Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Be certain I’ll be saying that horseshit more often now.”
The laugh that broke from Bannin ended on a breath like a sob. “The jewels are the stars?”
The desperate hope in his friend’s eyes wrenched at Warrick’s heart. “I’ll bring them to you, brother. This I vow to you. By summer’s end, I’ll deliver the jewels to Galoth. Along with her golden head.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Bannin lifted his mug. “To doing what’s right?”
Warrick grunted his approval. “To doing what’s right.”
And to breaking curses with his cock.
Elina the Breathless
The Falls
“We are nearing the camp, Your Highness,” Serjeant Iarthil announced from his mounted position beside the carriage, rousing Elina from stupor to anticipation.
The camp was one they’d used before. The site was well-situated at the base of an escarpment, over which tumbled three streams that splashed into a wide pool before narrowing into a single river. A cooling mist continually drifted off the waterfalls. Colorful flowers blossomed upon every cliff ledge, their fragrances gently perfuming the breeze. If Elina’s strength allowed, she hoped to sit upon the small boulders that ringed the pool, breathing in that lush air.
Her strength would likely not allow. With every rut and bump in the road, the tonic sloshed uneasily in her stomach. The sun beat down upon the roof of the carriage and, despite opening the curtains, the air within was stifling. In her brocade and paint, Elina could hardly breathe or move, as if she were being slowly smothered by the queen’s raiments.
But more torturous would be the hours until nightfall. Wondering whether the barbarian warrior would follow her.
He would not need to. The purse she’d given to him held a fortune in gold. Even if he never laid eyes upon her again, he could live like a king for the remainder of his life.
Though he did not seem the sort to flee an obligation. The serjeant had told her how the barbarian had broken his chains and opened his cell. Which probably meant he’d been biding his time within the prison, waiting for the ship to sail and for the men and women he’d freed to be out of harm’s way.
Elina lifted her head from her pillow. “Serjeant Iarthil.”
Never distant, he drew his horse closer to the window of Elina’s carriage—which was more properly a wheeled lounging bed with seats for her attendants. In early years, before the curse, she’d ridden her own horse beside his.
She missed those days.
“Your Highness calls?”
“Did you learn the warrior’s name?”
“Warrick of the Ghost Clan.”
Warrick.
Who wanted to bed her. The very thought made Elina feel meltingly hot—not the horrible smothering heat, but a warmth resembling honey, thick and sticky and sweet.
Though perhaps it was only the queen’s face that had sparked his admiration—and now that face was also melting, but into a horror. Elina prayed he would not be put off by her own features, for she rarely wore the paint.
She also prayed he hadn’t been put off by her puking.
“I wish to bathe as soon as we arrive.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” said Dara.
“And wear the lavender silk after.”
The maid exchanged a glance with Chardryn. Never had Elina worn the lavender, for it was nothing but a wisp of a gown.
“And I would share my supper with Warrick. A picnic by the water.” If he arrived in time for supper.
Chardryn frowned. “Your Highness—”
“On a blanket.” Elina countered the objections she knew would come. “With cushions. It will take no more effort to sit there than lying in this carriage does. And the attendants’ tent must be raised.”
Usually Nanny Char and the maids kept quarters in Elina’s expansive tent. Not any longer.
“What if he does not come?” Serjeant Iarthil asked.
Her heart constricted at the thought, and it hurt to pull in a breath. As if her very lungs were being crushed. “Then…onward. Do you think he will not come?”
The serjeant had spent more time with Warrick than Elina had. He’d been able to speak directly to him. His impression of the barbarian would be deeper than hers.
“I know not. His words were…eager.” A charming blush colored the older man’s face. “Yet his manner was harsh. And—”
“Menacing,” muttered Chardryn.
Dara nodded. “Savage.”
“Joyful,” Elina said. “When he looked upon my face, I saw—” What exactly had she seen in that brief widening of his eyes? “He was surprised. But also joyful.”
“What I saw was more cunning. Or careful,” the serjeant said. “At times they appear similar.”
Elina would never regret a cunning or careful husband. “Perhaps he could not trust the joy he felt, and that explains the difference in his manner afterward.”
“We waste our breath supposing and assuming. We will know what he feels if he follows,” declared Chardryn, ever practical.
Elina sighed. Nanny Char was right, of course. It did no good to debate what Warrick would do and why he would do it, when the answer would come soon.