She Walks in Power by Tyndall MaryLu

Author:Tyndall, MaryLu [Tyndall, MaryLu]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ransom Press
Published: 2016-09-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

“You are an earl,” Alexia heard herself say, though she meant to keep the words cloistered in her thoughts—thoughts that refused to settle into reason. “With an estate of your own?” she added absently, unable to take her eyes off Ronar. Firelight shifted over the right side of his face, accentuating the scar slicing his eyebrow. He stared at her with those sharp blue eyes of his. The playful gleam within them faded as sorrow clouded them, and he turned, hands on his waist to stare at the flames.

“Do you find it so surprising?” he said.

She did. Yet…of a sudden, nay, not as she took in the regal way he stood, heard the authority in his voice, remembered the commanding way he moved and held himself—as a King’s Guard, aye, but as a man also accustomed to giving orders. Why had she not seen it before?

Rain dripped from the tips of his hair onto his shirt. A few dark strands hung over his stubbled jaw, suddenly so stiff.

Stooping, he tossed a log onto the fire, and the heat finally reached her. “Why?” was all she could utter.

“Why do I present myself as a mere knight in the King’s Guard?” He faced her with a sad grin. “A tale for another time.”

The old man hurried back in, dressed in a presentable livery this time, his arms full of blankets. Ronar took one and flung it around Alexia. Despite the instant warmth, she could not stop trembling.

“Mulled wine will be ready anon, my lord.”

“Thank you, Bridon. I will need vinegar, thread and needle, bandages, and Mistress Yonk’s mint and yarrow rub.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Hefting one of the wooden chairs, Ronar placed it before the fire. “Come sit and warm yourself.” He approached to help her, but Alexia held up a hand. “I am quite able.”

But she wasn’t able. Her ankle throbbed, and the slightest attempt to stand forced her back to her chair.

Sliding his arms beneath her, Ronar lifted her without effort and placed her on the chair. Flames crackled and instantly cocooned her in warmth. The shivering lessened, and she suddenly felt self-conscious in her wet attire with her sodden hair matted to her head and falling to her lap like seaweed. Especially before this man who was an earl—one of only twelve in all of England.

“Seems I am not the only one proficient at deceit,” she said, drawing his gaze and a glimmer of a smile.

“You never asked if I was an earl.”

“You never asked if I was Lady of Luxley Manor,” she returned, garnering another smile, and hating herself for the warmth flooding her at the sight.

“Mayhap neither of us are what we seem.” His glance lowered. “Take off your boots. I must check your foot.”

“You will do no such thing!”

“Your foot could be broken, my lady. I can and I will. We need tend your arm as well.” He gestured toward her ragged, bloody sleeve where the dogs had bitten. In all the excitement, she hardly felt the pain anymore.

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