Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  Love’s Call

  Book Two

  of

  The King’s Riders

  by

  C.A. Szarek

  Love’s Call

  C.A. Szarek

  Book Two of

  The King’s Riders

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © February, 2014, C.A. Szarek

  Cover Art Copyright © 2013, Nicole Cadet (http://www.nicolecadet.com/)

  Series Imprint Copyright © 2013, Tatiana Barfod

  Map Copyright © 2013, Matthew Bryant

  Edited by Catherine DePasquale

  Paper Dragon Publishing

  North Richland Hills, TX

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Paper Dragon Publishing or the Author.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-941151-02-0

  Print book ISBN: 978-1-941151-03-7

  Published in the United States of America

  First eBook Edition: February, 2014

  First Print Edition: February, 2014

  CONTENTS

  Other Books by C.A. Szarek

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by C.A. Szarek

  The King’s Riders—Fantasy Romance

  Sword’s Call (Book One)

  Fate’s Call (A Novella from the World of the King’s Riders) Coming 2014!

  Crossing Forces—Romantic Suspense

  Collision Force (Book One)

  Cole in Her Stocking (A Crossing Forces Christmas)—FREE read!

  Chance Collision (Book Two)

  Calculated Collision (Book Three) Coming June 2014!

  Highland Secrets Trilogy—Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Coming 2014!

  The Tartan MP3 Player (Book One)

  The Fae Ring (Book Two)

  The Parchment Scroll (Book Three)

  Anthologies

  Deep in the Hearts of Texas—FREE read!

  Story: Promise (A Crossing Forces Companion)

  THE NORTH

  DEDICATION

  This one goes out to all my girls in the Tomb!

  Chapter One

  Ansley rode hard. She leaned into Caide, holding tight to the reins and squeezing the saddle with her thighs. She wasn’t worried about losing Ali. Her wolf would keep up; she always did.

  Night had fallen hours before, and she would ride four more before she reached the center of Greenwald. She’d entered the Province some time ago, but this ride was long and arduous.

  Ansley had left Terraquist right after supper, and the hearty rabbit stew sat in her stomach like a brick.

  Ali, stay close, love, she thought-sent to her bondmate, sucking in a breath as the hood to her Senior Rider cape slipped off her head. She yanked it back into place, covering her ears against the rushing wind.

  Her bondmate’s only answer was a mental grunt, but it was reassuring.

  The wolf’s black coat was hard to see in the dark, but Ansley could sense her at the horse’s side through the magic that joined them.

  They moved down the road, encountering no one; Ansley stuck to the main thoroughfare, her sword sheathed at her waist and the message she carried safe in her belt-pouch.

  At least we’re making good time.

  There had been no time to prepare for this overnight run assignment. Fatigue was encroaching. Her back throbbed; her legs were heavy, despite the stirrups taking most of the weight.

  Her captain, Sir Artair Moray, had summoned her after evening meal. When she’d arrived, the king was present, as well.

  She’d been charged with orders to deliver a message to the neighboring Province of Greenwald.

  It was urgent, King Nathal had said. No, it wouldn’t hold until dawn.

  Captain Moray had already ordered her white gelding readied to be awaiting her in the courtyard.

  Ansley wouldn’t question her superior or her king. She’d hidden her surprise.

  Worry had seized her gut, but King Nathal had promised nothing was amiss. He commanded her to take her time at her destination, giving leave to visit with both Lady Cera, the Duchess of Greenwald, and her other good friend, Lady Aimil Dagget, who also resided at the dukedom stronghold, Castle Aldern. Both ladies, newly married, were former Senior King’s Riders, like Ansley.

  Cera was carrying a child due any day now, so the king had encouraged her to stay for the birth.

  Time away from her duties as one of the king’s messengers was unusual and welcome. Ansley would enjoy herself. Take her time coming home.

  Even her father, Captain to the king’s personal guard, had encouraged her. He’d met her in the courtyard and given her a long hug goodbye. She’d scratched their cat, Xander, behind the ear, ignoring the hiss he directed at her bondmate.

  Caide had carried her well into Greenwald now; they were perhaps an hour from the gates that surrounded Greenwald Main.

  Ali came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.

  “Ali!” Her shout did nothing to move her wolf.

  Ansley yanked Caide’s reins, and he stopped short, throwing his head back and whinnying, but it kept him from mowing down her bondmate.

  Her steed’s muscles rippled, and she squeezed her thighs to keep her seat, whispering to calm him.

  Ali. Ansley’s wolf didn’t respond to her mental scold.

  The large she-wolf’s posture was tight.

  Sighing, Ansley threw her leg over Caide and slid down his side. Her feet throbbed with the jarring impact of the ground. She patted the horse’s sweaty neck and apologized.

  Caide snorted and shook his head, as if he was blaming Ali.

  Ansley bit back a smile. Her constant companions only tolerated each other.

  When she stepped beside her wolf, she ran her hand down the length of Ali’s back. Her bond’s ears were perked, head tilted to one side.

  “What do you hear?”

  Her bondmate didn’t acknowledge Ansley’s voice.

  With a curse, Ansley pulled her sword and looked around. Ali’s gaze was locked toward the woods that lined the road, but Ansley’s human eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness.

  She buried her hand in the thick, black fur at the back
of Ali’s neck, muttering a spellword one of the king’s mages had taught her, when they’d bonded. Instantly, her own sight sharpened as she shared Ali’s eyes. Colors were off a little, but her eyes had never seen clearer. Where she could only see shadow on her own, Ali’s eye allowed her to take in shape, make out so many more things in the night.

  The wolf blinked, as she absorbed the feeling of Ansley’s mind slipping into hers, but she didn’t fight her.

  They were bonded, and Ali was used to Ansley’s presence in her mind. The spell temporarily deepened their connection.

  Ansley didn’t have much magic, so she couldn’t maintain the link for long. Using spells, even simple ones, exhausted her.

  A low growl sounded in the wolf’s throat, and Ansley tightened her grip. Soft, thick fur grazed her palm and pushed through her fingers.

  But Ansley spotted what Ali had.

  There was a dark lump lying in the underbrush about six feet from the road.

  It moved. Then moaned.

  Ali startled, but Ansley stopped her from jolting forward with a quick mental command.

  She released her hold and the spell, lifting her sword. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her heart thundered, as she edged forward. A too-cool breeze for the fall evening made a tremor shoot down her spine.

  Her bondmate darted in front of her. Ali would let Ansley check out the mystery, but the wolf would always act without order to protect.

  “Blessed Spirit,” she whispered, hitting a knee. The tip of her sword scraped into the dirt making a small high pitched sound Ansley ignored.

  Ali lifted her head, catching the poor creature’s scent, then whined and pawed the ground. Her wolf lost her defensive posture and inched closer. If Ansley could smell the blood—and she did—no doubt Ali did, too.

  Ansley sheathed her sword and pulled off her riding gloves, tucking them into her belt.

  “Help.” The word slipped from damaged lips.

  Ansley leaned down, shoving her thick plait over her shoulder when it fell forward. Digging in her belt-pouch, she felt for a magic-activated light. She said the spellword to bring it to life as soon as her fingers closed around it.

  It wouldn’t last long because Ansley’s energy was almost spent, from the long ride as well as the magic she’d used with Ali.

  She gripped the small sticklike object. It was designed by the king’s mages for a single lighting. All Riders carried them on long runs. Handy for emergencies, but even a mage of great skill could only make them work—and last—for about two hours.

  The slight figure made another noise, and Ansley’s stomach lurched. She reached out, gently moving matted hair. What had to be instinct made the girl move away from her hand at the same time the gasp fell from Ansley’s lips.

  There was no way the woman could see her.

  One eye was swollen shut, the other open only a slit. Her lip was split, and there was gash across her right cheekbone. Her nose was broken and bloody. No area was left untouched.

  The girl was young and slight, eight and ten at the most. Her tight, ebony curls were disheveled and several spots soaked in blood. Her clothing, a ragged scrap of a dress, was soiled and torn, as was the thin cloak she wore. The light fabric could never warm her adequately on a Greenwald fall night.

  “Shhh, I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

  Ali growled long and deep.

  Hooves pounded down the road.

  Ansley shot to her feet, dropping the magic light. She stomped on it to extinguish the glow and redrew her sword.

  Caide neighed and fidgeted. Ansley whistled and he bolted off the road toward her. Twigs snapped and leaves shifted under his hooves.

  The moonlight highlighted his white coat. She had no doubt the party of riders had spotted them.

  “Halt!” The call went up before Ansley could react, confirming her fear.

  Her heart sank to her gut, as Ali rushed in front of her, hackles raised.

  Ansley’s eyes darted over the dozen or so men. She spared a glance over her shoulder, widening her stance to hide the girl from view. She’d protect her, if need be.

  There were only a few possibilities of who could be on the road at the late hour.

  The group was too large to be other Riders—their captain never sent more than three or four on a single run.

  Brigands or a troop of men-at-arms on patrol were the only other logical choices. Perhaps she was closer to Greenwald Main than she’d realized.

  Blessed Spirit, let it be the latter.

  “Who goes there?” a deep voice called out.

  Ansley cleared her throat. She needed to harden her tone. Sound male as well. “Who goes there?” she returned, flexing her grip on the hilt of her sword.

  A rider moved forward from the back of the group, the other horses parting way to let him through. It was too dark to see his face, but a drawn sword glinted in the moonlight. His long dark hair shifted in the frigid wind.

  “Sir Leargan Tegran, Captain of the Aldern personal guard.” His breath floated around his words.

  Her heart flipped.

  Leargan.

  Ansley chided herself and squared her shoulders.

  He doesn’t know you’re alive, remember?

  She strode forward and sheathed her sword. “Good. I need some help.”

  ****

  Leargan stared at the tall female figure coming toward him in the dark. “And you are?” he prompted for the second time.

  “Senior King’s Rider Ansley Fraser.” She sheathed her sword and stopped in front of Fia, his buckskin colored mare.

  “Captain!” Roduch’s yell kept him from answering the Rider.

  Roduch dismounted his large, blue roan stallion, rushing off the road and skidding on his knees in the dirt. “Who did this to you?” he shouted. The big knight leaned over a barely-visible figure lying on the ground.

  There was a moan as his friend and fellow guardsman lifted something—no, someone—into his massive arms.

  A woman.

  “What’s going on?” Leargan demanded. He dismounted improperly and almost fell on his face, but The King’s Rider was at his side in seconds, commanding his attention. Embarrassment rolled over him, seared his neck as his boots hit the dirt. He straightened and squared his shoulders. Hopefully, it was too dark for her to have been aware of his near mishap.

  “I found her, thanks to my bond. She saw her first.” The girl gestured to a large, dark wolf. The beast growled, yellow eyes catching the moonlight. “Ali, easy.” The messenger buried a hand in the fur behind the wolf’s head and it calmed.

  “We need some light,” one of his men called.

  “I’m coming, Sir Roduch,” another said. The leather of the man-at-arms’ saddle creaked as he dismounted. He muttered something under his breath, and his hands lit up with an amber glow. He bent over the big knight.

  “What happened?” Leargan repeated, tearing his eyes away from the two men and the magic on display.

  “I found her like that. She’s in bad shape. Looks like someone beat her.” Her voice was deep for a woman but not unpleasant. She was worried, wringing her hands in front of her.

  He wished he could see her in more light than the moon could provide. “We will get help for her.”

  “Good.” She nodded and her hip-length plait shifted, dancing over the hood resting against the shoulders of her Rider cloak.

  The girl had said she was a Senior King’s Rider, so Leargan knew the cloak would be a deep green color, even though the darkness of the night make it black.

  Roduch made it back to their group. The female form in his arms was tiny, with long, dark—or dirty—tight curls in her matted hair.

  The big knight shifted her closer to his massive chest, and the man-at-arms raised his glowing hands to illuminate her face.

  Leargan winced and heard the Rider’s sharp intake of breath beside him. There were murmurs from a few of his men.

  The girl was damaged, her face bloodied and broken. A
nd damn, she was young. Slight. Inadequately clothed for the weather.

  Her gray dress was ripped, hanging off one shoulder; the light cloak failed to cover her body. Her pale skin was evident in the moonlight, but her skin was tinged blue. She was too cold.

  The poor thing wasn’t moving. Probably had passed out. Not a bad thing, considering what she’d been through.

  “She’s alive, but barely.” Roduch’s words were pained, as if the girl mattered to him.

  Who is this girl?

  Leargan threw a look at his longtime friend, but Roduch was looking down into the girl’s face, wide jaw clenched.

  “Let’s get her to Tristan. Now,” Leargan ordered.

  Alasdair, another knight of the personal guard, barked at the men to remount.

  “She doesn’t look too good, Captain,” one of the men said.

  “Aye. The sooner we get back, the better.” Leargan looked at Roduch. “Do you want me to take her?”

  “No,” Roduch said, pulling her closer to his chest.

  Leargan quirked a half-smile. Whoever she was, the girl suddenly had a champion. His friend’s expression fairly screamed mine. “At least let me hold her so you can mount up.”

  Roduch looked at her face again before meeting Leargan’s eyes. The other knight didn’t want to give her up.

  “Let him take her,” the Rider urged.

  “I won’t hurt her, my friend.”

  “I know,” Roduch said, his tone about as gruff as Leargan had ever heard. He shot a look at The King’s Rider.

  Leargan stared as the big man shifted on his feet, shoulders tight.

  After a heavy sigh and a look that could’ve slayed him, Roduch laid the unconscious girl in arms.

  He held her as gently as he could, grimacing when Leargan couldn’t avoid another glance at her face. Every inch of her skin was marred. Bruises, cuts and blood.

  Lord Tristan Dagget, healer as well as the Duke of Aldern’s Second, would keep her from scarring when he healed her wounds, but Leargan’s heart clenched.