by Sally Slater
“Sam, maybe we should wait,” Braeden said, quiet enough that his voice wouldn’t carry to the others.
She whirled around in her saddle, glaring at him. “Why should we do that?”
“Because he’s your father.”
Sam snorted through her nose. “Braeden, you met the man. I’m not exactly the apple of his eye. He probably wants to haul me back to Haywood.”
Braeden shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes people can surprise you.”
She would have argued further, but the sound of frantic galloping drew her attention away. The Duke of Haywood was bent low over his horse’s neck, his graying hair streaming in a wild halo behind him. He slowed when he neared them, pulling short on the reins. The duke sagged against his mount and wiped sweat from his brow. “You didn’t leave,” he said, panting for breath.
“Not for lack of trying,” Sam said. Her gaze roamed over his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. “Aren’t you a bit old to be riding like that?”
His jaw tightened but his voice was even when spoke. “I’ve not got one foot in the grave yet.”
Sam lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye. “Come to stop me?” she asked, with a hint of challenge.
“As if I could,” he scoffed. A reluctant smile flickered across his lips.
She didn’t understand the source of his smile or his choice of words. “Well, you couldn’t,” she said without heat. “Why are you here, Your Grace?”
The muscles of his throat flexed as he swallowed. “Branimir informed me of your plans. It is no small journey, nor an easy one.”
“I know,” she said, unfazed. “You will not deter me.” She glanced over at Braeden, who gripped his reins with white, tightfisted hands. “I have made my choice, and I am happy with it.”
“You have always known your mind, Samantha. I am no longer fool enough to believe you will change it, no matter what I wish for you.” The duke sighed. “I came here to tell you that whatever happens on this soil or in Yemara, you will be welcome in Haywood. It is your home.”
She shook her head jerkily. She’d left behind her childhood there, but nothing else. “My home is not in Haywood. It’s with him.” She tilted her head towards Braeden. He reached across the space between their horses and threaded his fingers through hers.
The duke’s expression was unreadable. “You are my heir, Samantha. When I die, Haywood will be yours, whether you want it or not.”
“What about the High Commander?” she asked. “Surely he would not permit a traitor to inherit.”
Her father’s eyes flared. “My daughter is no traitor, and any man who says otherwise is no friend of mine, nor friend to Haywood.” He raised his voice, as though he were speaking to a large audience instead of a few men. “When war comes to Thule, Haywood will side with the Uriel and with Lady Samantha.”
Her breath caught. “Why?” she whispered. In eighteen years, the duke had done nothing to indicate he cared about her beyond her value as his heir. Yet in the war between the Paladins and the Uriel, he’d chosen the side of the underdog. Had he done it because of her?
To her surprise, her father turned to Braeden. “I heard what you said, boy. I will not fight for a man who holds the demons in his pocket.”
So it had not been about her after all. Sam bit back unfounded disappointment. “Good of you, Father,” she muttered.
As if he read her mind, the duke said, “I have always been a politician first, father second. My hand is forced in this matter.” His face softened. “But even if it weren’t, I would never fight for the side that named you traitor.”
She ducked her head so he couldn’t see how his words affected her. “Thank you, father.”
The duke cleared his throat. “May I say goodbye to you properly? I would part on better terms than we did last.”
“You may,” Sam said in a small voice.
The duke extended his arm towards Braeden first, clasping his free hand in his. “It’s Braeden, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“Do you love my daughter?”
“Father!” she exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her hair. “Braeden, you don’t have to answer that.”
Braeden ignored her. “I do, Your Grace.”
“And does she love you?”
“So she says, Your Grace.”
“I’m right here!” Sam complained. She punched Braeden in the shoulder. “And of course I do, you idiot.”
“Good,” her father said. “You’ll take care of each other then.”
Braeden and Sam glanced at each other. “Aye, we will,” she said. Braeden squeezed her hand.
The duke turned towards her and bowed his head. “Be safe, Samantha.”
“And you, father.” She meant it.
After goodbyes were exchanged, her father and his men departed, leaving the road open for Sam and Braeden. Once they crossed the rickety suspension bridge that separated Luca from the mountains, they kept the pace of their horses at a near-gallop, far too fast for conversation. Sam welcomed the solitude; she needed to think, to prepare herself mentally for what lay ahead.
This thing between them was still new and fragile, and Braeden and Sam had been too caught up in the newness of passion to hash out what they were to one another. What did “I love you” really mean, anyway? Were they friends who were lovers? Lovers who were friends?
They would not have the luxury of discovering each other slowly, not alone on the road with only themselves as company. Good or bad, there were no more barriers between them—no secrets, no lies, no misunderstandings, no silly rules of propriety, no people.
A little past dusk, Sam and Braeden dismounted their horses by the small wood hut that Tristan had shown them in the Elurra Mountains. They almost hadn’t found it, so covered was it by snow. If winter had hit Luca, it had hit the mountains doubly hard; Sam’s fingers were numb with the cold.
She and Braeden dug their way through to the door and pushed into the small hut. And then they were alone, utterly alone.
Sam was shy, suddenly, an emotion as foreign to her as the Rheic Ocean. “Hullo,” she said softly.
A trace of a smile touched Braeden’s lips. “Hullo.” He frowned when he saw her shiver. “Are you cold?”
Sam hugged her elbows to her chest. “A little.” She suspected her shivering had less to do with the cold and more to do with Braeden than she cared to admit to him.
Braeden rummaged around in their packs till he located the blankets. He arranged one blanket on the floor and then glanced over at her, as if asking her for permission. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. Braeden carefully laid out another blanket next to the first.
He crawled underneath the blankets, facing away from the door, for which Sam was grateful. She slipped in beside him, lying on her side. It didn’t matter that their bodies did not touch; an electrical charge filled the space between them, sending a tremor down her spine.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
“I’m going to turn now,” Braeden said.
“Okay.”
He turned over, so that their bodies faced each other. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Braeden pulled her close, cradling her head to his chest. “Is this okay?”
She nodded, the tip of her nose brushing against the V of tattooed skin at the opening of his robes. The tattoo was smooth now, no longer raised and angry; it had become a part of him. “Do you feel it?” she asked, her fingers following the trail where her nose had been.
The muscles in his chest jumped under her touch. “I’m not dead,” he said, his mouth crinkling at the corners.
Sam blushed, retracting her hand. “That’s not what I meant!”
“I know.” His smile faded. “It’s strange. I haven’t felt anything since the High Commander ordered me to kill you.”
“Maybe he’s given up.”
“No,” Braeden said firmly. “He’s biding his time, waiting for a weak moment. My master concedes nothing.”
“I wish you’d stop calling him that,” Sam said. “He’s not your master anymore.”
A bleakness entered his eyes. “He is my master as long as his ink is in my skin.”
Sam angled herself so that her lips pressed against the place where his neck met his shoulder. None too gently, she bit.
Braeden glared down at her. “What was that for?”
“I’m leaving my mark on your skin,” she said, “so you know that you belong to me.”
“It will fade,” Braeden said.
“Then I shall have to do it again.”
Braeden dipped his head and closed his teeth around her earlobe.
“Ouch,” she protested. “What was that for?”
She felt his lips move against her ear. “You belong to me, too.”
Sam and Braeden slept in each other’s arms that night, and for many nights after. And Sam, who was both warrior and woman, finally found a place where she belonged.
CONNECT WITH ME
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Website: http://sallyslater.com
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
