Aerity halted and stared in shock as a young woman came out, a beaming smile on her pretty face, her hair a wavy brown mess of a braid undone. A shock of recognition jabbed Aerity in the stomach. Caitrin! Her maid . . . Lord Alvi reached out from his doorway and grasped the girl around the waist, a dashing grin on his face as he pulled her to him. He wore a towel loosely tied around his hips and nothing else. The shock of it made Aerity gasp. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound, but it was too late.
Both heads turned toward her. Caitrin leaped away from Lord Alvi with a cry and Lord Alvi’s eyes bulged. One hand held the towel while the other went to his blond hair, as if grasping for something, anything. “Princess, what are you . . .” His question trailed off.
A full-force gale began at Aerity’s feet and circled its way upward, turning her insides around and around, straight up to her head where she thought her mind might explode.
“Oh seas.” Caitrin crumpled to the floor, her hands pressed to the stone as her body heaved with uncontrollable breaths. “Your Highness! Princess, please. Please, I’m so sorry.”
Part of Aerity wanted to lift the girl to her feet, this girl who she thought of as a friend, and the other part of her felt utterly betrayed. Of all the men she could have had.
Lord Alvi finally dropped his hand and stood taller, staring from Caitrin to Aerity.
“Why have you come?” His tone was tinged with uneasiness. “Is there danger?”
She could not yet speak, only able to shake her head slowly. Caitrin had quieted, but kept her face down, nose to the floor, sucking in loud breaths as she fought for air, shaking.
Aerity licked her dry lips. “I needed to walk. I thought we might talk.”
Lord Alvi’s eyes searched her. “I was not expecting to see you.”
“Obviously.”
Caitrin let out a low moan and curled in on herself like an animal in fear.
Aerity was so tired, so numb, that she felt she’d rather turn and walk away than deal with this. But as she stared at her betrothed, still flushed from his time with her maid, a darker part of herself—a part she’d worked so hard to confine—began to rise from deep within her. It was the part of her that was angry about being a pawn, a prize, a victim of these tumultuous circumstances. It was the shameful part of her that did not want to sacrifice her love and happiness for the kingdom. Aye, that piece of her that wanted to be selfish, to rebel and run away from it all. To take something for herself, just as Lief was doing, no matter the consequences.
She took a shaking breath and allowed that sunken part of herself to surface, like a raging fire in the pit of her despair, kindled by the scene before her and her bleak future ahead.
This is my life, Aerity thought. This will always be my life. And then a simple decision arose within her. Lord Alvi actually appeared frightened of her.
Caitrin wailed, her nails scratching the stone.
“Enough,” Aerity said. She trembled on the inside with the power of her unleashed emotions. She moved forward. Caitrin’s forehead touched the floor as she pressed a hand tightly over her mouth, her body shuddering. The girl knew what could be done to her. If Aerity had a mind to punish her, she could be beaten, sent to the dungeon, even killed. But her anger was not for her maid. “Stand up, Cait.”
Lord Alvi stared, as if unsure what to do, but Aerity did not acknowledge him.
Caitrin, a year older than Aerity, was someone she’d cared for since she became her maid three years ago. She knew she had every right to be angry with the girl, but the fact was that she did not love Lord Alvi, and Caitrin was quite aware of that. She also understood the allure of the handsome, powerful lord from the coldlands.
Caitrin shuffled to her feet, her face still down, wiping at her cheeks and then fumbling with her skirts.
“Look at me,” Aerity said.
Caitrin lifted her face and looked at the princess through watery, guilt-lined eyes.
“You will fetch me dye, something dark like mahogany. And shears. Bring them to my chambers tomorrow at sunset.”
“Sh-shears, Your Highness?” Caitrin croaked and reached up to grasp her flowing locks, aghast.
“We’re not cutting your hair, Caitrin,” Aerity said impatiently. “I’ll also need a commoner’s dress and boots. Be discreet about this, do you understand? Not a word.”
“My lady . . .” Lord Alvi said with concern, but Aerity kept her eyes on her maid.
“Go.”
Caitrin nodded, grasping her brown skirts and rushing away.
Only when the maid was out of sight did Aerity turn her fearsome gaze on Lord Alvi.
“I can see you’re angry,” he said with care. “But to be fair nobody was ever to know—”
“In the future you will keep your dalliances outside these castle walls.” It was bound to get out eventually that there was no love between the two of them, and that her future husband would take other women. Aerity was not looking forward to the pity she would no doubt receive from people.
Lord Alvi nodded. “That is fair.”
A huff of unamused air blew from Aerity’s nose. “None of this is fair,” she said.
His eyebrows came together, and he stepped closer. “What do you expect from me, Princess? I am a man. You, my bride-to-be, are busy dreaming of a lawbreaking man who’s run afar, and your lovely cousin will not so much as glance at me.”
“You poor, dear thing.” Aerity moved closer, too, practically hissing. “I’m so very sorry my cousin and I are not meeting your needs—”
Footsteps echoed down the hall and they looked to see a guard checking out the noise.
“Leave us!” Aerity yelled.
The guard gave a stiff nod and turned on his heel.
“I am trying to learn your ways the best that I can, Princess, but my blood will always run cold—I am Ascomannian. Your Lochlan ways are not instinctive to me. I cannot understand why your society hinders its people in so many ways.”
In his voice was something akin to homesickness. Aerity could almost hear the mirrored sense of entrapment that she felt.
“What are you planning?” Lord Alvi asked. His eyes held distress. Always, this man confused her with his brutish instincts and untimely kindnesses.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“I disagree. You are my concern whether you want to be or not. If you are planning to put yourself into danger—”
“Do not fret about my well-being. I will seek Lieutenant Gillfin for help and companionship.”
“Ah, a Lochlan man you can trust,” he said as if hurt.
“Aye, that’s right,” Aerity said back. “A man who’s loyal and won’t make a fool of me someday.”
Lord Alvi grasped Aerity by her shoulders, his hands large and hot. His face was close to hers, and then, oh seas, she heard the towel fall to the floor. Her eyes stayed glued to his, and he seemed unaffected by the fact that he was now stark-naked. She closed her eyes.
“Kindly retrieve your towel.” She kept her eyes closed until she heard him shift the cloth back into place.
“It doesn’t have to be this way between us, Aerity.”
Her eyes burned when she opened them. She knew that she could try to make things work with this man. She could attempt to be affectionate. Perhaps over time her feelings for Paxton would lessen, if only she could put it from her mind that he was out there somewhere feeling the same way as she. But she didn’t think she could let Pax go without closure. And there was one other person whose feelings she couldn’t forget.
“What of Wyneth?” Aerity whispered.
His hold on her loosened and he dropped his arms. “I admit . . . she pervades many of my thoughts. But I swear, I will leave her be. I’m trying to respect your ways, though you Lochlans make everything more complicated than necessary with your unspoken rules.” He said this last bit with wry humor that Aerity could not bring herself to feel.
She swallowed hard. The whole situation would be simpler if she’d be
en raised to view marriage as Lord Alvi and his people did. Perhaps if her parents hadn’t instilled in her the value of love and monogamy, only to rip it away. But they each were who they were, and beliefs were not so easily changed.
Lief’s deep voice softened. He loomed before her, his body seeming confident while his eyes gave off nervousness.
“Could we at least try to make this work? I do care for your happiness, Princess.” His sincerity made her suck in her breath, only to catch the scent of honeysuckle.
“You still smell of my maid.”
He broke away, looking to the side with a regretful shake of his head.
“There is something I must do,” Aerity said. “Afterward . . .” She took another breath and looked into his disappointed eyes. “When I return, we shall see.”
“You’re going searching for him, aren’t you? The Lashed One.”
Aerity said nothing.
“It’s not safe,” he said. “And I don’t wish to seem cruel, but if he had wanted you, then—”
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I cannot move forward until I see him one last time. I beg you to let me leave and not say a word to anyone. You of all people know the need to have something for yourself.”
Lord Alvi’s eyebrows suddenly knit sharply. “If you find him, what do you mean to do?”
Aerity smiled wickedly. “You’re not the only one with needs, Lord Alvi.”
Though Princess Aerity’s motives in finding Paxton were more about her heart than her body, the look of offense on Lord Alvi’s face as she walked away was something she’d forever cherish.
Chapter
5
Lady Wyneth disobeyed her father’s orders to stay inside the castle during the Lashed list burnings. Her urge to make herself useful had fled, but the feeling of reckless abandon was still there. She stood inside a patch of trees, watching in the gray morning light as soldiers rekindled the still-smoking flames of the night before. Her face was cold, but she felt numb to the elements.
The other royals stood watching from the balcony, wrapped in shawls and cloaks against the chill.
The castle grounds were emptied of villagers now. Many had been trampled and injured during the night’s chaos. People had flooded out of royal lands, too many at once, and their hands could not all be checked upon their mad exit. Only one died, a maiden, engaged to be married. And her killer was not yet found.
A gust of wind blew, lifting leaves from the cobbled path and spinning them away, only to be replaced by others. She watched as Harrison, atop the scaffold above the fire, threw the giant scrolls onto the flames, one by one, as his soldiers handed them to him. His jaw was set. His eyes squinted when the wind turned the smoke toward him. The last scroll hit the top and tumbled down, charring before their eyes.
Harrison stood tall and peered around at the vacant royal lands. His eyes skimmed the rows of soldiers standing nearby, and rose to the castle’s balcony. He’s a fine man. So handsome. Wyneth jolted at the thought and blinked it away. It’s just that he is so like Breckon was, she told herself.
“It is done!” Harrison shouted. His voice reverberated through her, the finality of his words sinking deep. They had succumbed to the madwoman’s first demand. They no longer knew who the Lashed were throughout Lochlanach. But did it really matter? How many had kept their abilities hidden, like Paxton Seabolt? Wyneth didn’t believe the people on those lists were ones they needed to worry about. The true foes were hidden. Lurking.
All was quiet but for the crackle of flames and rustle of leaves. When nothing happened, the royals slowly made their way back into the castle, and the soldiers dispersed. Harrison stopped and stared in her direction. She lifted a hand to signal she was fine, but she quite liked the idea of his companionship. He caught her eye a moment longer, then made a move as if to go to her, until one of his soldiers said something, and he nodded, turning to follow. He spared one glance back at her and a small smile of acknowledgment.
Wyneth’s hope for his company sank. He had work to do. She didn’t want to be alone, and with Harrison there was no pressure to feign happiness. He understood her pain in a way few others could.
Something hot touched her arm, and Wyneth jumped.
“My lady, you’re freezing,” Lord Alvi said.
She wrapped her arms around herself and realized how right he was. His eyes narrowed at her in worry, the close attention giving her a heady rush. His own arms were barer than hers, but he radiated heat. A sudden urge to lean into that heat overtook her and she cleared her throat, shaking out her arms. She needed to get a grip on herself.
“I’m fine. I was just about to return to my chambers.” She turned and sensed him following in silence.
As they reached the hall leading to her chambers, Lord Alvi called out. “Lady Wyneth, may I have a moment?”
As always, his voice and attention created a maelstrom in her, causing her body to feel oversensitive. She turned and slowly lifted her eyes from his boots up his muscular legs to the kilt that fell to his knees and then to his strong, wide torso. His face was so masculine and dashing that her breath halted. Soon, soon, this man would be marrying and bedding her cousin and she hoped to the deep seas that she would not always react this way to him.
“What is it?” she breathed out.
Surprisingly, he kept his distance. She felt both disappointment and relief.
“It’s your cousin.”
Wyneth’s senses cleared, and she stood taller. “Aerity? What of her?”
“I fear I’ve . . . failed her. I fear I might always fail her.” He kept his eyes on his hands, turning them over in a nervous gesture, searching them. Wyneth cocked her head as she watched him, floored by his openness. “I’m trying, you see. I’m trying to learn what is expected of me, though I don’t quite agree with the restrictions. Right now . . . I’m trying not to touch you.”
His voice had lowered, and Wyneth hugged her arms around herself again, though she was no longer the least bit cold. When he looked from his hands to her eyes, she dropped her gaze. “Good on you for your efforts.” It came out embarrassingly scratchy. Shame filled her. She shouldn’t feel disappointed by his self-control. This is what was best. She should fully want him to keep his hands to himself.
“Aye, well, for what it’s worth, if you truly wish me to leave you alone, my lady . . . I will.”
Now she let herself look into his sincere eyes. She believed he was trying. It made her sad and proud. Her eyes burned, and she nodded.
“Yes, Lord Alvi. That is my wish.” Her words were thick, as if she had to shove each one from her throat.
“So be it.” Lord Alvi swallowed. “And I might reap your cousin’s wrath for telling you this, but she’s planning something this evening. I think she is going after the Lashed One, Paxton.” Lord Alvi nodded when she gasped. “I don’t agree with her decision, but I will not try to stop her. Perhaps you can try, but I will not.”
Why that little sneak. Would she really leave without a word?
“Thank you,” Wyneth told him. She reached for his hand and squeezed quickly, releasing before his warmth could envelop her. “Thank you for everything.”
He bent at the waist in a shallow bow and turned to leave her. She watched him unabashedly. For all his faults and outlandish behavior, he had unknowingly helped her through the most difficult time of her life. Though she wished she’d never fallen for the man who would become her cousin’s husband, she would always be grateful for the distraction he had provided during those initial weeks and months after Breckon’s death, wrong though it might have been.
She smiled sadly while he disappeared from sight. Things were changing. Everyone around her seemed to be moving on, moving forward, and yet she felt . . . stuck. Wyneth looked down at the drab mourning garb she’d been wearing for nearly half a year. Breckon wasn’t coming back. The thought hit her with enough force to make her grab the doorframe. Once she’d taken several steadying breat
hs, she reached for her heavy cloak, pulling it around her shoulders.
And then her feet were moving.
She didn’t let herself think about where she was going until she was through the castle doors and halfway down the path. Inside, she trembled. She did not want to do this. She’d vowed to herself never to return to that place of her nightmares, yet her feet continued to take her forward. She clutched her cloak tighter against a gust of wind.
She took a fork in the path to the left. It was a less trodden path that had become overgrown over the fall when there were so many other areas of importance to tend. She crunched through piles of leaves and pine needles, past trees with brittle branches. Wyneth’s feet halted at the sight of the long wooden dock. Her eyes trailed down the planks of wood until landing at the end.
The last time she’d seen it, it had glistened with dark blood, which she braced herself to see again. But it was only wood. Nature had washed all traces of Breckon’s death away. She knew instinctively that seeing it from afar was not enough. If she was to move forward, she needed to be at that spot one last time, to confront the fear and loss that held her captive. You must do this, she told herself.
Wyneth moved like an old woman, slowly, as if her bones protested. Her body fought against each step, remembering the horrors. She pressed through the last of the trees, over the brush, closing her eyes against the chilling breeze from the creek as she pushed into the open space.
She was cold and alone, so alone, walking down that dock—a complete turnaround from the last time she’d walked it, when she’d been on Breckon’s arm, her heart full, her body warm and at ease. As bouts of panic threatened to rise, she repeated the mantra to herself over and over: You’re fine, you’re safe, you’re strong.
When she made it to the edge, she fell to her knees and hesitantly pressed her hands against the wood, moving her fingers over the grooves. Not a single trace of him. Her tears hit the dock, leaving small, dark droplets like rain. Wyneth raised her head, staring out at the spot where he’d pushed her in, and the line of the creek where she’d swum to the dock at the other side. All the while, she pushed down her panic, her instinct to run from that place.