Page 44

Chapter 44

Kat

“Kat!” Mary rattles the locked knob of my room. “Kat! The master wishes to see you! He’s outside waiting for you!”

I wipe my puffy eyes with my sleeve and smear my snotty nose on my pillow. “Can I speak with him another time? Please?”

“No, it has to be now.” She sounds urgent. Urgently . . . excited . “Come at once! You will want to talk to him now. I promise you.”

I delay a second longer. Then, with a groan, I drag myself out of bed and stumble to the door. My leg aches only a little bit, but enough to catch my notice when everything else feels miserable.

I drag my feet through the house toward the front door. Mary tries to get me to go faster, but I cannot think of what Rahk could possibly want to tell me that would make me glad for him to see me in this tear-streaked, red-faced, rumpled clothes, and matted hair . . . situation . I certainly don’t want to see anyone right now.

But it’s not Rahk I see when Mary pushes me out the door into the courtyard.

It’s four strong legs, with a glossy golden-brown coat, a thick mane, that characteristic white spot near her eye. She nickers and tosses her head.

“Bartholomew!” I shriek.

The tears are pouring free again. I rush forward and bury my wet face in her velvety neck. She immediately tries to eat my hair. I laugh, running my fingers over as much of her as I can. Then I survey her. “You’re not any thinner than when you were taken! It looks like you’ve been well taken care of. Look at you! Oh, you beautiful girl!”

She tosses her head and blows her stinky horse breath into my face. Her ears cup forward, her soft nose nuzzling my cheek. I laugh as I hug her neck. She plops her heavy head over my shoulder.

She’s just as happy to see me.

Then I remember Rahk.

I turn around. He’s standing a few feet away, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his weight on one leg, as he watches me with a pair of twinkling eyes.

I don’t care that Mary and the other servants have crowded around the doors and windows, watching my reunion with my horse. All I know is that the gratitude I feel for this man is too much to contain.

My legs carry me in a burst of speed straight to Rahk, and he barely has time to raise his eyebrows and untuck his arms before I barrel straight into him. I fling my arms around his waist and bury my head in his chest. In any other circumstance, I would be embarrassed by my out-of-control sobbing.

“Thank you!” I weep, embracing him as hard as I can. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

To my surprise, his arms wrap around me, holding me in return. I melt against him, breathing in his comforting scent, and all at once, become aware of how wonderful his embrace is. He brings his head down to mine and presses a kiss to the top of my wild hair. Lightning flashes through my gut and pins me in place.

“You’re welcome,” his low voice rumbles.

When I peel my face away from his chest enough to look up at his face, I find him smiling down at me.

It’s suddenly too much. I withdraw my arms. He releases me and I step back, wiping my face with my sleeve to try to mop up the tears as I pull my composure back under control. Rahk’s hand appears in my vision with a handkerchief. I accept the offering gratefully. In the tail of my eye, I catch him gesturing with his other hand that the watching servants give me privacy. They obey at once.

I return to Bartholomew, who prances her front legs in excitement as I scratch her nose. “How did you ever find her?” I manage to ask. “I was certain she was dead!”

“I just threatened life and limb and that did the trick,” says Rahk with a little smirk.

I shoot a look at him, unsure if he is serious or not. He comes to my side and puts out a hand. To my surprise, Bartholomew nuzzles into it. Then she begins sniffing him, as though searching for something.

“Someone’s wife thought she was exceptional and took good care of her in your absence. Now that I see the creature, I must agree. She is no young animal, but she is strong, well-spirited, and apparently a good judge of character.”

I laugh. “She may like you without knowing you long, but I cannot call her judgment unflawed. She never liked Mary, which is obviously a strike against her. But that’s alright. She makes up for it by being perfect in every other way. Aren’t you, Bartholomew?”

Rahk chuckles and produces a package of carrots from his pocket. Bartholomew pulls her lips back from her teeth and tries to chomp them right out of his hand. He’s faster, however, and grins as he hands them to me.

I usually only give her a few at a time, but this is a special occasion. I let her eat all of them with their leafy tops. Then I glance back at Rahk. “May I . . .”

He lifts a brow, waiting for me to finish.

It feels so ungrateful of me to not spend time with him after he’s done me this great service, but I cannot help it. The request flies out of my mouth. “May I please take her for a ride?”

A smile stretches across his face. “Why do you ask me for permission? Do as you please.”

I let out a high-pitched sound of excitement. I cast about for a stable hand—only to have Rahk call for him to aid me at once. As Bartholomew is being saddled, I cannot help but look back at the prince, with his usually severe manner so warm and pleased as he turns to go back into the house.

And then I’m running back toward him. He stops at the sound of gravel crunching beneath my shoes. His face is surprised, yet again, as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

His hand comes up at once, catching the side of my face and tilting it toward his. I haven’t a second to be taken aback before his mouth claims mine in a searing kiss that shocks me to my core.

It’s not a long kiss. In fact, it’s very short. Just a firm press of warm lips—there and gone.

Rahk releases me, and his face is not amused anymore. Instead, he looks at me very intently. In that moment, as I stand there frozen, still on my toes, I don’t know if he means to communicate something with that black-eyed gaze of his or if he is studying my face for a reaction.

I drop down to my heels. I cannot bear the intensity of his focus, so I swallow and retreat a step. My hand has found my hair, raking through it like that will somehow help me not drown in this moment.

“Thank you!” I blurt, meaning the horse.

I realize only as I turn and charge back to the stables that it sounded like I was thanking him for the kiss.

More than ever, I need the pounding of hooves beneath me, the wind tangling in my hair, the solid comfort of Bartholomew supporting me. Swinging into her saddle is like coming home. Together, we race out of the stables and into the grounds behind Rahk’s estate.

It is like taking flight. I stand a little in my stirrups to stay out of her way, her movements full of power and yet so smooth. We soar across a green ocean of grass. Sharp wind drives tears from my eyes and into my hair. Bartholomew always loves when I let her gallop as fast as her heart wants, and that joy seeps from her muscles into mine. Rahk’s kiss will be considered later. Right now, I’m free .

I missed her so much.

She wants to keep going, even when we reach the edge of Rahk’s estate. I haven’t the heart to stop her, so I let her take us toward the fields near Caphryl Wood.

We ride over the edge of the hill. I grin as we crest, savoring the sheer power of Bartholomew’s body, when my grin is suddenly wiped away in puzzlement.

The valley below me, that leads into the forest, isn’t empty as usual. There are . . . people .

Bartholomew comes to an unsteady halt at a word from me. I survey the scene before us.

The people look mostly poor, with tattered clothes and old, dented hoes and trowels. There are not many of them, perhaps a dozen in all. They are busy working in the part of the field that glitters at night. The part of the land that is now recovered from the forest. In the midst of this work, I catch glimpses of fresh plants and though it’s hard to tell from here, I could almost swear there is one the size of a small tree with enormous red fruit on it.

“Ymer will eat you all!” roars the troll’s deep, rickety voice. “Get off Ymer’s land!”

The troll is on his feet—the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing. He holds his club in one fist and stomps around the grass. People scatter at his approach, taking advantage of his slowness. Then, when he is distracted, others rush in behind him to keep working.

Bartholomew nickers beneath me, sensing my unease.

“What on earth?” I whisper.

I swing my leg over to dismount. Ymer continues railing at the people. They mostly give him a wide berth, but his face grows redder by the moment. If they miscalculate and get too close, he will kill them.

“Stay here, love,” I say to Bartholomew, keeping her away from Ymer’s gaze.

I grab my skirts and jog over to the nearest person. I never take my eye off of the troll. It is a middle-aged woman I reach. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “That troll will kill you!”

“Yes, yes,” replies the woman eagerly, her face bright, “but this is a miracle! We plant the seeds, and the fruits ripen within days ! They are bigger and sweeter than anything we’ve ever seen!”

The small tree with enormous red fruit, I realize in shock, is a tomato plant, with tomatoes bigger than a cantaloupe.

How am I going to continue my raids if there are people here? And what if Ymer actually starts killing people?

“Is that you, small elf?” roars the troll. “Ymer will skin you alive!”

My heart lurches. Everyone in my nearby vicinity scrambles to safety. I tear my gaze away from the strange plants, register Ymer’s approach, and pump my legs into a run over the hilltop. I grab Bartholomew’s reins and leap into her saddle, turning her around quickly.

“We need to go get Rahk!” I tell her.

We gallop back the way we came as fast as Bartholomew can handle.