Distracted by chasing hares, she traveled farther on foot than she had intended and almost stumbled into a small, sunlit clearing within the thicket. Alone in the clearing was a most breathtaking horse. A kind of horse Braya had never seen before.
Keeping just beyond the tree line, she barely breathed, afraid she might be dreaming this magnificent being. It was huge. Braya thought if she stood beside it, her head would barely reach the top of the creature’s back. It was white with splotches of rich chestnut brown from its nose to its behind. It’s long, opulent mane and thick flowing tail were pure white—as were the tufts of hoary hair covering its hooves.
Braya left the cover of the trees and walked slowly toward the horse. It was saddled. To whom did it belong? She didn’t care. She’d like to take it. Oh, to ride such a magnificent animal!
She inched closer and held out her hand just as the horse turned its regal head and stared off to her right.
Braya lowered her hand and followed its gaze to a man standing alone on the other side of the glade. Sir Torin Gray! He hadn’t seen her!
She reached for her sword. She could sneak up on him and…what was he doing bending to smell a flower? He brought his fingers to the blossom and lifted it closer. He closed his eyes and breathed as if the fragrance were bringing him back to life. Free of his hood, his sun-kissed curls fell loosely around his face, accentuating the strong cut of his slightly bearded jaw. The sight of him beguiled Braya senseless.
What in the blazes was the matter with her? This man had killed her cousins. Unless he had a good reason, he was an enemy.
The horse blew out a loud breath and neighed.
The knight’s eyes opened and went directly to his mount…and to Braya standing beside it. He lifted his hand over his left shoulder and clasped the hilt of his blade beneath his mantle. In an instant, he went from glorious in the late sunlight, to graceful and deadly.
She wasn’t sure she could fight him with a knife. If he truly had taken down four men on his own, she didn’t want to try. She released her hilt and held up her hands.
“Miss Hetherington,” he said, pulling his sword from its sheath anyway. He looked around for anyone else. “You are alone?”
Her spine stiffened. What would he try if he thought she was? “No,” she lied. “My group is close by. My brother is likely searching for me right now.”
He did his best to conceal his amusement, but she caught the slight curl of his full mouth. He didn’t believe her. “Well, he shall find you in safe hands.”
Braya tried to slow her thrashing heart. It was making her feel lightheaded. What should she do? What was he going to do? Why was she standing around doing nothing? She’d killed before, but those men were trying to kill her during a raid. This was different. What if this man had just been in the wrong place at a bad time? What if he had told the truth and he’d come upon five men attacking the border guards? She’d still prefer that he died rather than any of her kinsmen, but she didn’t want it done if he was innocent of murder. She pushed her mantle aside and touched the hilt of her sword again. His gaze immediately followed. “What are you doing so far from the castle, Gray?” she asked.
He kept his eyes on her hand. “I was having a look around, trying to get to know Cumberland. I wandered off too far.” He finally lifted his gaze to hers. She wished he hadn’t. His eyes were mesmerizing and…melancholy. They drew her into a place she did not wish to go. “Please, call me Torin.”
He came a bit closer, tempting Braya to step back. He was too close to shoot with an arrow. Did she want to pretend she couldn’t fight? So often men had misjudged her, as Sir Torin was doing by re-sheathing his sword. Most of her opponents bore scars from her blades for it. What had the other soldiers told him about her? No matter. If he tried anything, she’d castrate him faster than he could blink.
“How about you, Miss Hetherington?” he asked. His voice was like the song of a siren, beguiling, with a subtle undercurrent of something melodious. “What are you…and your group doing so far from the border?”
How far was she from home? She thought about it and drew in a small bit of her bottom lip between her teeth. “We were hunting. We wandered off too far, as well.”
His gaze deepened on her. She looked away from the power of it. The power to render her breathless, helpless, and reckless. She had things to discover about him, and if he needed killing to prevent an all-out war, she might even be the one who had to do it. She wouldn’t let the chance to find out the truth escape her because the knight was handsome. She kept her fingers at her hilt just the same.
“Do you always stop to smell flowers?”
“Sadly, not always,” he replied. He moved closer until his nearness made her blood feel warm as it rushed through her veins. He was close enough to run him through —or to kiss her if he bent down.
She could end everything now. Her father wouldn’t have to decide. Her extended family would not be called to gather, and there would be no war with the warden.
He reached out his hand and, for a moment, Braya thought he was reaching for her. Her heart banged in her ears.
“I see you have met Avalon,” he said, scratching between the horse’s ears.
“Avalon,” she repeated, liking the sound of it. “That—” she paused to let her heart slow down. “That is a lovely name. What does it mean?” What in damnation was she doing growing breathless over him, asking meaningless questions about his horse when she had so many other things to find out?
“’Tis a place where a legendary king was taken to recover from his wounds after fighting his enemy. ‘Tis sometimes called the island of apples.”
“The island of apples?” she said with a soft laugh. She couldn’t help it, for it felt as if a thousand dragonflies just flew across her belly. Still, she kept her fingers at her hilt. “How wonderful.” Which legendary king was taken there? She wanted to hear more. She shouldn’t. She should ask what she wanted to ask, and then return home and tell her father what happened.
But golden light spilled around him making him appear almost otherworldly.
“Have you ever been to Avalon?” She couldn’t help but want to know. Perhaps he would tell her the way. She would ask him the more important question when the moment was right. It was still early enough not to be missed at home. She often went off alone. Besides, she liked the tale, and she liked the sound of Sir Torin’s voice telling it.
He shook his head and his hair fell into his eyes. He plunged his fingers through it and cleared it away. He looked more like something from her dreams than a skillful killer. “’Tis said to be a magical place that produces all things of itself. Fields have no need of the plough. Nature provides everything and people live there a hundred years or more.”
Her eyes opened wider, causing his gaze on her to go warm. “Do you believe ‘tis a real place?”
“No,” he said, his slight smile fading as he dropped his arm to his side. “But I like the idea of it.”
Aye. So did Braya. No fighting. No hunger. But he was correct. It wasn’t real. “Tell me what happened with my kin at the tavern. I must know the truth.”
He knit his brow and slipped his shadowed gaze from his horse to her. “I already told your father what happened.”
“Tell it to me, please, Sir.”
What more did she need? He’d admitted to killing her kin, whether he had been trying to save Carlisle’s soldiers or not, he had killed them. He was her family’s enemy. She should kill him and run. How would she prove anything to her father if she had their enemy in her hands and did nothing but swoon over him?
“Sit and eat with me here,” he invited her, “and I will repeat to you what you heard me say in the great hall.”
She shook her head and realized that her fingers were nowhere near her hilt. “My brother—”
“Is nowhere near. You are alone,” he told her, looking at her calmly in the face. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
She doubted it. Though he was comforting, there was something innately dangerous about him.
“If I did,” she answered, fighting not to be affected by his rakishly tousled hair falling around his face like a nimbus, “you would not find me so easily overcome.”
His jaw tightened as if he were keeping his words from leaving his mouth. She thought she might have caught something dark pass across his features. A challenge, perhaps? He said nothing.
“All right,” she allowed and moved aside when he reached out again, this time for a large bag tied to Avalon’s saddle.
She knew it was a bad decision to stay when he untied his mantle and spread it out in the grass and offered her a seat. But when he sat close and opened the bag of food and six ripe, red apples fell across her lap, she thought of Millie and reconsidered.
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