by C. A. Szarek
“They allowed me to look everywhere.”
“The barn?”
“Aye. Mistress Avril was nowhere on the Larange holding.”
Tynan swallowed back a curse, making a fist that made Harlan wince. His blood heated, settling into a rolling boil. He sucked in a breath. Normally he didn’t mind a healthy display of anger in front of his servants, but he needed to maintain control now.
Concentrate. Find his wife.
Where else could she have run to, if not her family? The girl had no one. He’d made sure of it.
“There was…”
“What?” Tynan barked.
Harlan swallowed hard again. “There was another…”
“Another what?”
“A lad on the road, one of the Kenrick lads.”
Ah, the son of his tenants from the next property over. They were beholden to him, thanks to his little wife’s magic.
“Well, go on,” Tynan snapped.
“He swears he saw her yesterday at market.”
“Market, as in Greenwald Main?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Aye.”
“Where was she?”
“He said he saw her coming out of an inn.”
An inn? She’d not taken one coin with her when she’d left; he’d counted every last piece of gold. How did she get a room at an inn?
If she was selling her body, Tynan would kill her.
Cheating bitch. He wouldn’t be cuckolded.
“Get Ferd and Han to ready my coach.”
“Sire?”
Harlan dared to question him?
Growling, Tynan shot to his feet. “I’m going to go get my wife.”
****
“Roduch? Coming, my friend?” his captain called.
After managing a smile and a nod for Leargan, he allowed the shorter man to clasp his forearm in a familiar and affectionate gesture that Roduch returned in kind.
The captain’s eyes shot up and down his body, and it was all he could do to keep from stiffening. “You all right?”
“Aye.” Roduch bit back a sigh as the appraising gaze didn’t lessen. “Avril.” He might as well tell the truth. His little foundling consumed his thoughts. He probably should thank his captain for ordering him back to his duties, but with or without her, he could think of nothing else. However, being away from her during the day made him cherish the time with her at night even more.
Leargan’s eyes sharpened. “Anything I need to know about?”
“She hasn’t spoken yet.” Roduch shook his head. Not about what they needed to know anyway. But her shy smile was more common and made his heart miss beat after beat.
Little by little she was opening up to him. Holding his hand, moving into his touch instead of away. Last evening she’d even reached for him first, while they strolled in Lady Cera’s garden after supper.
“Ah.”
“Sorry I knocked you on your arse yesterday,” Roduch said quickly, desperate for a distraction. Talking about Avril—thinking about her—made him crave things she was nowhere near ready for.
Besides, she still had to formally renounce her marriage to the duke and at least two witnesses. Until then, she belonged to someone else.
He ordered his jaw to unclench, but his gut was tight, pained.
Relax. Speak with your old friend. You are fine.
The captain’s expression was sheepish. “You were in the right. I was distracted. Dangerous. I for one am glad we were just sparring.”
“So am I.” Roduch gave a genuine grin. “I would hate to have been the one to kill you.”
Leargan grinned and shook his head. “That would’ve been unfortunate.”
Roduch chuckled. “Bath and then supper?”
Perhaps he could even convince Avril to leave her rooms and dine in the great hall with residents of Castle Aldern.
The previous night she’d explained she couldn’t stand the worry in every gaze, so he’d not pressed her. They’d eaten in her rooms—where Roduch had taken up residence, despite the headwoman’s protests. He was getting tired of sleeping in a chair, though.
He didn’t mind the privacy. Enjoyed time to get to know her and loved putting a smile on her face. Or making her laugh.
“Definitely. I could use a good soak. My rump will be sore for days.” Leargan winced.
“Don’t ask me to rub it for you,” Alasdair, one of their other longtime friends, and fellow guardsman, said in passing, a grin on his handsome face.
“I don’t recall requiring that service of you,” Leargan bit back.
“I suppose you could ask Senior Rider Ansley. Gorgeous piece.”
The captain’s face darkened and he sprinted after Alas, throwing a punch and a half-tackle, like they had many times when they were lads.
Roduch chuckled, shaking his head. He ran his hand through his disheveled pale locks and watched his friends banter. He needed a haircut; it was getting too long.
Alasdair was widely known for his womanizing ways, but there’d been real emotion in Leargan’s expression.
What’s that about?
Alas was a tease, like normal. Besides, he stuck to whores. He’d never sully an unmarried maid, especially their former captain’s daughter.
By the time Roduch had sank down into one of the few wooden tubs big enough to accommodate his large frame in the public bathing room, he could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. The warm water enveloped and soothed aches from the long day of training and the chair he’d slept in since the night they’d found Avril. His back had never been so sore.
He focused on Bowen and Dallon—two more of the twelve—when one of them called his name.
“Want to head into town later?” Dallon asked.
“I could use a good tumble,” Bowen added, running his hand through his shaggy sandy locks.
“Not tonight,” Roduch answered, shaking his head. “I’m not up for anything but meat in my belly and my bed.” And Avril.
Dallon raised a dark brow. “Not even a tall of ale?”
“We’ve ale in the castle,” Leargan said. “But—”
“I’m in,” Alasdair interrupted. “Where’d you want to go? I haven’t seen Mali at the Flying Flask in a long while. Damn, the woman has fantastic hands.” His expression was wistful as Dallon, Bowen and a few of the others scoffed.
“I don’t want to go into Lower Greenwald,” Dallon complained.
“No?” Alas asked. “What about White Sage Pub? It’s in a better area, for sure. And I could do as well with Betha as I could with Mali, though her talents are different to be sure.” He cocked his dark head to the side as if he was reasoning hard, his long dark hair shifting around his broad shoulders. He usually kept it bound to fight, but no doubt intended to wash.
Leargan smirked. “Blessed Spirit, Alas. Do you have enough lasses?”
The oldest man of the personal guard, at thirty, wore a grin that could have split his face. “No, my dear captain, there are never enough lasses.”
“Name a tavern and he has one,” Kale put in, scrubbing soap into his short dark hair.
“They’d all rather be with me than you,” Alasdair said.
Roduch shook his head at the men who were more like brothers than fellow soldiers. They started swapping stories, and verbally comparing long swords as Alasdair so eloquently put it. Not everyone was present, nor were the lads, Brodic and Lucan, so the more Alas spoke, the more reprobate his tales became.
“I’ve no time to be concerned with you scoundrels anyway,” Niall, Leargan’s Second said, pulling up a fresh pair of breeches.
“I told you I’d take your duties tonight,” Leargan said, fastening his belt.
“Truly? Lyde would much appreciate it. She’s complaining I haven’t seen her all sevenday.” He spoke of his new wife. Petite and fair, she was beautiful, a maid for Lady Cera in the castle.
“Night patrol?” Roduch asked, leaning forward in the tub.
Both his captain and Niall nodded. “Aye, it’s my turn to lead.”
“But I’ll handle it,” Leargan said. “Spend the night with your wife. You too, Paddy. The rest of you go rut where you will on your night off.” The captain smirked at the catcalls their brothers gave.
Niall beamed and thanked him.
Padraig, also newly married, smiled and nodded. His red hair, newly shorn close to his scalp, matched his stained cheeks as he looked away, wrapping a bathing sheet around his waist. He was a quiet, private man, and the second oldest of the personal guard.
“I’d offer to help you out, but…” Roduch said.
“No, no. Stay with your woman, it’s not your rotation.”
Your woman.
His heart wanted nothing more.
“Lucan has been itching to talk to me all day. My gut says he and Brodic will want to come along. Although, both will help with the new men-at-arms. I have the newest ones on rotation tonight. Greenwald at night is different than during the day. They need to learn the area. The lads already know well,” Leargan said.
He’d always liked the young mage, Lucan, as well as his captain’s squire, Brodic. Roduch was often put in charge of the younger ones for training. Leargan had always praised his patience with them.
The youngest of the personal guard, Laith and Teagan, had been paired with him consistently until reaching knighthood about two turns ago.
He didn’t mind in the least. Introducing the young and eager to the art of the sword reminded him of his days as a lad, trained by Captain Fraser.
Most of the knights of the guard had shared the grounds with Roduch then, as they now shared the protection duties of Lord Aldern and his family, as well as the Province of Greenwald. The twelve of them were honored to do so.
The captain glanced at Alasdair. “Thought you were on night patrol this rotation anyway.”
“Dammit, I think you’re right.”
Dallon muttered something about giving Alasdair’s regards to Betha and ducked when
Alasdair threw a punch.
Everyone laughed.
Chapter Nine
Leargan heard the laughter before he spotted Ansley and Lady Dagget. He couldn’t help but smile, when he saw them at the table on the dais. The carefree look on Ansley’s face made his heart stutter. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
He was hit with a rush of guilt. Fool. How could you fail to consider you might’ve hurt her?
“Leargan.”
He glanced over his shoulder and offered an easy smile to Tristan. “Evening.”
“Nice night.” The healer strode up to him.
Leargan found it difficult to keep his eyes averted from the table on the dais.
Tristan followed his gaze and flashed a lopsided grin. He leaned into him, as if about to impart a secret. “You have a seat at that table, you know.” His hazel eyes danced.
“I haven’t forgotten…”
“Oh. It looked to me as if you’d still be standing here come morning.” He dashed away, quickly jogging up the three steps onto the dais and then sliding onto the seat next to his wife.
Ansley met Leargan’s eyes as he slipped onto the chair next to her. Hurt flickered in the blue-green depths. She was quick to disguise it with a smile, but he wasn’t fooled.
He wanted to reach out to her, but what was he supposed to say? His tight stomach had nothing to do with hunger.
“Good evening, Sir Tegran.” She reached for her goblet and averted her eyes as she sipped.
“Leargan,” he corrected.
A curt nod was all he got in response to his smile. Disappointed flooded him, but he ignored it.
All other conversation stopped. Eyes of their tablemates burned him with every stare.
Ansley’s blush said she’d also observed the collective gaze.
Leargan took a breath. “Good evening, Lady Dagget.” He inclined his head.
“Evening, Sir Leargan,” Aimil said formally. His fellow South Ascovan offered him a much-too knowing smile, dark eyes twinkling.
“Tristan,” a lad called, as he strode across the great hall. The young mage came closer. His dark brown hair was windblown and clear green eyes bright.
He’d just turned fourteen and was growing like a weed. Lucan had always been especially attached to Lord Dagget, but the feeling was mutual.
“Hello.” Tristan waved.
Lucan also had a normal place on the dais, because he was the head mage—the only mage really—of Greenwald, although both the Alderns and the Daggets also had strong magic. His youth didn’t matter; he was the most magical being Leargan had ever met.
Leargan’s men started to file in, taking their various seats in the hall. Evening supper was always as populated as morning meal. Everyone wanted a hearty meal to wrap up their busy days.
Roduch was notably absent. No doubt he was with Avril, sharing a meal in her guest suite. The girl was not ready to venture into the public eye. He didn’t blame her. Residents and staff of Castle Aldern were full of genuine friendless and concern, but it could be suffocating.
Niall caught his eye and gave a nod. His Second had his wife on his arm.
Lyde smiled sweetly at Leargan before her husband seated her. She was beautiful. Petite, but just the right amount of curvy, flaxen hair and hazel eyes. His friend was crazy about her.
Leargan ignored the pang that could only be envy.
Now that they were becoming really settled in Greenwald, a couple of his men had taken wives. They were young, handsome knights that many a family recognized as good catches. The rest of his brothers would no doubt follow Niall and Padraig’s lead.
Would Leargan? With his former captain’s daughter as his bride?
“Something wrong?” Ansley asked, head cocked to one side.
Besides pleasantries, it was the first she’d spoken to him since he’d kissed her in the corridor days before.
Then again, he’d been avoiding her like the plague, so there had been little chance of conversation.
“No, not at all.” Leargan cleared his throat.
Tristan shot him a curious look as he overheard them, but he ignored the lord.
“I wonder if Cera will be down,” Lucan mused.
Distraction, thank the Blessed Spirit.
“I saw her after midday meal,” Tristan said. “She said she’s feeling up to it. So, I’d expect so.”
“Good, I’d like to see her.” Lucan smiled. The lad was extremely close to Lady Aldern.
Together they’d defeated an evil man, a former archduke named Varthan, who’d killed Lady Aldern’s family and coveted her father’s magic sword. The weapon was integral in his plot to kill the king.
Tristan had been working under disguise for Varthan, posing as one of his shades—extensively trained mages—to try to gather proof against the evil man.
He’d found Lucan, Varthan’s favorite shade, and promised to get him away from the man, when he’d discovered the lad was not evil.
Lord Jorrin and Lady Cera had fought together, along with Jorrin’s father, Braedon, an elf wizard named Hadrian and Lady Cera’s cousin, Avery. They were able to defeat Varthan and his shades, along with freeing Lady Cera’s aunt and uncle—Lord and Lady Lenore. Cera’s only remaining family had been held hostage in their own home, Castle Lenore, in the Province of Tarvis.
In fact, Lucan was the one who’d killed Varthan, though Leargan would’ve had a hard time believing had he not seen it with his own eyes.
The lad was sweet and honorable and wouldn’t hurt a fly. But there was no doubt he’d do it all over again, if he was doing what was right and protecting what he loved.
Leargan, along with a small army led by the king himself, had arrived in Tarvis just in time to witness the end.
Many had died at Varthan’s hand, but he’d not gotten the magic sword. Had Lucan not turned on him, things could have ended very differently, very badly. Lady Cera may even be dead, instead of ha
ppily married and expecting her first babe.
“Evenings are so lively around here. Almost like being at Rider Barracks, first meal after a long run.” Amusement wrapped Ansley’s words.
“Aye, yet mornings are even more so.”
She laughed. The sound was heaven.
The Alderns entered the great hall. All of the personal guard, stood, Leargan included.
Jorrin smiled and motioned for them to sit as Lady Cera also nodded and smiled before resuming a scowl in her husband’s direction.
Leargan chuckled and glanced over at Ansley’s bark of laughter.
“I think she’ll be much more pleasant when the baby finally decides to show up,” she whispered, winking.
Ansley leaned into him and the floral scent of her hair tickled his nose. The smile curving her lips made him dizzy.
Blessed Spirit, she was gorgeous.
He swallowed hard.
She was so delightful and playful. How could she be so nice to him after he’d obviously hurt her?
Jorrin had to be wrong. Could an empath be wrong?
He had seen the flash of hurt in her eyes when he’d come to the table. Doubt made him shift on his feet. “I would never remark on such things,” he teased back, reaching for composure with both hands.
“Ah, smart man.” Tristan remarked, grinning.
Ansley smiled at the lord and a ridiculous wave of jealousy washed over him. He tamped it down, berating himself. Second time where his old captain’s daughter was concerned. He had no reason for his…feelings.
Aimil’s greeting to the duke and duchess took his attention as Jorrin helped Cera into her seat on his right. She tried to shrug his hands off, but he wasn’t having it, the lord maintained his grip on her forearm.
“Good evening, everyone,” Cera said, ignoring her husband and smiling sweetly at Lucan when he handed her a goblet.
Servants poured in with more food, and Leargan surveyed the room. Most of the castle guard was present, as well as the late shift, who would serve the last postings of the day. His eyes swept over it all.
Leargan saw so many different people, some he knew, some he didn’t. All looked content. They laughed and joked, some of his men a bit too rambunctiously, but their energy would serve them well as they ventured into town. He smirked. Alasdair would be grumpy on patrol, no doubt.