The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) (4 page)

Chapter 3

Portia watched from the shadows of the great hall in her invisible form. She’d have much to report back to the Countess Odillia now. And if she was to make it back up the mountain in time to warn them of the attack, she had to leave anon.

She watched Sir Braden as he walked right past her,
slowing down slightly, and if she wasn’t mistaken, sniffing the air and glancing from the corner of his eyes in her direction. Then he disappeared down the hall and was followed by Lord Solomon, the captain of the guard, and Lady Christabel as well.

She
surveyed the lady of the castle as the woman glided past her down the corridor. She couldn’t stop thinking of the way Sir Braden had dropped to his knee and kissed her hand. He was so gallant and chivalrous and she would have welcomed the kind gesture. Instead, this woman all but shunned him. She didn’t deserve the likes of Sir Braden. She didn’t deserve anyone for that matter.

She hurried out to the courtyard and
snuck through the gate, heading to where she’d left her horse tied to a tree hidden in the forest. When she was sure no one was looking, she materialized and put her foot in the stirrup to climb atop her steed. A strong arm on her shoulder and a low voice from behind her made her stop in mid-motion.

“I thought I’d find you here. Now tell me, Portia
-Maer, just what is it you think you’re doing?”

She turned to look directly into the blue eyes of Sir Braden. But this t
ime his eyes were not dancing with excitement. Now they were clouded over and disappointment shadowed them as well.

“I demand you release me at once.”

“I cannot do that, my little fae one. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to take you back to Lord Solomon.”

“How do you know I’m
of fae blood? And why would you do such a thing as to take me to a man who would not think twice of hanging me at the crossroads to die as an example to others?”

“Oh, so it seems someone has overheard our private conversation. And you have just confirmed my suspicions that you are the spy that’s been giving information to the Earl of Calila as well.”

“The earl in my father,” she told him. “I would do anything at all to help him, even if it meant my death.”

“Your father?” His hand loosened his grip on her shoulder and he slowly brought it back to his waist. “You mean to tell me you
live at Castle Calila? ’Tis your family that is fighting Lord Solomon and his men?”

“
’Tis not that way, not really. Now tell me, how did you know I was here if you could not see me?”

“Your scent of lilacs gives you away every time, sweetheart. And I’d venture to guess that one of your fae powers is turning invisible is it not?”

“You’ve already seen the proof of that, so why do you need to ask?”

“What else can you do? And are you called a dryad like your friend Rae-Nyst? She can command the vines and trees
to do her bidding. Can you do that as well?” He looked around cautiously, hand on his sword, as if he thought the vines of the forest were about to attack him.

“I am not a dryad, you simpleton
, I am a sylph! A dryad is an elemental of the earth. I am an elemental of the air and everything that goes with it.”

“I see.
A sylph. Interesting title I must say.” He nodded his head and swept his eyes over her from head to toe. She felt suddenly very insecure and lowered her gaze to the ground under his wanton perusal.

Braden drank in the beauty of the girl who’d just called herself a sylph. Such an odd title for an odd girl. But naught about her was common. Her hair was like spun cornsilk, long and flowing, lifting around her in the breeze. It was such a light honeyed color that it almost seemed to him as if it were silver. Her lips were full and pink, her eyes dark blue like mountain bilberries. And her skin looked soft and smooth, and so pale that the noblewomen would envy her for the appearance that they strived so hard to attain.

She wore a thin silken gown of white and light blue with tight fitting sleeves and long flowing tippets hanging down from her elbows. And around her head was a woven wreath of small dainty flowers of yellow and white making her look like a Queen of the Fae pe
ople. She smelled liked the fresh air after a spring rain mixed with the scent of lilacs that clung to her wherever she went. She said she was an elemental of the air, and to him that described her well. She was light and airy, breezy and fresh. Her essence called out to him whether she knew it or not, making him feel more alive than he’d felt in years.

“Now, let me go,” she said. Her clear
, deep blue eyes begged though her words were calculated and cool. How could anyone be frightened of such a gentle girl? She looked as if she needed a strong man to protect her, and he couldn’t believe she’d do anyone harm.

“I would make a deal with you,” he said instead
. “You get me into Castle Calila without anyone knowing why I’m there, and I won’t expose you to Lord Solomon as the spy he’s been trying to hunt down and kill.”

“But you mean to be a part
of attacking my father’s castle,” she protested.

“Same as you meaning to be a par
t of attacking Banesmoor. So the way I see it, we are even.”

“I cannot
allow Banesmoor to attack Calila.”

“And I cannot
allow you to give information that would seal the doomed fate of Lord Solomon and his people either.”

“I won’t do what you ask.”

“Then I have no choice but to bring you to before the lord of Banesmoor.”

He reached out for her but once again she disappeared from his sight. He grope
d at the air, but couldn’t find her. Then he saw her horse turn and ride off quickly, and he rushed to his own steed to follow.

“Sir Braden,” called out Sir Sam
uel, riding up to join him. “I saw you groping at mid-air in an odd fashion.” He cocked his head and studied him as if he thought he were addled. “What were you doing, if I may ask?”

“I am following someone,” he said, mounting his horse.

Sir Samuel looked in the distance at the lone horse riding away and then back to him. “You are chasing a horse without a rider?” he asked. “I hardly think Lord Solomon would find that courageous. Mayhap he was wrong in choosing you to marry his daughter after all. I am not sure you would be able to protect her as promised.”

Braden watched the horse disapp
ear in the distance and knew he couldn’t follow without looking like a fool. He’d pledged his fealty to Lord Solomon now, as well as accepted the betrothal of his daughter. As a knight of his word, he would follow through with what he’d started.

“If you would be kind enough to tell Lord Solomon I would not
be joining him back at the castle, I’d appreciate it.”

“Another horse to chase?” the man asked with a smile.

“Nay. A spy to catch,” he answered, taking off in the direction of Mount Calila to do the job that was now expected of him.

Chapter 4

Portia rode like the devil, calling upon the wind at her back to help her make it to Castle Calila in record-breaking time. She glanced back over her shoulder once more, but to her relief it didn’t seem as if Sir Braden was following.

She rode through the gates, slipping out of the saddle m
ade for a man, and all but throwing the reins of the horse at Vance, the stablemaster, as he ran out to join her.

“Welcome back, Lady Portia,” he said, walking the
horse next to her, keeping stride with her own pace. “And how did you fare at Banesmoor?” he asked.

“How did you know where I was?” she said, not even looking at him.

“Your mother told me,” he answered.

She stopped in her tracks an
d he followed suit.

“She is not my mother and I would appreciate if you never call her that again.”

“I am sorry, my lady. But I am new here, and did not know.”

“Aye,” she said with a nod. “All right then.”

She started walking toward the castle and he handed the reins to a stable boy and ran after her. “So how is Lady Christabel?” he asked. “Does she fare well these days?”

She stopped again and folded her arms in front of her
, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed him. “Where did you say you were from again?” she asked.

“I come from lands far on the coast
,” he replied, not really looking at her. “Why do you ask?”

“You find interest in
the daughter of our sworn enemy. I find that a bit suspicious.”

“I was just making conversation
,” he answered. “I passed through Banesmoor once and just remember the lady’s beauty, that’s all.”

“You have come from Banesmoor, haven’t
you? Just admit it.”

The tall, fair-haired man looked around the courtyard quickly and then spoke to
her in hushed tones. “No, of course not, my lady. Why would you say such a thing?”

Portia didn’t believe a word the man said. And when t
he breeze whispered into her ear that he was lying, it confirmed her suspicions.

“Lady Christabel fares well,” she said, watching his face light up in a smile. “She
is also betrothed to be married soon.” His smile quickly diminished, just as she knew it would.

“Who is she to
marry?” he asked, with urgency in his tone.

“She is to marry someone who is not suited for her. Someone who holds no lands nor much of a title.”

“So . . . her father is letting her marry a commoner, then?”

Portia
couldn’t help but hear the hope in his voice.

“Not a commoner,” she told him. “But someone who plans on not only capturing me, but the castle as well. As a matter of fact,” sh
e lifted her chin and looked toward the gate, “he arrives as we speak.”

Portia watched Sir Braden ri
de through the front gates, and noticed the stablemaster’s gaze stayed fixed upon him.

“That is Lady Ch
ristabel’s betrothed?” he asked, no emotion showing on his face at all.

“Aye,” she sai
d with a smile. “His name is Sir Braden. But do not worry, for as soon as I relay my message to the countess, I guarantee he would never leave the walls of Calila again.”

Braden rode in through the gates of the mountain castle. ’Twas all too easy, as no one even stopped him or asked him from where he came. He still wore the crest of the wolf upon his surcoat, having just left Lord Wolfe’s castle recently, so he knew no one would yet suspect he was from their enemy’s lands of Banesmoor.

He nodded to the guard at the gate and continued inside. There were many people in the courtyard for such a secluded castle. He saw fishermen f
rom the coast selling their wares and serfs and villagers whom he suspected were from many neighboring towns as well. The surroundings were much smaller than Lord Solomon’s castle, but it had a mystical atmosphere about it, being so high up in the mountains and surrounded by a low-hanging fog. It was quaint, and in good condition, not a very old castle at all.

Up in the distance he spied the fae girl talking with the stablemaster, or so he guessed
the man to be. The man conversed with her and then looked directly at him, which made Braden realize Portia had not kept his presence a secret after all. Then the man walked back to the stable and Portia made her way toward the keep. Braden knew he had to stop her before she made her way inside to reveal to the countess everything she’d learned on her little spy trip to Banesmoor.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side
s and sped across the courtyard, pulling in the reins and stopping just in front of her.

“I thought we had a deal,” he ground out. “But I can see you have no intention of keeping it.”

“I never agreed to anything.” She stepped around him and he slid off the horse to follow.

“Stop, Portia. I want to talk to you.”

She didn’t even slow down, so he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. He caught her by surprise and she looked down at her arm and then back up to him.

“Do you really think a mere hand on my arm is going to stop me? If I wanted to, I could have a gust of wind blow you right over the edge of the mountain right now.”

“Please, I just want to talk.”

“There is naught to talk about. I have informatio
n that would help my father’s men and I intend on relaying every bit of it. So don’t even try to stop me.”

“Portia, what took you so long?”
came a woman’s voice in the distance.

Bra
den looked up to see who he guessed was the Countess of Calila holding up her skirts and hurrying across the courtyard to join them. A guard followed on her heels. The woman was tall and thin and wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes and around the edges of her dark red lips. Her hair was black and the ends pulled up and tucked under a stylish hat with a barbette around her chin. Crispinette, a netting, covered the hair that trailed down the back of her neck. ’Twas a common headpiece of the nobles. Her dark eyes surveyed him as she approached.