Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
And why had the man lied about his reason? What lay upon the road north that Iarthil wanted to revisit—or was there something along the western route he wished to avoid?
If the last, it mattered not. They would be going west. And without Serjeant Iarthil. Of that Warrick was certain.
But he could do nothing yet. Not until he rid Elina of her so-called curse.
His thunderous mood was not lightened by the slump of Elina’s shoulders nor the weary, resigned way she regarded her carriage. At least that was something he could change now.
Warrick mounted his horse, then trotted the beast up beside Elina as she was being handed up into the carriage.
“Ride with me, Elina.”
Instantly the nurse and attendants were all aflutter. Warrick only cared for the yearning that filled Elina’s eyes as she turned.
She darted a look at Iarthil. “Does he ask me to ride with him?”
Would the serjeant lie about this, too? Warrick held out his hand to her, making clear his invitation.
“Oh, but she cannot!” Chardryn cried. “She has not enough energy to ride!”
“If he holds me, I do not think I will need to expend any energy at all. And I cannot bear another hot day within that carriage.”
“My queen—”
“When I tire, Nurse Chardryn, I will return to my pillows.”
Elina reached up for his hand. Easily he lifted her slight weight, settling her sideways across his lap. Though the short length of her gown would allow her to ride astride, the saddle would chafe bare inner thighs—and Warrick had every intention of burying his head between those thighs when next he was in her bed. That would be no pleasure for her if her skin was tender and chapped.
With a happy sigh, she leaned back into the crook of his arm and rested her head upon his shoulder. Her sun-warmed hair had a pleasant blossomy scent that filled his every breath. “Tomorrow I will wear riding trousers.”
And tonight she would wear nothing. But Warrick only grunted a reply. He could not respond to her here, when Iarthil might overhear and realize that Warrick understood what she said.
She lifted her head when he nudged his horse forward. “I feel as though I’m upon an elephant. This is the biggest horse I’ve ever seen. And, I’m sorry to say, the ugliest. Did they breed a troll to its dam?”
He could not stop his grin and buried his face against her hair, lest she see his reaction. Nor could he regret his near-laugh when Elina nestled in closer and splayed her hand over his heart.
All was quiet for a moment, then she gave a shaky little laugh. “Look at what you have done to me. Saving me. Kissing me. Holding me atop a troll of a horse. I’m so near to death. And yet…I feel as if I’ve finally begun to live.”
So did Warrick. Beginning the moment he’d looked upon her face. His heart had been beating all these years, but he’d not truly known what it had been beating for.
He knew now. Just as he knew that Elina was not near to death.
But everyone who posed a danger to her was.
Elina the Betrayed
The Northern Road
Elina lasted until midmorning. She’d done well until suddenly the rhythm of the horse’s gait had her leaning over and puking onto the ground. Through it all Warrick tenderly held her—though when he laid her in the carriage, his face was stone. Elina might have assumed that expression meant he was angry if she had not seen it so often in her mirror.
It was anger, of a sort—the rage of helplessness. Of being powerless to change a situation, for better or worse. That was a rage she knew too well.
He settled Elina onto her lounging bed and mounted his horse, but he did not go far. From her pillows, she could watch him riding alongside the carriage on that troll of a stallion.
“Your tonic, my queen.”
“I thank you, Chardryn.” Gratefully she sipped, savoring the cool sweetness that soothed her raw throat.
A sharp query from Warrick made her glance outside. His gaze was focused on her cup but Elina wasn’t sure what he’d asked.
“Serjeant?”
“He asks what that is you drink.”
“A tonic—to give to me energy and strength.”
“He asks if it does.”
Elina nodded.
Warrick’s next response drew a small frown from the serjeant. “He says he will need to know how to make it.”
“Ask him why.”
Warrick’s reply raised the serjeant’s eyebrows. “He says it is a custom in the Dead Lands that, in the three days following marriage, a husband must see to his wife’s every need. He prepares your food, your drink, your bath.” His face reddened slightly. “He says that you will need no attendants. His will be the only face you see, his body your only covering.”
Scowling, Chardyrn placed her hand on the lid of her apothecary chest as if to protect it from invading barbarians. “The tonic is no mere drink. Many of the powders are rare; some of the herbs cannot be procured anywhere nearby and are not easily replaced. And the measurements must be precise. Too much, and medicine becomes poison.”