The Lady's Choice (23 page)

To Louise Cusack for her inspiration and excellent advice over the last seven years.

To my editors Carol George and Sarah Fairhall, for continuing to have faith in my stories.

To my agent, Clare Forster, for her guidance and advice.

To the Destiny authors for their fellowship and support.

To the 2007 YON Townsville Writers, North Queensland Romance Writers and my 2011 RWA 5DI group for friendship during my writing journey.

To Romance Writers Australia (RWA) and Queensland Writers Centre for assisting writers, especially in the regions.

To the Friends of Princess Avenger, for their enthusiasm and support for my stories.

To my husband, Michael, and my sons for their unending love and belief and for sharing in the disappointments and triumphs of a writing life.

Bernadette Rowley is an author of fantasy romance who grew up on rural properties on the Sunshine Coast. Her teenage years were spent training her beloved horses, reading the fantasy stories of Tolkien, Brooks and Eddings and dreaming of becoming a vet. She graduated in 1987 and bought her own practice at Bli Bli 2 ½ years later.

Bernadette now works part time as a vet, allowing her five days a week for her passion, writing. She now lives in Townsville with her husband of 25 years, their boys (now all teenagers) and Slippers the cat. Her other interests are reading (fantasy and romance), singing (a capella), cricket and music.

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First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2013

Copyright © Bernadette Rowley 2013

The moral right of the author has been asserted

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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Woman: Shutterstock/Melpomene

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ISBN: 978-1-74348-397-8

Pain dragged Alecia Zialni of Brightcastle back to awareness. Gentle fingers grazed her left cheek and she froze, willing her body to remain still but unable to slow her racing heart. The sharp metallic odour of blood swamped her senses as her mind sought to explain her predicament. The fingers moved from her head to her arms and legs, brisk and practised, deftly exploring her body for hurts.

She gathered her nerve and opened her eyes. Pain shot through her left temple and she blinked tears away. A man in a charcoal-grey soldier's uniform leaned over her, his dark curls falling forward to frame a face all hard planes and straight lines. Gold flecks sparkled in sea-green eyes that reminded her of the stormy ocean at Wildecoast.

‘You should be more careful with whom you pick a fight.' His deep voice caused a thrill of unease within her. He rose and strode down the cobbled street, his dark cloak swirling against the taut muscles of his calves.

Alecia released her trapped breath, mesmerised by the grace with which the soldier moved: more like a stalking wolf than a man.
Where is he going?
And then she saw the body of the burly redhead, the handle of a knife sprouting from his chest, the crude tattoo of a serpent and dagger on his forearm. Alecia's insides clenched at the sound of steel against bone as the dark stranger pulled the blade free, cleaned it on the victim's shirt and slid it into his boot. She glimpsed a ridged scar on the back of her rescuer's left hand as he returned to her side.

Alecia raised tentative fingers to her cheek and tears threatened to spill again. Her skull throbbed in time with her face. Jumbled images crowded her mind but she sorted through them and remembered the inn and the mercenary. She peered at the hand the man offered her and followed the arm up to eyes that now held more than a trace of impatience. Her heart lurched in her chest. The man had likely noted her every feature! She touched her head and sighed with relief. At least her hood still hid her long blonde hair. If only he didn't look too closely at the clothes she wore, perhaps her secret was safe.

‘You —' Alecia struggled to speak around the lump in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. ‘You have my gratitude,' she said, her voice husky. She clutched his hand and he pulled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a child.

The sudden movement sent a shooting pain through her skull and she wavered, dizzy and disorientated, her palms on the silver buttons of his broad chest. The soldier caught her wrists and the hairs on Alecia's arms rose at the contact. Her gaze locked onto the curious amber stone that hung at his throat. It emitted a faint ochre light that flared and then died as she pulled away. Her eyes must be playing tricks.

When the world stopped spinning, she pulled free and straightened the longbow across her shoulders, then stooped to retrieve her quiver and arrows. Her movements caused the soldier to arch one strong dark brow and Alecia's face grew hot. He didn't seem impressed by her armoury.

‘You've the look of trouble about you, lad.' The soldier, a captain by the insignias on his tunic, stepped closer.

Alecia's heart raced. So far her disguise held, but for how long?

‘I'm not looking to cause trouble,' she said. ‘I'll be on my way, if you don't mind.'
Damn, why had she asked him for permission?

‘I do mind.' The captain's words were low and gruff. ‘I'd like to know why you picked a fight with a man twice your size.'

More like three times, Alecia thought. His closeness made her skin tingle. What was wrong with her? He was just a man – and a soldier at that!

‘If you can't explain yourself you must come with me to the guardhouse.'

He seized her arm and her body stiffened, heart thudding against her ribs. Any one of her father's soldiers might recognise her.

Alecia pretended to go along with the captain as he walked past the inn towards his horse. As they neared the mouth of Firedrake Alley, the weak midday sun struck the quartz walls of the hilltop castle that gave the town its name. The captain threw up his arm to shield his eyes from the glare and Alecia seized her opportunity. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and bolted between the buildings. The odour of rotten garbage and human waste assailed her nostrils but she barely noticed. This was her world.

Captain Vard Anton swore. Damn, the lad was fast. But he wouldn't get far. Vard wasn't familiar with this part of Brightcastle Town but he did have a nose for a trail, and that nose still twitched with the lad's scent. Was it lavender? He shook his head and started towards the lane. The youth was already halfway to the first crossroads.

‘Blast!' The stiff leather of his new military boots pinched his toes. It was typical of Prince Zialni to supply boots for show rather than comfort. The air was thick with the foul stink of the slop that caked the alley. Each step brought new and hideous smells to his nose but he grasped the amber talisman at his throat, mentally sorted through the jumble of odours and locked onto the faint hint of perfume. Despite the slippery surface, he picked up his pace and was gratified to see that the young man hadn't pulled any further ahead.

If Vard could just stay within sight, the lad would tire soon. He recalled those startling lilac eyes as they stared up at him out of that battered face. Why not just turn around and get back to his horse before some scoundrel rode off on it? But he knew he wouldn't. The sharp prick of instinct told him he needed to discover why the young man had attacked an armed mercenary on a public street in broad daylight.

He slid to a halt in the dirt of the alley and strode forward to the next laneway. His quarry had disappeared. A scrawny dog rifling its way through a pile of refuse sniffed at Vard, whined and ran the other way. Vard smiled. He could still put the canines in their place.

He sent his senses out into the surrounding alleys, searching for a scent or sound of the lad. The faint echoes of a racing human heart drifted back, several alleys towards the town centre. No need to give up yet. That lad needed help and, if Vard's instincts were right, it might well have something to do with the tyrant, Prince Zialni. The groan of a swollen timber window being forced open sounded and he glanced up. The contents of a chamber pot cascaded over his head and down his shoulders, the stench overwhelming. He spat the fetid concoction out of his mouth and wiped his eyes clear in time to see his quarry's amused lilac gaze as the window slammed shut.

Alecia gasped, hands on knees, her face throbbing in time with her thumping heart. She had circled around and was now only two alleys from where the captain had found her. His gold-flecked eyes burned in her memory. She thought she knew all her father's soldiers, but her dark rescuer was a stranger. Something about him put her on edge, suggested he was neither tame nor civilised.

Her left eye had swollen shut. The one person who could help her now was Hetty, her childhood nurse and a gifted healer, who lived on Firedrake Alley. She settled her bow and arrows over her back, feeling for the knives in her belt and right boot. The hard knot of fear in her gut softened at the touch of the weapons.

The hide of her boots made not a sound as she crept to the end of the lane and peered around the corner of a two-storeyed brothel. From here she could see the rear of Hetty's small double-level shack and had a clear view back to the main street. Foot traffic had returned to the market precinct in the short time since she had fled from the captain, but the narrow street that ran behind Hetty's was deserted except for the whiskered drunk who snored against a wall several doors up.

Alecia crossed the street to Hetty's and climbed onto the edge of the rain barrel, reaching for the handholds below the second-storey window. Once she was high enough to peer over the sill, she removed one hand to give the window a shove. It opened a crack. Alecia grasped the sill, pushed the glass all the way open and pulled herself through. She landed with a soft thump on the wooden floorboards of Hetty's bedchamber and crossed to the window that overlooked Firedrake Alley. Nothing moved down there.

A shoe scuffed against the floorboards and she spun, knife in hand. Hetty stood near the door, hands clutching a stained apron, her bushy grey eyebrows bristling above eyes so dark they were almost black. Deep wrinkles framed those eyes and wild silver hair spiked unrestrained from her scalp.

‘Did your mother never tell you it was bad manners to enter the house of another without permission?' Hetty's low voice rasped past a throat horribly burnt some years ago when Prince Zialni had sentenced her to burning at the stake. Alecia had been her saviour.

Alecia pulled the cap and hood back to bare her head, flinching as she brushed her injured face. ‘My mother is dead,' she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. ‘How did you know it was me?' she said, pointing to her outfit.

Hetty frowned. ‘You call that a disguise? You were lucky this time, though by the look of that eye, your fortune almost ran out.'

Alecia fingered the puffy flesh around her left eye and a wave of nausea struck her stomach. How would she explain the injury to her father? ‘Please do not lecture me, I feel bad enough already.' Her belief in her fighting skills had been misplaced. Twenty-four summers of sheltered royal existence had been no match for the violence of that mercenary.

Hetty dropped her apron and folded her arms beneath her scrawny bosom. ‘Come down to the kitchen.'

Alecia followed Hetty down the stairs and left her bow and quiver in the hall. A small pot bubbled over the fire in the kitchen hearth and the odour of rotten eggs, stinkweed and garlic hung in the room. Hetty shuffled across to the window, drew the heavy curtain and turned up the lamp.

Alecia wandered over to the shelves on the opposite wall. No matter how often she visited Hetty she always felt a reluctant fascination for the brains, spiders, eyes and teeth in the glass containers.

Hetty clutched Alecia's arm and pulled her to a seat at the small wooden table in the centre of the room. Her gaze softened as she examined Alecia's injuries at close quarters. ‘I can help you, Princess, but it'll take all my skill.' She soaked a snowy cloth with water from a wooden bowl and bathed the crusted blood from the damaged eye.

‘Ouch!' Alecia's eyes watered at the sting of bruised flesh and she gripped her knees to stop herself from pushing Hetty away.

‘Nearly finished,' the old woman said, her gaze gripping Alecia's. ‘Did he do this to you? The man with the gilded eyes?'

Alecia frowned, recalling the disturbing eyes of the captain. How did her old nurse know of him? ‘He was my rescuer. One of the mercenaries lies dead.'

Hetty reached into her apron pocket, removed a velvet-wrapped object and uncovered a flat amber stone the size of her palm. She dropped it into the pot over the fire, muttering under her breath.

The hairs on Alecia's arms stood up as an orange vapour rose over the pot. She longed to ask what Hetty knew of the captain but the witch would not welcome any interruption.

Alecia suppressed a yelp as Hetty whirled from the fire, virulent ochre mist oozing from the hearth pot that hung from a wooden hook in her hand. The old woman plonked it in the centre of the table then removed the amber stone with wooden tongs, rewrapped it and placed it in her pocket. She poured the concoction onto a saucer, soaked a small piece of linen in the potion, picked it up with the tongs and turned to Alecia.

‘That smells terrible.' Alecia leaned back in her chair.

‘I wouldn't have thought you'd let a small thing like this upset you,' Hetty said.

‘I am
not
upset,' Alecia said, sitting up straight so that Hetty could reach her. ‘How does it work?'

‘Ah, that would be giving away my secrets, and I wouldn't do that unless you were my apprentice. Tilt your head to the side, please.' Alecia complied and Hetty laid her poultice over the wounded eye and cheekbone. ‘It must stay there while the sand timer empties.' She dragged the large wooden timer from a hook on the wall and placed it on the table.

The bile rose in Alecia's throat at the smell; she concentrated on the feel of the cloth to distract herself. The gentle warmth of the poultice changed to a tingling. Something was happening but would it be enough to fool her father? ‘You mentioned the man with the gilded eyes. When did you see him?'

‘Hetty doesn't miss much.' The old woman shook her wild silver hair. ‘He chased you into the alley and came here looking for you.'

‘He came here?' Alecia didn't quite manage to keep the squeak from her voice.

‘Yes, he barrelled in as if he owned the place. He charged up the stairs to my bedchamber, asking all sorts of questions about a lad with lilac eyes who fought a mercenary in the square. When he didn't find anyone, he looked as though he would do murder. His eyes turned fully golden, and I don't mind saying he frightened me. I have my little secrets but I'm no match for the likes of him.'

‘Why would he come here, Hetty?'

The old woman's eyes dropped from Alecia's and she studied her calloused palms.

‘Hetty?'

The dark eyes rose again. ‘I saw him chase you. He would've caught you. I made him think you were in this house.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I emptied my chamber pot over his head and ensorcelled him so he believes he saw you at the window.'

‘Hetty, he could have throttled you.' Alecia's lips twitched at the thought of the dashing captain covered in slop.

‘He's one of your father's soldiers. I thought I was safe until he fixed me with those eyes and called me a witch. He knows what I am, Princess.'

‘Does he know what you did?'

‘I can't say. But he'll return. He said so. You must be careful. There is something about that one. Something wild.'

Alecia chewed her bottom lip, the cloth on her face forgotten. She recalled the unease she'd felt when he spoke to her. A sixth sense warned her he was more dangerous than the mercenary he had killed. Alecia had never seen Hetty frightened, even when she had been tried for sorcery. The witch maintained her anonymity with a thin veneer of magic that changed her appearance, but if the captain knew her true identity, she was in danger. But what to do? Housing was scarce in the town and Hetty was fiercely independent. She would not want to leave her home.