Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1

by Bernadette Rowley

  “Nonsense! Alecia has to understand the risks of her office. In the past, she has disregarded the need for security. It will do her good to see that even hardened mercenaries can be victims.”

  “Hardened mercenaries, Highness?” Vard said.

  “The very same.” Price Zialni’s brow creased. He did seem disturbed by the news. “Two bodies were discovered just a few hours ago outside The Dancing Lion. The men had ventured out of the establishment earlier in the evening and neither came back. One had his neck snapped and the other was covered in knife wounds.”

  Vard glanced at the princess to see how she took the news but her eyes remained on her plate, her knuckles white on the handle of her teacup. “These two murders were the work of the same person, Highness?” Vard said.

  “I cannot see how else you could interpret it though they were not both…” The prince’s voice trailed off and he ran his hand across the stubble on his chin, his eyes narrowing. “Never mind; as you say, Captain, no need to discuss this in front of my daughter.” The prince applied all his attention to scraping thick slabs of butter onto the hot bread.

  Vard opened his senses to his employer and almost growled. No trace of inner turmoil radiated from the prince, no scent of fear or bewilderment. He smelled of determination and cunning but that was the essence of the prince, and there was nothing else to give a clue to what he’d been about to say. His words implied a deeper knowledge of the victims than he was willing to share.

  Princess Alecia cleared her throat and rose from the table, dabbing her mouth with a snowy napkin. “Father, may I be excused from the table?”

  Prince Zialni frowned, his dark eyes darting from his daughter to Vard. “Captain, I wish for you to take my daughter riding this morning. It will do her good to escape the sordid events of last night for a time. Select a safe path and be vigilant. You must be back before luncheon. Daughter, obey Captain Anton or there will be no more outings.”

  She frowned at her father. “I thought you said I was at risk? Would it not be safer to stay within the castle?” A pulse jumped in her throat and she wiped her hands on her skirts.

  The prince’s eyebrows rose. “Since when have you declined a ride in the country, Alecia? You will be perfectly safe with the captain at your side.”

  The princess stiffened, her teeth biting into her lower lip. “Very well, Father.” She squared her shoulders and met her father’s eyes. “If I may be excused, I shall change for the ride.”

  The prince nodded and Alecia avoided Vard’s gaze as she curtsied, and swept from the room. She was clearly disturbed at the suggestion of a ride into the countryside. Vard had to agree. The last thing in the world he wished for at that moment was to be alone with the princess. Somehow, he must keep himself aloof, for that was the only way he could guard her safety and sort through his feelings for the intriguing Alecia Zialni.

  Chapter 7

  Alecia stood in front of her oval mirror, fussing with the emerald silk riding dress. The color made her eyes appear blue, not the lilac she so desperately needed to hide. No matter how often she smoothed her brow the frown crept back. She had spied a puzzled expression on the captain’s tanned face more than once, and what else could be the cause but a nagging familiarity? Eventually her protector would make the connection, and now she had another reason to avoid Vard Anton’s company.

  Whenever she thought of the encounter in his room, her heart fluttered as though a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed. The hard lines of his body came readily to mind, but it was not only the captain’s glorious form that trapped her thoughts. He suffered some affliction, and last night had needed the simple comfort of another human being. She had never imagined that the granite exterior of her fearless protector hid some dark pit of despair, but now she was certain it did.

  Realising the bent of her thoughts, Alecia tried to concentrate on her attire. The skirt was divided for riding, though the garment was still cumbersome and nothing like she usually wore when she rode with Ramón. She had tried to visit the squire yesterday but he had sent her away. She felt like a traitor riding out with the captain while Ramón lay abed.

  Alecia sighed. The dress would have to do. Vard Anton was unlikely to recognize her as the lad who had attacked the mercenary. She pulled two strands of hair, from the elaborate pile on her head, so they curled past her ears, and nodded. A little rouge, kohl eyeliner and Hetty’s cherry lip balm completed the disguise. Her hand shook as she put the finishing touches to her face.

  A knock at the door startled her and the eyeliner smudged her cheekbone. “For the love of the Goddess!”

  She stalked to the door and opened it to find the captain in the hallway.

  “Excuse me, Princess,” he said after a bow, “if you delay further, we won’t be back for the midday meal.”

  Butterflies fluttered in Alecia’s stomach at the sight of her escort dressed in his uniform. As she stared at his perfection, her heart threatened to pound its way through her ribs and she said the first thing that came to mind.

  “I thought we could ride to the high meadow for some archery practice.” Immediately she regretted the words, imagining Vard Anton’s arms around her as he adjusted her grip on the longbow. It was too late to go back.

  The captain’s gold-flecked, sea-green eyes made a slow inspection of her attire before trapping her gaze. “I’m at your command, Princess.”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Alecia strode over to the peg where her shortened longbow and quiver hung. She grabbed the items and hurried back to join him. “I am ready,” she said.

  “I think not,” he said and stepped closer. His white-gloved hand rose to her face and Alecia swallowed the gasp that sprang to her lips. The image of his naked body swamped her mind. If he tries to kiss me again… Vard’s fingers cupped the side of her face and Alecia swayed towards him. His thumb brushed her cheekbone twice and then his hand was gone. She staggered, suddenly light-headed.

  Vard steadied her, his hand at her elbow. “You had a smudge on your face, Princess,” he said. “I couldn’t allow you to appear in public less than perfect.”

  Alecia’s heart leaped like a panicked toad. It was several moments before she could speak. “I’m hardly perfect,” she said, “but thank you for your attentiveness.” She swept past the captain and down the hall, concentrating very hard on maintaining a regal bearing, but determined to stay in front of her escort.

  He caught her up in the entrance hall and offered his arm. She ignored it and gave him her bow and quiver instead. They walked thus to the stables where their horses stood, tails swishing at the flies. As Alecia marched to her dappled gray mare she studied the brown gelding that stood nearby, longbow and quiver slung on its saddle. Surely that could not be his first choice for a mount? She sprang to Silver’s back before the captain could assist her and turned her horse to face the gate. Her companion raised his eyebrows.

  “It was you who said we should not tarry, Captain, and it is you who are now delaying us.”

  His horse rolled its eyes and fidgeted as the captain mounted and slung the bows and quivers across his broad shoulders.

  “What is the name of your horse?” she asked, determined to stay on safe topics of conversation.

  “Swift,” he said. “He may not be much to look at but he is deep of chest and sturdy of leg and has consented to carry me.”

  Alecia raised her brows at the last remark. Most horses consented to carry men; it was their purpose. The captain seemed to imply a contract between himself and Swift. She shook her head. “Let us go.”

  She watched her companion from the corner of her eye as the horses walked side by side out the palace gate. He rode well of course, with the balance of a natural athlete. The extra weapons did not seem to impede his movement at all. Even one bow made it difficult for her, especially when speed was required. She would see how far his skill ran.

  “A race, Captain,” she said and dug the tiny golden spurs at the heels of her boots into her mare’s
side. Silver leaped ahead, her nose outstretched as she galloped towards the high meadow and the archery range. Alecia’s heart soared at the wind on her cheeks and the powerful movement of the horse beneath her. She glanced behind to see her protector several paces back and gaining. A brief glimpse of him was enough to show dark brows gathered low on his forehead and his mouth drawn into a tight line.

  In seconds, Swift surged past and the captain tugged on the reins to shorten the gelding’s stride. Vard Anton moved beautifully, his upper body so perfectly balanced that his shoulders barely moved. The weapons sat secure, never shifting to impede his horsemanship. His ability set her teeth on edge even as he commanded her gaze. She was an excellent rider, but would never have Vard Anton’s skill. The joy went out of the race and she pulled Silver back to a walk.

  The captain sensed the lack of pursuit and reined Swift in beside her. Alecia cast him furtive glances, bracing herself for his anger. She should have stayed with him, not galloped ahead, but for short moments she had been free. Her companion’s mouth and stormy brows gradually relaxed. Finally he turned to her.

  “You ride well,” he said.

  “For a woman.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  Alecia frowned at his earnest expression. “Perhaps you did not. Where did you learn to ride like that? It is like you are part of the horse.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve spent many hours in the saddle.”

  Alecia studied Swift. The gelding still rolled its eyes, despite the obvious cooperation between rider and mount. What was the story behind that? Had the captain beaten the animal into submission? He did not seem the type to take his anger out on a beast, but she did not know him well enough to be sure.

  She shifted her attention to the countryside around them. They rode through open forest on a broad trail that had once been a paved highway. In ancient times, this road had led to the thriving metropolis of Amitania on the other side of a low range of mountains. Now all that remained of the road was the occasional flattened stone glimpsed through foxtails and other weeds.

  There were many stories about what had become of Amitania. Alecia favoured the tale of a greedy monarch who had bled his people dry until the populace revolted and set the city afire. In the inferno and battle that followed, many had died. Some citizens of Brightcastle claimed to be descendants of those who fought the battle of Amitania. Perhaps she needed to remind her father of that story. There was no need for Brightcastle to suffer the same fate -- and it would not while she had breath in her body.

  As they rode, Alecia spoke of Amitania and the various theories relating to the fall of the city. He listened intently.

  “You know,” he said, “I like the one that tells how a powerful wizard ensorcelled the citizens of Amitania so that they hoarded wealth and were overcome with hate and suspicion.”

  “I would not have taken you for a man who believed in fairy tales.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “There is much in the world that ordinary folk don’t understand, Princess.”

  “I did not say that I was an unbeliever, Captain.” Her comment seemed to silence her companion and his gaze strayed to the surrounding forest.

  Alecia sighed. She could not relax in Vard Anton’s presence. The muscles across her shoulders tightened as their journey continued. It seemed odd that her father should suggest an outing when he feared for her safety. That meant there must be another motive for the ride… but what? To get her out of the way? Or was the prince’s purpose to remove Captain Anton from the castle?

  Her mood darkened further and she made a conscious effort to shrug off thoughts of her father. Instead, Alecia focused on the warmth of the sun on her back and the sway of the horse beneath her. There had been few moments like this lately. Her eyes meandered over her surroundings. The yellow flowers of lady’s fingers on their long stalks bordered the road and late hyacinths reared their violet-blue flowers amongst the trees. The rough bark of the oak made a stunning contrast with the smooth trunks of the beech, and all wore the striking golden hue of approaching winter. Fat squirrels skittered about, gathering their last acorns and chattering at the passers-by who dared disturb their foraging.

  Vard Anton observed the forest too but his gaze held the wary scrutiny of the guard. He reminded her of the spectacular black and gold-banded hawk that she had seen the day before, with his gilded eyes and piercing gaze.

  “Can you not relax and enjoy the ride?”

  He did not take his eyes from the trees. “Your safety is my responsibility. What would I tell your father if bandits were to overwhelm us because I was gazing at the trees and the flowers?”

  “You think there is danger in these woods?”

  “There is danger everywhere, but no immediate threat that I can’t handle.”

  “You are a confident man.”

  “I know my abilities, Princess.”

  That was all he said, and she found herself believing he could handle anything that presented itself, despite the vulnerability he had shown her last night.

  Her silence attracted his attention.

  “I’ve frightened you again, Princess. I’m sorry.”

  Alecia’s face heated, remembering the last time the captain had shocked her. Now that his eyes were upon her, she found it impossible to banish the memories of his bare skin. They were almost at the perimeter of the forest. The archery field lay through the woods and over the hill. She booted her mare and Silver leaped ahead once more. Alecia didn’t stop until she arrived at the practice range, panting almost as hard as her horse.

  Captain Anton reined in beside her, his face like a statue carved from granite -- except for a muscle that twitched along the line of his jaw. He dismounted, dropped their weapons into the grass of the meadow and stalked off with Swift to a tree, where he tied the gelding. Alecia bit her lip as she stared at the captain’s back. Had she pushed him too far this time?

  Dismounting, Alecia led her mare to the same tree and tied her up without looking at the captain. She collected her yew bow from the pile and slung the quiver of arrows over her shoulder. The practice field was a grassy paddock 400 paces long and 200 paces wide, with mounds built at intervals down the length. The first mound with its practice target stood 100 paces away. There were other mounds at 150, 200, 250 and 300 paces.

  At this time of day, with the sun over her right shoulder, the shooting should be easy. She pulled a sharpened practice arrow from her quiver and nocked it, sighting along the arrow all the way to the 150-pace target with its yellow bullseye. Her hand shook with the effort of pulling back the string. She breathed out, let her mind empty of everything except the target, and was gratified to see the arrow fly to the crimson ring, adjacent to the bullseye.

  “Stop.” The captain’s voice came from behind her.

  Alecia lowered her bow and turned to him.

  “First you gallop off without me and now you charge at this task like a rabid wolf. You make my job of caring for your safety difficult, to say the least.”

  “I am simply having a little fun,” she said, her own anger rising. “The Mother knows I have had little enough of that lately.”

  “From where I stand, your life seems full of it,” he said, his voice harsh.

  Alecia thought of the two dead mercenaries and Jorge. If only Vard Anton knew the truth. “You think that because my father is the prince I don’t know hardship and discipline? Try being raised by servants who only care for you because they are paid to. Or consider my father’s brand of discipline, which is to throw me in the dungeon if I do not obey him.”

  “Your father may be unfair in his dealings with his subjects but you’re his daughter. I don’t believe he’d imprison you.”

  “He is my father and I love him, but I do not deceive myself. He would sell me off to the highest bidder if it were to his advantage.”

  He was silent for several minutes. “Perhaps you know some hardship in your own way, but you don’t know discipline. I intend to teach you
restraint and control before you break your neck or kill someone.”

  Alecia frowned. Too late. “Go ahead, let us see what you can teach me.”

  He reached for her bow, long fingers caressing the golden wood, and Alecia noted again the ridged scar on the back of his left hand. She did not see it as a blemish. Fighting men carried many scars, all souvenirs of past battles. The captain would have other marks, tokens of his bravery. Once more the image of his naked body filled her mind and she imagined her hands on his skin, exploring, finding all those scars he must assuredly carry. Vard Anton’s voice brought her wanton thoughts back to the present.

  “Even this weapon proves my point,” he said. “What I wouldn’t have given for a weapon of this quality when I learned the bow.”

  “I am no beginner.” Alecia’s heart raced and her face burned in the aftermath of her daydream, but the captain would only think her angry at his remark about her being a beginner. He would never guess the real cause of her agitation.

  “We’ll see.” He reached behind her and pulled another arrow from her quiver. Alecia felt his breath against her cheek and stifled a gasp. He smirked as he nocked the arrow to the string. With one fluid motion, he marked the target and drew the string to his ear. The arrow thudded into the 150-pace target, dead centre.

  Alecia stared at the target, determined to keep any expression from her face. “A good shot, Captain. Now try the 200-pace target.”

  He raised an eyebrow then stooped and slung his quiver over his shoulder. An arrow was in his hand, nocked and released before Alecia realized. Her eyes sought the 200-pace target and she was unsurprised to see the bullseye hit once again. But it could not continue. She had never seen anyone hit the bullseye at 300 paces. Vard did not pause. His arrow slammed into the bullseye at 250 paces and then, miraculously, at 300.

  She stared. How was it possible? “That is one of the most extraordinary feats I have ever seen.” A strong man could shoot the longbow that distance although not with the accuracy the captain displayed.