Something sly tugged at the edges of her lips. “I know you have the afternoon off, but if you’re looking for my son, he’ll be out huntingin the Northern forest today. I don’t expect him back until long after dark.”
“As you say, my Lady.” His brows pulled together as he watched her go, something thoughtful settling behind his gaze, but Emmaline barely noticed.
Her breath hitched, and her pulse kicked up a notch. The belt and the insult were already forgotten. That stupid woman had just told her exactly where Caelith would be. The edges of a plan were already taking shape as Lady Isolde disappeared around the corner, leaving nothing behind but the sound of her fading footsteps.
“It’s a little fancy for a Tuesday, but I quite like the belt.”
Deyric’s voice barely registered as Emmaline’s mind spun, mapping out the route she’d need to take on horseback. She could slip into the stables after the green-haired brute left and borrow one of the more docile mares. The Northern forests were still Greymane property, but too far to reach on foot. And there were things in those woods, creatures that might grow bold if she wandered in alone, unmounted, and unarmed.
“I especially like how it sits… right there… on your hips.”
The words came slower this time, measured. Closer.
She barely had a moment to react before she felt the heat radiating from his body, the scent of horse and leather wrapping around her, threaded with something unmistakably male. It wasn’t cologne or perfume or anything so intentional, just sweat and sun-warmed skin.
Her breath wavered, and a prickle of dizziness threatened her focus. For a brief, disorienting second, she forgot the plan entirely. Then she scowled, coughing as if that would clear the sudden fog in herhead. Shoving at his chest, a little too forcefully, she nearly flung herself backward into Llew’s pride and joy all over again.
“Dammit, Deyric.” She exhaled. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but… I’m in no mood for it. Leave me alone.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Ducking under the statue, she made a beeline for the nearest exit. The plan was back on, and she wouldn’t let some infuriating, entirely too smug stablemaster throw her off course.
“Thank you for the save, Deyric.” His voice drifted after her, a mockingly perfect imitation of her own.
“Anytime, Emmaline. Your gratitude is most appreciated.” He followed it up in his own voice, richer, amused.
She glanced over her shoulder, ready to lob a sharp remark of her own, but he was already gone. Vanished.
Typical.
Scowling, she turned toward the window, watching as the sun crested past the midday mark.Good. He’d be heading home soon, and with him out of the way, she could go back to the stables and begin her search for Caelith.
Her fingers drifted to the belt at her waist, absently tracing the fine, interwoven loops as Deyric’s words echoed unbidden in her mind.
“I especially like how it sits… right there… on your hips.”
Her hand stilled, and the thought came swiftly, traitorously—what would it feel like to have his hands there instead. Large, rough with callouses, pressing firm against her waist. Holding her steady. Holding her still.
A startled gasp parted her lips, and with surprising self-control, she tore her hands away, forcing them to her sides.
Absolutely not.
She had plans. She had a destiny, and it most certainly did not involve entertaining any further thoughts about Deyric or his hands.
Chapter nine
“Can’tbemuchlongernow.”
Emmaline patted the shoulder of the ebony mare she hadborrowedfrom the stables after finally escaping her duties. She had tried to delay the monthly budget review for Lord Greymane, citing the ever-growing demands of preparing for the ball, but the old man had been insistent. No excuses. No delays.
By the time she had finally slipped free of the castle, the sun was already sinking low, bleeding warm gold into the sky as dusk crept in at the edges.
The horse whinnied at her encouragement, then slowed, her hooves crunching hesitantly over the thinning grass. The long shadows stretching from the trees ahead deepened, turning over the earth like gnarled fingers.
“Stupid horse,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on the reins as she took in her surroundings.
Behind her, the rolling fields, once bright with wildflowers, had given way to the creeping grasp of the forest. The wind, once thick with the scent of sun-warmed wheat, now carried the damp, loamy breath of the towering trees ahead, stretching endless in every direction.
A ripple of unease stirred deep in Emmaline’s chest. She must have come further than she thought.
