Page 3

Chapter

Two

Adara

U lrich plodded dutifully through the dense forest, his magnificent black coat shiny with perspiration.

Her mount did not balk at Adara’s demands, only ran when she spurred him and halted when she jerked the reins.

She allowed herself a rare show of affection as she ran a hand over his shoulder, though she fenced her murmurs of gratitude inside her head.

Only Hagan, her trusted guard, had heard her comfort the animal.

She would not allow others to see her softer side.

There was difficulty enough being a woman, let alone a widow.

Adara checked over her shoulder to the proud, blonde woman in tow behind her horse.

Two of Adara’s men, Thorhild and Leon, followed on horseback.

Together they were a small but mighty force, stealthy enough to steal a woman without commotion.

It was what she should have done in the first place.

Though, if a glare could kill, Adara would have been dead ten times over.

When they’d taken her, Hagan had cut the woman’s hair at Adara’s command.

The golden hank had been left at the village for Ridley Ward, chieftain of Hyrstow.

Adara was dejected to find that the cut strands favorably framed the point of the woman’s chin while the remaining, marred with dirt, hung limply over her left shoulder.

A deep, purple bruise bloomed on the left side of her lip.

Adara abhorred it. She did not condone violence against women, yet this one did not go easy with them.

Adara frowned and turned forward in her saddle. Splinters of the high sun shot through the dark green leaves overhead. Summer heat bled through her fine blue cloak. An idyllic day, yet every rustle, each far off swish of branches, caused Adara’s shoulders to tighten.

“You needn’t have come,” Hagan said from beside her. Towering in his saddle, he’d dropped back from the lead to speak with her. Adara tightened her grip on the reins before replying.

“I do not require your advice.”

Hagan pursed his lips, silver mail glinting in the dappled light as they wove between trees.

It was heavy, she knew, as she wore her own version.

Hagan had insisted she wear it, citing he would not help with her mission if she didn’t help herself.

Adara squashed the small part of her that warmed to think he cared.

“Indeed. However, I would like to inquire, if I may,” he said, his deep timbre low so the others would not overhear.

Adara kept her eyes on the deer path they traversed.

She didn’t want to discuss her reasons for taking Ridley Ward’s wife.

Adara had been told what to do, where to go, and who to spend time with her entire life.

Only in the past two months, after her husband Elvin’s death, had she been free to do as she pleased.

She knew her men did not understand her grudge against Hyrstow.

Knew that they likely spoke of her mad hunger to harm the village while drinking ale in the kitchens of her house.

“Get on with it,” she said, the words clipped.

Hagan hesitated, something rare, so she turned to look up into his rough face. The long-healed scar that ran from his left temple to his mouth puckered with his frown.

“These past months, you’ve trained as if you’re being sent to war. Today, you made it clear you were to accompany us on this task despite me advising I can carry out your wishes. Do you not trust me? Do you not think me a worthy fighter if the need arises?”

Adara forced her eyes to stop their roll before it started. It was a skill she was rather good at. Something honed with years of practice from being the daughter of a terrifying man then married to a cruel one.

Of course, this was about the fragile egos of dangerous men.

“I trust you to carry out my wishes. However, I wished to accompany today’s dealings for reasons of my own.”

“My lady, if I may, being privy to—”

“You may not,” she said, authority ringing in her tone. “You are my guard. I have my reasons for wanting to look upon Hyrstow and the filth who dwell there. I do not have to explain them to you or anybody else.”

Hagan tucked his chin to his chest in acceptance.

It shrank his form for a heartbeat though it did not weaken it.

Something in Adara softened. She wished she could have confessed why she had to set eyes on Hyrstow.

Though torturing herself by looking for the man who’d broken her heart all those years ago sounded too pathetic a reason to voice aloud.

“I understand, my lady. Apologies.”

A familiar self-loathing churned Adara’s middle as Hagan offered a quick nod before trotting forward.

The man had been her faithful guard for years, since her arrival at Clayton House eight winters ago.

Close to her age and willing to prove himself despite the derogatory nature of his position, they had struck up as close a friendship as one could between a lady and a guard.

With a sigh, Adara opened her mouth to offer a conciliatory remark but a pained male cry from behind cut the air.

Adara twisted on her horse, her hand sliding over the handle of the custom-made short sword on her belt.

The woman had slipped her bonds. Behind where she should have been, Leon held a palm to his leg.

“She struck me with a rock!”

“How did she get a rock?” Thorhild snarled as he scrambled off his horse, his face contorted in anger beneath his mop of shaggy blond hair.

Leon straightened, despite his grimace of pain. He ran into the woods.

How had she escaped?

Adara growled low in her throat, throwing a leg over her horse to dismount. Hagan raised a hand to stop her.

“My lady, you must remain horsed. We will catch her. She cannot be far.”

“She is my bounty; I shall ensure she remains so!” Adara snarked back.

With her sword in hand, she dropped to the ground on light feet.

To her right, behind the cover of an impossibly large oak, a man squealed in pain.

Sounds of a struggle echoed through the bush.

Hagan gave chase. Thor looked back at Adara for a heartbeat then ran to the tree to recapture the wild woman.

He and Hagan rounded the leaf laden tree on both sides, each coming round the other side without the captive.

“Leon is down,” Hagan said, panting. He shrugged off his shield, shoving it into her hands. “Take this. Get on your horse.”

Adara lifted her chin as she gripped the thick leather at the back of the wide wooden shield. Her knees nearly buckled with the strength it took to hold the thing up. “I can take care of myself. Get her .”

Thor and Hagan ran past the oak, separating from one another to cover more ground. Adara clutched her weapons, rage spilling through her at the woman’s audacity. Ridley’s bride would pay. They would all pay for what Adara had had to endure.

A rustling behind her had Adara turning. Unbothered, Ulrich nosed the long grass that sprung up in tufts beside the path. Only yearling trees and dense bush lay past his swishing tail. However, the sounds of the men crashing through the wilderness echoed through the forest.

Was it a pounding drum in the distance? Or was that the thrum of her heart?

The snap of a twig caused her teeth to clench. A deep curse from Thor boomed through the trees. The hair on Adara’s neck stood on end.

Still, thunder rumbled the ground. Hooves, as if an entire army had come.

Fear seized her, but only for a moment. She was not one to dwell on prospects when a course of action could be taken.

Crouching low, Adara discarded the shield and moved between the horses, clutching her sword in her right hand.

She turned her steps into a whisper as she’d learned to do to avoid her husband, proceeding in the opposite direction of the men.

It led her closer to the sound of the incoming horses but Adara suspected the chieftain of Hyrstow’s wife to be cunning.

If the men didn’t catch her, she wouldn’t remain where they could.

Ducking down, Adara moved around a dense bush. She drew a deep breath through her nose to calm the wild beating of her heart. She would not allow the woman to escape. Ridley’s wife was the key to Adara’s revenge. The only way to avenge the only person she’d ever cared for.

Not true.

The words echoed through her mind like a stern older sister.

Adara gritted her teeth and stood. Walking toe to heel, she was near-silent as she moved over hard-packed dirt and sticks covered in moss. Green and brown grasses cushioned her steps as she moved east, toward the fields that she remembered all too well.

Something cold and sharp settled along her throat. Adara went perfectly still.

“I shall spill your blood upon my boots, you cunt.”

“Colorful language,” Adara sneered.

The woman’s chest pressed her back. She dug her knee into Adara’s thigh with such force it nearly caused Adara to drive her neck forward onto the blade.

“You should kill me,” Adara suggested, her mind entering the calm space of nothing she retreated to when necessary. It dulled everything, even the feel of the sharp edge on her skin.

“I’ve killed one of your men. The others are looking in the wrong direction. Now, tell me. What do you want with Hyrstow?”

“Ah,” Adara said, “who said I wanted anything to do with Hyrstow?”

The woman gripped Adara’s upper arm, her grasp merciless. The thunder of hooves grew. Adara willed herself to look at the situation as if she wasn’t in death’s clutches. She thought of where her men were, whoever was coming, and how long it would take for them to arrive. Not long.

“Your death will be enough for me,” the blonde woman snarled. She pressed the tip of the blade into Adara’s throat. Pain bloomed beneath her chin.

“Fine. Your husband.”

The woman behind her stilled. Adara went on. “He took something from me. Something very precious. You might as well kill me and get the war started because I will not stop until he has suffered as I have.”

“War?” came the response. It was uncertain enough that Adara grinned.

The hooves halted. Footfalls crashed toward them from the right.

“Indeed. I am Lady Clayton of Guston. Daughter to the Earl of Bernira. You spill my blood on your territory, and my house, along with my father’s, will rain wreckage down upon your pathetic little village such as you have never seen.”

“We’ve seen plenty,” Ridley’s wife hissed.

Adara infused a smirk into her words. She kept her gaze on Ulrich. The beast had raised his head and stared at her with one glassy eye.

“I wish to distress Ridley Ward. Make him suffer. It was the intent of the raid weeks ago and your capture. I will not harm you more than necessary. If he believes you are captured, he will suffer, will he not?”

The woman did not speak. The hesitation was enough for Adara to press on. “He is likely coming for you right now, am I right? Is that the reason you stall?”

A growl of impatience, though the blade at Adara’s neck loosened just enough to make her confident.

“Did you know I have a rather large house? Nothing like an earl’s keep but a stronghold in itself.

In my employ is an excellent dungeon master.

He delights in using his tools to ensure maximum pain.

I can promise to not turn you over to him, but if you kill me, my men will raze your village to the ground. Your husband’s life is to be forfeit.”

Crashing sounded from the south coupled with Hagan’s hoarse shout: “My lady!”

He came into view, tall and broad and as furious as she’d ever seen him. A scratch marred his cheek as if a tree had whipped him in the face.

Behind them, someone yelled, “Yrsa!”

Sweat slicked Adara’s underarms. She was out of time. She tried to keep her tone level as she spoke.

“It sounds as if your people have found us. Let it be known that my men’s only order is to kill your Ridley. They are prepared to die to do so. If you do not come with me now, you sacrifice him for a cause that you know nothing about.”

Yrsa’s grip on her arm lessened.

“You swear not to harm him if I go with you?”

Adara grinned. “For now.”

It seemed to be enough. The heat of the woman left Adara’s back, the knife falling away. Adara turned, allowing her cold smile to grow.

“Drop your weapon.”

Breaths sawed from the woman. Rage lived in her dark blue eyes along with something else, something touched by fear. Ignoring the sounds of footsteps on both sides of them, Adara extended her blade, ensuring Yrsa understood she was captive again.

“Get on my horse. Now.”

Yrsa smashed her lips together, striding to the horse. Adara followed, mounting behind the woman whose shoulders sagged a little as she settled.

Triumph sang in Adara’s bones. She angled her short sword at Yrsa’s side—a blow that would cause her to bleed out within moments if she chose to move.

“Hagan, let’s go,” she commanded, taking hold of Ulrich’s reins.

Hagan ran for his mount, swinging himself up into his saddle.

Leon had gotten himself killed and God knew where Thorhild was.

So long as she and Hagan made it to the open plain, they could outrun Hyrstow’s people.

Adara scanned behind her to ensure she wouldn’t receive a dagger to the back when her gaze clashed with the greenest eyes she thought she’d never see again.