Page 86 of The Cornish Princess
He came closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
“I don’t know how you escaped,” he snarled when he was close enough to see inside the darkened hovel. “But I won’t give you another chance.”
His dark eyes glinted with ill-intent.
Somehow, Gwendolyn met his gaze squarely, showing him the blade in her hand, so it glinted against the morning sun. But this only made him bark with laughter, and still he paused… just inside the door, where his gaze found and settled on the boots of his fallen companion.
The smile abandoned his lips.
Málik moved with haste, deftly pressing his sword against the man’s throat. Only this time, the man was quick as well. He shoved backward, butting his thick head against Málik’s face.
Gwendolyn heard him cry out, and both men tumbled to the floor. For an instant, she stood frozen as they battled, swords too unwieldy to use in such proximity.
The raider put a knee on Málik’s sword hand, pressing his full weight against it, and Málik bucked beneath him, trying to displace him. Perhaps he could have, but the instant the man gave Gwendolyn his back, she rushed forward in defense of Málik, thrusting her small blade precisely where Málik had taught her—straight into the man’s reins.
Just like he said, the man dropped like a stone, and Gwendolyn stood back, staring dumbly at the body as Málik pushed him away, then sprang to his feet, and dusted himself off.
His gaze narrowed on Gwendolyn. “I told you to stay,” he said.
Gwendolyn hitched her chin. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Why, indeed?
She shrugged, unable to confess the powerful surge of emotion she’d felt over the possibility of losing him. “You should say thank you,” she returned with a tremulous smile. “This time,Isavedyou.”
“Indeed, Princess,” he said. But the smile he returned didn’t match his tone or his words. “But don’t be too pleased with yourself; wefaehave eight lives.”
In answer, Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “I thought this was cats?”
“Alas, cats carry more favor with the gods. They have nine,” he said, winking. “One more thanwe. But let us go before his friends come searching.”
Gwendolyn needn’t be told twice. Re-sheathing the blade at her boot, she preceded him out the door.
ChapterThirty-Four
Gwendolyn had never worried overmuch about being outside the palace gates, but the landscape had never appeared more sinister, with the road ahead and behind swarming with shadows. The near moonless night was a ready cloak for betrayal.
Their chosen horses were sturdy blue roans, accustomed to hard work, if not so much travel. The journey was slow, because they were forced to stop often to water and rest them, but fortunately, they encountered no one along the Small Road, and night descended into near blackness. The pain at Gwendolyn’s thigh was a nagging reminder that there was treachery at hand, and the galloping gait of their horses a constant reminder of their urgency.
She daren’t consider what she might discover when she arrived home and feared the worst—a coup. After all, if someone dared attack the King’s daughter in the home of her uncle, a powerful duke, they might not have intended to answer for it later. No matter that she’d said nothing of this to Málik, for fear of making it true, she worried they would arrive to find the gates locked and her father’s head on a pike.
Whatever should happen, Gwendolyn trusted Málik to protect her—a prodigious change in feeling since their departure from Trevena. This man she had once so loathed had become the one man she didn’t wish to live without. And yet, having wielded a sword unto death, and watching her beloveds cut to pieces before her eyes, she understood how vital it was that she never rely on anyone but herself. Málik taught her that.
He gave no mercy and expected none in return. And neither would Gwendolyn, once she discovered who was behind this murderous affair. Vengeance took root in her belly and she could feel its rootstock strengthen and grow.
Now, at last, she understood why her father had reprimanded her over Bryn. She mustnever, everallow herself to be a pampered princess, and she realized, despite all her bluster, that she had been precisely that.
Worry roiled through her belly, though not for herself. Her father was a well-respected man. Their allies had benefited under his rule. The last time war had come to their gates was during her grandfather’s reign, when all the tribes were still at war and there was no High King to rule them all. Only now, she feared her people had grown discontented, and her thoughts returned to the glen.
The land was the life of the people; the king was the strength of the land. Little by little, that glen had deteriorated. And what would happen once it was gone?
