Page 2 of Taken By the Elderman

When my husband’s men step forward toward us, the Elderman warns them.

“One step closer and this morning’s sunrise will have been your last.”

My captor’s words manage to sound menacing but not exaggerated. As if he means each and every one.

But one churchman against two armed knights?

Tis only when the Elderman draws his sword that they stand down. My husband’s men, those with no qualms about attacking a village of innocents, men who appeared a moment ago so mighty and strong, turn and run.

They sprint in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with . . . not a simple Elderman. I’d not noticed his sword. My feet remain still even though this is my opportunity to run. He turns to me, his face still obscured by the hood.

“You are a Shadow Warrior,” I say.

His nonanswer is my answer. I resign myself to this new fate, for resistance to such a man would be the height of futility.

2

Aiken

That we are feared even more than we are revered worked in my favor today. Though I had two plans to get the lady onto Sorel without attracting attention, her sudden acquiescence made the task much simpler.

But now, as she—the traitorous sister of the queen—sits practically on my lap as we ride, rattling off question after question, none of which I’ve thus far answered, I wonder if I’d been too hasty when I decided against tying a rag around her mouth.

“Answer me,” she demands, as if she were the queen herself.

Since getting as far away from Craighcebor is my only concern, I try to block out her questions and concentrate on those who might be following us, but her constant barrage is beginning to grate.

I’ve seen the queen only twice, but not in the past several years. Unlike Cettina, a strikingly beautiful woman with blonde hair so light some call it unnatural, Hilla, her hair a darker shade, might seem to pale in comparison. But her full lips are hard to ignore. Her hair, neither blonde nor brown. Her shape, neither slim nor thick. All the same, I recognized her immediately. Even if she’d not been hiding in that smithy’s shop with her equally traitorous husband, I could have identified her as the queen’s sister. Clearly raised at court, the daughter of a king, her mannerisms mark her as more than a mere noble.

“Where are we going?” she demands yet again.

Ignoring the question, I slow our mount nearly to a stop. Although not the main road, this particular path is well-traveled enough to cause concern, and I’ve detected a presence. Moments later, a deer sprints out from the dense woods, directly in front of us, disappearing almost as quickly.

“How did you know he was there?”

After more than an hour, finally a question I am able to answer.

“A change in the sound of the woods.”

I spur our mount forward.

“He speaks. Finally.”

I do not answer, as there is no need. Speak only when necessary. Answer only when your words cannot be used against you. Two of the many, many lessons I received in training all those years ago.

After a moment passes without me elaborating on those words, Lady Hilla makes a strangled sound of frustration, and I’m brought back to that day when Baldric Orazio began to instruct me.

“If you are to complete your training, you cannot be simply another warrior. A skilled swordsman. Or bowman. This isle has plenty of both. But you must be more than that. Your secret weapon, my son, are these.” My mentor pointed to my ears. “You cannot listen if you are speaking.”

Minutes turned to hours with none but that single deer as our witness. Lady Hilla, now squirming in front of me, her backside reminding me I’m still very much a man, finally reached her limit.

“Either you answer some of my questions, or I will jump from this horse.”

Listening less to her words than the tone of her voice, I conclude the lady is serious. She is actually considering such a thing. And although that would solve the problem of what to do with her, it would leave me with a dead body to attend to.

“You would risk breaking your neck?” I ask, responding with little more than an arch of my brow when she snaps back, “Yes,” so quickly. She is speaking from emotion. Not surprising as that is precisely what most people do in situations they cannot control.

“Surely,” I say, because tis fact, “you’ve deduced I do not mean to kill you?”