They’d followed for most of the day, and it would be dark soon. They couldn’t wait much longer to take her; they were getting farther and farther from Terraquist. The large party was making excellent time.
Now that Charis had the Dimithian, there wasn’t really a reason to wait.
“They have to stop soon. They didn’t break for a meal yet,” Bracken said.
“I’m sicka waitin’,” Nason mumbled as he gnawed on a piece of dried meat from his pack.
“It won’t be much longer.” Charis tried not to bark.
“Perhaps the lass isna’ a delicate flower.” Bracken smirked.
He doubted she was. She was bonded to a wolf, after all. “Nay, but they all have to eat. And I’m sure they’d not force a lass—a lady—to travel all night, even with a carriage.”
“Aye, you’re probably right. So when do we make our move?” Bracken’s tone suggested Charis’ answer had better be satisfactory.
“Soon,” he forced out through clenched teeth.
“Look, they’re stopping!”
Bracken and Charis exchanged a look, but Nason was right. The party had slowed their grueling pace, and the men were looking around. One called orders and they turned off the road into the least densely wooded area of the forest that lined the road.
“Smart to stop before reaching Beret,” Bracken said.
“Never mind tha’, the trees are thin here. We need cover,” Nason complained.
“We’ll be fine. We’ve a secret weapon, remember?” Charis said.
They’d taken the news of Drayton’s gift with wide eyes and a hundred questions Charis didn’t know the answers to. Although neither had elfin blood, they’d known each other for turns, and like him, had grown up in Aramour.
Nason’s family had served Charis’ father’s elfin household for generations. Bracken descended from a long line of blacksmiths. He’d walked away from his family’s trade for reasons unknown. His policy of no questions extended to his lads, too. As long as they got the job done, he didn’t care.
“There’s likely a clearing that way.” Charis pointed to the right. “We’ll let them set up camp. Relax. Disarm. Then we attack.”
“Before it gets dark?” Nason asked.
Charis shrugged. “It matters not. With the Dimithian, it’ll be quick.”
“Then we hie to Drayton? Tonight?” Bracken crossed his arms over his chest.
“Aye. Under the cover of night will be best, before they can recoup.”
Bracken gave a grunt and nod.
Nason licked his lips, drawing attention to his pocked face.
“Let’s get as close as we can and remain undetected. We need to know the layout if they pitch tents.”
“We need ta keep the lass in sight,” Bracken said.
“Aye, agreed.”
Nason rubbed his hands together. “I can taste tha’ coin.”
Bracken snorted. “Put your tongue in your head and draw your damn sword.”
The smallest man of their group glared up at Bracken.
“Hush, both of you, and pay attention. We have to get the lass before we get any gold.” Charis scowled.
Both his lads snapped their mouths shut and nodded.
Nason tied their horses and they hunkered down together, crossing the empty road as soundlessly and as stealthy as they could.
Charis was tempted to cover them in a masking spell, then quashed the idea. If that lad, the Mage of Greenwald was as powerful as suspected, he’d sense any magic. There were knights in the group, too. Smart men who’d lay out a perimeter and have the lad probe for danger.
“Shite,” Charis whispered as they paused behind a close copse of fat trees. They could hear conversation, but didn’t risk peeking around to see just yet.
“What?” Bracken’s gaze snapped to him.
“If the lad covers their camp in a protection spell, we’ll have to use the Dimithian earlier than planned.” He quickly briefed them on what he’d sensed about their prey, as well as Castle Aldern.
Bracken shook his head. “We’ll just hafta be fast.”
“Aye,” Nason agreed.
“You’re right. We’ll do what we need to do.”
“For the coin,” Nason whispered.
Bracken grunted, but didn’t look at blond man. “At any rate, watch now, worry when we have ta.”
“You’re right.” Charis nodded.
In unison, they moved as close as they dared, using a huge fallen tree as cover, right outside the clearing. All three drew their swords, but rested them at their sides.
From their view, they could see everything, but the overhanging foliage from the felled tree, as well as the low hanging canopy above would hide them from being easily spotted.
Men laughed, talked and tossed supplies back and forth. They were efficient. A large bonfire already burned at the center of the camp, a neatly stacked pile of wood ready to reenergize it as needed, and one tent was already pitched, flying the flag of Greenwald atop its triangular peak.
The carriage was off to the left side of the clearing, and their more than a dozen horses, including the lass’ gray, stood side-by-side, two troughs in front of them. Some munched from feedbags that’d already been set up.
“How did they—”
Charis ignored Bracken’s rare wonder and sent out a quick magical probe. “Magic. They used magic with the horses’ tethers, water and food. Probably the big tent, too.”
“Ah,” Nason said.
Two men were putting a second tent up, but this one was smaller. Made of a finer material, too, because it had a sheen in the firelight.
“For the lass,” Bracken said, as if he’d read his mind. “She’s a lady, after all.”
“Where is she, anyway?” Nason asked.
Charis scanned the area. He only spotted three of the five knights he’d seen outside the castle gates. “There’s another—smaller—clearing, to the right. See how the trees thin again?” he gestured. “And I smell water.” His tracking magic confirmed when he sent his senses forward.
“She’d want privacy, and a bath, if there’s a creek.” Bracken nodded toward where Charis had indicated.
“With guards,” Nason said.
“Thirteen in sight,” Bracken said.
Charis’ headcount came to the same number. “Fifteen in all, not including the lass and the wolf.”
“We can’t kill it,” Bracken boomed.
“Nay. They’re bonded, it’d kill her. We have to take it out, though. Get her away from it. Magic’ll do it.”
“Good.”
Silence fell as they watched. One of them men started cooking in a large pot over the fire. Both tents were up now, and more men came and went in and out, preparing to bed down for the night.
“What now?” Nason whispered.
“We wait.”
“Until the right moment.” Bracken finished Charis’ statement.
“False sense of security.” Nason flashed a toothy grin and raised his sword.
“When they least expect it,” Charis said, ignoring how his heart skipped and his stomach churned because of the so-called-mythical rock in his pocket.
“Where’s Elis—the lady?” Alasdair demanded of Bowen, then winced.
His brother arched an eyebrow. “Lady Elissa is bathing.”
The emphasis on the honorific he’d forgotten made his wince slide into a scowl. The last thing he needed was for his fellow knight to comment. He’d obviously—unfortunately—noticed Alasdair’s mistake.
Bowen crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. “I’m her chaperone now. I have things handled.”
He narrowed his eyes at the dismissal and tried to ignore the ripple of Bowen’s lips as the knight fought a smile.
“You can go back to camp,” Alasdair said.
Bowen shook his head, scattering his sandy locks about his shoulders. “Nay. ‘Tis my duty to keep her safe.”
“Which is why you’re yards from her.”
His brother laughed, which made his blood boil. “Aye, I’m sure you’d want me closer when she’s unclothed. Her bondmate is with her. She knows to holler if there’s trouble. Besides, she has more magic than half the people I know.”
Unclothed. Right. Of course, that’s what you focus most on.
Alasdair cleared his throat. “Well, at any rate, you can go. I need a word with her.”
Bowen smirked. “It’s not proper for me to leave her unchaperoned. Especially with the likes of you.” His brother’s humor didn’t damper his rage.
He grabbed the knight by his collar. “Go. Back. To. Camp.”
Instead of fighting him, Bowen chuckled again and tugged out of his grip. He threw his palms up. “Fine. Fine.” Then his expression sobered. “Don’t hurt her again, Alas.”
Shock rolled over him and he backed up; stumbled. “Hurt her?” The question was cracked, telling Alasdair he couldn’t fake innocence.
If Bowen had noticed, his lass didn’t hide her pain…maybe she couldn’t.
Alasdair clenched his jaw and fought the urge to crush his eyes shut. His emotions teetered back and forth from agony and shame.
The look on his brother’s face was a mix of sympathy, and something else. Was Bowen angry at him, too? “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I can guess. You don’t have to say anything, but none of us are daft. Keep that in mind.”
Alasdair studied his boots.
Bowen sighed and walked past him, then paused. “Keep something else in mind, too, Alas.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then jarred when his gaze collided with his brother’s serious amber one—something that was unusual for his fellow jester. “What?”
“We’re on a journey to deliver her to her betrothed. He’s a good man, and a duke. Don’t ruin that for her.”
His tongue was thick in his mouth. Alasdair could only stare at his brother and reject his statements. Especially, the word betrothed.
Bowen shook his head. “Go back to camp. I’ll stay here.”
“I can’t.”
His brother sighed again. “Be quick about it. Do not. Hurt. Her. Again. She’s a sweet lass, and she deserves better than that.”
Better than me.
Alasdair nodded, because it was all he could manage. Hell, he agreed with Bowen.
He could hear the knight cursing as he walked away. Hesitation in his broad shoulders told him Bowen wouldn’t give them long.
What are you doing?
Bowen was right. He should go back to camp. His intention to call his brother back dissolved before it could be born. He wanted to see her.
Nay, I need to see her.
Alasdair’s boots carried him forward, closer to the small burn.
Mischief saw him first, rising to all fours and wagging his tail. Well, at least the lass’ bondmate didn’t want to rip his throat out.
A series of splashes caught his attention and his eyes glued to her. She was naked, standing in the water up to her thighs. Her slender back and the perfect curve of her bottom caught—and held—his eye. Her supple skin was shiny from the water.
The birthmark high on her side, tucked neatly under her right breast, was only partly visible from the angle she was standing. He remembered tracing the half-moon shape the night they’d made love.
When Elissa glanced over her shoulder, she gasped. Her lips parted.
Alasdair wanted to go to her, tug her to him and kiss her.
He didn’t.
Their eyes locked. His heart sped up. “Aren’t you cold?” Words tumbled from his mouth.
“Nay. I warmed the water.”
Idiot. She’s an elemental mage.
Hearing her voice made his stomach flutter. She’d answered him normally, as if everything between them wasn’t a torn mess.
She turned toward him, but didn’t exit the small creek. Elissa made no efforts to cover her nudity, and it took all he was made of to keep his eyes on hers. “What do you want, Alasdair?” This was harder. Her mouth set in a hard line and her eyes flashed.
Mischief didn’t approach him, but the wolf’s head lowered, his tail stilled and his shoulders pitched as if he might pounce.
“For him not to attack me, for one.”
Elissa arched a pale eyebrow, but moments later, her bondmate lay on the bank again. His body relaxed, but his icy blue gaze was keen.
“I’ve told him you mean me no harm.” She lifted her chin and perched her hands on her shapely—perfect—hips. “Do you?”
“Never.” Against his will, his eyes trailed her body. Alasdair took in her high breasts. Her nipples were hard, probably from the cool air. He remembered the taste of her skin, especially there, and his mouth went dry. Her flat stomach with its rounded edge at the right spot beckoned to him, her lithe skin glossy from the water. The curls between her legs were golden, also from her bath. Darker in color than when dry.
He burned for her. Like he had for no other woman.
Elissa laughed. It was bitter, and nothing like he’d ever heard from her before. But it jolted him from the arousal clouding his brain.
“Right. That’s all you want. That’s all you came for. I understand.” She narrowed her eyes, daring him.
“Nay. You don’t understand anything. I just want to talk.” Frustration had him pacing.
Mischief growled. Alasdair froze but Elissa admonished her wolf and he quieted.
“I don’t believe you.”
His gut clenched. “I know. Can you please put some clothes on so we can talk?”
“Why? You can’t talk now?”
“Nay. Not with you…like that…” Alasdair gestured to her bare form.
Triumph glittered in her hazel eyes but it didn’t feel right. Nor did the hard expression on her beautiful face.
She exited the water, but the short distance to the folded pile of garments wasn’t hurried. Elissa’s actions were on purpose. She held her body open, making sure he could see every naked inch. She knew Alasdair didn’t have the willpower to look away.
The little tease.
His anger rose hotter the slower she went, especially when she made sure he was looking at her before she picked up her chemise.
“Just hurry and dress.”
Elissa smirked. “Why?”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Nay.” She smiled and slid one arm into the fine dressing gown.
“Stop daring me.”
“Daring you to what? You’ve made it plain you don’t want me.” Her eyes were wide, and the innocence of her expression might’ve been something he’d fall for—had he not known her.
“If you won’t dress yourself, I’ll do it. You won’t like it.”
“Relax, Alasdair. I thought you were a big, strong, knight. Always in control.”
Who is this lass? This woman so blatantly daring him?
Where was Elissa, the sweet, shy lass who’d laughed at his stupid jests and listened to his stories?
This lass before him was an experienced seductress. He didn’t know which Elissa he preferred more.
Alasdair wanted them both.
“I’ll wait for you in the clearing.” He stormed off, because if he didn’t, he’d rip her chemise right back off and show her what happened when a woman goaded a man who wanted her.
Elissa’s laugh was his only parting gift. Too bad it had that same bitter edge.
He paced next to a big tree until she came into view, her wolf on her heels. Her front-laced gown was simple and dark brown, much less flashy than other he’d seen her in, but her appeal was no less for him.
She’d braided her wet hair, but must’ve used magic to dry most of it, because pale little wisps escaped, framing her face and making him want her even more.
Alasdair swallowed and let her approach him. If he didn’t, he’d grab her up and kiss her.
“Sir Alasdair.” Elissa inclined her head.
“My lady.” Perhaps decorum could convince him to keep his hands to himself.
“I don’t want to argue with you.” She stopped a few feet away, and the cool breeze washed her clean scent over him. Teasing. Tempting.
He closed his eyes and breathed her in. “I don’t want to argue. Just want to talk.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
Alasdair sighed and met her hazel eyes. He’d proposed. She’d rejected him. That wasn’t what he wanted. “I…don’t know.”
Her face softened for the first time since he’d approached. “There’s nothing left to be said.”
“Aye, there is.”
Elissa shook her head and stepped closer. She reached out, as if she’d grab his arm, but then pulled her hand back.
He didn’t protest. It was a bad idea for them to touch.
“Just…let me go.” Her eyes implored when their gazes met again.
I can’t. He couldn’t say it aloud, either.
Alasdair tugged her to him, wishing he’d not demanded she get dressed moments before. He took her mouth brutally, making her open for him and shoving his tongue against hers. He whirled them around and walked her backwards until her shoulders bumped the tree. He pressed into her hard, kissing her with everything he was.
Elissa fought him at first, but then she gave a little whimper and started to kiss him back. Her mouth just as hungry as his.
She lifted her palms, resting them on his chest. But she didn’t wind her arms around his neck. Elissa shoved backwards with surprising strength. Glared up at him, both hands on her hips. “Nay.”
“Nay?” Alasdair whispered, his head spinning.
“You’re not going to do this to me again. I won’t let you.” She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I won’t let you tie me in knots and rip my heart in half.”
He said nothing. Didn’t know what to say.
“Besides, it isn’t as if you really want me. More than my body.”
“What’d you mean? I made myself clear when I asked for your hand.”
“What about The White Sage?”
Alasdair blanched. Tried to hold onto his anger and not gulp like a caught lad. “What?” he sputtered.
“I’m sure you’ve made another trip since you fled my bed.” Elissa glared.
“Nay.” Alasdair rammed his hand through his long hair and looked away. Then he grasped onto courage like he’d never had to do ever, and met her beautiful eyes. “I’ve not touched another lass since you.”
“Since me? But I heard—”
“I know what you heard. Nothing happened when I went to the tavern. I let Bowen and Dallon think what they would.”
Pain darted across her face, despite what he’d just confessed. “But you went anyway.”
“I thought of nothing but you.” Alasdair wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. He contemplated telling her about Betha, but it’d only hurt her more. Guilt bit at him, because he hadn’t been completely chaste that night, even if he’d not rutted Betha.
Elissa gasped and blinked. Her lips parted and he took a step closer, but she threw her palm up. “Nay. It’s too late.”
“Why?” Pain rose slowly from his gut, consuming every inch of his being, constricting his chest, his breathing.
“I can’t do this with you again.”
“Elissa—” He wanted—needed—to fight, but didn’t know how. What to do, what to say was beyond him.
I’ve already lost her.
He fought the urge to double over and pant for breath. His lungs burned.
She slid back when he reached for her, shaking her head hard. Her shoulders bumped the tree again. “I’m betrothed. I gave my word. I’m marrying Lord Cam, Sir Alasdair. Just accept it.”