by K. M. Shea
He swiveled and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?” Dylan nodded in shock.
Callan wrapped his arms around her in a quick but intense embrace before he briskly moved away. He pointed at a hysterical woman, shrieking incessantly. “Gag her, if you must, and load her into the carriage. We move. Now!”
“Miss Dylan,” Lump said, looming over her like a mountain side. Next to him, Bump looked like a grim soldier.
Dylan offered them a smile.
Bump sourly pointed in the direction of the royal carriage.
“Come on, Dylan,” Cagney said, already leading Princess Fianna. Dylan reluctantly followed her, climbing in behind the princess.
She thought another woman or two might be stuffed inside with them, but apparently there was enough room in the other carriages, for no one joined them.
Princess Fianna was as white as milkfish, and her eyes were as big as moons.
“It’s alright, princess; you’re safe,” Cagney murmured, returning Dylan’s slate to her.
Dylan ignored the stiff girl and wrote out to Cagney, King Rory mentioned banditry is a problem?
“Organized banditry, yes,” Cagney said, distracted with the princess. “We have always had problems with the occasional gang of highway men, but ever since trading stopped, it has grown to be a huge problem. They’re crawling over the countryside, and they seem to know all our trade routes. They’ve also attacked parties—like ours today—on less-traveled roads. No one knows how they do it.”
Dylan did. It had to be Jarlath. But how does he communicate with them? Those maps I saw only had trade routes marked out. There were no orders. I didn’t think a few maps would be so important. If I were to find them again and give them to Prince Callan, could he arrest Jarlath? Did I make a mistake by not stealing them?
Dylan thought Cagney might have a question or two of her own—like why the bandits had recognized her and run away after Dylan pretended to sing. But if the questions occurred to Cagney, she held her peace, and spent the majority of the ride back in silence or attempting to sooth the upset princess.
That suited Dylan fine. She spent her time seething over her “guardian,” and wondering how she could pin him down and pick him apart.
It was late in the evening before Callan and Dooley had a chance to speak about the day’s events, the bandits, and, in particular, the girls they fancied.
“Today reminded me why I’m a merchant, and not some tom-foolery hero,” Dooley said, plopping down in a cushy settee.
Callan waited to speak until a servant placed a tray of drinks on a sideboard and left, leaving the two men alone in Callan’s private study. “You’re a merchant because you have the head for it.”
“Yes, and the heart of a field mouse,” Dooley said, taking the goblet Callan handed him. “I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I was paralyzed with fear, and I don’t mind admitting it.”
“You would have moved if they threatened Cagney,” Callan said, taking care to enjoy his wine. It was an expensive import that Ringsted no longer had access to, thanks to the storms.
“Perhaps, yes. But they didn’t,” Dooley said, studying his goblet with a frown. “Your Dylan, though. That girl has the heart of a lion. I just about screamed in fright on her behalf when that bandit poked his sword at her face.”
“Yes,” Callan said, tracing the rim of his goblet with his thumb.
Dooley recognized the thoughtful pitch to Callan’s voice and twisted on the settee to better see his friend. “What is it?”
“Some of the bandits recognized her,” Callan said.
Dooley rolled his eyes and draped his frame back over the settee, propping his feet up on the cushions. “That doesn’t mean anything, Cal. In case you missed it: they knew her, and they were terrified of her.”
“Perhaps they were terrified of what Jarlath would do if he found out they hurt her,” Callan said, leaning against the sideboard. “I still can’t let myself trust her blindly, Dooley. There is too much she’s not telling.”
“She saved us, didn’t she? Or at least she gave us the edge we needed to shake them off. I stand by what I’ve always said: she’s not with Jarlath by choice.”
“Then we must be missing something. And we aren’t likely to find out what as she won’t tell me what sort of shadow game she’s involved in.” Callan took another sip of his wine.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Dylan isn’t your typical noble lady,” Dooley said, his voice wry. “She chased after a kelpie with nothing but rocks and a dagger and faced down bandits without any kind of weapon. Do you really think such a brash girl would willingly ask for help? Do you think Dylan—who listens to girls insult her as if they are discussing the market prices of barley and brushes them off like an empress, who didn’t care that she had two plain dresses to wear to a number of royal events, who has now saved the skins of one or more of the Ringsted royal children three times—that Dylan would waltz up to a man she’s known for less than a season and ask him to save her?”
Callan rubbed his chin. “When you say it like that, I feel like an idiot for even wondering.”
“If you want in on whatever trouble she’s a part of, you’ll have to be proactive and catch her in the act, laddy. Because that headstrong lady will never seek your aid. You should have thought twice before you started sighing over her like a sailor at sea thinking of his lady love.” Dooley raised his goblet in the air and finished off his drink.
“I’ve tried catching her. She’s gone before I even know she’s up to something,” Callan said.
“And then when you do find her, you drag her back to whatever awful party we’ve been forced to attend like she’s a misbehaving puppy. Stop being such a stick. It makes you seem suspicious and untrusting, which I have on good authority are considered large turn-offs,” Dooley advised.
“I am suspicious and untrusting.”
“Are you? Or are you just a pessimist?” Dooley asked.
“What do you mean?”
Dooley almost rolled off the settee in his eagerness to face his friend. “You’re not suspicious and untrusting of everyone. You just have a hard time swallowing that Miss Dylan is chained to Lord Jarlath. Is it because you’re afraid that the one lady you would allow past all your walls and secret prickliness will not return your affection?”
Callan rubbed his face. “You’re delving too deep for me to follow, again. Let’s concentrate on the problem.”
“Which is?”
“Can I trust Dylan or not?”
“I thought you asked her.”
“I did.”
“And what did she say?”
“That I could.”
“There you have it.”
“But what if she was lying?”
“By the sea and her beauty—fine. We’re going to try a fun exercise, Cal. Place your hand over your heart.”
Callan stared at his friend with an expression that said he wasn’t impressed.
“Do it.”
Callan did no such thing.
Dooley abandoned his goblet, popped up from the settee, stalked across the room, and placed Callan’s hand over his heart for him. “Now ask yourself, can I trust Dylan?”
Callan stared at his friend.
“If you don’t say it out loud, I’m going to tell your royal mother—”
“Can I trust Dylan?” Callan repeated, his voice short and emotionless.
“Now listen to your heart,” Dooley said, releasing Callan before walking back to his settee.
“I don’t hear anything,” Callan said.
“That’s because you haven’t a heart!” Dooley grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“I want to trust her. I believe I can trust her. But what if I’m wrong? The whole country will pay for the weakness of my heart,” Callan said.
“Cal. The girl saved you from drowning two years ago and saved you today from bandits. If she had dastardly designs, she would have let you drown in the shipwreck,” Dooley sa
id.
“You’re right,” Callan said.
“Of course I’m right,” Dooley said.
“It’s close to what I was thinking as well, but I wanted to hear someone confirm it,” Callan said.
“You mean to say this whole time you had already decided you were going to trust Dylan, you just wanted to hear me say it too?” Dooley asked, peering across the room at his friend.
“More or less.”
“I should slap you for getting me so worked up, but instead I think I will preen in the knowledge that my opinion matters so much to you.” Dooley folded his arms behind his head to cushion his skull.
“What shall we discuss for the rest of the evening?” Callan asked, sipping his wine again.
“Whatever you wish.”
“In that case, I suggest your lack of development with Cagney.”
Dooley jutted out his lower lip in a pout. “Stop picking on me,” he muttered, turning to smash his face into the cushioned back support of the settee.
Callan laughed. “Personally? I think she’s softening.”
“She is not,” Dooley said, his voice muffled by the couch cushion.
“She wore the pearls you bought her.”
“And then bandits stole them.”
“That is hardly her fault.”
“No, it’s just a reflection of my luck with her,” Dooley said. He sighed before popping upright and facing Callan. “Do you know, I don’t think she takes it seriously.”
“That is a byproduct of smothering her with your love without acting solemn,” Callan said.
“If I acted solemn, she would immediately quit and seek a post in a far off land.” Dooley frowned.
Callan crossed the room to retrieve Dooley’s goblet and refill it. “I know,” he said, carrying his goblet as well as Dooley’s to the settee. He plopped down in a nearby armchair and handed the merchant heir his cup. “It’s who we’ve fallen in love with. To a brash, headstrong lady, and to a smart, business-hearted woman,” Callan said, holding his goblet up.
Dooley tapped his cup against Callan’s. “Hear, hear,” he said before taking a swig. “How did your parents take your refusal of the marriage proposal to Lady Aisling?”
Callan stared at his goblet. “If we’re going to talk about that, I will need another bottle of wine.”
“That badly, eh?”
“Father wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t care very much. Mother, on the other hand…”
“Lady Aisling took care to cozy up and become a favorite of your mothers. She’s a sharp girl. Shrewish, but sharp,” Dooley said.
“Mother hasn’t accepted it yet, but it doesn’t matter. I have officially refused,” Callan said, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“Any news regarding Jarlath, Teige, or Doyle?”
“None. I thought having Jarlath in the castle would make it easier to keep an eye on him, but my men have turned up nothing. He spends the majority of his time failing to be a womanizer and consuming alcohol.”
“Classy,” Dooley said.
“Undoubtedly.”
“If we’re lucky, maybe Dylan will learn something and bring it to us,” Dooley said.
“I wouldn’t count on it, but it is a touching thought,” Callan said.
“I think that deserves another toast. To your ocean flower and the gem of my heart,” Dooley said.
“It’s a wonder Cagney hasn’t clubbed you yet,” Callan said, but he raised his glass again, and the two friends tapped goblets.
“To our bright future,” Dooley said.
“Or to our ruin.”
“You’re such a warm spot of sunshine.”
“Thank you. I work hard for that image.”
“I imagine so.”
Dylan had two baskets—one for each hand—which she happily swung as she walked the perimeter of the beachside palace wing—Bump and Lump trailing her. One was full of a large pile of cooked shrimp, the other had a few rolls in it. She intended to have a picnic snack by the ocean to console herself—she had successfully broken into Jarlath’s quarters but the maps, unfortunately, were nowhere to be found—and was looking for one of the paths down to the beach. Aiming for the one that curled off by the royal rooms—the one Callan had showed her when taking her to the royal breakfast weeks ago—she realized the doors to King Rory’s personal library were open. Prince Callan and Queen Etain were there, arguing. Loudly.
“She is a good choice, Callan.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s my decision to make, and I have chosen not to pursue Lady Aisling,” Prince Callan said.
“But she’s perfect! She is beautiful and well-mannered. She comes from a good family, but not from too much money. She is intelligent and thoughtful.”
“Repeating what you see as her strengths will not move me, Mother. My mind is made up.”
“And you couldn’t have made up your mind sooner? Before this winter, perhaps?” Queen Etain asked.
There was icy silence.
“I have no quarrel with Miss Dylan,” the queen said. “I am forever indebted to her for the lives of my children. But! You cannot allow yourself to be so easily swayed, Callan. You will bring the country to ruin if you are always changing and adjusting your actions to mirror your wants and desires.”
“Enough! I will not marry Lady Aisling; I have never wanted to marry her, and any distinction was given from you alone. You should have taken my desires into account before you welcomed her attention so thoroughly on my behalf.” Callan’s voice was sharp as he deliberately turned his back to his mother.
Dylan watched Callan storm down the wooden boardwalk, his shoulders and neck stiff.
She peeked forward, but the queen was already gone, the library door closing behind her. So Dylan picked her way down the boardwalk, watching the angered prince stalk onto the beach.
Bump and Lump waited at the boardwalk, keeping Dylan in sight, but giving the angered prince a wide berth. Dylan fished out a roll from her baskets and gave one to each guard before turning her attention to the pacing prince.
Dylan joined him, bouncing one of her baskets against her saffron skirt to alert Callan to her presence.
“I apologize, but I’m terrible company right now, Dylan,” he said, staring out at the ocean.
She tipped forward to see his face and quickly leaned back, her eyes wide. She had never seen Callan so angry. He didn’t look murderous—like Maureen whenever she walked into whatever prank Murphy set up—or full of rage—like her father when he learned of the newest stupid thing she had done. Instead, his face and eyes were empty and cold—like icebergs that could shatter a ship.
Deciding it was in her best interests not to push the prince further, Dylan clambered onto the smooth rocks that were commonly used as seats and opened up her baskets. As she munched on shrimp and rolls, Callan paced up and down the beach.
She had worked her way through about half the shrimp and three rolls when Callan gave up pacing and joined her on the rocks.
“Thank you.” Callan took the roll Dylan offered. He took a bite out of it and stared out at the ocean, his expression still alarmingly blank.
Do you wish to discuss what is bothering you? Dylan asked via her slate.
“It is nothing,” Callan said.
She raised her eyebrows at the prince.
“There was a girl my parents wished for me to marry,” Callan said.
Lady Aisling?
“Yes,” Callan said, looking down at his uneaten roll. “And I have refused the marriage proposal.”
So your parents are angry?
“My mother liked Lady Aisling.”
And her anger…angers you?
“Not quite. It’s because she is right.”
Dylan popped a shrimp in her mouth and lowered her eyebrows as she tried to puzzle through his answer.
“Part of Mother’s argument is that I showed quite a bit of favor to Lady Aisling over the winter months. She is angry with me because if I
intended to refuse Lady Aisling, I shouldn’t have singled her out.”
Oh. There wasn’t much else Dylan could say to that. Queen Etain had a point. It was cruel of Callan to mislead Lady Aisling.
“Of course, no one could say that I behaved like a love-sick puppy over Aisling. All I did was escort her to a number of parties and events—so I could silence Mother’s harping. But I cannot be mad for her henpecking me into it. I could have refused then, and I should have, for even then there was someone else. So, I’m angry with myself for allowing my mother to push me into the situation. But I will not marry Aisling just for the sake of being a gentleman.”
I see, Dylan wrote. She hesitated and studied him for a moment. She wanted to know, she really did. But did she dare ask? …Someone else? she finally wrote.
Callan’s eyes softened when he saw her slate. “Yes. Two years ago, I met an enchanting girl, and, in spite of my best efforts, I’ve never been able to get her out of my mind.”
Dylan frowned down at her slate, irritated when her lungs twisted oddly in her chest. I am not jealous, she thought.
“I wasn’t in love with her when Mother first tried pushing me at Lady Aisling, but I am now. And I’m not going to give her up, even if it makes me a cruel man.” Callan’s eyes locked on her with an uncomfortable intensity.
Who is she? Dylan wrote, trying to remember if, in the beautiful swirl of parties and royal events, there was a lady Callan paid particular attention to. It couldn’t be Cagney—Dooley would have hidden her in the Chronos Mountains if it was. But who else did Callan spend his time with? He couldn’t mean her.
“The girl who saved me two years ago when my ship went down with the first unnatural storms that hit Ringsted.”
For a moment, life froze for Dylan. Her heart stopped beating; her lungs wouldn’t work; no thoughts darted through her mind. Only Callan’s words existed, echoing in her ears.
Her. He was talking about her! But that was impossible! Dylan had struggled so terrifically to save him because he was unconscious. Dylan recalled her brief, flickering memory of saving him—as she hadn’t cared much about him at the time, she hadn’t taken great pains to remember, but she remembered enough. Callan hadn’t woken up. He opened his eyes several times, but he was unresponsive. It wasn’t until the search party found him that —oh. That girl…
