by Nora Roberts
“Not that one! More likely worked to death, the way Kegi has kept the lad hopping from morn till midnight.”
“The devil you say!”
“You might find him down at the river. He usually bathes after his chores, although the other lads tease him for it.”
Thanking the woman, Cador set off toward the river in the rapidly failing light. He would talk to Kegi later.
There was no sound except the pleasant rushing of water over the rocks upstream, and the sigh of a gentle wind through the treetops. Overhead, a silvery moon sailed on a cloud-tossed sea. Cador stepped down to the edge of the river, where the mossy ground was soft underfoot, muffling his footsteps. There was no sign of the errant princess.
Then his eyes adjusted to the deeper gloom of the heavy tree cover. A pale form glided beneath the moon-spangled waters, like a mermaid from some ancient legend. Then the sleek shape broke the surface, and he saw Tressalara, her bare shoulders white as pearl beneath the velvety cloak of her wet hair. His pulse quickened.
She tipped back her head to wring the water from her hair and began to plait it. Her arms were graceful, her hands quick and sure. Thoughts of water nymphs and magic spells drifted through Cador’s head. He was bewitched by her beauty, unable to move as she finished her task and splashed toward the shallows.
With great effort he wrenched himself free of her enchantment just in time to step into the blacker shadows of an ancient pine and avoid being seen. He was still standing there when she finished dressing and came around the clump of trees. Her disreputable cap was pulled down over her hair, but the clothes clung to her damp body, showing its lush curves.
Cador wondered how he had ever thought, even for a single moment, that she was a boy. Too many years on the run, he thought wryly. Too many years spent planning his revenge and trying to forget the pain of his losses, his needs as a man. His terrible and abiding loneliness. The pain, the need, the loneliness melded into a desire so urgent it overruled his iron will.
He stepped out into her path.
“Oh!” Tressalara gasped as if he were an apparition. Her thoughts had been full of him, and now he was here, as if her longing had conjured him up.
His nearness robbed her of breath. For the first time she acknowledged the strong hold he had over her. She couldn’t even say a word in greeting for fear of giving herself away. He was expecting Trev, a callow youth—not a young woman smitten dumb by her attraction to a man who was almost a total stranger.
Cador was having his own problems and didn’t notice her hesitation. He fought against the overwhelming urge to touch her. But it was imperative that he gain her confidence. If he frightened her now, it would ruin everything. He must keep that thought foremost in his mind, push away the need and longing that could undo all his careful plans.
“I came seeking you. I hear that Kegi has used you ill during my absence.”
Tressalara shrugged and found her voice. As long as they talked of ordinary business, she could keep up the pretense. “There is much work to be done for so large and growing an army. I was glad to contribute my share.”
She started up the incline, and her foot slipped on the mossy ground. Cador shot out a hand to catch her. As his calloused palm closed over hers, she made a small sound of pain.
“What is it?” His voice was rough. “Are you injured?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Drawing her into a patch of moonglow, he turned her slender hands palm up. Even in the dim light he could see that her skin was raw and blistered, covered with dozens of nicks and cuts and scrapes. All his good intentions flew out the window. Lifting her hands to his lips, he kissed her bruised fingers tenderly.
His mouth was soft and ardent, and the touch of his lips sent her blood racing through her body. Her insides were melting with heat. Tressalara was too confused by her tangled emotions to speak, to even think.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he murmured. “Only a rogue would so misuse a princess.”
His action sent a paralyzing languor through her body. Then his words sank in. Startled and dismayed, she jerked back. Cador kept hold of her hands, which trembled in his. She tried to recover. “What?” she asked shakily. “A princess? You have been at the ale casks, Cador.”
“I am neither drunk nor blind,” he answered. “You are the Princess Tressalara, heiress to the throne. You have nothing to fear from me, lady. I have known your secret from the start and kept it. No one in this camp knows your true identity. Not even Brand. It is safer that way.”
The pretense was over. Tressalara lifted her head defiantly. “You must wonder, then, to find me in such a sorry state.”
The story of her flight from Lector tumbled out. It was a relief to speak of it. In the past week she had almost begun to think that she was Trev, that her previous life had been nothing but a dream. The tears she had denied so long threatened to spill over in earnest. She blinked them away and realized that Cador still held her hand.
Her pride and courage humbled him. He had come to Amelonia seeking only revenge against Lector. But here was a woman—nay, a princess—worthy of his loyalty. And his heart. Without relinquishing her hand, he knelt at her feet and fixed his piercing blue gaze upon her face.
“All I have and all I am I pledge to you, lady. I vow that I will dedicate both my sword and my life to your cause. Will you accept my service?”
Her doubts vanished like morning mist on the river. Tressalara realized they had been just as insubstantial, and her heart overflowed with gratitude. “Gladly.” A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. “Even though you are the most obstinate, pigheaded, domineering man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!”
He laughed up at her. Something passed between them in that instant. Cador lowered his head and pressed his lips against the back of her hand. A jolt of sensation shot up Tressalara’s arm until it tingled. She felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, and left giddy and confused. She could scarcely meet his eyes.
“Rise, Cador,” she said quickly. “Here I am simply Trev. You must not kneel to me or treat me like the crown princess of Amelonia. It would not do. Why, you are not even my subject,” she added in an attempt at a lighter note.
“No,” he said slowly. “And for that I am profoundly grateful. I prefer to treat you like a woman!”
Drawing her roughly into the circle of his arms, he kissed her thoroughly. His mouth was hot on hers, possessive and demanding. His hands pressed flat against her back, molding her figure against his wide chest.
Tressalara’s head swam. No one had ever dared do such a thing before. She should have been angry and indignant, totally outraged at the indignity to her royal person. Instead she melted against him even more, curving her body into his.
Cador knew he was lost then. She owned him, body and soul. Her tiny moan of surrender inflamed his blood. There was no girlish hesitation about her. She was all womanly response, warm and pliant, inviting his ardor. He smoothed his strong hands over her supple back, her neat waist, the womanly curve of her hips as he pulled her even closer. Everything was forgotten but the two of them and the passions they had both fought to deny.
There was no disguising his hunger for her, or her answering need. In another time and place, they would have been more cautious; but these were perilous times, and they were sworn to a dangerous mission. How could they wait and see what the morrow might bring, when neither knew if they would see another sunrise?
Cador slid his hand beneath her tunic and groaned at the softness of her flesh. So perfect, so warm, so yielding to his touch. He knew that, for both of them, there was no going back.
Tressalara arched her throat for his kisses. His mouth was gentle at first, then fierce. She was swept away on the wild winds of desire. She clung to his broad shoulders as he parted her lips, then took the kiss deeper. His embrace tightened until she thought her ribs might break. Or perhaps her heart. The emotion was so intense that she pulled away
a bit.
Instantly Cador released her. His eyes were dazed, like those of a man awakening from a dream. He touched her cheek. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean…”
She slid her arms up and locked them behind his neck. “Did you not?” she replied huskily. “Then I am insulted beyond bearing, Cador of Kildore. For I have been dreaming of your kiss these past five nights!”
He laughed low in his throat. “If you insist, then!”
He backed her against a tree and tipped her head back, lowering his lips to hers once more. The perfume of her hair, her skin, surrounded him like incense. She was like a drug in his blood, and he could not deny his need for her a moment longer. Slowly, gently, he lowered her to the mossy ground. It was as soft as a feather bed beneath them, as yielding as the boundaries that marked his soul, and hers.
Tressalara twined her fingers through his hair. He smelled of green woodsy things, of leather and heady, masculine sweat. The passion surging between them was like a river in spate, a beautiful fury that would carry her away and over the threshold of womanhood in Cador’s arms. She surrendered herself to it, to him.
As he removed his tunic, there was a rustling in the brush along the river path and a soft oath as someone stumbled, but neither heard it. Nor did they hear the retreating footsteps a moment later. It was drowned out by the music of the water flowing over smooth stones and the wild singing in their blood.
While they dallied by the river, Brand went weaving back to camp, shaking his head. Too much of that Kildoran brandy, no doubt. He could have sworn that was Cador and Trev by the river. He lifted one of the water buckets and upended it on his head. It didn’t help. The rebel captain blearily sought out his tent with the intention of avoiding any more of the potent Kildoran liquor—and the conviction that the morning would bring him one hellacious hangover.
But two swans drifted placidly along the river, listening to the murmur of love words and the reassuring chirp of crickets. They found a safe place for the night among the reeds downstream. The black swan snapped at a bug, missed, and settled his wings.
“Very impressive,” Illusius acknowledged. “Your love spells must be potent indeed.”
Niniane arched her white swan’s neck in pleasure. “I cannot take the credit. This was no spell of mine, but a human one, as old as time.”
7
The next two weeks brought nights of sweet passion for Tressalara in Cador’s strong arms, and fresh hope for her cause as well. Word that the princess had escaped Lector’s clutches and was in safe hiding had spread throughout the land. Dashed spirits lifted, and a new courage kindled the people’s hearts.
The growing influx of rebels forced Lector’s men to retreat to the very edge of the Mystic Forest. They huddled shivering around their fires by night, whispering stories of strange enchantments they had seen within the woods, such as caverns of ice impenetrable to man and a pair of talking swans.
Once more the caravans of merchants traveled along the dusty highways, and life resumed its normal tone in the forest. When Cador next rode out to the Crown and Acorn with Brand, he took Tressalara with him. Not at his wish and not without an argument.
“You cannot mean to leave me behind again,” she had said when they were sharing a private moment alone, her finger trailing a line of fire over the hard muscles of his chest. He had groaned with pleasure, still sated from their lovemaking. She slanted a glance from beneath her lashes. “Since you have sworn allegiance to me, you are sworn to abide by my wishes.”
Cador had groaned and taken her face between his hands for a passionate kiss. “Would that I had never given my pledge, sweetness. I would never have wanted to risk your safety; but now that we are lovers, I find myself singularly reluctant to let you risk your pretty neck in even the slightest way.”
“You are as stubborn and hardheaded as a mule!”
“Good,” he replied. “Then you will see it is no use arguing with me.”
But she had insisted, and he had been swayed, against his better judgment. The tavern had become their unofficial headquarters now that the area was secure. It was safer to meet and appraise new recruits and offers of aid there than to take the newcomers into the secret camp and risk betrayal.
He justified taking her along by thinking that he might hire a room for the night so that he and Tressalara could share a mattress instead of a blanket on the ground. As they wound their way through the forest, he began to feel quite cheerful about it.
There was no sign of trouble at the Crown and Acorn, and they had a hearty meal washed down with tankards of the landlord’s best brew. A delegation from the southern meadow dwellers came, pledging their support. Late in the afternoon a most welcome message arrived from Morania, saying that the duke would consider sending reinforcements and arms if the princess were indeed alive.
“Bring me paper and ink,” Tressalara ordered and immediately wrote a response, sealing it with candle wax and an impression of the signet ring, that she wore on a thong about her neck. She hoisted her tankard in a toast. “To the swift arrival of the duke’s men,” she said, “and to swift victory!”
A few more toasts had them feeling mellow and relaxed. Brand went out to meet with one of his contacts. Tressalara put her boots up on the bench and dreamed of an early supper followed by a hot bath before a fire, while Cador merely dreamed of a long and cozy night in a feather bed, with Tressalara in his arms.
Then Brand returned. His heavy brows were drawn together alarmingly, and the message he bore shattered their peace. “Lector has found the Andun Stone. He plans a great reception in seven days’ time, to which he has invited all the nobles and emissaries of the surrounding lands. He has vowed that he will hold the crystal aloft for all to see and name himself true king.”
“Evil news, indeed, if he has found the Andun and can touch it without being consumed. I suppose it was naught but a legend,” Cador said, frowning.
Tressalara was dismayed. “I have never seen anyone but my father hold the crystal. The legend cannot be untrue. Indeed, all my life I was warned that even I could not touch it until the day my father handed it to me in solemn ceremony, or risk being consumed.”
“A fairy tale for children and peasants, like most legends,” Brand said. “A pity. It would have solved all our problems if Lector had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ash!”
“A pity, indeed,” Cador replied grimly. “We must strike sooner than you had anticipated, Brand.”
“Yes. But this grand reception will supply us with the perfect opportunity.”
Tressalara looked from one to the other. “But…can you not see? Surely this is a trap!”
Cador shrugged. “Of course it is. But we will find a way around it and twist the scorpion’s tail to sting itself.”
She was unconvinced. “Perhaps the best plan is to avoid his trap entirely. Launch the attack later, when his guard is down.”
Brand leaned forward and whispered something in Cador’s ear. Their two glances flicked at Tressalara and away. A dull knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “You must not have secrets from me,” she said with quiet force. “What new outrages has Lector committed?”
A muscle ticked at the corner of Cador’s jaw. “He plans an entertainment for the people, to take place at dawn following the feast: the execution of your loyal servants. Beginning with the Lady Grette and the Lady Elani.”
He’d expected an outcry of anguish from Tressalara. She went icy pale, her eyes huge pools of fear and rage and grief; yet she managed to hold her emotions in. In her quiet dignity she had never looked more royal. She was not Trev, or even merely the Princess Tressalara. She was truly Amelonia’s queen.
As Cador acknowledged for the first time the great gap that lay between them, he had never loved her more, nor realized how hopeless that love was.
“Then we cannot delay. We shall go with your plan,” she said firmly, “and commence our attack during the grand reception.” She shifted the tankards and bread rolls on the tab
letop to indicate the castle. “While you and Brand mass the troops here along outside the wall, I will take a party of soldiers and…”
Cador was appalled. “You will do nothing of the kind! Do you think I would let you risk your life? No, you will be safe in our hidden camp until Lector and his men are vanquished.”
“I will not!” She rose and placed her hands on the table, facing him. “If I were a prince rather than a princess, you would let me ride to battle at your side. Indeed, you would think me a coward if I did not insist on leading my subjects.” Her eyes flashed magnificently. “Well, I am no coward, Cador! As Amelonia’s future queen, I claim my right to lead my people!”
Cador rose, too, towering over her with the width of the scrubbed planks between them. He was caught in the white heat of fury. Princess she might be, but she was still his love, and under his protection. And she was not trained to combat as he had been. “Do not pull rank with me, highness, or I will tie you to a tree until this is over! As it is, too many will die trying to breach the castle walls! There is not one good reason for you to risk yourself in this venture, and I forbid it!”
Tressalara was every bit as outraged. “You have no authority over me, Cador. And I have every right!” She struggled with her anger. “You refuse to listen to reason, and my presence is vital to the plan. There will be no reason to breach the gates, with all the loss of life that entails. I can get them opened for you—from inside.”
“You are naive. Those loyal to you are either dead or Lector’s captives.”
“I see how little you think of my intelligence.” Her frustration burst out in blistering fury. “By the saints, when I am crowned queen of Amelonia, no man will tell me what I may do or not do!”
Cador’s face went hard and cold, as if a door had shut. “Yes—when you are queen. For now you are merely another rebel in hiding.”
The ice in his voice tempered her anger. She struggled for control. “I am also the key that will unlock the puzzle for you. I know a secret way into the castle and I know every hidden passage within its walls.”
