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“Untie her,” Johesha said to the other man in the tent near the entrance.
“What the fuck is this?” Romis asked, his hands out in front of him.
“Your reckoning.”
“You fool!” Romis yelled at the other man, then hissed as the blade pressed deeper into his throat. “Not the courier! You didn’t check?”
“Are you willing to die today?” Johesha asked, his voice even and calm.
Romis—eyes flashing with panic—looked at whoever was behind Tarley. “Untie her. Untie her.”
Suddenly Tarley’s hands were free, and she stood, turning to the other man, and snatched his weapons.
“Your Highness–”
“Highness?” Romis asked.
Tarley turned to look at Johesha. “What? I’m not…” She stopped. “How do I know you’re not a traitor?”
“The Crown Prince of Jast has claimed you as his future wife. I serve the crown. I serve you, but for the moment, I need you to do everything I tell you to do.”
“Is he–”
“Waiting on you,” Johesha said with a slight nod.
She knew in her gut she could trust this man, not so much by his words, but by his actions. By the vision and its impression stamped on her own heart. Lachlan was here! He’d come for her. She needed to see him.
“Tie him,” Johesha nodded at the man she’d just relieved of his weapons.
“The prince?” Romis spat the words but they were cut short. “How is he alive?” Blood appeared at the tip of Johesha’s blade pressed deeper into Romis’s neck.
“My prince is a fighter, and if you want to live to see a trial—or whatever it is you do in this ass-backward country—you will choose silence and do everything I say to keep your head.”
Romis swallowed against the blade but didn’t attempt a nod.
Tarley faced Romis. “How did you get the Jast armor and arrows?”
Romis smirked, then frowned when the force of Johesha’s blade pressed deeper. “I give you leave to answer the lady’s question.”
“Stolen from the dead bodies after the attack on the prince.”
“Behind me,” Johesha told Tarley, then pushed Romis forward saying, “Tell your men to stand down, and you might make it out alive. The camp is surrounded.”
Surrounded? Tarley followed Johesha from the tent.
“Make way,” Romis said to each man moving forward, hands on weapons. “Let us pass–”
The men—faces dark with anger—made way for them to walk through, but the swath closed behind them, so Tarley turned to watch their backs. She held up the knives she’d taken and hoped Johesha had been telling the truth, that beyond the tree line the calvary awaited. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure they would make it out of this meadow alive.
38
From the cover of the trees, Lachlan with Mattias and Jessamine, along with Jude and Brendsen somewhere in the cover of the wood’s shadows, watched as Captain Johesha walked into the center of camp as if he belonged there.
“What is he doing?” Jessamine asked, her voice slightly elevated with surprise and concern.
Lachlan’s chest compressed, though he knew Johesha never did anything impulsively. He was thoughtful, conscientious, serious, and very skilled. “Whatever he needs to,” Lachlan said.
Tall and imposing, Johesha looked like a man with a purpose. Men stood near their tents and fires and watched him pass. The camp—despite the awful smell—was surprising when assessed beyond that fact. Top-shape tents constructed of excellent materials that would withstand the first frost. Lots of young, skilled men. Horsemen working with quality animals. Excellent leathers on the animals. Men practicing with a variety of well-kept weapons. They were well-fed and their humor was good, a laugh drifting across the meadow every so often. And in the far corner he noted the roof of something constructed—perhaps a pen for animals. This didn’t appear to be a random group but rather an organized one, funded well.
