Chapter 5
That night, sitting around the campfire, Sharon tells an elaborate story involving dragons and brave princesses and magic while Tunk plunks at his lute, giving an added layer of tension, intrigue, and emotion to the tale.
Everyone is raptly paying attention to Sharon’s words.
Everyone but me.
I’m like a dog with a bone, worrying over Lord Tyler and whether I should follow through with my date to the ball.
I keep revisiting the same two arguments, both in support of going with him: It’s an easy way to get in, and my presence won’t be conspicuous--at least initially. By the end, my presence will, of course, be very conspicuous, but that’s all part of the plan. One way or another, I’m not walking out of that castle as Kate. I’ll be reclaiming my true name and title. And that’s the biggest reason not to go with him. I’ll be pulling him into a war he’s not a part of, at least not directly. And I’ll be more exposed if someone is paying attention to where I am and what I’m doing all night.
I refuse to even consider my own attraction to this man one way or the other, and my thoughts definitely aren’t trailing into a fantasy land of long, slow dances with his hand around my waist, our faces inches apart, the feeling of silk and satin all that stands between us.
Nope. Not thinking those thoughts at all.
Which is good, because I can’t afford the distraction of a pretty face.
Even if that pretty face comes with some unusual powers he uses to help people who need it.
While it’s good to know not every dark fae is evil, it doesn’t help me right now.
What I presently need is a plan for a new dress. Date or no date, no one will be letting me into the ball dressed in rags.
I take a swig of the wine I’ve been nursing all night, emptying the goblet, then leave the fire circle to refill it and head to my bedroll. But sleep doesn’t come that night for many hours. Not even as Sharon begins to sing softly, her voice carrying through the forest like a bird’s song.
Instead, I toss and turn, and when the sun rises I feel as if my eyelids are made of sandpaper. I yawn, and stretch, then grab a change of clothes and head to the lake to bathe and ready myself for the day while letting everyone else sleep in a bit.
When I reach the bank, I shrug out of my dust-coated cloak and thickly woven trousers and blouse, then remove my undergarments quickly before plunging into the shockingly cold water.
The sun is still peeking over the mountains, and the air is still frosted with the night’s cold, but the golden glow from the sky gives me enough warmth not to freeze and enough light to see by, and I know if I get a good swim in, my body heat will get me the rest of the way.
Shivering and covered in goosebumps, I dive deeper underwater, then push myself to swim the width of the river and back.
The rhythm of the movement helps me find a more meditative frame of mind than trying to sleep did, and by the time I return, I feel freshly renewed with a pleasant ache to my muscles from the long swim.
The sun has also made progress and is higher in the sky, warming the air to a pleasant temperature.
I’ve just crawled out of the water and settled myself naked on my sunbathing rock with my eyes closed when I hear the splash of water and sit up, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Hello?”
I see a head bob in the water.
A dark-haired head with a handsome smirking face attached to it.
A smirk that quickly disappears.
The proper thing to do, upon finding Lord Tyler staring at me, his eyes wide with shock, would be to scamper for clothes full of embarrassment.
Instead, I stand, my body in full view of the annoying aristocrat. “Are you stalking me?”
“I would ask you the same,” he says, in a repeat of our previous conversation. I don’t bother to answer beyond the heated glare I shoot his way. “Aren’t you going to perhaps put your clothes back on?” he asks, his voice a little huskier than normal.
It’s my turn to smirk. “Why? Have you never seen a naked woman before?”
“I have,” he says with a measured voice. “But I’ve never seen you naked before. It’s quite another thing altogether.”
“I’m so glad to know women aren’t as interchangeable as most men treat us,” I say, still not bothering to cover up, though the sun has moved on and my rock is now shady and cooling fast. “And also, I was here first. So clearly I’m not stalking you. What are you doing here?”
“Taking a swim,” he says, approaching the shore.
As he steps out, I see he too is naked, and my little game is about to backfire on me.
I shiver--because of the cold, not because of the effect his very chiseled, very perfect and very naked body has on me.
He reaches for his cloak and surprises me by coming close enough to drape it over my shoulder, his hand brushes against my skin as he does. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick before our date,” he says softly, his lips close to my ear.
I can’t even think clearly with his naked body this close to me, so I step away and nod. “Thank you. But I have a hardy constitution. You need not be concerned.”
“That’s good to know,” he says with a cheeky grin as he grabs his clothes to dress. “Have you eaten yet? I know a lovely blackberry bush a few yards away. My treat.”
“You sure know how to wine and dine a lady, don’t you?” I ask as I shrug off his cloak to dress. But I know the blackberry bush he’s talking about, and it does produce a particularly sweet berry.
My stomach chooses that moment to start growling for the food promised, and Tyler chuckles. “It seems your belly approves of my idea, even if you do not.”
I huff at that as I slip on my boots.
Tyler studies my appearance as I pull my long dark hair into a knot at the base of my neck to keep it from getting everywhere.
“Do you really know how to harvest blackberries without ripping your hands to shreds?” I ask. “You look like the type who has his food brought to him by servants whose names you likely don’t even know.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what I look like? And what about me exactly screams pampered rich ass?”
“Your clothing,” I say for starters. “It’s all expensive fabrics and custom cuts.”
He shrugs. “So I like nice clothing. Does that inherently mean I do not know how to work hard?”
“You probably have the smooth hands of an infant,” I say.
He walks up to me and holds both of his hands out to me, palms up. “Touch them. Then tell me again how they are the hands of an infant.”
The arrogance in his voice is annoying, and I don’t need to touch him to know what I’ll feel. I can see the calluses born of working with a sword for long hours. The ink stains that come from late nights writing.
Still, the challenge is in his eyes, so I lay my hands on his, my fingertips playing over each imperfection that makes a lie of my accusation that he’s spoiled and lazy.
But when he turns my hands over he raises an eyebrow. With the pad of his thumb, he studies my own scars and calluses. “Sword fighting,” he says, studying one. “Archery.” His touch makes me shiver, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing that. “Ink.” He looks up. “You’ve led quite a life.”
I snort in a very unladylike way. “You have no idea.” If he did, he wouldn’t be nearly as friendly to me, I’m positive of that.
“Enlighten me,” he says, offering his arm.
Before my stomach betrays my hunger again, embarrassing me even further, I slide my arm into his and we walk through the woods towards the berries.
“So, you’re not going to tell me why you keep seeking me out?” My voice is lighter now, more conversational, but I can’t keep myself from asking the question. Maybe I need to know his answer before I can discover my own.
It’s a dangerous game to be playing. A distraction I can’t afford. And yet—
“You are full of contradictions I’m
trying to figure out,” he says as we walk.
“Such as?” Probably the wrong thing to say given I don’t want him thinking too much about me, especially about my contradictions, but I can’t help my curiosity. Given how often my traitorous thoughts find their way to him, it’s comforting to know I’ve been distracting to him as well.
“You’re clearly educated, intelligent, trained in combat,” he glances down at me with a question on his face that I ignore.
“How is this contradicting?” I ask. “If you don’t know other smart women who know how to fight, maybe you need to spend time with more interesting women.”
He laughs at that. “Maybe you’re right. It’s a good thing an interesting woman has agreed to go to the ball with me, isn’t it?”
Right. That. “Even if I’m just going for a better look at the prince before he’s married off?” I ask.
“Even if,” he says. “What is the appeal?” he asks, after a beat. “To the prince?”
“Pft. I don’t know. I guess the idea that the prince could pick anyone as his bride, thus taking a commoner and making her a queen someday, is an appealing thought to some.”
“But not to you?” he asks.
“No. Not to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think being married into that family makes anyone fit to lead.” I can’t keep the bitterness from leaking into my voice.
He nods. “The royal family has not treated light fae well since the change of leadership.”
I stop and pull away from him. “Change of leadership? Change of leadership? Is that what you call the slaughter of the entire true royal family? The queen that gave us a rich land with plenty of food and protection? The king who only led his warriors into battle to protect our land, not to pillage and rape our neighbors? The family who threw grand celebrations at each equinox that all in the land could attend and fill their bellies and their storage with food to last the season? What has this new king done but destroy everything he touches?”
“It was a poor choice of words,” he says softly.
“You know, I’m not really hungry anymore,” I say, my appetite soured by this whole conversation.
“I do apologize,” Tyler says with a small bow. “I will leave you then and hope that we can resume our talk another day, where I will endeavor to avoid putting my foot in my mouth again.”
And without another word, he walks away, leaving me sulking in my own thoughts.
When I arrive back at camp, I’m in a piss poor mood, that no amount of laughter, music, or shared stories can change.
My troupe is gathered around the fire again, this time eating their morning porridge and preparing for the day.
Tunk runs up to me when I approach, holding something wrapped in red velvet.
He’s out of breath when he reaches me, his eyes wide as saucers. “It’s for you, Kate. Someone was waiting in town when I went to pick up some eggs. They said they’d been paid to wait there all day for one of us to show up. What do you think it is?”
I take the bundle from him and unwrap the velvet to reveal a note atop a deep blue gown glittering with tiny crystals.
To Lady Kate. May this dress find you well, and may you find it fitting to wear to our date at the ball.
Yours,
Tyler
Dammit. And I was such an ass to him.
Tunk whistles as I pull it out and hold it up to my body.
“You’re going to look like a princess at that ball now!” he says.
I look down and can’t help but sigh. “That’s the idea.”
Chapter 6
Hours later, Sarge and the others have left for a midnight heist and still my dark mood weighs heavily on my shoulders. A branch snaps on my left, and I look up to see Sharon joining me at the fire.
“You didn’t wish to accompany the others?” she asks.
“They can handle it,” I say without taking my eyes off the dancing flames.
Her weight settles beside me.
“You haven’t sulked this hard since you were a teenager,” she says, her tone light, but I scowl nonetheless at her words.
“I’m not sulking.”
“And what would you call it?”
“Brooding.” I lift my chin, knowing full well I’m being stubborn. “It’s much more regal.”
Sharon snorts. “You can fool yourself all you want, but you don’t fool me, girl.”
I frown. She’s right. No one knows me better than she does. No one understands what I’ve lost. What we’ve all lost.
“He’s dark fae,” I say quietly, staring into the flames, too afraid to watch her expression.
“Is he?” Her challenging tone confuses me and I finally look up.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen his mark. Watched him use his power. There’s no question.”
“Does he destroy innocents like the other dark fae?”
“Well, no . . .”
She nods like she expected that answer. “He’s a man, Kate. With free will to be who he chooses. As are you.”
“He doesn’t know who I am.”
“He knows your heart.”
Her words pierce me to the core. My entire life has been about keeping people out. And now…when I’m so close to reclaiming what is rightfully mine, I can feel my walls crumbling against a man who should be my enemy.
Maybe Sharon is right.
Maybe what matters is who he chooses to be.
“Go to the ball,” Sharon says when I don’t respond. “Keep your mind and your heart open. And just see what happens.”
“I’m not going to alter the plan,” I warn her.
“Of course not. But for love, you can expand your plans to include something new.”
I scoff. “It’s hardly love after—”
“Mistress!”
Lent’s voice cuts through our quiet conversation, and I look up to see him racing toward us through the trees. Behind him, Sarge is running too, though not as fast as Lent. And farther back, three more of my men race to catch up.
The horses are nowhere to be found.
I push to my feet, instantly on alert, and reach for my sword, where it stands propped beside me against the log. “What is it?”
“Lyra . . .” He says, coming to a sudden halt and bending to catch his breath.
“What about her?” I looked around, noting she’s not with them. She should have arrived first in a footrace. She’s our fastest.
“They took her,” Lent says, his expression twisting in anguish.
“Who?” I demand.
“Soldiers,” Sarge said, coming up beside Lent. “A dozen or so of them ambushed us. The target was a trap.”
Beside me, Sharon frowns. “But we were told—”
“We were given false information,” Sarge said, and the fury in his eyes tells me something terrible happened.
“Where is Lyra?” I demand. “And Tunk.”
My stomach drops as I realize he’s not with them either.
“They were both taken,” Lent says.
I look at Sarge, horror dawning. The soldiers will probably throw Tunk in a dirty cell somewhere. He’ll be lucky to get bread and water until a farce of a trial can be arranged, but Lyra…
I can’t think about what they might do to a woman like her.
“We have to get them back,” I say.
“There’s no way we’re getting past all of those dark fae,” Sarge says, and determination heats me from the inside.
“We have to try,” I say, gripping my sword and starting for my horse.
Lent grabs my wrist, eyes blazing. “He’s right, Mistress.” He hangs his head, a mixture of fury and fear. “If we fail, they will only see how important she is and hurt her more. Or worse, you’ll be captured too. We have to be smart about this.”
He’s right.
But I hate the idea of standing around while people I love are in danger.
I s
hrug Lent’s hand off and grab his shoulder. “You’re right. We need a strategy.” He nods. “And I have an idea.”
Twenty minutes later, Lent and Sarge have filled their bellies and rested their bodies well enough, and I kiss Sharon goodbye as we set out into the moonlit trees. Sarge doesn’t like the plan but both men agree it’s the least violent option, and we can’t afford a scene.
The rest of the men stay behind, packing up camp, while Sharon barks orders about keeping to the shadows and off the main road. We’ll have to move camp tonight. Just in case.
I hate to think about what the soldiers might do to Lyra to get her to tell them where to find us. She’d never talk. That’s what worries me most.
We walk in silence, making our way to the river where I last bathed. Sarge brings up the rear, ever vigilant as he watches our backs. Beside me, Lent looks out of his mind with worry. I wait until we’re out of earshot of the rest of the men before leaning in close and whispering, “We’ll get her back. Whatever it takes.”
He grunts a half-hearted agreement.
I’ll need to concentrate now if I’m going to successfully track our target in the dark.
Just ahead, I recognize the spot where I stalked away from Lord Tyler earlier today—or yesterday, considering the late hour.
My fae senses give me the edge I need to spot the footprints and markings left behind. I use the trail to retrace my steps back to the place we parted ways.
Okay, where I stormed off.
But none of that is important now.
What is important is finding Lord Tyler. Without his help, the only option we have for freeing Lyra and Tunk involves exposing myself in a way I can’t afford. Not until after the ball. And by then, it may be too late.
“Do you see the tracks?” Lent asks impatiently.
“This is the place,” I whisper, scanning the forest floor. Then I point. “Look there.”
Larger markings indicate a man’s boot pressed into the soft ground along the riverbank. Hope surges within me and I hurry to follow the trail as it leads away from the water.
“Come,” I urge Lent and Sarge.
Quietly, we follow the trail Lord Tyler left behind.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, considering he’s been particularly cagey about his personal details, especially where he lives, but it’s not this.
The Spring Witch (Season of the Witch Book 2) Page 4
