Anwen of Primewood

by Shari L. Tapscott

  The laugh dies on my lips when I see the look on Irving’s face. He waits for my answer, his eyebrows raised.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? I adore you, Anwen, and I know you like me.”

  I furrow my eyebrows. “If I accept this horse, I have to marry you?”

  He laughs. “No, the horse is a free gift.”

  “You realize, don’t you, that last night you got drunk on fairy cider and did who-knows-what?” I lean in closer. “Remember the grass tunic? The crown of flowers?”

  “Exactly!” He sets his hands on my shoulders. “I’m a mess when it comes to love. Instead of continuing the search, I could marry you.”

  My mouth drops open.

  He steps back. “Darling, that came out wrong.”

  I scowl at him, snatch the reins from his hand, and then mount the horse.

  “You know what I meant,” he calls as I ride away from him.

  ***

  As long as I stay away from Irving, the ride is pleasant. Marigold chatters about her month in Lauramore, and I idly listen. She’s going on about missing her library in Primewood when I hear a soft mew behind us.

  Danver’s on my lap, sleeping. It wasn’t him.

  I turn but see nothing.

  “What is it?” Marigold looks over her shoulder. Her movements are choppy, her posture tense.

  “Nothing,” I say, but as she continues, I strain to hear another call.

  Finally I hear it again, louder this time. My heart leaps. I watch the trees, hoping, waiting.

  “Anwen,” Galinor calls from ahead. All morning he’s been deep in conversation with the Triblue brothers, but now his attention is on me.

  So he’s heard it, too.

  He pulls his horse back. “May I speak with you?”

  Marigold gives him a curious look as she passes, but she doesn’t stop. I ride to him, and then draw my horse next to his.

  I scan the trees. “Did you see her?”

  Galinor’s eyes meet mine. My goodness, they are blue.

  He looks at me expectantly.

  I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said I haven’t seen her. Have you?”

  I shake my head, looking away from him. “No.” I glance at our party. They’re well ahead of us now. “We need to tell them so they won’t hurt her should she show herself.”

  Galinor’s brow knits as he thinks about it. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  His gaze moves to the horses ahead of us. “Marigold will be terrified.”

  I narrow my eyes. “But Pika isn’t a threat.”

  “You must understand how the news of Pika would upset her. You know she was attacked by a glasseln not long ago, don’t you?”

  “Not this glasseln.”

  He nudges his horse closer. “You are impossible, do you know that?”

  “And you’re overprotective, do you know that?”

  He studies me and then huffs out a breath before he runs a hand through his dark hair. “There’s a chance the glasseln will never show herself. We shouldn’t argue over it.”

  “You say that like it would be a good thing.”

  “It would be a good thing.”

  I toss my head, refusing to look at him, and nudge my mare forward.

  “Difficult,” he says under his breath.

  I ignore him and continue to watch the woods for Pika. After a few minutes, I forget I’m irritated. “When will we reach Glendon?”

  Our pace is easy, and if he’s not worried about lagging behind the rest of the group, then I’m not either. My eyes wander to him, and as I do, his gaze meets mine. I look away quickly, pretending to be scanning the trees.

  “We’ll cross the border by early evening,” he says. “There’s an inn in Briar Ridge. We’ll stay there.”

  I peek back. His eyes are still on me.

  The others are far enough ahead I don’t hear their chatter anymore. Birds sing in the trees, and a creek bubbles not far from us, following the same path, winding its way down to Glendon. We’ve only been riding for a few hours, but after several steep descents, we’re already in lower terrain, and the air is warmer.

  “What did Irving say to upset you earlier?” Galinor asks.

  I grimace. “He asked me to marry him.”

  Galinor’s eyes go wide, and for a moment it looks as if he’s choked on something. “How did you answer?”

  I think about it. “I didn’t answer,” I say as I realize it it’s true. “Not that it matters. I won’t marry Irving.”

  “He’s the Crown Prince of Primewood.”

  “He also woke up wrapped in daisies,” I point out.

  Galinor grins at the memory. “That he did.”

  I struggle for something to say, but my mind is oddly blank. It’s easier to forget Galinor is a prince when we are riding together, and I don’t have to look at him. It’s hard to forget now.

  Expensive silver threads weave through the dark blue tunic he wears over his lightweight chain mail shirt. His sword is sheathed at his side, and his bow and quiver are on his back. He looks very royal.

  And very formidable.

  He would be intimidating if it weren’t for his pleasant face. He looks ahead, and I steal glances at him. He’s almost too perfect. He has no scars, no birthmarks. His eyebrows are dark and high, but they aren’t too full or too close together. His cheeks bones are distinguished, and he has just a hint of dimples when he smiles wide.

  Not that he smiles like that very often. Maybe he did before the tournament?

  He’s tall, too, and strong. Absurdly beautiful.

  He notices me staring at him. “You have an odd look on your face, Anwen. What are you thinking?”

  His question takes me by surprise, and my cheeks heat.

  I look at the road ahead of us and change the subject. “Where do you suppose Dimitri has led his troupe?”

  He doesn’t look happy with my question.

  “Tracking this gypsy down—it’s about the changeling stone, isn’t it? It’s not because…”

  His innuendo sits between us, making the air uncomfortable and hard to breathe.

  “Is it so impossible to think he might care for me?” I demand. “That all this was a great misunderstanding?”

  His face darkens. “He robbed you, Anwen. That was no accident.”

  I notice he doesn’t answer the first part of my question, and my spirits sink. Though I may not be as beautiful as Pippa, I know I’m not unattractive. In most ways I’m very pleased with my appearance. But why else would Dimitri leave me? Why wasn’t I good enough? If it’s not my looks, then it’s just me he didn’t want.

  I’m not sure I’m ready to face that.

  “I know you don’t think it best, but I truly believe you should go home,” Galinor says, voicing his opinion yet again.

  “If I were Pippa, would you think me incapable of retrieving the stone?”

  The question comes out of nowhere—even I’m stunned by it. But there is truth in the words. I know how he admires the fiery Lauramorian princess. I doubt he would chastise her for attempting what I have plans to do.

  “You and Pippa are nothing alike, but I wouldn’t think it wise for even her to attempt what you are planning.”

  Even her.

  While thinking of a retort, I’m distracted by yelling ahead of us.

  “Stay here,” Galinor says, kicking his horse forward.

  This seems like good advice, but I glance over my shoulder, worried. What if there is trouble behind us as well? I don’t want to be a sitting duck here all by myself on the road. Or worse—what if the chaos has been caused by Pika finally showing herself? Irving wouldn’t, but the others might injure her, thinking she will attack.

  I give the mare a timid nudge forward. I don’t want to run right into trouble, but I don’t want to stay here, alone, either. The others come into view as I ride around a curve in the road. Irving’s sword glints in the sunlight as h
e blocks an attack. Galinor leaps from his horse and meets another. Bran and Dristan are involved in a fight with three men who have come at them with fists.

  Bran ducks an attack and circles around to punch a tall, gangly man in the gut. Dristan lands a solid hit to another man’s nose, but the third man—a short, hairy brute—plows into him. Dristan stumbles.

  I go cold as I watch the young prince fall backwards, the large man on top of him. When they land, the man’s fist crashes into the ground next to Dristan’s head. If Dristan hadn’t moved, it would have connected with his face.

  From atop my horse, I stare at them all, helpless. Irving, Galinor, and Bran seem to be holding their own, but Dristan is still healing. He shouldn’t be fighting. Before I can think enough to talk myself out of it, I jump to the ground and look for something I can use as a weapon. I grab as large a boulder as I can hold in one hand, and I run into the fight. In the distance I hear Marigold yell for me to stop.

  Galinor looks up when he hears my name, and it’s just enough of an opening for the man he’s fighting to land a punch to his eye. Galinor’s head snaps back, and I scream his name. He recovers in moments, punches the man in the stomach and then pays him back with a solid hit to the nose. The man crumples on the ground.

  Behind me, I realize Dristan is still trying to fight off the beast-man. Having no idea what I’m doing, I jump on the man’s back and grit my teeth as the stone connects with his skull. With a heavy thud, the man falls to the ground next to Dristan.

  Oh, please, don’t let him be dead.

  Dristan pushes himself to his feet and takes after the second man attacking Bran.

  The man opposite Irving lunges one last time and then flees for the forest when Irving deflects the sword with his own. Only two other men are conscious after the fight, and they too chase after their comrade, leaving the other two in the road and at our mercy.

  I fall to my knees and place a hand over my heart. I’m lightheaded and dizzy, and I take deep, long breaths to try to calm myself. The hairy man I’ve pummeled is on the ground still, but he is moaning, so he’s alive.

  My hair has fallen from its braid and several strands lay in long waves over my eyes. I push them aside and look up, surveying the damage.

  Before I can ask if he’s all right, Galinor pins me with his gaze. His eyes flash, and one is already looking puffy and red. “Anwen! Didn’t I tell you to stay back?”

  It’s probably not the best time to argue with him, so instead I shrug. He strides to me and kneels—a gesture that should look comforting. With the look on his face, it’s not.

  “I didn’t want to stay by myself,” I mumble. I almost mention my thoughts about Pika, but I wisely keep it to myself. “And then I saw this horrible man attack Dristan.” I poke the beast-man in the ribs with the toe of my boot.

  The man groans, but he doesn’t move.

  Galinor’s eyes bore into mine. “Next time, when I tell you to stay back, you will heed my advice. You could have been hurt. You could have been killed.”

  I would like to point out that I was neither hurt nor killed, but again I stay quiet. “I’m sorry about your eye.” I trace the very edges of the puffy skin with my fingertips. “I wish we had something to put on it.”

  The skin is split at the corner, and there is a slow stream of blood running down his cheek. I dab it away with my handkerchief.

  His face softens. “I’m fine.”

  “Irving?” Bran collapses on a large boulder at the side of the road. “Who were those men, and what did they want? They ambushed you first, and they hollered your name.”

  Irving rolls his shoulders and then stretches his neck. He glances at me, flashes a wicked smile, and then looks back to Bran. “I do believe they were a few of Lord Orick’s men.”

  Galinor looks from me to Irving, his expression clearly surprised. “Why would they attack us?”

  “Me,” Irving says, looking a little sheepish. “They attacked me.”

  “But why?”

  “I attended one of Alexander’s illegal dice games last night. I won fairly, but they weren’t eager to part with their coins.”

  Seeing we’re now safe, Marigold rides back from the side of the road and scowls at Irving. “I’m sure you didn’t taunt them about your win, either.”

  He grins. “Of course not.”

  “Are you all right, Marigold?” Galinor stands and goes to her.

  Her eyes drop to her horse’s mane. “I’m fine, thank you. Dristan saw them first, and he told me to take to the trees.”

  “I’m glad you took his advice,” Galinor says to her. He turns to me and raises his eyebrows.

  I set my jaw and stare back at him. His eyebrow twitches as if he’s about to lose his temper. I look away and bite my cheek so I don’t laugh. I’m sure that would do nothing to improve his mood.

  The beast-man groans again. Galinor leans down and checks his pulse. He decides the man will live, and he tells us we should ride on so they can return to collect their men. Bran quickly checks the other man, who I believe is faking his unconsciousness at this point.

  “How are you?” I ask Dristan.

  He brushes the dust from his tunic and smiles at me. “I could have taken him, you know.”

  “I know,” I agree, though we both know he probably couldn’t have.

  “You should have seen the look on his face when you attacked him.” Dristan grins. “He froze up, and his eyes went huge when you bashed him on the head.”

  Irving laughs, a bright sound, and he drapes his arm over my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

  “She shouldn’t have been in the middle of it at all,” Galinor grumbles, but he is ignored.

  I eye Irving. “You fared the best out of everyone.” I poke his side. “Not even a scratch.”

  Bran laughs. “When people ask what’s happened to us, they’ll think he ran away.”

  A purple bruise is already forming on Bran’s cheek. Dristan has a gash on his forehead that needs tended, and, of course, Galinor has a very painful looking black eye.

  Irving cringes and turns his cheek toward me. “Hit me, Anwen, right here. I can’t have people thinking I’m a coward.” He flashes me a taunting grin, thinking I won’t.

  “I’ll take you up on that offer,” I say. “But not today.”

  Bran whistles as he looks at the man at my feet. “Don’t make her mad again, Irving.”

  I do feel bad about knocking the man out—but their men started it.

  Growing impatient, Galinor says, “We need to ride.”

  Irving gives my shoulder a squeeze, and then he releases me.

  We set off again for the Glendon border, but this time Galinor stays ahead of me, speaking with Bran and Irving. I stay close to Marigold and Dristan. As we travel, Marigold shares tidbits of information about the flora and fauna we pass. Dristan, for the most part, keeps up both his and my end of the conversation, so I don’t have to add much.

  Instead, I watch Galinor’s back—he now seems content to pretend I don’t exist—and listen for signs of Pika. There are no more mews, and I have yet to see a flash of black in the trees.

  I sigh and concentrate on the dusty road in front of me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stolen

  Four tankards of cider slosh on the table as the tavern maid distributes them to the men. She bats her pretty blue eyes and tosses her long, blond hair as she simpers over the four princes.

  She has yet to ask me or Marigold if we would like something to drink.

  The woman perches on the edge of the round table, right between Dristan and Galinor’s chairs, and leans over to take a closer look at Galinor’s swollen eye. “I would hate to see the man who could do that to you.”

  I look away, trying to focus on something—anything—else in the room. The fireplace is nice.

  “I can fix that up for you.” She practically purrs the words.

  I have the strangest urge to gag, but I believe I do an adequate job of
keeping my face even.

  Galinor shakes his head. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m sure the ladies would like cider or tea.”

  I look over to see what the tavern maid will think of his cool dismissal. She glances at me and Marigold as if she hadn’t noticed us—that’s what she wants it to look like, anyway. The briefest flash of irritation flickers across her face before she acknowledges us.

  “Tea is fine,” Marigold says.

  I nod in agreement.

  The tavern maid saunters off, her hips swaying as she leaves. Irving stares after her, and I elbow him in the ribs.

  He rubs his side. “What was that for?”

  “For asking me to marry you this morning,” I say, leaning close and speaking softly so only he can hear. “And then looking at that woman like that.”

  “That woman?” Irving’s lips quirk up in an ornery smirk. “Is it my imagination, or do you sound a little jealous of that woman?” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues, “I do believe I will wear you down yet.”

  Jealous? I’m not jealous of her.

  She’s a trollop.

  Galinor watches our interaction, frowning. His eye has darkened to a nasty shade of blue and purple, and the swelling is horrible. He certainly doesn’t look too perfect now.

  If I had thought it would dissuade the opposite sex from ogling at him, though, I would be wrong. The tavern maid, the barmaid behind the counter, and many of the younger women—and some of the older women as well—watch Galinor. I’m sure it’s worse now that we’re in Glendon. Here, Galinor isn’t a prince; he’s their prince.

  The woman returns with our tea and then perches next to Galinor once again. I sip my drink and then cringe. It’s lukewarm at best and as weak as wash water.

  The day has been long, and as I watch the woman flirt at Galinor, I realize I’m too exhausted to eat. I take another sip of the tepid tea and then stand from the table.

  “I’m going to retire for the night,” I say, addressing no one in particular.

  Galinor rises with me. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

  The tavern maid glares at me, her lips softening to a pout when Galinor glances back.

  I ignore her and scoot the chair in. “I’m fine.”

  Irving stands. “I’ll walk you to your room.”