There’s no denying the way my heartbeat quickened when I first saw him earlier today. Or my excitement at finding him near the docks.
Both are signs of attraction. So I know better than to be standing here on the dock, trading barbs with him. And yet . . .
“What are you doing here?” I ask again. It’s been many years since the king sent men to Murwood End, and though we trade often with both Meria and Edingham, its nobles rarely visit our shores. Except for one reason.
“I am not at liberty to discuss it.”
He acts exactly as I’d expect a member of the Curia would.
No, not just any member. A commander. Skilled in battle, loyal to the king, not a man to be trifled with. But I’ve never been one to follow rules.
“Not at liberty?” I freeze when he takes a step toward me.
Aware of the looks we’re getting, I hold my ground. Although most of the Voyagers wear mail hauberk and chausses as he does, his brightly colored tunic, emblazoned with the Merian coat of arms, clearly marks him a Southerner. Fine fabrics for a fine lord.
“I make you nervous?”
Oddly, no.
I shake my head. “Curious”—for more reasons than I’m willing to name—“but not nervous.”
That seems to surprise him.
“I’ve not met a maid like you before, Aedre.”
“There you are,” a familiar voice says as footsteps hustle toward us.
Damnation. Not now. Not him.
“Your father bid me find you.”
Agnar sidesteps a fisherman passing in the opposite direction, his gaze never leaving the commander. I’ve no more desire to introduce the two than I do to leave and return to the forge and inform my father about this discussion.
But I need to.
Nothing occurs in Murwood End in secret. From nobles and captains to freemen and fishermen, all will know of this conversation between the king’s man and me.
“My father can wait,” I inform Agnar, who looks at me as if he’s tempted to snatch me away at this very moment. Eyeing the commander suspiciously, he introduces himself.
“Agnar Haroldson.”
Lord d’Abella does not flinch at the clipped introduction.
“Lord Vanni d’Abella.”
I roll my eyes at their display, unable to say which of them puffs their chest out more than the other. Agnar, despite my having told him many times over the years we are more akin to brother and sister than husband and wife, asks for my hand often. Thankfully, it’s been some time, however, and he’s been lately spotted with the miller’s daughter.
It would be a good match. Both of them are kindhearted and pleasant to look at, and their children would come into the world blessed in many ways. If they marry, I will be happy for them.
But at the moment, Agnar is not thinking of the miller’s daughter. He glares at the Southerner as I did earlier. Though why I should feel compelled to defend the man, I do not know. And yet I find myself saying, “He is Curia Commander to King Galfrid.”
We know little of southern politics here—our trade with them is sparser than our dealings with the islands to the north—but we know the history of Meria. Of its structures, of its past. We know what led Murwood End to isolate itself by more than just geography.
And although there’s no love lost for the king, there’s no denying “commander” is a coveted title. This lord’s position changes everything. Agnar, a warrior himself, visibly changes at the news, straightening and losing some of his aggression.
“First commander, or second?” he asks, cocking his head. “Or are you the Knight Commander?”
All signal greatness. A king’s second is a skilled knight, indeed, and the Knight’s Commander leads the king’s men into battle. But the first commander is regarded as the one person in the kingdom most capable of keeping the king, and his people, safe.
“First commander.”
The way he says it sends a chill down my back. When Lord d’Abella looks at me, I know for certain he exposes my weakness as a Garra.
A love healer who’s never desired a man so deeply that naught else mattered. My grandmother always insisted I’d feel that way myself someday, and I finally do.
For the wrong man.
“Your men are within the Sailor’s Inn?” Agnar asks.
“Aye.”
“I’ve just left there. They said you are looking for Master Aldwine?”
Lord d’Abella glances at me.
Agnar’s words have shaken me to my core, but I don’t let it show.
“Go on,” I say, finding it easy to sound annoyed. “Agnar is a man. Certainly you are at liberty to tell him what you could not tell me.” Then I spin on my heel and walk away.
The commander calls for me to return, but I make my way along the docks, watching as a ship glides toward shore. Walking by villagers who bid a good day to me, and I them, I slip unseen between two stone buildings. One of them, I realize, is the inn where Lord d’Abella’s men reside, and I pull up my hood as a barrier against watchful eyes as I watch the ship grow larger.
Is it Kipp’s boat?
I pray it is not.
Stay away. They’ve come for you again.
As the ship veers closer, I see it is not his, which means my friend is still safely out to sea. But he will return soon.
And there can be only one reason the king’s men are here for him.
Chapter Five
Aedre
“Take this.” I shove a coin into the boy’s hand. “Give the smith a message.”
The boy’s eyes widen as he stares at the coin. This prompts me to give him another, knowing he sees too few of them in those small hands. “I am Aedre, his daughter.” A fact that he likely already knows. “Tell him I’ve been delayed but will return before sunset. Can you do that?”
He nods vigorously and runs away. I will still receive a blistering from Father, but at least he will not worry for my safety. Pulling the hood down a bit farther, I enter and look for them.
There.
Thankfully, their leader does not appear to have found his way back to them yet. Ordering a tankard of ale, I sit as close as possible with my back to two of the men. Courtesy of his wife, Sailor’s Inn is always well kept, if muddy near the doors on rainy days. Boards serve as tables, and high-backed settles and stools are scattered all around. Behind the long board where some sit to drink, shelves full of pewter dishes and earthenware mugs are stacked nearly to overflowing. On cool days, the stone hearth in the corner is lit, always surprising those who come from the south, unused to our cold, rainy days, even in the summer.
The others do not pay me any notice, and with luck, none of the Sailor’s Inn patrons will either. It is not at all unusual for a woman to frequent the dockside tavern alone. Though I suspect, from my understanding and from Lord d’Abella’s reaction earlier, it would be odd indeed in the south.
It doesn’t take long for them to speak of their objective. I’ve positioned myself in such a way that they’re all seated behind me. My view is of the innkeeper and his attendants, plus all manner of patrons, but I need not see the Southerners to hear them clearly.
“Will we stay?”
“His instructions were clear. We don’t return without him.”