“We should pause for a short rest,” said Lord Trey.
The guards pulled in their horses. Royce dismounted and reached up, gripping my waist and lifting me down. The physical relief was immediate, as my right hip had begun to hurt from the sidesaddle.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll bring food and water.”
In autumn, the day was cold, and I stood shivering inside my cloak as he walked toward the wagon bearing luggage and supplies. Quickly, his father moved to join him, and when they both reached the wagon, Lord Trey reached out and grasped Royce’s arm.
“Stop.”
They were a good twenty paces away, and Trey’s voice was low, but I could still hear him.
“What?” Royce asked, his tone not inviting an answer.
“There’s still time to turn around. This is madness. Take her back.”
“No.”
“You can’t possibly mean to bring her into our household?” Trey’s tone was incredulous now.
“You’re the one who’s been after me to choose a companion.”
“A skilled courtesan! Someone who could be of assistance. That girl has no education, no conversation, no experiences outside of Lady’s Giselle’s apartments, and in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s terrified of you.”
Royce turned to face him. “After eight years with Loraine, does it surprise you that I’d choose someone more biddable?”
Trey’s voice rose. “You know how isolated the de Marcos live. You’ve seen how Jean keeps Giselle away from society and neglects her at the same time. From what I could see last night and this morning, that girl is her only companion, and you…you, who could have any woman, would make claim on Giselle’s one comfort?” He paused. “This is an impulse on your part, and you’ll regret it. Take the girl back.”
His words brought me hope.
Without responding, Royce dug through a burlap sack, removed a few objects, and turned away from his father, walking toward me. My flicker of hope died. Royce was not going to take me home.
Approaching, he carried an apple and a biscuit—with a canteen on a cord draped over his wrist.
“Here,” he said, handing me the apple. “It’s not much and we have a good distance to go, but there will be a decent supper waiting for us at home.”
Home.
My home was falling farther and farther behind. But he was trying to be kind, and I was hungry, having eaten no breakfast. So, I took the apple.
“Thank you.”
My voice sounded small, and his gaze passed over my face. Then he uncorked the canteen and held it out. I took a long drink, grateful for the water.
“Can we eat while we ride, my lord?” the eldest of the guards asked. “As it is, we’re not going to make the manor before dark.”
Trey came walking back, carrying an apple of his own. He offered Royce a questioning look. “Forward or backward.”
Royce gripped my waist and lifted me onto the mare. “Forward.”
Lord Trey sighed.
We rode on. I tried to eat my apple with one hand while gripping my mount’s mane with the other, but I managed only a few bites.
The tunnel of yellow and orange trees gave way to a dense forest of evergreens. Their branches did not reach across the road, and once more, this gave me a view of the open sky. Again…I felt exposed. The same inexplicable fear began rising. I understood why I feared both Royce and the horse, but I didn’t understand why I feared the open sky. Forcing myself to focus, I noted the sun sinking in the sky to my left. Though I’d never had an opportunity to practice navigating the four directions, I made note that we were traveling south. This knowledge spurred me to pay attention. Should any opportunity arise, I must to be able to find my way home.
We stopped once at a stream to water the horses, but Royce did not dismount—and so neither did I. We pressed on.
Hours passed.
The discomfort in my right hip grew into pain. I tried shifting in the saddle several times, but nothing helped. The sun dipped low, and dusk approached.
“Another stop,” Lord Trey called.
He was riding behind us, and Royce turned with an annoyed expression, as if to argue, but his father cut him off.
“Look at the girl. She’s nearly done in.”
Royce looked at me. I must have made a pitiful sight because he pulled up his horse and swung his leg over before hopping to the ground. Then he lifted me from the saddle to stand beside him. This time, he had to hold me up for a few moments before I could stand on my own.
Trey and the guards all dismounted as well, walking around to stretch their legs. No one complained at Lord Trey having forced a halt. I was grateful for the respite and accepted the canteen from Royce when he offered it. The water was stale, but it quenched my thirst.
“Not far now,” he said.
His words brought no comfort. What was waiting for me ahead? I would be alone, without my lady, in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people—and no one who loved me. I was in no hurry to be lifted back into the saddle.
After far too short a break, the same guard who’d spoken at our lunch stop began heading for his horse. Looking over his shoulder, he spoke to Lord Trey. “We should get moving, my lord. I don’t like the idea of passing through this forest at night.”
Trey nodded and said. “Royce, perhaps the girl could ride straddle behind you for the remainder of the way? At least she could lean on you to rest.”
My name is Kara.
None of them ever used my name.
“Yes,” Royce answered him, turning to lift me once again.
His hands never reached my waist.
In that same instant, something whizzed through the air and struck the shoulder of a guard standing near us.
An arrow.
The man dropped, and Royce whirled.
More arrows flew from several directions, striking the guards’ shoulders and thighs. Most men were hit multiple times. The man up on the wagon grabbed a sword from beside him on the bench and jumped down, as if looking for someone to fight.
An arrow struck his right shoulder and then another protruded from his left arm. With a cry, he dropped the sword. An arrow hit his thigh, and his leg gave way.
This all happened so fast that I was unable to take much in. One instant, Royce had been reaching for my waist, and the next instant, our guards were all on the ground, too wounded to fight—but none were dead. Only Trey, Royce, and I remained untouched.
“Don’t move!” commanded a voice from the trees.
Four men rushed in from different directions to surround us. They had dusky skin and black hair, with long bows and quivers slung over their backs and carrying short swords. Scraps of cloth, tied around their heads, covered the lower parts of their faces.
At the sight of the masked men coming toward us, the eldest guard somehow pulled his sword and tried to stand, but the tallest of our assailants put a sword to his throat.
“Drop it,” he ordered.
Another wave of