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Huntley wore a crooked smile as if he was privy to a secret no one knew. He was also the first to speak.
“Ah, if it isn’t the great Hellhound of Norland. So good of you to keep an eye on my fiancée.” His smile grew, and he turned toward Blanchette in his destrier’s saddle. “Though I’ve heard troubling reports,” he added, now with a frown. “You massacred her family and kept her savagely as a prisoner. But what would one expect of a beast?”
“He’s done no such thing.” Blanchette cut in. “He?—”
“No? He didn’t storm your castle, bring down your family—a legacy that’s endured for a thousand years?”
“I am my legacy. And I stand before you quite strong and well.”
Huntley glanced at his men, then burst into mocking laughter. “Why, Sir Edrick, you have some explaining to do. Never the matter, that castle behind you is mine by rights, and you, my dear, are also mine.”
Rowan thrust his heels into Shadow and closed the distance between them. Huntley’s horse reared at the encroachment. Rowan’s hand tightened and loosened into a fist. Tightened and loosened. “I’ve killed far bigger men than you without a scratch to show for it.”
“Bigger men, but lesser.” He eyed Smoke; a low, rumbling growl rustled in his throat. “What, the wolf on your banner wasn’t enough?”
Blanchette took pleasure in the blatant fear in his eyes. “That wolf will happily rip your throat out,” she said, sweetly returning his smile.
“Indeed? Which one?” He glared at Rowan with calm blue eyes.
“You’ll find no easy conquest here. And I say you are less than a man,” Blanchette spat. “What kind of craven slaughters a village while hiding under another’s banner? I’m surprised you’ve shown your face at all today.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, love,” he said to her.
Blanchette glanced at Rowan, shocked by the anger flashing in his eyes.
“What kind of man you ask? One with a mind for warcraft,” Huntley said. “We’ve a third of our army to show for it because of your pillaging. They despise you. If you don’t like the game of war, you shouldn’t have played the first piece, Black Wolf.”
Blanchette scanned the army encampment; her heart sank as she spotted boys dressed in rusted, mismatched armor made from flimsy leather. They laughed among themselves, oblivious to the lie and the horror that’d come at dawn. She felt the need to ride over to them, to tell them to go home, that Rowan would help them—that Huntley had deceived them terribly.
Those boys would likely die tomorrow.
“Where is the king?” she asked abruptly.
“Busy,” Huntley answered with a slow smile he wore easily. “But don’t worry. I shall always make time for you, love. Should I bring your sweet sister back a message? Or, better yet, a kiss?”
“She’s with you?” My sister is here? My God, let it be true... but he ignored her question. “You are a liar, sir. How dare you call Rowan a beast? You are worse than a beast. You’re a monster and a coward. And if you think I’d ever marry you, you’re also a fool.”
“If I’m not mistaken, your father was fond of slaughtering villages. Your blood runs as black as mine,” Huntley said with another secretive smile. “I believe we shall get along nicely. And you, Black Wolf, I believe you led many of those raids. Hung villagers for naught? Even priests? When you still flew your father’s gray wolf banner? Or do I have my histories mixed up?” Blanchette saw the shame in Rowan’s eyes. Huntley looked from Blanchette to Rowan, then back to Blanchette. His eyes burned into her, slipping over her like a touch. “You better come to my bed a maiden.”
“Enough,” Rowan cut in. His steel was borne and pointed at Huntley’s throat a second later. “There’s no reason innocents must die tomorrow. We can fight, you and me, right here, right now. We can end it. I already brought down one king from your house, and you’re not even a king. Just a pretender.”
Huntley laughed again—a dark and humorless sound. “I’ve heard you’re one of the greatest swords around. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s not. No matter, I don’t gamble, my friend. I play strategy. I play to win. I say the castle falls tomorrow. I say thousands will die. I plan on taking a couple of dozen myself.” Blanchette watched as his eyes shifted between her and Rowan. His smile seemed to say I know. “How’d you like a wolf pelt for your wedding gift, my lady?”
“She’s right. You are a coward.” Rowan withdrew the sword with a grunt, his eyes seething. His words were directed at Huntley, but he fixed his eyes on Edrick.
He wheeled his horse to the side and came up in front of Edrick. His former captain neither budged nor blinked. He simply stared at Rowan.
Huntley lounged comfortably in his saddle, seeming to enjoy the tension.
God, Rowan’s stare. It was like blades. Blanchette had never seen such naked hatred in a man’s eyes. Even her mount grew uncomfortable and shifted below her.
“How is sweet Mary faring?” Edrick asked. “I’d hate for some tragedy to befall her.”
“You,” Rowan whispered to his old captain. “Tomorrow, I shall slay you myself. Sleep well, my friend.”
And without a backward glance, Rowan broke into a gallop and rode back toward the looming castle. His cloak fluttered behind him like a pair of colossal wings, and Smoke raced at his heels—a shadow among the sunshine.
Suddenly, the fear was cold and hollow inside her.
