Love's Call (2 page)

“Shhh, I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

Ali growled long and deep.

Hooves pounded down the road.

Ansley shot to her feet, dropping the magic light. She stomped on it to extinguish the glow and redrew her sword.

Caide neighed and fidgeted. Ansley whistled and he bolted off the road toward her. Twigs snapped and leaves shifted under his hooves.

The moonlight highlighted his white coat. She had no doubt the party of riders had spotted them.

“Halt!” The call went up before Ansley could react, confirming her fear.

Her heart sank to her gut, as Ali rushed in front of her, hackles raised.

Ansley’s eyes darted over the dozen or so men. She spared a glance over her shoulder, widening her stance to hide the girl from view. She’d protect her, if need be.

There were only a few possibilities of who could be on the road at the late hour.

The group was too large to be other Riders—their captain never sent more than three or four on a single run.

Brigands or a troop of men-at-arms on patrol were the only other logical choices. Perhaps she was closer to Greenwald Main than she’d realized.

Blessed Spirit, let it be the latter.

“Who goes there?” a deep voice called out.

Ansley cleared her throat. She needed to harden her tone. Sound male as well. “Who goes
there
?” she returned, flexing her grip on the hilt of her sword.

A rider moved forward from the back of the group, the other horses parting way to let him through. It was too dark to see his face, but a drawn sword glinted in the moonlight. His long dark hair shifted in the frigid wind.

“Sir Leargan Tegran, Captain of the Aldern personal guard.” His breath floated around his words.

Her heart flipped.

Leargan.

Ansley chided herself and squared her shoulders.

He doesn’t know you’re alive, remember?

She strode forward and sheathed her sword. “Good. I need some help.”

****

Leargan stared at the tall
female
figure coming toward him in the dark. “And you are?” he prompted for the second time.

“Senior King’s Rider Ansley Fraser.” She sheathed her sword and stopped in front of Fia, his buckskin colored mare.

“Captain!” Roduch’s yell kept him from answering the Rider.

Roduch dismounted his large, blue roan stallion, rushing off the road and skidding on his knees in the dirt. “Who did this to you?” he shouted. The big knight leaned over a barely-visible figure lying on the ground.

There was a moan as his friend and fellow guardsman lifted something—no, some
one—
into his massive arms.

A woman.

“What’s going on?” Leargan demanded. He dismounted improperly and almost fell on his face, but The King’s Rider was at his side in seconds, commanding his attention. Embarrassment rolled over him, seared his neck as his boots hit the dirt. He straightened and squared his shoulders. Hopefully, it was too dark for her to have been aware of his near mishap.

“I found her, thanks to my bond. She saw her first.” The girl gestured to a large, dark wolf. The beast growled, yellow eyes catching the moonlight. “Ali, easy.” The messenger buried a hand in the fur behind the wolf’s head and it calmed.

“We need some light,” one of his men called.

“I’m coming, Sir Roduch,” another said. The leather of the man-at-arms’ saddle creaked as he dismounted. He muttered something under his breath, and his hands lit up with an amber glow. He bent over the big knight.

“What happened?” Leargan repeated, tearing his eyes away from the two men and the magic on display.

“I found her like that. She’s in bad shape. Looks like someone beat her.” Her voice was deep for a woman but not unpleasant. She was worried, wringing her hands in front of her.

He wished he could see her in more light than the moon could provide. “We will get help for her.”

“Good.” She nodded and her hip-length plait shifted, dancing over the hood resting against the shoulders of her Rider cloak.

The girl had said she was a Senior King’s Rider, so Leargan knew the cloak would be a deep green color, even though the darkness of the night make it black.

Roduch made it back to their group. The female form in his arms was tiny, with long, dark—or dirty—tight curls in her matted hair.

The big knight shifted her closer to his massive chest, and the man-at-arms raised his glowing hands to illuminate her face.

Leargan winced and heard the Rider’s sharp intake of breath beside him. There were murmurs from a few of his men.

The girl was damaged, her face bloodied and broken. And damn, she was young.
Slight
. Inadequately clothed for the weather.

Her gray dress was ripped, hanging off one shoulder; the light cloak failed to cover her body. Her pale skin was evident in the moonlight, but her skin was tinged blue. She was too cold.

The poor thing wasn’t moving. Probably had passed out. Not a bad thing, considering what she’d been through.

“She’s alive, but barely.” Roduch’s words were pained, as if the girl mattered to him.

Who is this girl?

Leargan threw a look at his longtime friend, but Roduch was looking down into the girl’s face, wide jaw clenched.

“Let’s get her to Tristan. Now,” Leargan ordered.

Alasdair, another knight of the personal guard, barked at the men to remount.

“She doesn’t look too good, Captain,” one of the men said.

“Aye. The sooner we get back, the better.” Leargan looked at Roduch. “Do you want me to take her?”

“No,” Roduch said, pulling her closer to his chest.

Leargan quirked a half-smile. Whoever she was, the girl suddenly had a champion. His friend’s expression fairly screamed
mine.
“At least let me hold her so you can mount up.”

Roduch looked at her face again before meeting Leargan’s eyes. The other knight didn’t want to give her up.

“Let him take her,” the Rider urged.

“I won’t hurt her, my friend.”

“I know,” Roduch said, his tone about as gruff as Leargan had ever heard. He shot a look at The King’s Rider.

Leargan stared as the big man shifted on his feet, shoulders tight.

After a heavy sigh and a look that could’ve slayed him, Roduch laid the unconscious girl in arms.

He held her as gently as he could, grimacing when Leargan couldn’t avoid another glance at her face. Every inch of her skin was marred. Bruises, cuts and blood.

Lord Tristan Dagget, healer as well as the Duke of Aldern’s Second, would keep her from scarring when he healed her wounds, but Leargan’s heart clenched.

Who would do something like this to someone so young and small?

She didn’t weigh much, just a feather in his arms. He settled her into his chest, and the girl groaned but didn’t awaken. That was for the better, sleep would spare her pain.

Soon, she was returned to Roduch’s arms, and Leargan remounted Fia.

He grabbed the reins and turned the mare, facing the group of his men, a mix of castle men-at-arms and knights of the personal guard. Tonight was supposed to have been a training patrol to show the new men how to keep eyes peeled. It was supposed to have been an easy task, a normal training exercise.

We have to expect anything. Always.

He cleared his throat. “Alasdair, you’ve the lead. Stay on patrol. See if you can find out where she came from or who did this to her. Report back as soon as possible,” Leargan ordered, meeting Alasdair’s eyes.

The other knight gave a brusque nod.

The King’s Rider pulled her large, white gelding abreast with Fia. “I’ll ride with you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m headed to Castle Aldern. I have an urgent message from the king.”

Chapter Two

She should sleep for a while. Not my doing with magic, though. Exhaustion. Blessed Spirit only knows how she was strong enough to make it to the edge of the road,” the healer, Lord Tristan Dagget said, his face pale with concern, as well as expended magical energy. Healing was physically exhausting and dangerous to the untrained.

He was dressed casually, just a tunic and breeches. No usual doublet or belt in sight. Then again, everyone had been called in from their beds.

The duke himself, Lord Jorrin Aldern, pressed him into a chair, but he waved everyone’s attentions away.

Tristan’s wife, Lady Aimil, hovered. Her long dark locks were in a thick plait and swayed with her movements. There was really no need to worry, but Tristan always saw to his own needs last.

Leargan smirked as the lord just flashed a smile.

Morag, the castle’s headwoman, fussed over Roduch’s refusal to leave the girl’s side. He was posted in a chair flush against the bed.

They’d settled her into one of Castle Aldern’s many large guest suites, and the warrior was holding one of her pale hands, ignoring the woman in charge of all the castle’s female staff as she muttered about decorum.

Her glare demanded he be dismissed, but when Leargan and the duke both ignored her, she huffed, barking at her two maids as they bustled around the room.

The very pregnant duchess, Lady Cera, stood arm and arm with the Rider. The message from the king to the duke was in the messenger’s hand.

Lord Aldern had assured her he’d be with her in a moment.

The Rider waited patiently, her worried eyes darting over the scene before them. Every once in a while she and the duchess would whisper to each other, heads bent together. Her hair was red like the duchess’ but a lighter shade, more orange than Lady Cera’s deep auburn.

Lady Aimil had been in on their conversation as well, before she’d left them to be at her husband’s side.

The messenger’s name had clicked in Leargan’s mind. The moment light of the castle had allowed him to get a better look at her.

Senior Rider Ansley
Fraser.
Daughter to the captain of the king’s personal guard, Sir Murdoch Fraser. His former captain and longtime mentor.

She favored her father to a tee, bright red hair and teal eyes. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose gave her an air of innocence. Her body was partly obscured by her cloak, but she was tall and slender.

Absolutely
gorgeous.

Leargan could barely tear his eyes away, even though he
should
be paying attention to their very serious situation.

Morag and the maids shuffled out, the headwoman closing the door quietly. She was discreet. Hopefully the two maids would exercise the same care. Events like tonight tended to spread over the castle like a contagious disease.

“Did you get her name?” The duke’s voice took his attention, and he glanced at both of his lords.

“No,” Tristan answered, voice low. His eyes shot to Roduch and the servants, before the healer looked back at Lord Aldern. “I touched her mind with mine when I began to heal her, but hers snapped shut, probably defensively. She’s been through hell. More than once.”

“What do you mean?” the duchess asked, one hand on her swollen stomach and moving closer to Tristan’s chair.

The Rider was on her heels.

Jorrin threw his arm over his wife’s shoulders, but she ignored his whispered admonition to get off her feet.

The group was in the sitting area of the large room, but the bed wasn’t far enough that Roduch wouldn’t hear them. He had some of the sharpest senses of the personal guard.

“I sensed tons of half-healed wounds, old scars, and bruises inside and out. Even two broken ribs that had knitted wrong. I fixed all that, though, too.”

Lady Aimil gasped and took a step closer to her husband. Tristan took his wife’s hand.

“Blessed Spirit…” the Rider whispered, her eyes misting over.

Leargan’s heart skipped, and he was overcome with the desire to comfort her. Touch her in some way. But he planted his hands at his sides and stayed where he stood, just inside the door, watching. Listening.

“And…” Tristan’s voice dropped even further. “I sensed evidence of repeated rapes. Fresh…bleeding…there that needed healing, as well.” He winced.

Ansley Fraser gasped and swallowed hard. She stared at Roduch’s new charge. Her mouth wobbled, as if she was fighting tears.

For a girl she didn’t know? Leargan was intrigued.

He scooted closer.

Lady Cera uttered an un-duchess-like curse.

When Leargan tore his gaze from Ansley Fraser and met the duke’s blue eyes, Lord Aldern shoved a lock of black hair behind one slender tapered ear, revealing his mixed heritage—his father was human, and his mother elfin. His hands were jerky, and he made a fist. His jaw was tight.

“I will find whoever did this to her and kill the bastard,” Roduch vowed. The big knight turned toward them, fists clenched.

“We need to talk to her first,” Tristan said, tone gentle.

Leargan went to Roduch, placing a hand on his shoulder.

His friend looked up at him, saying nothing. Leargan squeezed, when he read the anguish in the pale blue eyes.

“Captain…” Roduch whispered, shaking his head.

Leargan glanced at the girl asleep in the large bed. Dark curls covered the pillow. She was ethereally beautiful, her small hand engulfed by the big warrior’s. Pale skin now clear of bruises, her expression was serene, from delicate brows to full lips. Thick sleeping furs swallowed her small frame, but Leargan could see the rise and fall with her deep, even breathing.

Peaceful innocence.

Who hurt her?

“We’ll deal with it, Roduch, I promise,” the duke vowed.

“Thank you, Lord Aldern,” Roduch said. His broad shoulders heaved, as he relaxed, and Leargan patted his back.

“Greenwald has the same laws as the rest of the kingdom,” Lady Cera said. “Whoever it was
will
be brought to justice.”

Leargan met the half-elfin duke’s eyes again and gave a curt nod, which Jorrin returned.

“Do you think she’s a servant who has run away?” Lady Aimil asked.

“Her clothes were poor, at best,” Leargan said.

“But just soiled, their quality was not all that poor,” the duchess said. “They were irreparable. I’ve had the offending things thrown out. Even if she is a servant, she should’ve been better taken care of. She can’t be very old.”