Page 12 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

The question comes out of nowhere—even I’m stunned by it. But there is truth in the words. I know how he admires the fiery Lauramorian princess. I doubt he would chastise her for attempting what I have plans to do.

“You and Pippa are nothing alike, but I wouldn’t think it wise for even her to attempt what you are planning.”

Even her.

While thinking of a retort, I’m distracted by yelling ahead of us.

“Stay here,” Galinor says, kicking his horse forward.

This seems like good advice, but I glance over my shoulder, worried.

What if there is trouble behind us as well?

I don’t want to be a sitting duck here all by myself on the road.

Or worse—what if the chaos has been caused by Pika finally showing herself?

Irving wouldn’t, but the others might injure her, thinking she will attack.

I give the mare a timid nudge forward. I don’t want to run right into trouble, but I don’t want to stay here, alone, either.

The others come into view as I ride around a curve in the road.

Irving’s sword glints in the sunlight as he blocks an attack.

Galinor leaps from his horse and meets another.

Bran and Dristan are involved in a fight with three men who have come at them with fists.

Bran ducks an attack and circles around to punch a tall, gangly man in the gut. Dristan lands a solid hit to another man’s nose, but the third man—a short, hairy brute—plows into him.

I go cold as I watch the young prince fall backward, the large man on top of him. When they land, the man’s fist crashes into the ground next to Dristan’s head. If Dristan hadn’t moved, it would have connected with his face.

From atop my horse, I stare at them all, helpless.

Irving, Galinor, and Bran seem to be holding their own, but Dristan is still healing.

He shouldn’t be fighting. Before I can think enough to talk myself out of it, I jump to the ground and look for something I can use as a weapon.

I grab as large a boulder as I can hold in one hand, and I run into the fight.

In the distance, I hear Marigold yell for me to stop.

Galinor looks up when he hears my name, and it’s just enough of an opening for the man he’s fighting to land a punch to his eye.

Galinor’s head snaps back, and I scream his name.

He recovers in moments, punches the man in the stomach, and then pays him back with a solid hit to the nose. The man crumples on the ground.

Behind me, I realize Dristan is still trying to fight off the beast-man. Having no idea what I’m doing, I jump on the man’s back and grit my teeth as the stone connects with his skull. With a heavy thud, the man falls to the ground next to Dristan.

Oh, please, don’t let him be dead.

Dristan pushes himself to his feet and takes after the second man attacking Bran.

The man opposite Irving lunges one last time and then flees for the forest when Irving deflects the sword with his own. Only two other men are conscious after the fight, and they too chase after their comrade, leaving the other two in the road and at our mercy.

I fall to my knees and place a hand over my racing heart. I’m lightheaded and dizzy, and I take deep, long breaths to calm myself. The hairy man I’ve pummeled is still on the ground, but he’s moaning, so he must be alive.

My hair has fallen from its braid, and several strands lay in long waves over my eyes. I push them aside and look up, surveying the damage.

Before I can ask if he’s all right, Galinor pins me with his gaze. His eyes flash, and one is already looking puffy and red. “Anwen! Didn’t I tell you to stay back?”

It’s probably not the best time to argue with him, so instead, I shrug. He strides to me and kneels—a gesture that should be comforting. But with the stern look on his face, it’s not.

“I didn’t want to stay by myself,” I mumble. I almost mention my thoughts about Pika, but I wisely keep them to myself. “And then I saw this horrible man attack Dristan.”

I poke the beast-man in the ribs with the toe of my boot. He groans, but he doesn’t move.

Galinor’s eyes bore into mine. “Next time, when I tell you to stay back, you will heed my advice. You could have been hurt. You could have been killed .”

I would like to point out that I was neither hurt nor killed, but, again, I stay quiet.

“I’m sorry about your eye.” I trace the very edges of the puffy skin with my fingertips. “I wish we had something to put on it.”

The skin is split at the corner, and a slow stream of blood runs down his cheek. Feeling responsible, I dab it away with my handkerchief.

Galinor’s expression softens when our eyes meet. “I’m fine.”

“Irving?” Bran collapses on a large boulder at the side of the road. “Who were those men, and what did they want? They ambushed you first, and they hollered your name.”

Irving rolls his shoulders and then stretches his neck. He glances at me, flashes a wicked smile, and then looks back to Bran. “I do believe they were a few of Lord Orick’s men.”

Galinor looks from me to Irving, his expression clearly surprised. “Why would they attack us?”

“Me,” Irving says, looking a little sheepish. “They attacked me.”

“But why? ”

“I attended one of Alexander’s illegal dice games last night. I won fairly, but they weren’t eager to part with their coins.”

Seeing we’re now safe, Marigold rides back from the side of the road and scowls at Irving. “I’m sure you didn’t taunt them about your win, either.”

He grins. “Of course not.”

“Are you all right, Marigold?” Galinor stands and goes to her.

Her eyes drop to her horse’s mane. “I’m fine, thank you. Dristan saw them first, and he told me to take to the trees.”

“I’m glad you heeded his advice,” Galinor says to her. He turns to me and gives me a pointed look.

I set my jaw and stare back at him. His eyebrow twitches as if he’s about to lose his temper, but I turn away, biting my cheek so I don’t laugh. I’m certain that would do nothing to improve his mood.

The beast-man groans again. Galinor leans down and checks his pulse. He decides the man will live, and he tells us we should ride on so they can return to collect their men. Bran quickly checks the other man, who I believe is faking his unconsciousness at this point.

“How are you?” I ask Dristan.

He brushes the dust from his tunic and smiles at me. “I could have taken him, you know.”

“I know,” I agree, though we both know he probably couldn’t have.

“You should have seen the look on his face when you attacked him.” Dristan grins. “He froze up, and his eyes went huge when you bashed him on the head. ”

Irving laughs, a bright sound, and he drapes his arm over my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

“She shouldn’t have been in the middle of it at all,” Galinor grumbles, but he is ignored.

I eye Irving. “You faired the best out of everyone.” I poke his side. “Not even a scratch.”

Bran laughs. “When people ask what’s happened to us, they’ll think he ran away.”

A purple bruise is already forming on Bran’s cheek. Dristan has a gash on his forehead that needs to be tended, and, of course, Galinor has a very painful looking black eye.

Irving cringes and turns his cheek toward me. “Hit me, Anwen, right here. I can’t have people thinking I’m a coward.” He flashes me a taunting grin, thinking I won’t.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” I say. “But not today.”

Bran whistles as he looks at the man at my feet. “Don’t make her mad again, Irving.”

I do feel bad about knocking the man out—but their men started it.

Growing impatient, Galinor says, “We need to ride.”

Irving gives my shoulder a squeeze, and then he releases me.

We set off again for Glendon’s border, but this time Galinor stays ahead of me, speaking with Bran and Irving.

I stay close to Marigold and Dristan. As we travel, Marigold shares tidbits of information about the flora and fauna we pass.

Dristan, for the most part, keeps up both his and my end of the conversation, so I don’t have to add much.

Instead, I watch Galinor’s back—he now seems content to pretend I don’t exist—and listen for signs of Pika. There are no more mews, and I have yet to see a flash of black in the trees.

I sigh and concentrate on the dusty road in front of me.