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* * *
That evening, Rowan eased into Blanchette’s privy. It was one of the few rooms his men had left untouched. Thoughtfully, he ran his fingers over his longsword’s pommel, his breath tight in his chest, the beat of his heart rushing through his ears. Her bedclothes hung from the feather mattress and halfway onto the stone ground where she’d left them.
He imagined her waking the night of the attack. He saw her standing before the window that overlooked the inner bailey and watchtower—staring out into the dense wood where he and his men emerged from the shadows and cover of trees.
Rowan eased inside, his breaths white against the darkness. He inhaled deeply, then ran his gloved hand over the wolfskin blanket. He glanced over his shoulder—saw that he was alone inside her chamber—then removed his left-hand glove. Carefully, ever so slowly, he lowered onto the blanket and smoothed his fingertips over the warm fur. He released a sigh.
My God, what have I done to her?
Inhaling a shaky breath, he came to his feet and crossed the privy with determined strides. He ran his hand over the smooth, dusty surface of her bureau. Then he raised his head, and his eyes caught his reflection in a looking glass hanging in front of him.
He looked like a stranger. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, he thought with bitter irony.
He stepped before the window, where he could still make out his reflection. Raindrops slid down the glass and, by extension, his own face.
In his mind’s eye, he saw himself bowing before King Bartholomew.
“I promise on my faith that I will be faithful to the lord, never cause him harm, and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit. I promise to wield my sword to defend the innocent and to uphold the king’s peace. I promise…”
He felt the kiss of the blade on his armored shoulder, then saw himself rise to his feet as a knight of the realm.
I promised…
* * *
“Whatever happened to practicing patience?” Governess Agnes asked Blanchette for the third time, her thin eyebrows propped into arches. A well-earned look of judgment lined her sharp face. But her gaze showed a flash of amusement.
“I waited weeks before I attempted an escape. For me, that is patient.”
Governess Agnes chuckled, then continued darning a pair of woolen socks for the coming winter. “Well, everything worked out, so I shan’t scold you anymore. I should have known better, anyhow. You never were one to listen to me.”
Blanchette smiled, her mind flashing back to her childhood. She saw Governess Agnes chasing her as she waded into the river and lost herself in Norland’s wilderness.
Rowan appeared in the archway with Smoke and cut her thoughts short.
“Governess,” he greeted. “Blanchette, come with me.”
She bid Governess Agnes goodbye, then followed Rowan down the dark corridor. Smoke padded beside them, moving like a ghost. Sconce lanterns lit the corridors and cast eerie shadows along the walls. They crawled up to the ceiling and across the stone floor. Rowan loomed above her, his features drawn into a hard line.
But his eyes showed something else entirely. She felt an anguish there—a sense of guilt, longing, and, perhaps strongest of all, a need. She understood the void he felt, one that he seemed to have drowned in, perhaps years ago.
Shall I suffer the same fate? she wondered with a quiver of fear. Already, she could not breathe. How long before the darkness consumed her completely?
“How is your arm?”
He glanced at her and shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Time shall tell, I suppose.”
They walked in silence for another few minutes. The quiet was only broken when two guards passed and greeted Rowan with a bow. Finally, they stopped outside her privy chamber. The one she’d grown up in. The one the Black Wolf had taken away from her so recently.
He turned to her, the sconce light casting his features in a soft, golden glow. Smoke sat beside him, his eyes shining in the dark corridor like stars.
“My chamber. Why did you bring me here?” She loathed how pitiful and feeble her voice sounded. Not like a queen’s at all.
His mouth ticked at the corner as if he was battling another smile. “Shall I return you to the guest quarters?”
She stood a little taller and met his hazel eyes. “This is my home. I am no guest.”
“Good. Then we are in agreement.” When she gave him a confused look, he added, “There has been enough battling, Blanchette. I am not here to fight you. We are on the same side now. I want us to be allies. We’re friends now, remember?” He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. “And I wanted to thank you… for helping me.” He gestured to his forearm, his fingers lightly grazing the fabric of her dress.
