Mark of Love (Love Mark Fantasy Book 3)

by Linda Kage

  Breathe, I ordered myself. Just slow down and breathe. I was supposed to be a decrepit old man here; I couldn’t move too quickly. I couldn’t ruin the disguise. Couldn’t let anyone find out what I was.

  My hands were slippery with nervous sweat as they clutched the handgrips of the trolley, and I shoved the bumbling contraption into gear, nearly tripping and falling flat on my face when I pushed one way and the crooked wheel tried to make the cart go another. Stupid fucking wheel. I was going to have a word with Melaina about such a shoddy purchase. If this barrow got me killed, I was so haunting her ass for the rest of eternity, and not in a nice way.

  Refusing to look over my shoulder and reveal just how spooked the three royals had me, I corrected my steering and shuffled along, forcing myself to go as slow as was speedily possible.

  That’s when I heard it.

  “Sir?” someone shouted from behind me.

  No! No, no, no, no, no.

  It was him. The High Cliff killer. I couldn’t tell you how I knew, but I knew. He was calling to me—no, he was chasing me down.

  His voice was definitely closer when he added, “Sir, wait!”

  Fucking hell.

  I plowed forward, ignoring him, and bumped into a couple who’d been innocently meandering down the street right into my path. Dammit, I was never going to get through this crowd with a freaking pushcart without being caught by him.

  Mumbling an apology, I bullied my way past and then startled more people into diving out of my way as I charged forward. And all the while, the hairs on the back of my neck heated with intensity, telling me the High Clifter was gaining ground.

  That’s it. This trolley sucked anyway. Abandoning it and the bag of bread with it, I darted to the right, going faster than I should. Someone had left a green scarf draped over a stool I was passing by, so I snagged it up, flipping it around as I ran—I mean, as I hobbled—and I pulled it over my head like a cloak.

  Hiding my face, I stopped worrying so much after that about how fast I was walking, and I seemed to make space between me and my pursuer.

  Something told me he was still back there, though, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I caught sight of him again, confirming my fears.

  “Jesus.” Was he some kind of bloodhound? The scarf should’ve lost him from my trail.

  When I spotted someone remove their straw hat up ahead and set it down on a fence post beside them, I lost the scarf and veered that way, nicking the hat next.

  That didn’t help either. The man behind me seemed to know my next move before I even made it. He followed me around buildings, through people, and caught on whenever I doubled back again.

  He always found me.

  There was just no way to escape him.

  I was going to need assistance.

  Melaina would no doubt skin my hide for ruining what hopefully wouldn’t be her only chance to meet with the jeweler, but it couldn’t be helped. I raced full speed ahead toward the narrow alley where our horses were tied and waiting.

  Glancing over my shoulder as the opening of the backstreet approached, I hissed a curse when I spotted the High Clifter still back there and coming this way. His tracking skills and persistence were eerie as hell.

  I waited until the last second to dart into the alley, painfully bashing my shoulder on the corner of a building as I went, and I nearly wept joyous, relieved tears when I saw Melaina still there, waiting outside for an audience with the jeweler. Thank God.

  She jumped up from the broken wagon when she saw me, gasping with immediate indignation.

  “What the hell did you do this time?” she demanded, already accusing me of causing whatever problem had befallen me. “You had one job! Jesus, stop breaking character. Old men don’t run that nimbly.”

  “High Cliff soldier,” was all I could gasp as I fled right past her, racing toward my horse that was still saddled and ready for any kind of hasty departure we might encounter—exactly like this one, in fact. “Hot on my trail.”

  “Holy fuck. Go, then!” Melaina ordered, shooing me along before glancing around the alley, only to snag up a discarded cast iron skillet that had been lying among strewn trash. Clutching it to her chest with both hands like a weapon, she ducked into the shadows of a recessed doorway and called, “I’ll take care of him and meet you at our spot.”

  I didn’t even glance her way as I called, “Deal,” and grasped the reins of my horse before flinging myself into the saddle.

  “Hey!” a voice yelled from the opening of the alley.

  It was him.

  My heart lurched into my throat as I wheeled the horse around and charged toward the opposite opening, and we took off, galloping to freedom.

  Which left the High Clifter far behind.

  And me safe from execution or capture one day longer.

  Chapter 3

  Indigo

  Damn.

  With a pounding headache, I opened my eyes to a steaming pile of horse dung that had landed about a foot from my face. A handful of flies buzzed around it, and from the smell of things, it was pretty fresh.

  “What the—?” I jerked upright from where I’d been lying face-first in the dirt, only to wince and clasp the back of my head as a shock of pain spiked through my scalp. “Motherfucker.” That really hurt.

  Finding the source of the annoying throb with my fingers, I gently prodded the tender flesh before pulling my hand back around to the front so I could see the blood I’d just touched.

  Someone had clobbered me good.

  But who?

  Still dazed and disoriented and wondering where the hell I was, I glanced around to find myself in a narrow passage between wood-built structures. Nothing occupied the alleyway with me except for a broken wagon without any wheels, an empty wicker basket lying on its side among other random odds and ends scattered about, and a mangy black cat curled up and napping against one wall. The cat opened one eye as if to check on me, only to close it again when it found me alive and sitting up.

  “I don’t suppose you saw who hit me, hmm?” I asked.

  The cat kept sleeping.

  “Yeah, I didn’t figure. Unless you’re the culprit who bashed my skull in, are you, kitten?” I’d only been joking, of course. But when the cat’s eyes sprang open, and it lifted its head as if appalled by the accusation, I paused.

  But had it just understood me?

  No. Certainly not.

  I tipped my head to the side curiously, though, and the cat mirrored my move, tilting its face at the same angle.

  “Right,” I murmured on a sage nod. “You’d never do anything so nefarious and inconsiderate. Please forgive my rude speculation.”

  The cat sniffed as if it were sneezing—or snorting indignantly over my apology—then it laid its head back down and closed its eyes again. When it began to purr, I decided I had been pardoned.

  I kept watching it sleep, though, wondering...

  “Indy?”

  Spinning toward the voice, I sucked in a breath when that caused more pain, and I scowled at the source of it.

  Nicolette.

  Well, that explained the head wound.

  Wherever the Queen of Far Shore went, trouble typically followed.

  “Oh my Lord, Indigo! Are you okay?” She rushed toward me, only for someone else to dart after her.

  “Nic, stop! Don’t just—”

  Her husband gave up the chase, only to sigh and fling his hands in the air. Then, setting them on his hips, he peered past her and shared a disgruntled glance with me, silently asking if she would ever in her life exercise caution or safety.

  I shook my head, letting him know, no, I didn’t think she would. But the movement caused a fresh twinge of pure misery to echo through my brain.

  “Damn, that hurts.” I gnashed my teeth as I clasped the injury again, as if to tuck all the pain and blood back inside my head.

  “My God, you’re bleeding.” Nicolette landed on her knees beside me, getting the skirts of her royal
robes all grimy.

  I cringed, remembering the pile of shit nearby and had to check to make sure she hadn’t landed in it. But I have no idea why I even bothered to worry. No matter how much the world fell apart around her, Nicolette always managed to avoid disaster herself. And she’d missed the heap of dung this time too.

  Around us, Far Shore soldiers filled the entrances at either end of the alley, where they stopped side by side, standing guard over their queen. I nodded toward them, pleased they were executing the very protocols I’d set up. Nicolette gave them no mind, however, too concerned about fretting over me.

  “Let me see.” She reached for my wound, but I ducked my head to the side, out of her reach, certain she’d only make it worse if she got anywhere near me. Huffing at my reaction, she sent me a disgusted scowl and plopped her hands on her hips.

  “Stubborn,” she muttered before demanding, “What happened? Your true love didn’t do this to you, did she?”

  I blinked, her question sounding all wrong in my brain. “What?”

  My true love?

  What the hell was she talking about?

  Her eyes flared as if she’d misspoke. Casting a worried glance toward her own true love, who was now standing above us and watching us converse, she turned back to me, quickly rephrasing, “I meant, he. He didn’t do this to you, did he?”

  That question made even less sense to me than the first, so I frowned, wondering if my hearing was okay.

  “I swear,” she went on, “if your mate hurt you in any way—”

  “Nicolette.” I lifted my hand to get her to stop talking for a single minute so I could just get my mind back in order. I swear, my brain felt scrambled; I couldn’t process a full thought among her questions, and nothing she was saying sounded logical or coherent.

  “My God,” she rambled on, not stopping at all but talking more, blinking at me as if she understood me less than I understood her. “How hard did he hit you?”

  I had no idea who’d hit me at all, but I could at least answer that one. “Hard,” I said and put my hands on the ground so I could push my way to my feet. “Where are we?”

  “Whoa, hey. Easy there.” Nicolette caught my arm when I wavered as I stood, and suddenly her husband was at my side too, slipping a hand under my armpit and helping me the rest of the way up.

  “We’re still in Pinsky,” Farrow answered for Nicolette, frowning at me slightly as if he too were concerned about my welfare. “You parted ways with us only about an hour ago.”

  “Parted ways?” I frowned at him briefly before turning to his wife. “I left you?”

  That didn’t seem likely. I never left Nicolette. Since I’d been assigned to be her personal bodyguard nearly five years before, she’d been my sole responsibility. Not even her running off, getting married, and taking rule over a neighboring kingdom had scared me away from my duties of watching over her.

  I didn’t leave her; I followed her. Wherever she went. She was my ward; I figured I would die at her side, protecting her.

  So, why would I—?

  “Indigo?” Catching the sleeve of my tunic, Nicolette gave me a jarring nudge, the frown between her eyebrows growing like it did whenever something worried her. “Do you not remember? You sensed your true love and took off after him.”

  Him?

  Why did she keep saying him when referring to my true love?

  Because that really didn’t sound right. Something was most definitely wrong with my ears. Seriously, why would anyone refer to my true love as a male? I preferred women.

  And why was she talking about my true love, anyway? I had no idea who that even was.

  “Dear Lord.” Nicolette’s eyes suddenly widened with horror. “Do you remember anything?” Glancing up at Farrow, she bit her lip. “What if he has amnesia? Quick.” She turned back to me. “What’s my name?”

  “He just called you by your name, love,” Farrow reminded her dryly.

  “Oh. Right.” Frowning out her embarrassment, she cleared her throat before smacking me in the arm. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you had amnesia.”

  “Ouch.” I rubbed the spot she’d hit, and she immediately apologized.

  “Sorry. I just want you to be okay.” Then she waved three digits in my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  I sighed. This was telling me nothing. Turning away, I studied our surroundings and squinted, trying to remember how I’d gotten here in the first place, why I would ever leave Nicolette, and what in God’s name she was talking about with true loves—er, more specifically, my true love?

  I’d sensed my one true love once, about eleven years ago, in Warren—a village on the northern edge of Lowden—but I’d never gotten to see her face and thus lock on to her true essence. So after she’d passed out of my range, I’d lost sense of her and never felt her in my mark again.

  Pushing that thought aside, I squinted at a metal bell that hung from the side of one of the buildings. A short piece of rope dangled below it, as if ready to be pulled so the thing could be rung.

  And just like that, I remembered.

  That bell had been the last thing I’d seen before I was attacked. I’d been wondering why in the world anyone would hang a bell there, of all places, right before something hard had bashed me on the back of the head.

  The rest of it came flooding back to me then, and I sucked in a breath.

  I’d been traveling to Pinsky with Nicolette and her entourage, on a royal tour of her new kingdom so she could get the lay of the land. For most of the trip, I’d taken up residence in her carriage, because after all, the queen’s quarters were the best accommodations in the caravan. There was no way she could eat all the fruits and desserts in there by herself, anyway, so I was being a good friend and helping her devour her snacks, you know, so they wouldn’t go to waste.

  Except the closer we had traveled to Pinsky, the more restless and unsettled I became. It wasn’t until we’d arrived at the village and Nicolette said she wanted to walk through the bazaar while the market was in full swing that I understood what my affliction was, because it was there that I finally sensed the presence of my true love nearby for the second time.

  I’d grown accustomed to the likely chance that I’d never sense her again. I’d finally grown comfortable in the life I had, serving Nicolette and leading her army. But all these years later, everything had changed in an instant. The moment my mark began to tingle and nag at my temple with its persistent awakening, a switch inside me flipped.

  Finally, it seemed to sigh in relief. I’d found my way back into her vicinity. I knew the remainder of my life would be dedicated to her—my one true love.

  After that, I’d had a mini panic attack, because I wasn’t exactly prepared for this moment. But hell, this was the biggest, most important introduction of my life. I was about to meet the one person I would spend the rest of my days with.

  Who wouldn’t want to be prepared for that, right?

  I probably would’ve shaved first, put on my cleanest attire, dashed on some cologne, maybe gotten a haircut, and definitely not eaten so much food from Nicolette’s carriage all morning long. I needed a redo, so I could exude the best first impression a woman had ever received from a man.

  Realizing my predicament, however, Nicolette and Farrow had forced me forward to just meet her already, whether I was ready or not, and I’d been floored when I’d finally gotten my first look, merely to realize my mate was actually a man—not a woman.

  I’d only ever been attracted to women before, so learning that the love of my life—the one person who was supposed to be my partner in this world and complement me more than anyone else—was not a woman…

  Well, it was a shock, to say the least.

  But this man…

  He wasn’t even the type of man I’d be into, if I were into men. He was so ancient that the years had permanently stooped his shoulders; the poor guy probably couldn’t stand up straight if he tried. He was heftier than most a
nd bulged and sagged in the weirdest places. His appearance made no difference one way or another, though, because his scowl would’ve disrupted the visage of the most handsome man alive if he were pretty. Or young. He seemed like he was one of those crabby old coots who yelled at everyone for everything.

  I wasn’t sure what to think about being forever bound to a crabby old coot.

  I would’ve denied it all if it weren’t for the sensation of longing zinging through my mark, and a feeling of rightness that had settled into my bones, as if everything inside me had suddenly just aligned.

  Simply looking at him made me feel complete.

  When I was only a few days old, my parents had tattooed the left side of my temple with the mark of a heart inside a circle, just like the law in my native land had ordered them to. And the ink for it had been mixed and applied by a high priestess of pure heart and strong magical abilities, as it was supposed to be. Ergo, my love mark was supposed to alert me to the presence of my life’s companion at first sight. And the love mark was never wrong.

  Never.

  Yet, I had questions.

  So many questions. Because this seemed fucking wrong.

  Despite the insistence from my mark, something was not right here.

  I mean, if I was going to be paired off with an elderly gentleman, why couldn’t it have at least been a sweet old man who liked to laugh and regale everyone with stories of the good old days? Not this bitter, decrepit bastard who scowled at me as if I were the source of his life’s misery.

  I couldn’t be reading the signals wrong either; I’d been able to follow the trail of longing and insistent nagging in my temple from over two blocks away. And when I’d taken my first look, I just knew.

  He belonged to me. And I belonged to him.

  After getting over the surprise of his gender, and age, and overall hostile glower, I’d started toward him merely to introduce myself and maybe learn his name and discover what it was about him that kept calling to me. Get my questions answered, you know?

  But for some unknown reason, he’d taken off before I could reach him. I knew he’d seen me coming, too. He’d looked right at me, and then he’d turned away, wheeling his cart of wares he’d been selling in the square and trundling off into a crowd of people. What was worse was that he didn’t have the mark. He didn’t know we belonged together. The hardest part about this mess of a situation would be to somehow convince him that we did.