceal his face. Torch raised a brow at her.

  “Tamsin’s handiwork, not mine. Although I gave her the means.” Calista patted a wineskin hanging from her belt, and her gaze hardened. “And I have means of my own should the need arise.” The glitter in her eye left him with no doubt she’d like to subject him to the contents of that pouch.

  “How many others can I hope she’s dispatched?”

  Tap, tap, tap. As they spoke, the steady beat rang from deep in the cell.

  “That I cannot say for certain.”

  With a nod, Torch turned to the others. “We’ll leave in pairs. Quiet as thieves and one pair at a time. Rouse no cry but kill any guards you come across. We’ll rally in the woods beyond the postern and ride…” He hesitated, not wanting to voice too many secrets in front of Calista, not to mention the Blackbriar men among them, imprisoned for defending their own home.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “Who will see about our mounts?” Hawk asked, effectively covering the moment.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “I shall,” Torch replied. “Now, two of you go, and quickly. The next after a count of fifty.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Blasted Acolyte. Had he even heeded their plans? “Brother Tancrid.”

  Calista’s breath expelled on a sharp hiss.

  Tap, tap.

  Torch approached the back of the cell, where Brother Tancrid crouched on the floor, knocking at the Stone with the shackle about his wrist. “We must go.”

  Tap. “But I’m nearly there.” Tap.

  Had anyone even bothered to release him from those cursed shackles? “We must go. Now.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Reining back his desire to throttle someone—and the Acolyte posed the nearest target—Torch turned to Calista. “Release him.”

  She remained hovering in the doorway, but the cant of her body clearly pointed toward the stairs. Had she reached the limit of her daring? Worse, had she heard evidence of their discovery?

  He crossed to her, pushing past his fellow inmates, eagerly awaiting their turn to leave. “Is someone coming?”

  “What?” Distraction tinged the reply. “No.” Still she remained motionless.

  “Hand me the key.”

  She obeyed, the ring of keys clanking with the slight tremor of her fingers. He reined in yet another desire—to lay a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. To squeeze. To gather her in his arms for an all-too-brief moment. Not now. Not until he was sure.

  Torch returned to Brother Tancrid’s side, yanked at his robe until he stood, and unlocked his shackles. Stooping, the Acolyte swept the Stone from the floor and clenched it in his fist.

  “Hawk,” Torch called. “Take this man with you, and make certain he follows. In fact, both of you, go now.”

  It was over. All but the waiting, as the cell emptied like the slow drip of melting ice. He joined Calista on the threshold as the shadows of the corridor swallowed the last of his men.

  “And how will they escape, truly?” Calista asked in the ensuing silence. “They’re all on foot.”

  “That will be our job. To bring them mounts.” He swung the cell door shut behind him, leaving it devoid of all but one. Rand still lay in that pile of filthy straw, unconscious, perhaps dead. What the others had done to him, Torch cared not. “Come.”

  He clasped her hand, and climbed the steps to freedom, taking them two at a time.

  The air in the bailey was heavy with anticipation. The deep black of the sky was lightening to the east. With every passing moment that light would grow, increasing their chances of someone spotting them and raising an alarm.

  Torch’s fingers curled about the hilt of his dagger, the metal solid beneath his grip. Too long, it seemed, he’d been defenseless. His hand had missed the weight of a weapon.

 
It still did. This was not his sword.

  He eyed the keep, a black bulk against the night sky. Hammerfell, he had no doubt, had taken the lord’s chamber the same as he’d taken the lord’s seat in the hall. The justiciar would place a priceless relic of the Vandal family under close guard.

  “What are you contemplating?” Calista breathed against his neck. “We must be gone before we lose the cover of darkness.”

  To the east, the first stars were fading. He strained his ears for any hint of sound. Nothing. Empty. This place was almost like a crypt.

  “I want my sword.”

  “I meant to bring it to you.” Her breath wafted in a warm stream against his flesh. “But it’s already been sent to Magnus.”

  He turned to her, her face pale in the shadow of the wall. “How do you know this?”

  She cast a wary glance about the silent bailey. “There’s no time now. I’ll tell you once we’re safe.”

  He almost laughed at the innocence driving that statement. “When you live as I do, you are never safe.”

  They crept nearer their goal. The stables lay in the lee of the wall, hard against the back of the keep. Torch put out a hand to warn Calista back. If any trouble loomed in that direction, he’d face it first. His eyes strove to pierce the darkness; his ears strained, listening for any hint of noise.

  Then he saw it—a dark form slumped on the ground like a forgotten bundle in front of the stables. Man-sized. Very like to the guards at the entrance to the dungeon. A body. A scent of copper wafted through the air.

  Torch cut a look in Calista’s direction, but she merely shrugged. “The horses.”

  They stole into the wooden structure to find it defended. A round-eyed boy brandished a pitchfork. In the glow of a lantern, freckles stood out in contrast to the chalkiness of his skin. “My…my lady.”

  “Aimery,” Calista replied gently, “who else is with you?”

  “It’s just me. The others ran when they saw what happened to the sentry.”

  “Where did they go?” Torch was already moving toward the first stall, where the bony head of an enormous blood bay poked over the door. “To raise an alarm?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Listen.” Calista placed a hand on his thin shoulder. “You must heed me as your lady. You will let us go and tell no one who you saw.”

  “I can’t do that, beggin’ yer pardon. Them Stronghold lords would have my hide.”

  Torch led the destrier from the stall, and passed to the next. “Come with us, then, if you’re willing to take your chances in the wild.” He was already leading a goodly contingent of men out of here. Another boy could hardly make a difference. “I’ll do you no harm, at least.”

  “Would you teach me to fight?”

  Torch sized up the lad. Younger than Owl and scrawny. His summers could number no greater than twelve. “You’re likely to learn whether or not I train you.”

  Calista moved to the box where her palfrey stood blinking at them with liquid eyes. The mare nosed at her skirts. She opened the gate and reached for the tack stored close at hand.

  In the middle of tripping the latch on the next stall, Torch froze. “What do you think you’re about?”

  Her fingers gripped the bridle. “I thought it obvious. I’m coming with you.”

  “No.”

  “You’re willing to take along a stable boy you don’t even know, but you’ll leave me to my fate?”

  “I need to disappear into the wild and regroup. There will be danger aplenty and no place for a gently bred lady.”

  “Once your escape is noted, where do you think the blame will fall? You would leave me to Magnus’s tender mercies?”

  Damn it all. “No, I cannot do that, either.”

  “Then let me prove my worth to you.”

  Prove her worth. As if she hadn’t already. She’d gotten his men out of the dungeon. Gods willing, she’d get them out of this keep without taking further damage. She came for you. She got you out. She didn’t betray you.

  A cry from beyond the stable stopped his thoughts cold. Another shout. Another. A spike of pure energy jolted through him. Act. Now.

  But his gaze snapped to Calista, struggling to saddle her mare.

  He sprinted to her. “No time for that now.”

  Wrapping his arms about her waist, he hauled her bodily onto the palfrey’s back. Then he grabbed Aimery and tossed the lad in front of Calista. “Ride hard for the postern. Do not look back.”

  The next moment, he was off, a plan clear in his mind. One after the other, he popped open stalls.

  “What are you doing?” Calista’s confused question broke in on his focus.

  Shite. He had to get her out, before he unleashed hell in here. Torch ran back and slapped the mare on the haunch. “Go! I need you to lead the charge. The others will follow. Do not worry about me.”

  Calista’s mount snorted and, with a half rear, broke for the open door. Torch’s relief was fleeting as he cast about for the source of light. There. A glass-domed lantern hung from a hook. He grabbed it, hating what he was about to do, but seeing no choice. He needed chaos, and several tons of thundering horseflesh would give him that. He had to give his Brothers this chance.

  —

  Heart in her throat, thighs burning, Calista clung to her palfrey’s back as she pelted across the bailey. The postern. She stared at it, but men stood in the path. Armed men. She dug her heels into the mare’s sides, determined to ride them down. A form loomed out of the night, grappling for the reins.

  Calista slammed her heel into the man’s nose.

  “Go, go, go,” she urged the mare on.

  Something whooshed past her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a bolt vibrating in the ground. Men shouted. Arrows whizzed. Hoofbeats pounded behind her.

  Where was Torch and how was he going to get out of this?

  Do not look back. The admonition echoed through her mind, but she could not help herself.

  As the thunder behind grew louder, she turned. A mass of horseflesh erupted from the stables. Smoke poured from the open door. Flames leapt toward the night sky. But Torch was nowhere amid the conflagration.

  Chapter 24

  The rising sun’s rays topped the trees that ringed the clearing. Calista dug into the graininess in her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Boiled stream water and a few none-too-clean strips of fabric to bind a shoulder wound, but they were all she had.

  If she’d stopped to think beyond the hour of escape, she would have brought supplies. At home, a stillroom full of remedies lay at her disposal—water of life and dragonwort and fragrant unguents to heal. Here in the woods, she only possessed the very opposite of what she needed—a wineskin full of poison.

  She met her patient’s gaze, hard and alert. Hawk, if she recalled correctly through the fog of sleeplessness. He would be fine, as would the others. They’d met with little more than a skirmish with the castle guards before the alarm sounded. Before Hammerfell’s finest were called to put out the raging flames in the stables. Before they were needed to subdue their panicking horses.

  Torch’s Brotherhood and the remnant of Blackbriar’s men-at-arms, who had decided to chance their fortunes to the wild rather than face accusations of treason, would survive. Torch, on the other hand…

  She straightened, jamming the heels of her hands into the small of her back, raising stinging eyes toward an impossibly blue sky. He’d sacrificed himself. Created a diversion so his followers could escape. Was that really all that remained of his dream?

  This wasn’t how the old tales were meant to play out. The hero always overcame impossible odds. Right triumphed. Did this mean Torch’s claim was false despite his overwhelming belief in his cause?

  “We’re safe enough for now, my lady.” Hawk’s voice broke in on her despair. “You ought to rest.”

  As if she could, despite the fatigue that had seeped into her bone marrow. She didn’t want to lie down a
nd do nothing. That was when the thoughts would invade. The memories. The recollection of his roguish smile, his searing kisses, his stirring touch. The soul-stealing pleasure he’d drawn from her. And if she thought of all that now, if she relived it…

  A sob clawed its way up her chest. Clenching her fists, she swallowed it back. “Surely there’s someone else I must see to.”

  With a wince, Hawk shrugged back into his jerkin. “I was the last of them, and it seems you’ve been through enough.”

  Not nearly as much as Torch. She brushed her hands against her skirts, creased and filthy from the stillroom and muddied in their escape. A red-brown stain on her sleeve looked suspiciously like blood, although she could not say if it had come from one of these men or the dead guard whose keys she’d stolen.

  The weight of Hawk’s hand settled on her shoulder. “He’ll find us. He knows this place.”

  She turned to study Hawk’s face. Furrows of experience lined his forehead. Threads of silver streaked his dark beard. But his brown eyes remained steady on her.

  “Why do you follow him?” She asked the question as much to stave off her emotions as to satisfy her curiosity. Hawk had to have known forty summers, at least. Why should he place himself under the command of someone younger? “Why do you believe?”

  “It’s the hope, I suppose. Hope for something better.” He glanced about the makeshift camp, as if taking stock. “You ask any one of our Brothers, and they’re like to tell you they have a bone or two to pick with the Usurper.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not with Magnus, no.” He caught her gaze. “You’ve grown up in a world where you could ask for whatever you wished and your father would give it to you, I suspect.”

  “Not everything.” She might be aware of her privilege as the daughter of a Stronghold lord, but she wasn’t spoiled.

  “I’ll wager you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life.”

  She pressed her lips together. He had her there. “No.”

  “Because you were born into the right family. Cottars and simple farmers, now, they don’t have it so easy.”

  “My father makes certain everyone under his care does not go without.”