Chapter 5
Alecia left her clothes in the passage and stepped back through the hidden stone door into her chamber. Eerie shadows from her candle danced on the walls. It was all too easy to imagine hidden assassins in every corner. Her heart raced from the trip back to the castle. The night watch had been difficult to elude and she had used all her skills to navigate the streets without raising the alarm. She used the candle she held to light the two by her bed and then walked around the room, lighting every other candle she had. Three stout logs soon had the fire blazing and chased the last of the night chill and the shadows away. The chores helped to ease her frayed nerves. Better that than think about what had transpired tonight.
All seemed to be in order in her rooms. Her bed was undisturbed. Had it been searched, the covers would have been hauled back. Alecia hid her remaining knives in the wood box then pulled on her nightgown. She jumped into bed and drew the covers over her head, determined not to think about the events of that night.
But as soon as Alecia stopped moving, a spasm struck her body and she trembled so violently that her teeth chattered. She curled into a tight ball around the frost in her core, hugging herself. Through the thin silk of her nightdress her fingers were icy and she couldn’t feel her toes.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. The dead eyes of the Devil intruded; his blood again spilled across her chest in a warm, sticky puddle. Nausea swept through her and her eyes shot open. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed and vomited into her chamber pot until the violent spasms produced nothing. She was left weak, her stomach muscles sore.
Alecia’s hands shook; hands that had taken the life of another being. The sharp scent of his blood stuck to her skin. She bounded from the bed to her washbowl and plunged her hands into the cold water, scrubbing them with the pumice stone until they were red raw. The ritual of cleansing pushed her past the panic but she could not hope to cleanse her soul in the same way. Somehow she would have to live with what she had done. Perhaps live with more than one death on her conscience.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Some warm milk might help her sleep. Her mother had always said so. What would Princess Iona think of her daughter? Would she be proud? Or would her gracious, gentle mother condemn Alecia and her murderous plans? She raised her eyes to the large portrait of Iona that hung by her bed and sank to her hands and knees on the rug, hit by the memory of her mother’s death.
She stood at the foot of the bed, her mother’s rasping breath the only sound in the room. It took all her strength to look upon the still, withered form under the gold-embossed coverlet. Her father knelt by the bed, his hand clasping his wife’s skeletal fingers, his lips moving in prayer. Alecia closed her eyes, trying to recall her mother’s face as it had been: rosy-cheeked, smiling, beautiful, full of life. The longed-for image would not come.
“Alecia.” It was not the sweet musical voice of yore but the whisper of death. “Come to me.”
Alecia’s heart thudded. She could hardly draw breath as her mother’s faded gaze trapped her and pulled her closer.
“Alecia… I must leave you soon. I have not the strength to fight…” Iona’s words were lost in a coughing fit.
“Gracious Mother,” Alecia began, forcing her voice to be strong, “hold the hand of my mother and lead her through her trials to your reward. Look down on your daughter --”
“Alecia!”
Her head snapped up, the prayer lost in the sharpness of Princess Iona’s voice.
“This is not the time for prayers. I do not have long.”
Alecia leaned closer to catch the words as the momentary strength drained from her mother’s voice.
“Daughter, I have loved you as I have loved no other. You are my joy and my future. Soon I must leave this life, but I will live on in you. Be brave and hold these words deep in your heart. Always be true to yourself and your beliefs. You hold within yourself so much that I have lost.” She paused for breath and another coughing fit. Each bout left her paler, the shadows deeper beneath her eyes. “I know you will never fail as I have. Hold firm to what you know is true and always remember you are princess by privilege, not right. I love you, my darling.”
“I love you, Mother.” Tears cascaded down Alecia’s cheeks. She could force no more words past the lump in her throat but grasped her mother’s hand, willing strength to the frail body. As she watched, Princess Iona’s eyes closed and her chest no longer rose and fell with the agonising effort that Alecia had become used to. The skeletal fingers relaxed and Alecia knew her mother had left her.
Always be true to yourself and your beliefs. In the four years since Iona’s death, those words had never been far from Alecia’s thoughts. They motivated her to right the wrongs of her father; to save the condemned, to feed the hungry. He had never been the same after the loss of his beloved wife. Was it grief, or the words Iona had spoken to Alecia that had wrought the change? Did he harbor resentment towards the daughter who had been his wife’s greatest love?
Her eyes again sought those of the portrait and she thought she knew the reaction her mother would have had to tonight’s events. It did not matter. Her mother was not here to disapprove.
Holding onto the realisation that she could choose her own path, knowing no one alive could judge her more harshly than she herself would, Alecia drew her cream satin robe over her nightgown. The sight of her raw fingers as they tightened the sash was almost her undoing, but she pulled together the shards of her composure and stepped into the hall.
The flickering candle she held did little to dispel the dark. Anything could lurk in the shadows. Was the captain watching? She recalled the glowing eyes in the alley. Something had witnessed the death of the Devil -- the murder. She had to face the reality that she had murdered the man. Revenge had drawn her to the inn and she was not sorry the mercenary was dead. She really was not.
Alecia steps had stalled at the top of the stairs and she took another deep breath. Nothing lurked in the shadows. I am safe. The whisper of her bare feet on the stone was the only sound as she descended the staircase and crossed to the hall that led past the kitchen. It must be two or three in the morning by now.
A low moaning from further down the passageway made the hairs stand on the back of her neck. It must be some poor soul in the grip of a nightmare. She would just stoke the fire and warm her milk and be away before the owner of the voice woke. When she came level with the kitchen, her eyes were drawn to a door that stood ajar at the end of the hall.
She raised her candle. Deep gouges marred the wood of the outer panel of the door. She inched forward, the light flickering with the trembling of her hand. Have I not had enough excitement for one evening? She stifled an hysterical laugh.
Alecia drew level with the damaged door. The moaning had ceased but she was certain it had come from this room. She reached out and pushed the door with her fingertips. The barrier swung aside. Vard Anton sat on the floor, head resting in his hands -- and he wore not a stitch of clothing. It was as if all his soft edges had been scraped away by a sculptor’s tool. Alecia could not move; could not breathe. All she could do was stare at lean buttocks, muscular thighs and calves and a ridged stomach. And then he looked at her. Goddess! Alecia’s gasp seemed loud in the quiet room. The captain’s eyes were no longer yellow-flecked but full gold that reflected the light of her candle.
She took a step backwards. He stood and pulled on snug-fitting breeches but not before Alecia glimpsed what lay within the curling dark hair of his lower abdomen. I shouldn’t be seeing him like this. She took another backward step, ready to bolt.
“Princess.” His voice held a faint tremor.
Alecia cleared her throat. “I should not be here,” she said, unable to get the sight of his manhood from her thoughts. “I will leave you to…whatever it was you were doing.”
He laughed. It had a bitter sound. “Perhaps that’s best.”
Alecia froze at the note of vulnerability and pa
used to study his face. “What is wrong?”
“It hits me sometimes.”
“What hits you? Say something I can understand.”
He reached out and drew her into the room. His skin burned against hers with such intensity that Alecia’s question flew from her mind -- all she could focus on was his heat and her frantic heart. He stared down at her as though trying to memorize every feature. Too late, Alecia remembered she had good reason to avoid his scrutiny. She dragged her gaze from his scorching eyes and looked instead at his chest. That did not help at all. Her fingers itched to stroke the bronzed skin of his shoulders. She clenched her hands into fists at her bosom.
He placed a finger under her chin to raise her face to his. The gesture was one of gentleness but the heat had not left his gaze.
“Your eyes, Captain,” she said, heart pounding.
“I won’t hurt you.” He stared at her then drew her to the lone chair in the room. “Sit and we’ll talk.”
Alecia sat, her knees shaking and breath short as though she had run to Brightcastle Town and back.
“Am I not the last person you would wish to talk to?” She recalled their near kiss and something low in her abdomen stirred. “The role of protector has been forced on you. You cannot enjoy it.”
He seemed to consider her words, and Alecia watched a myriad of feelings chase each other over his face, saw the torment he struggled to hide. His eyes burned into hers and she could not look away. I should not be here, she thought again.
He opened his mouth to speak and suddenly she feared to hear the misery of his gaze put into words.
“I must go.” She rose and started for the door. The captain reached it first, his broad shoulders forming a barrier she could not slip past. He did not touch her this time and the glow of his eyes had dimmed to the familiar specks. Had she imagined his earlier wildness? “I cannot stay here.”
Vard Anton seemed not to hear her words. “Do you ever doubt yourself, even for a moment?”
The inquiry pulled her up short. She closed her eyes, remembering the events of the last two days. “Once I did not, but now …” Alecia opened her eyes to find his intense gaze upon her. Why was he so desperate? “You cannot mean to imply that you know doubt?”
For a brief instant, pain flared in the depths of his eyes but it was fleeting, replaced by the familiar granite stare. “Go.”
Wherever the vulnerability had come from, it had been exchanged for the chill she knew well. The sudden transformation unnerved her. He stepped aside and Alecia fled through the doorway. She ran all the way to her room without a backward glance and was in her bed before she remembered the milk.
She sat, the thick covers bunched up around her chin, and recalled the exchange with the captain. What had happened to him? What had he wanted from her? Outside a cockerel crowed. Soon it would be light. She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Her last thought was for a hard man with one very vulnerable, painful stain on his soul.
Chapter 6
Vard hadn’t slept. He’d left his room at dawn in search of a distraction. Now he faced six of the more skilled swordsmen in the prince’s personal guard. They stood warily, even though the practice swords would be unlikely to kill. Ramón was not among them. The squire was still abed after his wounding the day before. Vard quashed a flash of remorse over the injury. The squire had put himself forward as the Princess’s protector despite errors in his technique. Better for the lad to discover them now than to lose his life or that of another through ignorance.
The swordsman with the flaming red hair launched an attack that had Vard on the back foot, scrambling to defend himself. He cursed his inattention. Or perhaps it was lack of sleep that betrayed him. The events of the night had struck his core, shaken the foundations of his identity and left him cowering like a wounded animal. Vard still couldn’t believe he had so little control that he’d failed to carry out a simple task. And then to expose his anguish to the princess… Her pity wouldn’t last long if she knew what he had attempted last evening. Transformation hadn’t washed away his distress; had only added to it. This time, his fragile hold on humanity was more tenuous and even his Defender core was not sufficient to anchor him.
Vard fought off the onslaught and returned a flurry of blows that engaged the redhead as well as the black-bearded combatant to the right. There was no point in rehashing the night’s adventures. He had to regain some control over his mind, and that meant calm concentration. That was why he had sought the practice field this morning. But the bearded man struck a chord in his wolf memory. Perception was altered when anything was viewed during a transformation. He saw flashes of another black-bearded man in combat with a youth and then that same bearded man dead in the street. The eyes of the youth resonated with the human memory of his rescue of the lad and the chamber-pot incident.
Black-beard got inside his guard and scored a blow to Vard’s ribs. The breath whooshed out of him and he forced more air back in so that he wouldn’t go down. It was a trick that had saved him more than once. He scored an answering blow to the side of his opponent’s head and black-beard dropped into the dirt. Dust rose as the five remaining shuffled backwards.
Vard didn’t allow them the break they needed, dancing forwards, his practice sword moving with blistering speed. Three of the soldiers lay groaning in the dirt before they had a chance to more than half raise their swords. The man with the flaming hair and the weapons master stepped apart to place their opponent at a disadvantage. Vard backed up, drawing on his ability to focus in two different directions as his opponents advanced from opposite sides. He scored a blow to the ribs of the weapons master and ducked under a savage slice from the redhead, then turned to find the redhead had launched another attack. The two met, their practice swords thwacking upright between them. The man was of matching height and strength but his breath had the sour smell of ale.
“What’s your name, Sergeant?” Vard asked.
“Floyd,” the redhead grunted. The man’s hair was not his only flame-colored feature now.
“Your drinking will be the death of you.” With those words, Vard hurled Floyd backwards and used his momentum to follow the man down, pinning his sword arm against the ground and ramming his own sword against the sergeant’s throat. Floyd’s eyes bulged with the pressure of the weapon against his gullet. “Think on what I have said.” Vard pushed himself off Floyd, allowing a little more pressure to bear on the man’s throat as he rose. The sound of coughing followed him as he left the practice ground.
Fools, he thought, but not more so than he. His destiny was to protect but after last night, he was no longer sure what that meant. Oh yes, he’d been foolish indeed to take the steps that had brought him to this place. He shook his head. The distraction had worked for a time, long enough to bring his ragged emotions back under control. He was expected at breakfast.
When Vard entered the dining hall, Princess Alecia was already seated at the long table, halfway along the side that faced the servery. Her eyebrows rose and her gaze swept over him, lingering below his belt. He raised one brow and waited for her eyes to lift, grinning at the blush that stained her cheeks. He knew she recalled his undress of just a few hours before. But his amusement was short-lived. It wasn’t just his skin he had laid bare. She had seen him at his most vulnerable and it could not happen a second time. There was no telling what he might do if he lost control like that again.
He crossed to the servery and poured from a china teapot into a fragile cup, savouring a mouthful of the fragrant brew as he faced his charge. Her eyes had the dark smudge of fatigue beneath them. The niggling familiarity struck him again. “Did I frighten you last night, Princess?” He watched the delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed, and his traitorous heart skipped a beat and raced away.
“Startle, more like,” she said. “You were not yourself… Are you -- well…this morning?”
He took a deep breath and crossed to the table, disturbed by his reaction. He was
vulnerable to her! That shouldn’t surprise him after last night, but it did. Alecia was very much a part of his current dilemma, his lack of control. She was inextricably linked into this chain of events that pushed his restraint to the limit. The truthful answer to her question was ‘no’.
“I’m recovered, Princess.” He sat opposite her and piled potatoes and thick mutton on a slice of hot bread, glad that his voice gave no clue to his distress. Her presence tugged at him, made him want to bare his innermost thoughts. “Where’s your father?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. “He has been delayed. We are to start the meal without him. Why are you here?”
Faint stirrings of anger licked at his brain. How could she irritate and intrigue him at the same time? He took a deep slow breath, resolved to keep cool. “The prince requested my presence, Your Highness, otherwise you can be assured I would’ve eaten in the kitchen or with the men.”
“I did not mean to offend.” She examined his face, her head tilted to one side. Her scent carried a mixture of nervousness and intense curiosity, as though she were viewing an unfamiliar but dangerous beast. He supposed that described him well enough.
The silence between them lengthened, their eyes locked together. The princess gave a start and broke the contact when Prince Zialni stalked into the room. They both stood but the prince waved away their manners.
“Be seated,” he said, as he filled his plate and took his chair at the head of the table. “So many things to attend to and so little time.” He looked at Vard. “Have you heard the news from the township?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“More killings,” Prince Zialni snapped. “In the same area as the first. There is foul murder at work here and I will get to the bottom of it.”
Vard glanced at the princess. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, the fork in her hand trembled and a wave of her fear struck him hard. He had not thought her easily upset. “Perhaps we should discuss this alone, Your Highness,” he said to the prince.
Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Page 6
