Mark’s chin wavered and he jerked out a nod. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around Clare, his voice muffled against her middle as he said, “I love you.”
Clare swallowed hard and held him tightly, her eyes finding Bennick’s, brimming with wordless thanks. “I love you too, Mark,” she whispered.
Chapter 28
Clare
“No, like this.” Bennick stepped closer, making Clare feel like they were alone in the far corner of the training field. It was an overcast day, but that hadn’t kept soldiers from training. Still, they seemed far away—especially when Bennick touched her.
He curled his hand over hers, helping her form a fist. He tapped the first two knuckles. “These are the ones you need to lead with, then make sure you give the punch the full power of your body.” His fingers went up her arm, past the slight bump around her upper arm, where she still wore a bandage after the attack at the orphanage two days ago. His hand went all the way to her shoulder. “Right now you’re pushing from here, but that’s not enough.” His hand glanced down her side, tapping against her stomach. “The power needs to come from here.
It was hard to concentrate on Bennick’s words—his light touches stole all her attention.
“Let me show you.” He stepped behind her, his hand cupping her waist. Her body sparked and heat spread through her veins when his hard chest brushed her back. He set his hands against her hips, his palms heating through her dress. “Throw the punch again, but slowly. Feel what happens with the muscles in your body.”
She complied, careful not to overextend her arm. As she moved her fist forward, Bennick twisted her hips to follow her movement. The muscles over her abdomen rolled, adding a strength that hadn’t been in her punch before.
His warm breath fanned her temple and she could feel the hardness of his body against her softness. She’d seen enough shirtless men on the training field to know what shape those hard lines beneath his uniform made, and her cheeks heated. She could feel his heart pounding hard and fast against her back. Fates, was he as affected by this as she was?
Something had shifted between them. Perhaps it was the gentle kiss he’d brushed against her cheek the night of the ball. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened at the orphanage; him bringing her family to her, or how he’d knelt before Mark with all the seriousness of a soldier swearing fealty to a king and promised to keep her safe. But even if Clare couldn’t verbalize what it was, she relished the thrill that shot through her.
Bennick released her and stepped away.
Clare shook out her arms, wincing as she pulled the tender wound.
He caught her flash of pain and frowned. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” The graze from the crossbow bolt was a muted throb unless she stretched her arm too far.
Bennick’s frown remained, though it was slight. “I think that’s enough for today. We should get in some extra riding so you can be ready for Fury.”
Clare cringed. She was barely comfortable riding Jinn; facing Serene’s spirited mare shot anxiety through her. But Bennick was right. They had just under five weeks before they’d leave on the tour to Mortise and Clare would be expected to ride Fury several times throughout the journey.
She fell into step beside Bennick as they crossed the field, heading toward the stable. “How’s your mother?” she asked. She’d paid the lady a brief visit as Serene the other day, just to check on her after the ball.
“A little better.”
Something edged Bennick’s tone, and she studied his guarded profile. “Is something wrong?”
His eyebrows drew together. “No.” She gave him a look and he seemed to realize he was frowning. The corners of his lips pulled deeper. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”
“Bennick . . .”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing as he glanced away. “I never got the chance to ask . . . While you sat with her at the ball, did she talk about my father?” Wariness sharpened his question and Clare’s heartbeat quickened.
“She did, a little.”
When Clare said no more, Bennick looked at her. “You can ask me anything.”
There was a strange mix of resignation and openness in his low voice. It caused an ache inside her and her words came out muted. “Did your father hurt you when you were young?”
Bennick’s jaw locked, a muscle thrumming in his hard cheek. But he didn’t seem surprised by the question. She wanted him to deny it—a flat denial that could drive away the images that had been haunting her.
When he spoke, his words were hedged. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
Clare wanted to feel a measure of relief, but the tension pouring from him pressed a weight against her chest. “Did he hurt your mother?”
“Not physically.” They drifted to a stop. Bennick turned to her, his voice dropping even though no one was near them. “My mother was the youngest daughter of a respected commander in the king’s army. My father was one of his soldiers, and when he proposed marriage to my mother, she and her father accepted the match. Immediately after, my father was made a captain.” The implication that Dennith Markam had married Lady Gweneth for a promotion was strong in Bennick’s hard words.
The sounds of the training field swam around them; grunts, yells, the clacking of wooden swords—they were distant, nearly nonexistent, as Bennick rubbed the back of his neck and continued. “She was sixteen when they married. He was nineteen. A year into their marriage, he received a transfer to Iden’s city guard. They moved here, but he thought to further his career by accepting another position at an outpost in Sarvin, near Ryden’s border. It was too far for my mother to go.” He hesitated. “She’d miscarried and wasn’t well. For years, she stayed in Iden and he lived on the northern border. He returned every several months, never gone more than a year at a time, but it was hard on my mother. Her health declined. A few years after their marriage, I was born. My mother begged my father to take a position at the castle so he could be with us permanently, but he was close to another promotion and didn’t want to risk losing it.
“He didn’t become the city guard commander until I was eight. I saw him before then, of course, when he was on leave. I always tried to impress him. I craved his attention and praise.” Bennick released a long exhale. “When I was fourteen, I returned home unexpectedly from the military academy, on special leave. My mother was away, visiting her family. I came to my father’s office in the prison and found him with a woman.”
Clare’s stomach dropped.
Bennick’s body coiled; even his voice tensed. “I yelled at him, demanded answers—like any explanation would help. He admitted she wasn’t his first mistress. He said he missed my mother while stationed away all those years.” A muscle in his jaw popped as he shifted his stance. “I lost all respect for him. He’d been my hero, and in that moment, I hated him. I still hate him.” He shook his head, snorting a rough laugh. “I hit him. Hard. When I tried to leave, he begged me not to tell my mother about his mistress.”
Clare blanched. “How could he expect you to keep such a secret?”
“Sometimes I wish I had.” Bennick rubbed his brow with spread fingers. “When my mother returned home, I told her about the woman in the prison and the others he’d mentioned.” A tendon in his neck pulled taut. “She attacked my father as soon as he came into the room. She screamed at him and clawed his face, and he just stood there.” He swallowed, gaze falling. “She was never the same after that.”
“You were only trying to protect her.”
“But telling her wasn’t a mercy. She wasn’t just heartbroken. The truth destroyed her. She always had delicate health, but now she’s nearly bedridden and any confrontation reminds her of that day, so she avoids every fight. She’s scared to be around my father because her instincts scream to fight him, but she freezes at the thought. She rearranged my old room and set out all my old toys—like that makes everything go back to how it was before.”
Clare touched his arm, hop
ing to ease the pain that tightened his features. “You can’t blame yourself for what your father did.”
“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Sometimes the guilt sinks back in, though. I shattered her world.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Your father did.”
His jaw remained hard but gratitude flickered in his eyes. He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Now that you know every sordid detail about my family, do you think we can still go forward as friends?”
Clare smiled gently. “Of course.” It was a chance to end the conversation, but they didn’t resume walking. Their hands had found each other, calloused fingertips pressed together, her skin brown and his light. “You’re nothing like your father,” she told him softly.
He tipped his head, like he agreed but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
She pursed her lips, scuffing her foot lightly against the grass. “Soldiers have always frightened me,” she admitted softly. “My father followed Ivar Carrigan in the civil war.”
Understanding swept over Bennick’s face. He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She swallowed. “Watching the soldiers drag him out . . . that will never leave me. Every time I see a uniform, that moment comes back. But when I saw you for the first time and you smiled at me . . . You were different from the very beginning.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You didn’t always like me.”
“No.” A smile tugged her lips. “I was angry with you. But I didn’t understand the truth—that you’re a good man.” Her cheeks warmed and she ducked her head. She hesitated, even though she knew Bennick wouldn’t judge her for her admission. “When the carriage was attacked, you stopped me from running. And I’m grateful you did. Escape wasn’t really possible. Newlan would never have let me go. You saved me again in that moment, and I didn’t even know it.” Her grip tightened on his hand and she peeked up at him. “I’m right where I want to be.”
He stared at her. She wasn’t sure what he’d say—if she’d been too bold. She didn’t expect his eyes to sharpen, and she certainly didn’t expect him to latch onto the most trivial part of her confession. “What do you mean, escape?”
Clare blinked. “What?”
Bennick’s gaze was both grim and intent. “Why would you want to escape? My father said—” He froze, then the lines on his forehead creased deeper. “Fates, I’m so stupid.” He pulled his hand free and took a step back. His throat constricted as he studied her, looking sick. “He threatened you. He made you become the decoy.”
Her breath caught. “You didn’t know.”
Revulsion cut across his tense face. “No. I knew you’d been carried to the prison for questioning, and when I found my father and told him you were innocent, he assured me he’d free you.”
Clare reeled. Bennick hadn’t known about the threats that had bound her to the king. She’d hated him for taking part in the ruination of her life, and he hadn’t known anything about it.
Fury flashed in Bennick’s eyes, his hands balling to fists at his sides. “What happened after you were arrested?”
Slowly, Clare told him. He said nothing, just listened, his jaw working. His anger wasn’t directed at her, but his intensity was unsettling and the story left a foul taste on Clare’s tongue; she rushed to finish.
Bennick’s eyes darted away and he scanned the empty area around them, as if checking to make sure no one had gotten close enough to overhear. “I should have known. Should have realized something was wrong, only . . .”
“You saw my house and family,” she finished softly. “It was obvious we needed the coin. It made sense that I would have been desperate for the position, no matter the danger.”
His eyes pinched shut. “I should have known,” he repeated. “This changes everything. You didn’t choose this.”
Clare stepped up to him, closing the distance he’d claimed. Her fingers itched to take his hand, but she knotted them in her skirt instead. “I was forced into becoming the decoy,” she agreed. “But every day, I’ve made the choice to stay. I’ve experienced more than I ever thought my life could hold, and even though I miss my family, I know they’re being taken care of. They have all they need and that makes everything worth it.”
Her words settled between them and Bennick’s shoulders gradually loosened. His tone was milder—more controlled—when he spoke. “What was done to you is unforgivable. I’m sorry.” He peeked at her, and the heated emotion swimming in his eyes tightened her belly. “I’m just selfish enough to be grateful you’re here.”
When Clare finished her riding lesson, Bennick had already returned to the castle for a meeting to discuss security for Serene’s farewell banquet. She knew Cardon was on his way to fetch her, but she didn’t want to stand in the busy stable waiting for him, so she stepped outside and began a slow walk toward the castle. It was really the first time she’d been alone in weeks and she enjoyed the slight freedom.
As she passed one of the sheds near the edge of the training yard, someone snatched her elbow, jerking her behind the shed. Her heart thudded and she twisted hard, tearing free and spinning to face— “Eliot?”
Her older brother stood in the shadow of the shed, his eyes wide. “You’re fast,” he blurted.
Clare threw her arms around his neck and squeezed so tightly her own lungs burned. His arms came around her waist, crushing her to him. But Eliot couldn’t risk being seen with her. Even though the shed hid them from the training yard, anyone could turn the corner and see them. She pulled back and froze when she realized they weren’t alone.
Eliot still gripped her arms when he followed her gaze to the young man watching them. The stranger was taller than Eliot, his frame more obviously muscled than her brother’s leaner form. He had green eyes and light brown hair that curled a little against his tanned neck. Eliot cleared his throat. “Clare, this is Michael. He’s my friend.”
“A pleasure,” Michael said, giving her a smile as he tipped his head, a curl falling over his brow. He glanced at Eliot. “I’ll see you back at the barracks.” He offered a quick goodbye to Clare before he disappeared.
Clare stared at her brother, confusion swirling through her. “What are you doing here?”
Eliot’s expression tensed. He looked worn, as if he hadn’t slept well in weeks. Stubble coated his usually smooth face and strain bunched his shoulders. His dark blue eyes darted around, almost nervous as he spoke. “I needed to make sure you were all right. After the attack on the orphanage, I’ve been sick with worry.”
“I’m fine, Eliot. Really.” She glanced toward the corner of the shed. “You shouldn’t take this risk—”
Eliot stiffened. “What happened?” he snapped.
Clare realized belatedly that turning had shown him the multicolored bruise on her cheek—the one that hadn’t completely healed from the night of the ball. She tensed. “Nothing.”
His jaw flexed. “That’s too old to be from the attack. Who did this to you?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she’d fallen because of a poisoned necklace she’d worn as the princess’s decoy. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She shook her head. “Eliot, please. Let’s not argue.”
“I know what happened at the orphanage,” he said, anger thrumming in his tone. “I know the boys were there. They came to see you, and you all nearly died. You could have gotten them killed!”
Anger flashed through her, heating her body. “I was terrified for them, but they’re safe. And so am I.”
He scowled. “You’re not. You need to go home.”
Clare took a step back, hands shaking at her sides. “You left home.”
His eyes narrowed. “I had to. You know that.”
“You left us,” she ground out. “You didn’t have to clean Thomas’s cuts or tend his blisters after he’d worked a full day in the stable. Y
ou didn’t have to settle Mark into bed, hearing the sounds of his starving belly.” She choked, but she needed him to hear this. “You didn’t have to dry their tears when they were sick. You left us. You left me! I raised Thomas and Mark on my own and I still had to work every day in the blasted castle kitchen. And you never even thought about how hard that was for me. You sent coin, but you never really cared. You just wanted to be free.”
Eliot stared, jaw rigid. He wasn’t in uniform but he held himself with a soldier’s controlled posture. His profile was hard as stone.
Once, she would have apologized. But not now. Not when those words had been burning inside her for so long, and for the first time she felt able to speak them. She could not—would not—take them back.
Eliot’s voice was a low growl. “I know my leaving hurt you. I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t have a choice. Maybe I could have visited more, or—”
“Or found a different occupation,” Clare snapped. “One that didn’t make you change your name and run away from us.”
“You can’t throw that at me, Clare. Not now. Not when you abandoned the boys, too.”
His words slapped her and she fell back a step. “I did not abandon—”
“Of course you did! The first chance you got for a better position, you took it, regardless of the danger to you or the cost to the boys.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed, breath seething out between her teeth. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Neither did I!”
Silence stretched between them after his shout.
When Eliot found his voice, it was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I didn’t come here to do this. I just . . . I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you and the boys suffered.” Their gazes locked. “You mean everything to me. You and the boys. Everything I’ve done—everything I do—it’s for you.”
Clare tugged in a wavering breath, tears pooling in her eyes.
Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1) Page 23
