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Chapter Ten
Princess Alder
Tracking was something that was taught in the Guild, but I thought it best to keep this little accomplishment of mine to myself—there were only so many unexplained skills I could justify.
Besides, we had among our party Sergeant Whitethorn, the finest tracker in the Gath.
Whitethorn trotted up and down the riverbank where the drain emptied into the water, scanning the ground by torchlight—it would have been better to wait until morning, but Nicolo was in no mood to wait.
“You think he’ll be able to follow them, sir?” I asked.
“He’ll be able to tell us the general direction in which they escaped,” replied Nicolo, his face darkly intent. “I’ve had my eye on Wylder for a while and I know most of his friends.”
“Wouldn’t Wylder be better off hiding among the peasants?”
“He’d be too scared.” Nicolo shook his head. “And they’ve no loyalty to him. If we put out a decent reward, they’d hand him over in quick time.” He continued shaking his head, only more vehemently. “No. He’ll stick with his own kind—the nobles. Others who are unhappy with the idea of Balduin as King. There’s plenty enough of them.”
He was silent a moment, as Whitethorn examined a particular spot with interest, picking out the important marks in amongst the melee of footprints that muddied the ground. Nicolo stepped away from him, separating himself from the rest of them and motioned for me to do the same.
He walked forward a few paces until he stood underneath an alder tree and I came to stand before him. As soon as I did, he took a deep breath and there was something heavy that seemed to cloud the beauty of his violet eyes.
“Back there… when we realized it was Wylder we were chasing,” he started and then seemed to lose his words. His jaw was tight and he appeared decidedly uncomfortable.
“Yes?” Of course, I knew exactly which moment he was referencing and wondered if I would now come under more fire for speaking out against him in front of his men.
“I lost my temper,” he continued with a clipped nod. “I was so angry to know it was Wylder who had attempted to take the prince’s life and then I couldn’t do anything about it… I was frustrated, angry… my anger got the better of me.”
“I understand, sir,” I said, because it was the only thing I could say, given my position. Yet I was still upset about the situation deep down, not that it mattered because as a lowly squire,Ididn’t matter.
“No, you don’t understand,” Nicolo continued as he stared into my eyes and it felt as if his gaze was ripping right into my soul. “And if you allowed me to finish my words without interrupting me, I would appreciate it.”
I wasn’t aware I had interrupted him but simply smiled amicably at him, though I was still roiling on the inside.
He took a deep breath and then held my gaze. His violet eyes were narrowed and hard, his brows downturned. Yes, my hide was about to be tanned yet again.
“You were right to stop me from following Wylder, Charlotte.” He continued and when I opened my mouth merely from pure shock, he must have assumed I was about to interrupt him again because he simply reached forward and silenced me with his index finger to my lips.
“I should not have hit you and I apologize for doing so,” he continued with a clipped nod. “I do… well, I hope you will forgive me.” He took another deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I did not… er, striking you felt wrong. I will not do so again.”
I was astounded because I didn’t believe Nicolo had it within him to see fault in his own actions and, furthermore, to apologize for those actions. And to me, no less! Someone who was clearly beneath his social ranking. I was stunned into silence and the anger within me began to calm down, the bubbles of ire settling into a surprised calmness.
“I would hope,” he continued. “That we would be able to return to our playful repartee. Do you… accept my apology?” he asked and there was something in his eyes that said my answer to this question was extremely important to him.
I took a second or so to relive the anger of the moment, the sting of his hand against my cheek and the sting returned anew. But then when I thought of his words and the look of regret in his eyes, the anger dissolved away again. When I spoke, I spoke the truth—not just simply the words I was meant to say. “I forgive you,” I answered simply and truthfully.
For a fleeting moment a smile brightened his face and he was more handsome than I’d ever seen him. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
I nodded. “Thank you for apologizing.”
“You will never come under my hand again,” he continued, his jaw going hard again. I gave him a small smile and a nod. And when I looked up again, his eyes were still on me and his lips turned up at the ends almost imperceptibly. “You have a way about you, Charlotte. One day it will get you into trouble, I’ve no doubt…”
“But?”
His smile broadened and I felt myself swallowing hard. “But I like it. You remind me of...” Then he shook his head and whatever ghost of a smile had been on his lips was now gone. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“I remind you… of you?” I suggested.
“Perhaps of the person I might have been had things within my childhood gone… differently.”
