The Lady and the Pirate

by Bernadette Rowley

  “Ouch!” Alecia’s eyes watered at the sting of bruised flesh and she gripped her knees to stop herself from pushing Hetty away.

  “Nearly finished,” the old woman said, her gaze gripping Alecia’s. “Did he do this to you? The man with the gilded eyes?”

  Alecia frowned, recalling the disturbing eyes of the captain. How did her old nurse know of him? “He was my rescuer. One of the mercenaries lies dead.”

  Hetty reached into her apron pocket, removed a velvet-wrapped object and uncovered a flat amber stone the size of her palm. She dropped it into the pot over the fire, muttering under her breath.

  The hairs on Alecia’s arms stood up as an orange vapour rose over the pot. She longed to ask what Hetty knew of the captain but the witch would not welcome any interruption.

  Alecia suppressed a yelp as Hetty whirled from the fire, virulent ochre mist oozing from the hearth pot that hung from a wooden hook in her hand. The old woman plonked the pan in the centre of the table then removed the stone with wooden tongs, rewrapped it and placed it in her pocket. She poured the concoction onto a saucer, soaked a small piece of linen in the potion, picked it up with the tongs and turned to Alecia.

  “That smells terrible.” Alecia leaned back in her chair.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d let a small thing like this upset you,” Hetty said.

  “I am not upset,” Alecia said, sitting up straight so that Hetty could reach her. “How does it work?”

  “Ah, that would be giving away my secrets, and I wouldn’t do that unless you were my apprentice. Tilt your head to the side, please.” Alecia complied and Hetty laid her poultice over the wounded eye and cheekbone. “It must stay there while the sand timer empties.” She dragged the large wooden timer from a hook on the wall and placed it on the table.

  Bile rose in Alecia’s throat at the smell; she concentrated on the feel of the cloth to distract herself. The gentle warmth of the poultice changed to a tingling. Something was happening but would it be enough to fool her father? “You mentioned the man with the gilded eyes. When did you see him?”

  “Hetty doesn’t miss much.” The old woman shook her wild silver hair. “He chased you into the alley and came here looking for you.”

  “He came here?” Alecia didn’t quite manage to keep the squeak from her voice.

  “Yes, he barrelled in as if he owned the place. He charged up the stairs to my bedchamber, asking all sorts of questions about a lad with lilac eyes who fought a mercenary in the square. When he didn’t find anyone, he looked as though he would do murder. His eyes turned fully golden, and I don’t mind saying he frightened me. I have my little secrets but I’m no match for the likes of him.”

  “Why would he come here, Hetty?”

  The old woman’s eyes dropped from Alecia’s and she studied her calloused palms.

  “Hetty?”

  The dark eyes rose again. “I saw him chase you. He would’ve caught you. I made him think you were in this house.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I emptied my chamber pot over his head and ensorcelled him so he believes he saw you at the window.”

  “Hetty, he could have throttled you.” Alecia’s lips twitched at the thought of the dashing captain covered in slop.

  “He’s one of your father’s soldiers. I thought I was safe until he fixed me with those eyes and called me a witch. He knows what I am, Princess.”

  “Does he know what you did?”

  “I can’t say, but he’ll return. He said so. You must be careful. There is something about that one. Something wild.”

  Alecia chewed her bottom lip, the cloth on her face forgotten. She recalled the unease she’d felt when he spoke to her. A sixth sense warned her he was more dangerous than the mercenary he had killed. Alecia had never seen Hetty frightened, even when she had been tried for sorcery. The witch maintained her anonymity with a thin veneer of magic that changed her appearance, but if the captain knew her true identity, she was in danger. What to do? Housing was scarce in the town and Hetty was fiercely independent. She would not want to leave her home.

  “Let’s see what we have under this cloth.” The old woman slid the linen from Alecia’s face, her eyes darting over the area around the damaged cheek. Then she lifted a silver-edged mirror from the table. What Alecia saw astounded her. All the puffiness and most of the bruising had vanished, leaving the soft skin of her cheek and temple near perfect. Her left eye looked back at her with a clear lilac gaze.

  “Thank you, Hetty. A little powder and rouge and Father won’t suspect a thing. I owe you a huge debt for the potion and for risking yourself with the captain.”

  Hetty shook her head. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, child, or that you haven’t already done.”

  Alecia smiled. “Where will you go?”

  “I’m going nowhere, Princess.”

  Alecia shook her head. “He will come back. He said so.”

  “I’ll not run from him or anyone else,” Hetty said, a familiar stubborn set to her jaw.

  “No, you must listen to me. You are not safe here —”

  “Don’t fret,” Hetty said. “I’ve enough tricks up my sleeve to fool a stupid man.”

  Alecia couldn’t believe her ears. “You said you were scared, Hetty. So am I. I do not want anything to happen to you.”

  “Then stay away. Now you must go.” Hetty pulled Alecia up from the table, her grip strong for one so withered. Alecia barely had time to collect her bow and quiver as she was ushered to the back door. The witch unlocked the heavy metal padlock, slid the bolt aside and peered into the alley.

  Alecia slung her weapons about her person and checked her knives, reluctant to leave.

  “It’s clear,” Hetty said and while Alecia still struggled to think of a way to keep Hetty safe, the old woman shoved her though the door and slammed it in her face.

  The barracks of the Prince’s Guard lay just inside the castle walls. Vard dismounted and tossed his reins to a groom. Swift, his brown horse, shied away as Vard handed the horse over, bringing the familiar surge of frustration and sadness. After ten years of training, the gelding still feared him and Vard had to face the fact that despite all his careful nurturing, the horse would never overcome its instinctive terror. It was just another price he had to pay as a member of the ancient and mysterious order to which he belonged. Defenders were destined to live out their lives in isolation and secrecy while protecting the innocent. It was a high price to pay, and as Vard was yet to find a mentor, he risked losing his human core with every transformation – and, worse, he endangered those around him.

  The stench of human waste soured Vard’s stomach as he swept the soiled cloak from his shoulders and hurled it into the bonfire. His shirt and tunic followed. Clad only in fitted black breeches and boots, he grabbed a pail of water that lay near the flames and tossed it over his head. Goosebumps sprouted on his chest and shoulders.

  A crowd of soldiers laughed. Vard ground his teeth; he must reek if his misfortune had come to the notice of men who only washed when it rained.

  “Bring me a cake of soap,” he said to a gawky youth who didn’t seem old enough to be free of his mother’s apron strings. He’d probably lied about his age to join the army. The boy scampered to obey and then stood watching.

  Vard soaped his hair and upper body and rinsed with a second bucket. The stink was a little less, but he’d smell like the inside of a chamber pot for the next week. He bent to collect his weapons and found the boy still stared.

  “What are you doing here, boy?” Vard asked. “You can’t have seen your fifteenth summer.”

  “I’m thirteen, sir. Prince Zialni took me instead of the shield money my mam owed him. Said he’d come and take one of her boys every year that she couldn’t pay. He’ll do it too, sir.” The boy’s voice trailed off as he realized he could be flogged for the words.

  Vard felt the tug he always did when an innocent was at risk. “Am I right in thinking your tenu
re here is unpaid?” He gripped the talisman at his throat, seeking the inner calm of the wolf to control his anger.

  “The prince feeds and clothes me and gives me a place to sleep, but there are no wages to send back to Mam. Things are terrible hard for her, Captain.”

  Vard reached into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a silver penny, which he shoved into the boy’s grimy hand. “You give this to your mam,” he said gruffly.

  Tears welled in the lad’s eyes as he clutched the coin to his chest. “Thank you, Captain.” He looked around fearfully. “I better go. The sergeant beats me if he catches me slacking.” He dipped his head to Vard and jogged away to the smithy that lay beside the barracks.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Billy,” the lad replied, before ducking through the wide door into the shadows of the forge.

  Vard turned to stare at the miraculous shining walls of the castle above him; walls that had given Brightcastle its name and were rumored to have been magic-wrought centuries ago. Today they seemed just like their master, their flashy exterior hiding a cold, cruel heart. Billy’s wasn’t the first tale of its type he’d heard since his arrival in Brightcastle. Rumors abounded of beatings and hangings of common folk for little reason. The familiar rage burned in Vard’s gut, inspired by Zialni’s cruelty. The man deserved death and Vard would be only too happy to oblige, once he’d figured out the when and the how. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He had to remain calm.

  The rage subsided and Vard strode to his room in the barracks, shedding his breeches and donning a fresh pair. The odour of the chamber pot swirled up his nostrils and he thought of the lad he’d chased that morning. His quarry had taken refuge in the house of a witch. Vard had heard whispers of bold rescues of prisoners, including one of a witch whom the prince had ordered burnt at the stake. Was the lad somehow linked with the rescues, or just a stupid young man who had interfered with someone too powerful? He shook his head, the familiar tightening of his gut warning him that he wouldn’t be able to walk away from this mystery. He had to find that young man, and the witch was the key.

  Chapter 2

  Concern for Hetty gnawed at Alecia as she made her way back to the modest castle that lay on a low rise on the outskirts of Brightcastle town. Hetty had shut her out but she would find a way to keep watch over her old friend.

  She found the trapdoor, carefully concealed amongst a stand of trees that grew twenty paces outside the west wall of the castle. Alecia lifted the hatch and descended the rough stone stairs, drawing the door after her. The passage plunged into darkness and she groped for a torch from the pile against the wall, lighting it with her flint. Her shadow cavorted on the damp stone as she traveled from west to east within the wall of the castle, up a narrow stairway and along a cramped corridor to a hinged panel. Alecia placed her ear to the stone but heard not a sound. She stripped off her disguise and felt along the stone for the trigger. A section of the wall swung into the passageway. She slipped through the narrow opening and pushed past the tapestry of the warrior queen. The panel of stone slid back in place with a low grinding.

  A fire crackled in the hearth of her bedchamber. She rang for a bath and while the servants carted the hot water in she fetched her favorite lilac gown and a change of underwear. Finally all was prepared and she slipped into the bath, savouring the warmth that eased away the worries and soreness brought on by her adventures.

  But once her attendants left her alone, wave after wave of shudders racked her body despite the warm water. Memories of the burley mercenary suddenly returned, his fist slamming into her cheek again and again, causing damage much deeper than any Hetty had healed. Nothing in her weapons training had prepared her for the shock of his attack on her person. He could not harm her now, the captain had seen to that. Could she pull together the shreds of her confidence and go on?

  Already she doubted she could continue her plan of revenge against the murderous swine who had killed Jorge. Sweet, brave, honorable Jorge, had merely been defending his parents and been killed last month by a pack of mercenaries sent by her father. The dead man was one of the group responsible for the crime. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of her lost love and the chaste kisses they had shared. Theirs had been a love beyond reproach and he had been stolen from her. She had vowed to retaliate, but she had not expected to feel … guilt and … pain at the death of a killer. Alecia’s gut clenched at the thought that four of the men responsible still lived. I must go on, but I do not know if I can. The thought of those men walking while Jorge was cold and dead in the ground made fury burn away her fear. I have eight years of arms training! I must just be harder; as hard as the captain.

  Unbidden, his gold-flecked eyes popped into her mind and she shivered. The spark his touch had evoked made her uneasy. Was it just that strangers did not usually touch a princess? The captain was an altogether different species; a man who would do as he pleased and, she suspected, who was accustomed to having his own way.

  What if the captain deduced her identity? If he were canny enough to divine Hetty’s true self it would take great care on Alecia’s part to stay out of his clutches. She had one advantage: she knew him now, and that would make it easier to avoid him. His eyes again came to mind and her spark of optimism died. She suspected he wouldn’t rest until he solved the puzzle of the youth who had attacked the mercenary and dumped the chamber pot on his head.

  Alecia studied her reflection in the huge gilded mirror outside the dining room. Strings of pearls were intertwined around loops of her long blonde hair and piled high in the latest Kingdom style. A marquise diamond, suspended from a gold chain, rested like a glistening tear upon her forehead. The lavender silk of the gown left her milky shoulders bare while the fitted bodice emphasized her full bosom, displaying an almost indecent amount of cleavage. Silver beading on the bodice and skirt caught the light, and full lace sleeves almost hid her hands. She wore no jewellery other than the diamond on her brow.

  She examined her left eye. A few deft touches with powder and kohl liner concealed the faint traces of her fight this morning. Her father would never notice. She smiled at the junior page who waited to admit her and he pulled open the door. Alecia stepped over the threshold.

  Shadows danced in the flickering light of the three tall candles on the long dining table. As usual, Alecia’s eye was drawn to the tapestries and paintings depicting Zialni ancestors in various scenes of battle and ceremony. A portrait of the King, her father’s older brother, hung above the fireplace. Alecia’s father, Prince Jiseve Zialni, sat at the far end of the table below the portrait. There was a close resemblance in the sharp blue eyes and strong jaw, however King Beniel’s hair and beard were golden while the prince’s almost black. She frowned as she stared at the painting of her uncle, with his open countenance and ready smile. It was in stark contrast to her father, who had become withdrawn and secretive in the four years following her mother’s death.

  The prince’s head tilted towards his advisor, Lord Giornan Finus, who sat at his right hand. Alecia allowed her eyes to rest on the elderly lord for a moment. Since Finus’ arrival in the realm, her father had become brutally obsessed with the trappings of wealth, to the detriment of his people. If not for Finus, Prince Zialni would still be a benevolent monarch. Instead, the prince collected exorbitant taxes from the populace in a constant quest to maintain his lifestyle. Alecia abhorred Finus and his influence, spending much of her free time trying to restore the balance of justice as she saw it. She was losing the battle.

  Feeling eyes upon her, Alecia glanced at the seat to her father’s left and the breath caught in her throat. The piercing gaze of her dark rescuer trapped her. Why was he here, in her home, at her table, on the very day she had slipped his grasp and vowed to avoid him? This could be no coincidence. My secret is out! The room lurched and Alecia staggered towards the nearest chair. The captain was on his feet and at her side as if by magic, his palm cupping her elbow and his other hand at he
r waist.

  Twice in the one day he had laid hands upon her and now his heat seared through the flimsy fabric of her gown. He was so hot! Alecia did not look at his face, desperate to delay the moment when her deception, her crime, would be exposed. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The prince’s expression had moved from one of pride in his daughter to distaste.

  “I am sorry, Father,” Alecia said, her voice breathy without her even trying to make it so. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast and felt light-headed.” She turned to the captain and stared into the buttons on his chest. “Thank you. I am now recovered.”

  “Vard Anton at your service, Your Highness,” he said, his voice rumbling through her core. “Allow me.” He pulled the nearest chair from the table and seated her before bowing and returning to his seat.

  “I hope you are well, Princess Alecia,” Lord Finus said. The advisor’s smile didn’t quite reach his cold dark eyes. He hadn’t moved a muscle when she had stumbled.

  Alecia nodded at the despicable man and returned her attention to her father. No need to panic.

  Prince Zialni stared at Alecia and for a moment she thought her carefully wrought schemes would come crashing down, but then he smiled. “Our guest tonight, Alecia, is Captain Vard Anton, recently come into my service as captain of my guard. Your cousin Piotr recommended him.”

  Yes, but why is he here? Alecia thought.

  “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Princess.” Captain Anton’s black hair brushed the collar of his dark gray uniform and his eyes glowed faintly. The room was quite dim. If she stayed far enough away, he might not recognize her. Her heart fell at the stupidity of her thoughts. He knows, he has to.