King Baudwin of Breoch is a broken man. Crushed in the height of war, crowned in the face of treason and turmoil, he fights to save his kingdom. Hoping to stave off rebellion, he reluctantly agrees to marry the daughter of his main opposition. But t...
Rhiannon put the last item in her knapsack and looked around her little hut to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Hopefully, she would be back before long, but she was bringing all personal belongings, just in case. If life had taught her anything, it was that one was never safe and one should presume nothing.
The last thing she wanted was to see her mother and step-father. It had been ten years, and they had never reached out until now. Not until she could serve them in some manner.
A deal with the king, indeed. And they thought she would just comply? She scoffed. After what had transpired, how could they think she owed them anything? She would return, look them in the face and tell them where they could stuff their deal.
She exited the hut and slammed the door shut behind her, a fitting sign of her mood. Expecting to find the knight—or errand boy?—ready and waiting for her, it annoyed her to discover that he was still asleep on the ground, head resting on his saddlebags.
Walking up to him, she stared down at the sleeping figure. He wasn't a bad-looking man. Probably the opposite, if she was being honest. He had unruly, chestnut-brown hair that was maybe just a tad too long, as if he hadn't bothered to cut it lately, and a short beard of the same colour.
Even lying down, he seemed tall. Impatient to get moving and get this ordeal over with, she kicked him in the shin. Of his good leg. She may be blunt, but she wasn't cruel.
He woke with a start, staring around him with bleary, hazel eyes. When they locked onto her, he almost seemed disappointed. What was he expecting? A lovely young maiden to wake him up with a sweet kiss? He would have to make do with a kick from a Swamp Witch.
"Let's go," she said tersely. "We can't dawdle all day."
The man glanced over the tops of the cypress trees where the first ray of sunlight was barely visible, but said nothing. Instead, he got up, not too gracefully, and collected his few things.
She watched as he saddled his horse and attached the saddlebags. The way he was moving, she could tell his bad leg was hurting him and his stiff movements indicated sore muscles in other parts of his body too.
"I assume you don't have a horse?"
She shook her head. It wasn't as if she had a stable around the back of her hut.
"I suspected as much. You can ride with me. We only need to make it to the village at the edge of the swamp. I left my carriage there." He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck to either side. After attaching his cane to a leather hoop on his saddle, he motioned for her to come forward.
"No, thank you. I'll walk."
He frowned. "It's a strong, northern horse," he said. "I promise he can handle both of our weights until we get out of the swamp."
"I'm sure he can, but I will walk." Not wanting to waste more time arguing, she hoisted her knapsack over her shoulder and followed the path leading to Aedon.
She couldn't hear the words, but he was definitely muttering something, and a few moments later the sound of feet and hooves followed behind her.
Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she frowned. "Why aren't you riding?"
"If you're walking, I'm walking."
That was the most obtuse thing she'd ever heard, so she stopped and turned around to face the stupid man. He stopped too, leaning on his wooden cane, and raised an eyebrow.
"Just ride the damn horse." She gave his cane a pointed look.
His jaw jutted stubbornly. "No. I will not ride while a lady is walking."
"Fine!" She threw her hands up in the air in frustration, then whipped around and kept walking. Stubborn, foolish man! Let him suffer. With that attitude, he probably was a knight. A stubborn, foolish knight with more honour than sense.
The sun was well and truly above them when most of her anger had dissipated and she stopped, pretending to want a moment's rest and a drink. As she sipped from her water-skin, she watched him as he moved around to finally sit down below a tree. His limp was more pronounced, and he was leaning more heavily on his good leg and cane.
Orc's ass! She would have to have to ride with the buffoon, wasn't she? Her entire body shuddered at the mere thought of having to be close to another human being, especially a man.
He had leaned his head back against the tree trunk, his eyes closed. His face looked set, resolute, rather than restful. Despite the amount of pain he must be in, he hadn't said a word. She had to give him that.
"What was your name again?" she demanded.
"Baudwin." He didn't even bother opening his eyes.
"Sir Baudwin? A knight?"
There was a moment's hesitation, then a nod.
"We're still quite a ways from the village. I think we will ride from here." She put her water-skin away again and stood up, brushing some dirt off her skirt.
He opened an eye to peer at her. "Oh, don't change your mind on my behalf. I'm fine." There might have been a slight note of sarcasm, but it was so faint she couldn't tell for sure.
"My feet are hurting," she lied.
Using the tree as leverage, Sir Baudwin got back on his feet. The look he gave her indicated that he knew she was lying, but he didn't contradict her. He should be grateful that she was lying to save his stupid honour.
Once he had mounted the big, black horse he held his arm out to her. Staring at that outreached hand, she had to force herself to take the two steps forward and take it with her own. It was strong and warm as he lifted her up to sit sideways in front of him.
Her long skirts kept her from straddling the animal. She debated cutting it off to allow it, that way she could sit behind the knight rather than in front. Her current position put her much too close for comfort.
Sir Baudwin nudged the horse to move, and Rhiannon tried to count the trees they passed to avoid thinking about the firm arms on each side of her, locking her in.
Panic bubbled just beneath the surface, and it was all she could do to stare straight ahead and count. Twelve. Thirteen. He smelled of pine trees and open skies. Just like home. Fourteen. Fifteen. The home she had done everything to forget.
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