Destined for a King

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “My lord?”

  “Surely you didn’t expect me to abandon her in the forest.”

  “Of course not. I only reckoned you’d like to see to the matter yourself.”

  “I have other plans.”

  Hawk lowered bushy brows over the beak of a nose that had earned him his name among the Brotherhood. “How pressing are they?”

  Torch raised his own brows. Hawk wasn’t usually one to question. No, Torch had Kestrel and Griffin for that duty—only he no longer had his true brother. The reminder of that pain sharpened his reply. “How long has my sister been a captive of our enemy now?”

  “You don’t trust Kestrel to bring her back safely?”

  He had when the news first came, but that was when he utterly trusted his Stone. He’d been so completely convinced that Calista was his proper future that he’d forged ahead with the marriage. No matter how much faith he had in his commander’s abilities, he’d never intended for Kestrel to rescue Jerrah. “He may require help.”

  “Your own sister can give him that.”

  He knew. Gods, he knew. If Jerrah were not able to handle weapons, she would be safely ensconced at the Pinnacle along with their mother. Still…“She was never meant to ride against the Usurper’s men.”

  “Yet, she did,” Hawk prodded. And based on what Torch had seen through Griffin’s eyes, Jerrah had handled herself as well as any of his men. “You don’t even have a proper sword.”

  He could get that back, too. “Who are you to question—”

  “No one, my lord,” Hawk cut in quickly. “But begging your pardon, I have been married before. Once you’ve bedded a woman, she has certain expectations.”

  Torch slipped a friendly arm about Hawk’s shoulders and gave him a pat. A hard one, just to warn him he was treading close to the line. “She’s not the first woman I’ve taken to my bed.”

  “Best not tell her that.”

  “I wasn’t planning on giving her the details.” Even he knew that much. “At any rate, I married her.” In spite of her resistance. “What more does she want?”

  “Wives expect you can read their minds. You have to get good at pretending you can.”

  Damn the man. “What has my marriage to do with this?”

  Everything. Hadn’t he just told himself that? Still, he’d never told Hawk his reasons for his hasty wedding. Thank the Gods, since those reasons now seemed weak and ridiculous.

  “Besides the fact you delayed going after your sister so you could wed? Seems you trusted Kestrel to do the job then.”

  Damn the man for his insolence, but he was right. “And?”

  “Take my advice. See to your lady wife. I’ve strong grounds to believe she cares a great deal. We may live in a time of trial, but all the more reason to foster her feelings, if you take my meaning.”

  Why in the name of everything did that feel like a punch to the gut? “What do you know of her feelings?”

  “Only how bitterly she sobbed when she believed you weren’t coming back.” Yes, and hadn’t she thrown herself straight into his embrace—an embrace he hadn’t returned? “She’s a tough one. She tried and tried to hold it in, until it became too much. What’s more, she’s proven herself. Do you really want to chase that away?”

  “I’m not going to chase that away.”

  “Then I shouldn’t be the one who comforts her when she’s all upset. It’s never a pleasant thing to realize what you’ve had after you’ve lost it.”

  Torch eyed the older man. Hawk’s words rung with the bitter chime of experience. “Off with you, then. You know where we’re meeting. Take the stable boy—Aimery—with you, at least.”

  But Hawk was not finished. He nodded in Calista’s direction. “She may not be your first woman, but you can make sure she’s the last you ever take to your bed.”

  If what Hawk had said about fostering his wife’s feelings had felt like a gut punch, this statement felt like a lance straight to the heart, and the blow carried all the power of a charging destrier.

  “You overstep.” But Torch could put no authority behind the warning, not with the very air knocked from his lungs.

  “Your wife wouldn’t think so.”

  Before Torch could reply, Hawk stalked off to collect Aimery and the remaining handful of men. One by one, they disappeared into the woods.

  Torch turned to face Calista. She was standing now, brow furrowed over a bundle of greenery in her hand.

  “What have you got there?” he asked. Not the most inspired question, but he had to start somewhere.

  She looked up at him, her expression unchanging. In fact, it carried enough frost to blight her handful of weeds. “A few things that might turn out to be useful, at least if I had a way to preserve them properly. And if I’d thought matters through, I would have left home with something more useful than a wineskin full of poison.”

  Home. She’d stated that so simply, but the word echoed through Torch’s mind. He’d never had a home, truly, but he’d uprooted Calista from the only home she’d ever known—as surely as she had uprooted those herbs in her fist. Would he need to find a way to preserve her?

  No. The answer rose just as quickly. She was strong; he wouldn’t have to concern himself there. As for any feelings she might hold for him, that was where he ought to worry, just as Hawk said.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That wineskin might still turn out to be useful.”

  She watched him from beneath her lashes, but the expression reminded him more of a cornered fox than anything remotely close to flirtatious. “I daresay it might.”

  Damn Hawk. Damn him and his unsolicited advice—even if it was right. “Calista.” Torch reached for her, unsure where to set his hand. Her shoulder might be safe enough. At least she didn’t shrug off his touch. “I’m not good at this, am I?”

  “Would you care to be more specific?” she asked airily. “Off the top of my head, I can think of several things you might be referring to.”

  Faceless One take it. “Would being married cover most of it?”

  “Do you have the slightest idea what I went through to set you and your men free?”

  Thump! The fist clutching those cursed weeds buried itself in his shoulder. Sharp knuckles she had, too.

  “And then to watch the stable go up in flames?”

  Thump!

  “I didn’t dare stay to see if you made it out.”

  Thump! If she didn’t take care, she was going to crush that handful of hard-won herbs into oblivion.

  “And then you didn’t come.”

  Her voice wavered alarmingly on that final syllable. Her entire body sagged, and the battered greenery dropped to the ground. Torch battled an odd impulse to pick it up and tuck it somewhere next to his skin.

  Despite her show of temper, Calista needed him now. Wasn’t that the entire point behind her display? Sharp knuckles or no, he gathered her against him.

  Comfort. This was what she’d wanted when he first entered the clearing. But he’d been too distracted and put out with her over…what? A ruse she’d had to perform to keep herself above suspicion. If she’d answered Hammerfell’s questions about their marriage truthfully, she’d never have been in a position to help him escape.

  Curse him thrice over for an idiot.

  “I’m here now,” he murmured. Such a simple, obvious reply. He fitted his palm to the back of her head, his fingers threading through silken tangles of hair. “I’m here, whether you want me to be or not.”

  She pulled out of his embrace at that. “I’m still deciding.”

  At her peevish tone, an incongruous spate of laughter rose in his chest, but he held it in. Now was not the time. Even he knew that much. “I’ve been remiss.” He framed her face with both hands, his thumbs sliding along the line of her jaw. “Thank you for risking everything for my men and me. I wish I hadn’t put you in that position, but I’m grateful.” He dropped his gaze to her lush lips. Would she even accept his kiss? �
��I’d show you how grateful, but you might prefer I bathed first.”

  The corners of her mouth tipped upward into an exhausted smile. Dark smudges of fatigue marred the delicate skin under her eyes. Salty traces remained on her cheeks, a testament to the upset she’d poured on Hawk. Her hair was unkempt, the hems of her skirts tattered and muddy, but service to him lay behind her dishevelment. In this moment, she was every bit as beautiful as when she’d worn that golden gown on their wedding day.

  “Come,” he added. “Let’s get you on my horse. You’re not out of danger yet.” Neither was he, but danger had become a long-familiar companion in his life. Calista was about to become closely acquainted with peril, whether she wished it or not, for as long as Magnus sat on the throne at Highspring Moor.

  Torch’s fault. He’d brought this upon her, unasked for.

  And that was merely the expected threat. His gaze traveled the length of the dark gray streak that marred her neck, a permanent reminder of the unexpected menace a friend had presented. That, too, was his fault. The weight of the responsibility for another life bore down on his shoulders, as heavy as a millstone, but at the same time a burning desire to protect her at all costs flamed to life.

  “Where are you taking me?” she muttered as he lifted her onto his horse’s bare back.

  He smiled grimly as he clambered on behind her and set a steadying arm about her waist. “I thought I’d live up to my reputation. I’m dragging you off to my secret lair.”

  —

  Lulled by the horse’s rocking gait and the steady beat of Torch’s heart beneath her ear, Calista dozed. Hours and leagues passed, but she hardly noticed them, secure in the circle of Torch’s arms. The shadows had grown long, and twilight reigned in the deeper woods when Torch brought his beast of a horse to a halt.

  “It’s a pity to rouse such peaceful slumber,” he said, “but we continue on foot from here.”

  She stirred. The chatter of a rushing river filled her ears, but from somewhere off in the woods came a low roar.

  “Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

  He leaned forward, his chest to her back, and swung himself to the ground before lifting her down. “The edges of Lord Tarr’s holdings, but since the boundary runs with Blackbriar’s lands, he does not patrol very often.”

  “He probably didn’t leave many behind for that duty.”

  “No,” Torch agreed, “fortunately for us, but that was the idea.” He gathered the reins in one hand, while holding out the other to her. “Follow me carefully, now. Here the path is easy, but later it becomes treacherous.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’ve already told you. My lair. Or if you will, sanctuary.”

  He set off along the water’s edge, leading his horse. If there was a path to follow, Calista could not see it. Only stones at the river’s side, beaten earth where no grass grew, and rising ground. As she stumbled in Torch’s wake, the roar became louder, drowning the evensong of the forest birds.

  The shadows about them deepened. The humid air was filled with the sharp scent of pines, underlain by the earthiness of loam and bracken. The trees closed about them, pressing from all sides, until Calista and Torch picked their way among the rocks of the riverbed. Ahead, a faint glow of white glimmered beyond low-hanging branches.

  Calista squinted. Water, tons of it, poured over a lip of rock at least two fathoms high and just as wide. She increased her stride to catch up to Torch.

  “Halt!”

  The command came from the branches above. In the next instant, a hooded figure dropped from the trees. In the fading light, it was difficult to make out a face, but the form was tall and lean and armed.

  The sharp tip of a spear pointed at Torch’s chest.

  “What’s the password?” The voice emanating from the depths of the hood carried an accent that invoked the plains farther to the east and the thunder of hooves. Avestari. And hadn’t Torch mentioned that one of the horse-masters rode with his Brotherhood? But this voice was distinctly feminine.

  “I’ve no need of a password,” Torch replied, “and if you don’t recognize me, you can go back to the eastlands where you came from.”

  The figure laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made the hairs on the back of Calista’s neck rise. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking your new friend here.”

  “Calista needs no more of a password than I,” Torch fired back. “You will treat my wife with the same respect you accord me.”

  The point of the spear lowered. “Wife, is it?”

  Calista straightened her spine and summoned all the pride of her mother’s people. “I daresay you’ll treat me with more respect. What call have you to draw a weapon on your leader?”

  Torch edged closer to her. “Wolf is only fulfilling her role as guard.”

  Wolf, yes. That was the Avestari rider Torch had mentioned. The one who had been with him when he found his Scrying Stone. The one who had told him of its powers. “This is Wolf?”

  Wolf cast back her hood. A pair of heavy golden braids, glimmering faintly in the twilight, framed honed cheekbones and a pointed chin. Some might call that face elfin, but it also managed to exude fierceness, along with a beauty that settled uneasily on Calista’s stomach.

  “He’s mentioned me?” Wolf asked.

  Calista couldn’t help raising her chin. “He neglected to mention you’re a she-wolf.”

  Wolf’s lips stretched into a smile far too knowing for Calista’s comfort. “So this is the woman your Stone has brought you. Tell me, has she proven her worth?”

  Before Torch could answer, Calista spoke up. “Have you?”

  Torch shot her a warning look before addressing Wolf. “She has more than proven her worth.”

  “Oh, in bed, naturally.” Wolf shrugged. “But what of where it counts?”

  Calista fingered her wineskin. Should she mention she carried enough poison on her to wipe out Magnus’s entire army?

  “She’s proven herself on all accounts.” At last, Torch’s tone held a note of menace. It was about time. “If not for her, we’d still be in the dungeon at Blackbriar. The Usurper sent his justiciar to deal with us.”

  Wolf took a step back, all her former assurance melting from her expression faster than the last snow of the spring thaw. “Hammerfell? He is here?”

  “He now holds Blackbriar in the Usurper’s name.”

  Wolf pressed her lips together. Despite the dark, her complexion paled noticeably. She fixed her gaze on Torch, and her eyes narrowed as they focused on his bare throat. “Where is your Stone?”

  Torch stared straight back. “I lost it.”

  “Lost it? How can this be? You need—”

  “Not now. I’m sure you have more important news for me.” Wariness crept into his speech. Naturally he was dreading the answer, for Wolf could certainly supply him with the details of his brother’s death.

  “We’ll talk about it inside,” Wolf agreed tightly.

  Curse it, there went Calista’s hope that Wolf would meekly return to her guard duty. Not that Wolf gave the impression of ever doing anything meekly. But with Wolf along on this final leg to Torch’s sanctuary, Calista couldn’t ask her husband to clarify that particular relationship. And, damn it all, she needed clarification.

  Torch released his grasp on the reins. Wolf patted the beast’s proudly arched neck and leaned close to whisper something in its ear. The confounded animal shook out its mane and bowed its head—almost as if it was nodding in agreement. Then it trotted off into the trees.

  Calista turned a wide-eyed look on her husband, but his lack of reaction told her all she needed to know. And hadn’t she once heard something of the Avestari speaking the language of their beloved horses? No doubt Wolf had given the steed explicit directions to the stables, along with instructions for finding the richest oats.

  Then they set off, following a winding, rocky way along the river. The waterfall loomed ever closer, a faint glow of white in the starligh
t, until its roaring filled Calista’s ears. At the foot of the falls, sharp rocks stuck out of the stream like jagged teeth. Cold droplets spattered her face.

  Torch took her hand. “This is the tricky part where we disappear.” He had to lean close so she could hear him over the pounding of tons of water. His breath wafted comforting warmth beneath her ear. “Careful now. The stones are slippery.”

  She stepped where he stepped, approaching hard on the cliff face next to the sheet of water. Ahead of them, Wolf had already disappeared. Ducking his head, Torch nipped around a hidden corner. Calista followed, receiving a cold dousing for an instant, before she came out on the other side.

  Before them yawned the mouth of a cave, completely hidden by the falls. The faint flicker of firelight danced on the stone walls, lighting the way within. Soon the passage opened into a wide chamber packed with men.

  Some lounged on the stone floor. Others huddled around a cheering blaze, doubtless to break the evening’s chill and humidity of the cavern, while a haunch of meat turned on a spit. A man drew a whetstone the length of a blade while another polished rust from a mail shirt. All of them bore the same mish-mash of arms and gear that Torch had the day he took Blackbriar.

  A few turned their attention toward the newcomers. One by one, they hailed Torch, and he returned the greeting. Soon Calista felt the curiosity of hundreds of pairs of eyes, and a wave of self-consciousness passed through her. She refused to duck her head, though. No, she held her chin high, and pretended she was still dressed in cloth-of-gold, rather than muddied and bedraggled tatters.

  She looked from face to face while realization dawned. These were the refugees of the battle she’d dreamed—Torch’s diversion that would draw forth Magnus’s forces and permit him to take Blackbriar. So many of them.

  But that made no sense. They’d lost that battle—hadn’t they? In the dream they certainly had.

  Torch led them toward the back of the cavern to an alcove of sorts. Here, a rough roll of linens indicated this space served as his bedchamber.