Alecia’s face danced in his mind. She wouldn’t come within a mile of him after what she’d witnessed last night.
That young woman was an itch he couldn’t ignore. She stirred his blood, and it was not only sexual. He cared for her more than he should, more than was good for her. Theirs was a union that could never be, especially after her betrothal. Vard rolled his shoulders and shifted position, trying to ease tight muscles. Could he walk away from Alecia, knowing she had fallen victim to the intrigues of Prince Zialni and Lord Finus? She was brave, but could she deal with this betrayal by her father? Could she survive a loveless union with Finus? Vard didn’t believe so.
The sun had set during his musings; he crossed the street and entered the alley that ran alongside the witch’s residence. In moments he stood at her front door. He didn’t knock but turned the knob, and the door swung inwards on silent hinges. As he crossed the threshold the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Vard smiled. The witch’s petty enchantments wouldn’t stop the likes of him.
It was dark inside. He opened his senses to scan the surrounds. There were rats in the walls and a pulsating life force in the kitchen. He entered the short hallway that ran from the parlor and paused at the kitchen door. The old woman rocked in her chair by the fire, craggy features lit by the flames. She watched him, malice in her black eyes.
“You’re not welcome here,” she said. Her wild silver hair moved in the faint draught from the fire.
“I need your help. There’s no one else.”
“I know what you are.” The witch stood and drew her tatty shawl around bony shoulders. One of her hands clutched something wrapped in cloth.
“I don’t care what you know. I could expose you as easily as you could betray me. The prince hates witchcraft, so he’d take little convincing. And you’ve a connection to the mercenary murders. I know that for a fact.”
The woman drew herself up until Vard swore he heard her ancient bones creak.
“I’m just an old healer, not a witch.”
“The prince would be quick to condemn you. Are you willing to take that risk?”
“What would you do if I asked you to leave?”
Vard stared at the witch but neither his eyes nor his other senses could detect anything more than mild unease. “I can’t leave,” he said. “You must help me to return to the castle in full strength. The princess could be in danger.”
Anger blazed from the old woman’s dark eyes. “If you cared for Princess Alecia, you wouldn’t have come back.”
Vard tried to straighten and gasped as agony rocketed through his chest and shoulder.
“Don’t fall now, you great lumbering oaf.” She removed a heavy pan and a jar of something that looked like eyeballs from the table. “Lie yourself down here. My bones are too old to treat you on the floor.”
Vard staggered across to the scrubbed wooden table and lay down on his back, his feet resting on a chair at the end. “What will you do, witch?”
The old woman had not moved towards him. “If you wish me to help you, stop referring to me as ‘witch’. My name is Hetty.”
Anger boiled through Vard. He felt like death and the old woman took offence at a name! He clawed at his composure and managed to bring his temper back under control. “Forgive my discourtesy, Hetty. I’m not at my best.”
“That may be true, Captain, but you’re at my mercy.” She pulled a knife from her sleeve and sliced Vard’s tunic up the front then pulled both edges back to reveal his wounds. “A good thing you are not truly human. These wounds should have killed you.”
“I realize that, woman! Why do you think I’m here?” Shock made Vard’s voice harsh. The appearance of the knife had shaken him. He’d do well not to underestimate the witch.
Hetty glared and shoved a piece of wood in his mouth. “Bite on that. This will hurt.” She plunged her fingers into the wound at his chest and agony blasted through his torso. Vard bit down hard on the wood to stop the scream that bubbled up. Moments seemed more like hours as Hetty’s fingers probed the wound. What if the task was beyond her? Sweat broke out all over his body at the thought but Hetty smiled a grim smile, inserted slender silver tongs into his chest and pulled out the crossbow bolt. Vard could not avoid screaming this time, and the dark took him.
Vard awoke some time later and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Scant light from a fire to his left revealed jars of spiders, brains and other objects on a shelf and he remembered. Had he been wise to ask the witch woman for help? He felt across his chest and shoulder for the wounds left by the crossbow bolts. The injuries were still there but the pain much less. A quick glance through the window showed a faint lightening of the sky.
“You can get up when you feel strong enough,” Hetty said, as she entered the kitchen, “and know how lucky you are. Those bolts went as close to killing you as a man ever wants to get to death.”
Vard thought again that death might have been preferable, but then Alecia would be left to fend for herself. “My thanks. How can I repay you?”
“First threats and now gratitude! Well, you can thank me by getting on your way the moment you can put your boots on by yourself. Leave Brightcastle, Captain. I don’t want you near the princess.”
Vard wiggled his toes and discovered his boots had indeed been removed while he was unconscious. “You’ve a strong connection to her, Hetty. What is it?” He had a niggling in the back of his skull that wouldn’t go away, and the witch’s words had just stirred it up.
“I owe her a debt and that’s all I’ll say to the likes of you. Harm her and you’ll answer to me.”
A chill washed over Vard and he fought back a growl. It was time to test his strength before the witch lost her patience. He levered himself up. The tender flesh where the bolts had penetrated ached in protest.
“Get yourself home. I’m sure there’s a scullery maid as will fix you a good hearty breakfast.”
Vard pulled on his boots and Hetty ushered him to the back door. As he went to step into the alley, she grasped his arm. Her beady black eyes bored at him, the odour of mothballs and garlic swirling up his nostrils.
“Forget the mercenary murders, Captain,” she said. “I know you killed the first man, even if the prince doesn’t. Those men were guilty of their own blood crime: they killed the son of a farmer who wouldn’t hand over more taxes. No one will weep over their deaths and Prince Zialni won’t thank you for laying the culprit of the second murder at his feet.”
Hetty pushed him from the doorway and slammed the door in his face. He stood for a moment, trying to understand the cryptic words. Then he laughed bitterly.
“Time to face the music,” he said as he hugged the shadows back to the palace.
Alecia sat on the carved stone bench in the castle park, below the huge oak that held the hawk’s nest. The odour of horse manure floated to her from the stables on the other side of the castle entrance. She did not mind. It made a change from the stuffiness of her room. She sighed; she would have to dress for breakfast soon. It would be easy to hide herself away in her chambers but that would enable her father to ignore the harm he inflicted upon her. She would present herself, head raised, like the princess she was, and she would not cry in front of anyone.
Her stomach churned. There had been no word on Vard since the assassin’s attack the night before last, but she would know if he were dead. The birds in the trees hopped from branch to branch, cooing softly as they prepared to greet the dawn. If only she could be as carefree. Their soft rustling ceased and Alecia scanned the shadows between the bushes for signs of a predator. She shivered, the memories of the bear too fresh. Perhaps it was best to return to the castle now. She stood and found Vard ten paces from her.
His clothes were grubby and tattered, the tunic ripped right up the front. Black stubble covered his chin and dark shadows lay beneath his eyes. His gaze gripped her, the gilt specks in his irises mesmerising.
“Princess,” he said. That was all, and yet she he
ard much in his tone that spoke of suffering and uncertainty.
“You should not be here,” she said. “My father has soldiers out searching for you …and the bear.”
“I can explain.”
“I do not want to hear anything you have to say. You cannot convince me that I saw something other than what I did. I should tell my father.”
“You have not?”
“I could not,” she said. “You are free to answer his questions in whatever way you wish.”
Vard took a step forward.
Alecia threw up a shaking hand to ward him off. “Stay where you are.”
He flinched as though she had struck him. “Please, hear me out.”
The pleading note in his voice speared her heart. Vard should never have to beg -- not her proud captain. But he was also the bear. She nodded anyway.
“I’m a Defender, sworn to protect the innocent and the vulnerable. The bear is one of my forms, but one which I find difficult to control. When I told you someone had aided me in the darkest moments of my life, well…it was the bear he helped me control. I need to find another Defender who can teach me to master the bear…but that doesn’t matter right now.” He stepped forward again but did not touch her. His eyes reached out, scouring her soul, as if he sought to reassure himself that she cared. “You must understand, this gift, this curse…” His voice was bitter. “It is who I am. I have no choice…”
Alecia understood that last, the lack of choice, only too well. But then, there always was a choice if you were willing to sacrifice everything. What Vard asked her to do -- to understand him, to forgive him for what he was; it was too much to ask.
She made her voice cold. “Leave me and return to your quarters. Present yourself to my father and he may take you back. I do not want to see you again.” She watched Vard’s eyes harden. It nearly broke her heart but she had to protect herself. Despite her fear, her body ached for his caress, her lips for his kiss. She closed her eyes to block his hurt from her gaze and took a deep breath, forcing the desire away. Instead, she pictured the bear as it loomed over her, as she embraced certain death. Alecia knew what he was now and she could not accept him. When her heart was steady and strong, she fixed her gaze upon the man who had been her protector. “Go.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, and then stalked off into the bushes. She collapsed on the bench, trembling, and still the tears would not come.
Vard stood before Prince Zialni, his chest bare to the gaze of the ruler, his teeth clenched. Why did he put himself through this humiliation? He should have listened to his instincts and left the prince and his daughter to their fates. Instead, his concern for Alecia had brought him back -- only to find that she despised him. Well, he had expected as much.
“You recover quickly, Captain. I have seen wounds like those kill a man and yet here you stand. What is your secret?”
“I’ve discovered much on my travels.” Vard’s short nails dug into his palms. “The forest holds many wonders for those who care to learn.”
“You are telling me that this marvel was accomplished with leaves and spit?”
“It’s more complicated than that, Your Highness. Suffice to say that certain remedies have aided my recovery. I was gravely injured, which is why I couldn’t return sooner.”
The prince stared at Vard. “You left my daughter in danger.”
“I took two crossbow bolts for your daughter.” Vard clung to self-control by a fingernail.
“You think the assassination attempt was aimed at the princess?”
“I think it wise to assume the worst until proven wrong.”
Prince Zialni frowned and walked across the chamber to stand before the windows. “Perhaps you are right. Regardless, I am not content with your answers. Lord Finus wants you removed from the care of his betrothed and I am inclined to agree. You will vacate your chambers forthwith. Lieutenant Vorasava will take responsibility for the princess’s safety. You will find the murderer who plagues Brightcastle Town. Vorasava has launched regular night patrols of the town and will advise you of any progress he has made. Be grateful; Lord Finus wanted you banished, however I have uses for you yet. See that you do not fail again.”
The prince turned away. Vard gathered his shirt around him and strode from the chamber, his hand clutching the stone. On the threshold of his room, he stared at the marks he had carved in the door. Memories of that night crashed down on him. He was like a thistle seed, blown hither and thither by the wind, with no control over his life. Alecia held him in Brightcastle. Knowledge crashed through him and he staggered against the door frame. I love her! His feelings didn’t matter. Alecia needed him, and he’d been given the means to stay near her -- or at least within reach. His changeling nature repulsed her but, he would watch over Alecia, no matter how she felt about him.
Vard stepped into the room and began to stuff clothes into his saddlebags.
Alecia was pacing her sitting room when there was a knock at the door and Lord Finus strode into the room.
“Princess Alecia,” he said, “you look delightful.” He took her hand and she flinched as his mouth brushed her fingers. “I came to advise you that Anton has returned. He has been relieved of his duties.” Finus did not let go of her hand.
“What do you mean?” Alecia could barely gather breath to speak.
“The captain is no longer responsible for your safety, Princess. I could not take the risk after he abandoned you. Lieutenant Vorasava will make a much more suitable protector.”
“Where is the captain?”
Lord Finus drew Alecia to him, his eyes fixed on her mouth. “That is no concern of yours, my love. If I did not know better, I would think you had developed a fascination for the man. That would never do.” He leaned closer until his lips brushed Alecia’s neck. She could not hide the shudder this time and pressed her eyes shut, determined to ignore his lips as they worked their way from her earlobe down to the hollow at the base of her throat. This close, the odour of smoke on his breath made her stomach clench.
“Captivating.” Lord Finus had not released her fingers and his other hand curled around her waist. Alecia trembled. If he chose to force himself on her, there was little she could do. Alecia doubted her father would protest if Finus bedded her before their wedding day. The prince was desperate to have an heir and, with the wedding to take place as soon as could be arranged, an early pregnancy would not be a problem.
“I cannot wait until we are man and wife, Alecia,” Finus said, his pupils large with desire. “I feel your apprehension, my dear. All will be well once we are wed.” He leaned towards her and Alecia pushed against him, arching away. Anger leaped into his gaze. The arm around her waist tightened like an iron band. She had not known the scrawny lord had so great a strength. He pulled her against him and crushed her mouth beneath his. Alecia pushed at his chest with her free hand but Finus took his time over the kiss, his right hand running up into her hair to hold her head still. His mouth was so insistent that she couldn’t draw breath to scream. After what seemed an age, Finus released her hair and pulled away. His arm remained around her waist.
“Do not think to fight me, Princess,” he said, his voice cruel. “You are mine. You will show me the proper respect and affection as your betrothed, or I will come to your bed without the authority of the marriage vow. Your father would not object. I think he would turn a blind eye to just about anything. Compose yourself, my love. Our betrothal ceremony begins within the hour. See that you are not late.”
He swept from the room, leaving her panting, the bile rising to her throat. She hated him and her father. She hated all men! Alecia crossed to the wood box and withdrew her favorite knife from its hiding place. The sound of the blade moving across the whetstone as she sharpened it calmed her fears. She was not without choices.
The betrothal ceremony was over. The amethyst betrothal ring Finus had given her lay on the table beside her bed. Alecia fought down fury at the lord’s choice of stone. The
purple gem had been her favorite until now. Will he destroy all that is dear to me?
She stood before her mirror in dark gray tunic and leggings, smearing charcoal on her face. Her hair was tucked up under a black cap and a gray hood lay down her back. On her feet were soft leather boots. Tonight, she would finish the job of killing the mercenaries, and if she were lucky, die in the struggle. She no longer cared. Lord Finus had made it clear how her life with him would be and she would rather be dead. Her father had watched the lord fondle her after the ceremony and barely frowned. With that level of discouragement, Finus would be even more likely to pursue his privileges as husband before the wedding took place. Alecia had determined she would not be there to suffer. She might as well do the world a service with her death and take as many mercenaries as she could with her. There was no one left to care about her, with the possible exception of Hetty. She gathered her weapons and left the chamber through the passage hidden behind the tapestry.
Chapter 16
Alecia lay in the shadows across the cobbled road from The Dancing Lion. She had spied her three targets inside the tavern: the blond-haired man with the ruby in his ear, the heavy-set bald man with the bushy, black beard and the tall, thin brown-haired man. They were drinking heavily and pawing the serving girls. Easy prey, she told herself. Her first murder still haunted her, and not just because she had nearly died. The act had changed her; left scars that would never heal. She could not even contemplate going through with this unless she kept reminding herself that these men had killed Jorge. They deserved death. They did. And unlike the last time, Alecia would welcome death herself. Not caring about her own safety would give her an advantage, but all three men must die in the attack. She did not plan on being around after tonight.
Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Page 14
