Page 41

“Clover.”

She looks over, her eyes sparking with indignant fury. “What?”

“You’ve made your point.” Then, to the guard, I say sharply, “Does the crown pay you to gossip? Lady Clover is a noblewoman of this kingdom, and you will show her the respect she is due. Get back to your position, and keep your mouth shut, or I will have you placed in the stocks.”

Ready for a fight, and likely mistaking me for a hired driver, the man’s face scrunches as he turns—but then he spots my pennant and badge. I might not be a knight, but I certainly outrank him.

“Sorry, Commander.” He immediately steps back into place, shooting Clover a look of death as he does so.

“Simon, lead the group,” I say.

With an amused nod, Simon continues to the front.

“I don’t think she actually missed,” Bartholomew whispers when we finally begin moving once more, his voice full of admiration.

A sharp response is on my tongue, but I hold it back.

Clover coaxes her horse ahead of the group and ends up riding next to Simon. They are too far ahead to hear, but she laughs at something he says, and then she glances back at me. They could be talking about anything, but my back stiffens.

“Do you think she’ll be safe in the barracks?” Bartholomew asks.

“There are plenty of female soldiers,” I remind him, sick to death of that woman invading my thoughts.

“There are,” he agrees hesitantly. “But Clover…”

Doesn’t look like a soldier.

“It will be fine.”

Well, it will be fine as long as Clover doesn’t make trouble—not that the guard didn’t deserve what he got. I smile grudgingly when I remember the look on his face when the arrow whirred past his head. Then I catch myself and quickly wipe my expression clean.

We reach the guard barracks just before sunset, and I gladly leave the wagon. To Simon, I say, “Hire another driver before we leave tomorrow.”

“Yes, Henrik.”

I then locate Clover. “Come with me.”

She stands with Bartholomew’s gentle gelding, fondly stroking his cheek. “Why?”

“Because I need to speak with you.”

Making it clear she likes me about as much as I like her, she turns her eyes on me and studies me like I’m a nuisance. “Perhaps if you ask nicely.”

I work my jaw for several seconds before I force a smile. “Please.”

“Better,” she says airily, and then she turns to Bartholomew and hands him his horse’s reins. “He’s so well mannered.”

Bartholomew’s cheeks flush with pride. “You are welcome to ride him whenever you please.”

Clover directs a wicked smile my way. “I was speaking about Henrik, but Vidnar is lovely as well.”

Simon snorts, but he manages to choke back his amusement when I shoot him a hard look.

Swallowing my irritation, I lead Clover to a quiet corner near the barrack’s summer vegetable garden, out of earshot and partially protected from prying eyes. The frost has settled, and all but a few hardy herbs are brown and withered.

“You’re going to scold me, aren’t you?” Clover crosses her arms. “I won’t apologize—the guard deserved the scare.”

“I only ask that you act a bit more cautiously. I’m afraid you’re going to stumble into more trouble than you’re prepared to handle.”