A Daring Sacrifice

by Jody Hedlund

  She cocked a brow, as if waiting for me to remember who she was. News of my return had spread far and wide, throughout my lands and beyond. Of course she would identify me. But I had no reason to recognize her, did I?

  “Have we met before?” I asked.

  She started to nod, but then quickly shook her head. “It’s of no consequence.” She yanked at her hands once more. “Now let me go.”

  A shaft of moonlight touched her bare head again, revealing the red of her hair—a blond red the shade of ripening strawberries.

  Strawberries.

  At the image a vivid memory flashed into my mind, a picture of a little girl in an angelic gown sitting upon a pure white pony. Her red curls had swirled around her pretty face.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed this girl. My father had always made a point of seeking out Lord Wessex and his red-haired daughter. But the last time, when she’d been on her white pony, had been different, and the memory had stayed with me all those years.

  I’d been hunting with my father when we’d chanced upon our neighbors out for a ride. My father then stopped to converse with the lord about issues that didn’t interest me.

  All I’d cared about that day was the beautiful white pony. More than anything else in the world, I’d wanted to take the pony for a ride. I hadn’t cared about the girl who sat atop it, or the fact it wasn’t proper etiquette to ask for a ride. I’d sidled next to her and asked her anyway.

  I’d been disappointed when she’d refused my request.

  And then, in my immaturity, what had I told her? My mind scrambled to remember the insult. Something about her hair being as red as strawberries.

  She’d taken it for the insult I’d intended, reached over, slapped my cheek, and then called me a straw-headed hay bale.

  I’d just grinned, finding amusement in her anger, which had only made her all the angrier. She’d kicked me in the shin with one of her dainty boots and had earned a stern rebuke from her father.

  Her father, the late Lord of Wessex.

  For a moment I struggled to remember her given name. But after retracing the steps to my past, I finally found it. Juliana.

  She was Juliana Wessex.

  Inwardly, a tight coil unraveled. I’d solved the mystery that had puzzled me since I’d seen her that morning. I released one of her hands from my prison-like hold, and lifted my fingers to her tangled curls. “I like strawberries.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  I trailed the spiral down to her shoulder. “In fact, strawberries are my favorite fruit.”

  Our gazes collided with a force that left me strangely breathless. From the stillness of her chest, I could tell she’d ceased breathing too.

  “So, Lady Julianna of Wessex, do you still have your pretty white pony?” I brushed one of her curls off her cheek, inadvertently grazing her skin.

  She released her breath, and the warmth of it doused my wrist.

  I had the urge to caress her cheek again but instead kept my finger on the curl, tucking it back with the others.

  She brought her top teeth down over her lip, nibbled it, and glanced away. “You’re mistaken. I’m not Lady Juliana.”

  In the brief discussion about the late Lord Wessex, Irene had indicated that Charles’s only child had perished too. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, especially since it had all happened while I’d been away, and there was nothing I could do any more. Through the darkness, I narrowed my eyes upon the young woman standing before me. I’d only been a boy of eight the last time I’d seen her. After we’d ridden away from Lord Wessex and his daughter, my father had berated me and told me a good son wouldn’t have thrown away the opportunity to form a match with the girl. He had always envied the neighboring lands, and often schemed ways he could gain them through such a union. One week later, my father had disciplined me for my failure by sending me to live with the Duke of Rivenshire.

  I’d only blamed Juliana for a few days. It hadn’t taken me long to realize how privileged I was to live in the duke’s household as a page. Juliana’s kick in the shins had actually turned into the best thing that had happened to me. I owed her my gratitude.

  Even though she was now grown and shadowed by the night, I had no doubt this thief and Juliana Wessex were one and the same person. But she obviously didn’t want me to know that fact.

  “What became of Lady Juliana?” I asked.

  “She died in a peasant uprising.” The answer was too quick, almost bitter.

  “And you still haven’t told me—what happened to her pretty white pony?”

  Juliana stared off into the dark forest, refusing to meet my gaze. “It was riddled with so many arrows, it turned crimson as it bled to death.”

  “Blessed Mary.” The low tightness of her voice reached into my chest and clutched my heart.

  Her eyes glistened and she chewed at her bottom lip again.

  I slid my hand to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Juliana.”

  She nodded, and her chin slowly sank so that I was left looking at the top of her bare head.

  I fingered another one of her curls. I wasn’t sure what the real story was behind the death of Charles Wessex, but I could sense there was much more to it than either Juliana or Irene had told me. And I would find out every detail, eventually.

  Throwing away all caution, I released Juliana’s wrists and tugged her forward, so that she stood only inches from me. I knew we were practically strangers, that even when we’d been children we’d only known each other in passing. Even so, there was something vulnerable in her stance that made me want to protect her and right the wrongs she had endured.

  I ignored the warning clamoring through my mind, reminding me that she was disguised as a thief and that she’d robbed me only that morning. Instead, I reached for her other shoulder and squeezed it, hoping she could sense my offer of friendship.

  She held herself stiffly for a moment before she slumped, as if the weight of all her sorrows and pains had fallen upon her in that moment.

  “Whatever’s going on, Juliana, I’ll help you,” I whispered, knowing I could do nothing less. “I promise.”

  At my words, she tensed and took a step away. “I don’t need your help, Collin.”

  “I want to—”

  “I’m faring well enough.” She straightened.

  “Oh, is that what you call this?” I asked. “Getting kidnapped in the middle of the night?”

  Her features hardened, and all traces of sadness dissipated.

  “If this is faring well,” I said, “then I dread to see what bad looks like.”

  “You won’t have to see.” She glared at me. “I’m good at what I do. In fact, I’m the best in the land.”

  “The best thief?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “I suppose that’s why I caught you? Because you’re so good?” I grinned at her stubbornness. It was all I could think to do at the absurdity of the situation.

  “I most certainly don’t need you around, mocking me as you’re wont to do.” She took another step backward.

  “I’m not mocking you. I simply find you humorous.”

  “Well, maybe you won’t find me so humorous once I escape.” With that, she sprang away.

  I chuckled and started after her. I liked her spunk.

  In the darkness I could hear her crashing through the brush, making as much noise as a mother bear pursuing an enemy. I started after her, following with little effort the path she was blazing.

  Somehow she managed to stay several steps ahead, her lithe body racing through the brush as if it were an open field. After several minutes my lungs began to ache from the speed of the chase. She was fast, and I was surprised that she could keep going without slowing down. If my lungs were burning, I knew hers were too.

  Finally, when I wasn’t sure I could go on, I heard her crash. I stumbled to a halt. For a long moment, the forest was silent around me. I crouched low behind a trunk and tried to peer throu
gh the blackness to locate her.

  After a few seconds of searching in the faint moonlight, I located her outline in a beech tree several paces away.

  I had to admit, she was no bumbling idiot. She knew what she was doing.

  But in the stillness of the forest, questions shouted through my mind. As Charles Wessex’s only child and heir, why was she living in the forest as a thief? My sister and others believed Juliana had died with her father. And since she was living under disguise, Juliana apparently wished no one to know she was in fact alive.

  But why?

  Part of me said I should do the honorable thing and walk away from her. If she wanted to remain hidden and continue her thieving lifestyle, who was I to interfere?

  But another part of me wanted to help her, even if she claimed she didn’t want my aid. Deep in my gut, I knew it was only a matter of time before she got caught—no matter how skilled she might be. And I dreaded to think what might happen to her.

  In fact, if I’d been someone more sinister—a lusty man without any regard for her womanhood—what would she have done tonight? If I could easily discover she was a woman, surely with time someone else would as well.

  I swallowed hard, letting determination push aside my misgivings. I wouldn’t let her escape, not until I had answers to the many questions that were rampaging through me.

  With a stealth I’d developed during the many battles I’d fought with the duke, I climbed into the tree closest to me. Several of the larger limbs intertwined with the beech, where Juliana was hiding on a low branch that formed a V with the trunk. I slowly slipped from one tree to the next, until I was slightly above her. The cover of the leaves hid me, and the soft rattle of the wind through the branches muffled my steps. In the shadows of the limbs and changing leaves, she was perched and ready to spring. She peered down, likely searching the ground around the tree for me.

  Finally, I lowered myself, unfolding my lean frame next to hers. “Looking for me?” I whispered.

  She gave a start and straightened quickly—too quickly. She wobbled and flailed her arms. Before I could grab her, she fell backward off the branch and plunged toward the earth.

  A small yelp was followed by a thwack and then a thump.

  My heart sped with sudden panic. “Juliana?”

  Complete silence greeted me and pushed the anxiety into my blood. I jumped after her. The drop wasn’t far and I landed on my feet, the impact jarring my knees only a little.

  “Juliana?” I called louder, searching the base of the tree.

  Moonlight touched on the red-gold of her hair, now tangled in the brush and leaves.

  My heartbeat slammed to a halt. “Blessed Mary.” I scrambled toward her. She lay unmoving, her hair sprawled around her pale face.

  I touched her lips with my fingertips and drew in a shaky breath at the moist air she released.

  She was alive.

  My hands slid gently to her limbs, searching for broken bones, gashes, or any other sign of distress. As I probed and felt the thinness of her body, I swallowed back dismay. She was too gaunt, the hungry-thin I’d seen on siege victims who’d slowly starved to death.

  I touched her head, and she gave a soft moan. I probed the back of her skull until I found a slick spot of blood.

  She must have hit her head during the fall.

  I gently slipped my hands under her body. What had I been thinking to chase her around the forest in the dead of the night? Why hadn’t I been more careful?

  The whole escapade may have brought me the rush of excitement that had been eluding me since I’d returned home. But at what cost?

  I was a selfish fool and I should have put an end to the chase sooner.

  I lifted her with the care I’d give a rare jewel. As far as I could tell, her only injury was the knock she’d taken to her head during the fall. But I wouldn’t be sure until I’d checked her more thoroughly. And to do that, I’d have to take her back to my home. I most certainly couldn’t leave her out in the forest injured.

  I shifted her into my arms, cradling her like a babe against my chest.

  Her body was limp and her head lolled back. As I started back through the forest to my horse, she didn’t utter a word.

  “I’m sorry, Juliana,” I whispered.

  I knew with certainty she would have protested had she known where I was taking her. But what other choice did I have?

  Chapter

  5

  From the softness that surrounded me, I could almost believe I was floating upon a cloud. The warmth was heavenly, as if sun poured over me and wrapped me in its solid beams.

  I sighed and soaked in the delight of my fairy-tale world. I hadn’t been so warm and comfortable since . . . My mind stumbled to remember a time.

  Then it came to me. I hadn’t experienced such comfort since I’d been a little girl, in the days when I’d lived with my father in Wessex Castle. I’d had chambers of my own, a big, canopied bed, and servants to wait on me.

  Strange I would imagine this now, after so many years of the cold, hard earth serving as my bed. I stretched, still dreaming of warm coverlets snuggled around my body and feather pillows piled beneath my head.

  My stomach rumbled, urging me to wake from my dream. The gnawing hunger was the signal I needed to begin my daily routine of hunting, not for myself but for all the other bellies that relied upon my game.

  The waft of something roasting sent another gurgle into my stomach. I sniffed and dragged in the delicious scents of fresh-baked bread and venison stew.

  “Has she awoken?” a voice drifted into my dream.

  Suddenly, I wished more than anything to stay asleep. I was in the best dream I’d ever had, and I didn’t want it to end.

  A cool hand pressed against my forehead, and then gentle fingers brushed my hair back.

  “Father,” I whispered, an ache forming in my chest. The last time my father had touched my hair, he’d been bleeding to death on a pallet in a peasant hut. His blood had bubbled out of his wounds, spilling onto the dirt floor, forming into mud. Though my uncle’s army was approaching, to capture Father for the final time, his cool fingers, sticky with blood, had caressed my forehead, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and then had combed the tangles out of my face.

  The fingers caressed my hair again. “Juliana?”

  The voice was definitely not my father’s.

  A rush of memories flooded my conscience, memories of running through the forest, of climbing a tree, and then falling. The rush was followed by a burst of terror.

  My eyes flew open to the sight of a golden canopy hanging above me. My gaze shifted to the face hovering near mine. A handsome face covered with a couple days’ worth of scruff. A lock of blond hair fell over a creased forehead. And worried green eyes peered down at me.

  “Collin Goodrich?” I asked. “What are you doing here?” Why was he a part of my dreams?

  At my question, his lips curved into a smile that made my stomach do a funny flip.

  “You’re awake,” he said, bringing his hand to my cheek and making a gentle path down to my chin.

  “Why are you here?” I asked through the grogginess in my throat, letting myself stare at him.

  He seemed to be doing the same with my face, his gaze making a leisurely trail from my cheek to my chin to my lips, until the brilliant green finally met my eyes again. The lightness and warmth there seeped into me and spread through my middle.

  “I’m here because I live here,” he said.

  The words slapped me fully awake and brought back all my memories. I’d robbed him, and then he’d tracked me down and dragged me away from Thatch. And now he’d brought me back to his castle?

  I fought down a panicked cry, shoved away the coverlet, and pushed myself off the ultra-soft feather mattress. I climbed out of the bed and was on my feet before Collin could rise from the chair positioned next to me.

  Fierce, blinding pain rammed through my head, almost as if a blacksmith was banging his anvil
against my skull. I swayed, black dizziness threatening to make me collapse.

  Collin jumped to his feet and reached for me before my knees gave way. I was helpless to do anything but sag against him, my body weak, my legs unable to support my weight, and my head pounding.

  For a moment I leaned into him, remembering the few seconds in the forest when he’d comforted me even when I hadn’t known I’d needed it.

  What was there about this man that made me feel like I’d gained a friend, when I knew he was nothing more than the enemy? I straightened and tugged away from him. I couldn’t forget who he was and what he represented.

  He let me step back but still held onto my arms, keeping me from toppling over.

  “You brought me to your home?” The words came out a strangled whisper. For the first time I glanced around the spacious chamber, taking in the luxurious tapestries covering the walls, the wide stone hearth ablaze with a glowing fire, the enormous canopied bed, and the heavy curtains.

  A short, stoop-shouldered servant stood in front of an open wardrobe, her hand poised on a gown she’d been about to hang with the assortment of other glorious garments.

  My panic swelled. What if the servant recognized me? What if word reached my uncle that I was still alive?

  I had the overwhelming urge to plunge back into the bed and pull the coverlet over my head. Instead I broke free of Collin and lurched toward the door, my footsteps unsteady like those of a babe just learning to walk.

  All I could think was that I needed to get away. Now. I had to get back into the forest and hide before anyone figured out who I really was.

  “Wait,” Collin called.

  I forced my legs to move faster and fixed my attention on the door, which seemed a league away. If I could make my way outside the walls of the castle, I would find Thatch and he would help me. But I only made it halfway across the room before my legs gave way, and I crashed to the rushes strewn over the cold floor.

  In an instant, Collin was at my side. Amidst my weak cry of protest, he slid his arms underneath me and lifted my body effortlessly.