Coming Soon
|
The third book in the
Land of Riandus Series 
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The moment of truth was upon her. If he was faking, he would have her in a matter of seconds. At his size, his strength would quickly outmatch hers, whether he was hurt or not. With reflexes sharpened by the life she lived within the forest, Christiana’s hand shot out and seized the hilt of his sword, unsheathing the metal blade with a force that knocked her backwards a good four or five steps before she regained her balance. Her heart pounded within her chest as she looked from the sword to the still man.
“Use the sword against him!” Temptation whispered.
Christiana knew it would take but one blow from the powerful, sharp-edged sword to sever his neck from his body. She’d be done with him and her safety would be assured, at least for another day. But murder… Survival was her nature, not murder. If he was not dead already, she could not bring herself to make it so. Head and hands both shaking, she looked back to the weapon, a groan ripping from her throat as she sank to her knees. Dear God, regardless of the outcome, she had already sealed her fate. She was holding the sword of the King.
“Use the sword against him!” Temptation whispered.
Christiana knew it would take but one blow from the powerful, sharp-edged sword to sever his neck from his body. She’d be done with him and her safety would be assured, at least for another day. But murder… Survival was her nature, not murder. If he was not dead already, she could not bring herself to make it so. Head and hands both shaking, she looked back to the weapon, a groan ripping from her throat as she sank to her knees. Dear God, regardless of the outcome, she had already sealed her fate. She was holding the sword of the King.
Temptation's Whisper - the original short story
By Linda Boulanger
©2014 Linda Boulanger
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1 ~ Choices and Destiny
She swung down from the tree, separating rider from horse with the contact of feet to chest as she fell. Christiana was tired of running and the only defense she could think of was to take out her pursuer. The impact knocked her back, the horse’s hooves barely missing her left hand before she could roll away and jump to the safety of her own two feet.
“Steady fella,” she urged, grabbing the stallion’s reins and instinctively cooing to the startled animal. His nostrils continued to flare, his head bucking, though he did not pull away. Slowly he steadied his prance, nuzzling the palm of the hand held toward him. “There you go. Now, you just hang tight while I check on your master.” The rider had not moved from his prone position on the ground. Christiana pushed several errant strands of her dark hair behind her ear and bit at her lower lip, concern burning in her amber eyes. She strained, listening now that the horse had quieted. She heard no others close by within the forest. No one had bothered to attempt the densely grown trail up the hillside besides herself and this seemingly unshakeable man. It hadn’t taken her long to realize the tree was her only hope.
Now, as she inched closer to him, she wasn’t sure whether she hoped he was dead or merely unconscious. She kicked at his booted foot with the tip of her toe. He didn’t move. With slow, deliberate steps she worked her way to his side. The moment of truth was upon her. If he was faking, he would have her in a matter of seconds. At his size, his strength would quickly outmatch hers, whether he was hurt or not. With reflexes sharpened by the life she lived within the forest, Christiana’s hand shot out and seized the hilt of his sword, unsheathing the metal blade with a force that knocked her backwards a good four or five steps before she regained her balance. Her heart pounded within her chest as she looked from the sword to the still man.
“Use the sword against him!” Temptation whispered.
Christiana knew it would take but one blow from the powerful, sharp-edged sword to sever his neck from his body. She’d be done with him and her safety would be assured, at least for another day. But murder… Survival was her nature, not murder. If he was not dead already, she could not bring herself to make it so. Head and hands both shaking, she looked back to the weapon, a groan ripping from her throat as she sank to her knees. Dear God, regardless of the outcome, she had already sealed her fate. She was holding the sword of the King.
Scrambling to his side, she wedged her feet beneath him and used her own body as a lever to roll him over. Yes, it was definitely the King, Lord Garrick Findlay Travensworth.
“Please don’t be dead,” she whispered, her fingers trembling against his neck in an attempt to feel signs of life. If she was caught, wounding him would be bad enough. But if he was dead… There would be no hope. They would hunt her and her people, and the brutality of their executions… The thought made her shudder. Her mind clogged with fear and sudden uncertainty. She had to think of what she must do next.
Amber eyes darting around, she didn’t notice the flinching of the King’s hand, though she definitely heard his moan. That single sound pulled her from her moment of mental paralysis. He wasn’t dead! But she had to do something, and quickly, before he regained full consciousness.
She jumped up to run, then stopped. Her dark red lips curved upward as the brave girl who had dared the hillside path and climbed the tree returned to her familiar self. She had the King! And the King would help her get her people back, unharmed. She would strike a bargain - their Lord for the freedom of her people. Complete freedom.
Careful, purposed steps returned her to his side where she dropped down and ran her hands along his body; something she should have done earlier. Relieving him of the dagger sheathed inside the sleeve of his tunic, she ran a hand around the top of his boot before removing the twin tucked within. Foolish oversight, she thought. Something she could not afford from here forward. Not if her forming plan was to succeed.
Biting at her lower lip, she carefully twisted the ring from his left hand and studied the emblem that should have created the King’s Seal. Dark brows furrowed. It was incomplete from the seal on the intercepted correspondence that had led her people to this place today. Christiana had been the one chosen to carefully remove the wax marking from the letter, knowing that any flaw in the emblem replica would alert its recipients that confidentiality had been breached. The fact that the shipment of fine jewels had accompanied the King’s bride-to-be through the forest that day was certain evidence that she had succeeded in its removal and return to the letter.
But this ring did not complete the seal.
“Without it, you have nothing.” She heard the whisper again.
The urge to retreat welled once more, though it was quickly tamped down by another thought. She placed her palm against his chest and smiled. There. It had to be, she thought, reaching inside and yanking free from his neck the chain she had felt earlier. Without pause, she slipped the misshaped oval onto the outer edge of the ring. A perfect fit completing the design with subtle but necessary details; details she would not have recognized had she not been forced to learn because of the seal. She tipped her face to the heavens and offered a whispered thank you. Victory swirled around her, though she knew she must take care not to let it slip from her grasp as it had so many times from the hands of her ancestors. But they had never had the King, she though, turning her attention back to the man who had begun to stir at last.
“You!” He fixed his eyes on her, though his focus seemed to continue to swim behind the dark blue depths. He carefully lifted his hand to his chest. “You’ve broken my ribs, wretch!”
Christiana laughed at him. “Nay, my lord. Were they broken, your breathing would be greatly labored. Bruised, perhaps. Broken? No.” She stood just beyond his grasp, her hands on her hips as she stared down at him. The tales were correct. He was more handsome than a man had a right to be. “I’m sure you received far worse on the jousting fields in your day.”
He stared at her, assessed her. She knew he was contemplating his surrounding and his ability to make a break to freedom.
“You might reconsider.” Her tone was bolder than she felt. “I have your horse… and your seal.” She held up the ring and watched him, knowingly. As expected, he felt his chest. “Looking for this?” She lifted the chained medallion and laughed at his surprise before slipping it down the front of her man tunic. She could feel it nestled safely inside her loosely laced corset. “Yes. I hold the key to your kingdom, my lord.”
His face, as he watched her, twisted with an odd mixture of heightened interest and… admiration?
“And what will you do with your ill-gotten power?” Dark brows quirked at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he labored to push himself into a sitting position.
“Strike a bargain.” A moment of confusion followed her words as she stepped back, wanting to distance herself from the rising King. She had not expected him to move so quickly.
It took him only three long strides to close the distance between them. He laughed as his hands went around her neck. Frightened, Christiana did not cry out. She refused to give him the satisfaction, though her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared up at him. He was a good foot taller than her. She swallowed hard knowing the thumbs pressed against her throat felt her every movement. She was desperately aware of him, his breath warm on her face, his body firm against hers.
Helpless to move, she watched his eyes dance over her face, stopping to gaze at her red lips before those dark pools flicked back up. She was sure a different whisper from Temptation’s voice called to him from their amber depths.
“My lord.” She tried to sound disdained, though achieved little more than a hoarse whisper.
His fingers inched back into her dark curls as he closed the distance between them before his lips covered hers.
Christiana remembered the dagger, his dagger, slipped inside her own boot now. When he lowered her to the ground, as he surely would, she could retrieve it. But then…all hope would be gone.
Did hope remain? She wondered…
She swung down from the tree, separating rider from horse with the contact of feet to chest as she fell. Christiana was tired of running and the only defense she could think of was to take out her pursuer. The impact knocked her back, the horse’s hooves barely missing her left hand before she could roll away and jump to the safety of her own two feet.
“Steady fella,” she urged, grabbing the stallion’s reins and instinctively cooing to the startled animal. His nostrils continued to flare, his head bucking, though he did not pull away. Slowly he steadied his prance, nuzzling the palm of the hand held toward him. “There you go. Now, you just hang tight while I check on your master.” The rider had not moved from his prone position on the ground. Christiana pushed several errant strands of her dark hair behind her ear and bit at her lower lip, concern burning in her amber eyes. She strained, listening now that the horse had quieted. She heard no others close by within the forest. No one had bothered to attempt the densely grown trail up the hillside besides herself and this seemingly unshakeable man. It hadn’t taken her long to realize the tree was her only hope.
Now, as she inched closer to him, she wasn’t sure whether she hoped he was dead or merely unconscious. She kicked at his booted foot with the tip of her toe. He didn’t move. With slow, deliberate steps she worked her way to his side. The moment of truth was upon her. If he was faking, he would have her in a matter of seconds. At his size, his strength would quickly outmatch hers, whether he was hurt or not. With reflexes sharpened by the life she lived within the forest, Christiana’s hand shot out and seized the hilt of his sword, unsheathing the metal blade with a force that knocked her backwards a good four or five steps before she regained her balance. Her heart pounded within her chest as she looked from the sword to the still man.
“Use the sword against him!” Temptation whispered.
Christiana knew it would take but one blow from the powerful, sharp-edged sword to sever his neck from his body. She’d be done with him and her safety would be assured, at least for another day. But murder… Survival was her nature, not murder. If he was not dead already, she could not bring herself to make it so. Head and hands both shaking, she looked back to the weapon, a groan ripping from her throat as she sank to her knees. Dear God, regardless of the outcome, she had already sealed her fate. She was holding the sword of the King.
Scrambling to his side, she wedged her feet beneath him and used her own body as a lever to roll him over. Yes, it was definitely the King, Lord Garrick Findlay Travensworth.
“Please don’t be dead,” she whispered, her fingers trembling against his neck in an attempt to feel signs of life. If she was caught, wounding him would be bad enough. But if he was dead… There would be no hope. They would hunt her and her people, and the brutality of their executions… The thought made her shudder. Her mind clogged with fear and sudden uncertainty. She had to think of what she must do next.
Amber eyes darting around, she didn’t notice the flinching of the King’s hand, though she definitely heard his moan. That single sound pulled her from her moment of mental paralysis. He wasn’t dead! But she had to do something, and quickly, before he regained full consciousness.
She jumped up to run, then stopped. Her dark red lips curved upward as the brave girl who had dared the hillside path and climbed the tree returned to her familiar self. She had the King! And the King would help her get her people back, unharmed. She would strike a bargain - their Lord for the freedom of her people. Complete freedom.
Careful, purposed steps returned her to his side where she dropped down and ran her hands along his body; something she should have done earlier. Relieving him of the dagger sheathed inside the sleeve of his tunic, she ran a hand around the top of his boot before removing the twin tucked within. Foolish oversight, she thought. Something she could not afford from here forward. Not if her forming plan was to succeed.
Biting at her lower lip, she carefully twisted the ring from his left hand and studied the emblem that should have created the King’s Seal. Dark brows furrowed. It was incomplete from the seal on the intercepted correspondence that had led her people to this place today. Christiana had been the one chosen to carefully remove the wax marking from the letter, knowing that any flaw in the emblem replica would alert its recipients that confidentiality had been breached. The fact that the shipment of fine jewels had accompanied the King’s bride-to-be through the forest that day was certain evidence that she had succeeded in its removal and return to the letter.
But this ring did not complete the seal.
“Without it, you have nothing.” She heard the whisper again.
The urge to retreat welled once more, though it was quickly tamped down by another thought. She placed her palm against his chest and smiled. There. It had to be, she thought, reaching inside and yanking free from his neck the chain she had felt earlier. Without pause, she slipped the misshaped oval onto the outer edge of the ring. A perfect fit completing the design with subtle but necessary details; details she would not have recognized had she not been forced to learn because of the seal. She tipped her face to the heavens and offered a whispered thank you. Victory swirled around her, though she knew she must take care not to let it slip from her grasp as it had so many times from the hands of her ancestors. But they had never had the King, she though, turning her attention back to the man who had begun to stir at last.
“You!” He fixed his eyes on her, though his focus seemed to continue to swim behind the dark blue depths. He carefully lifted his hand to his chest. “You’ve broken my ribs, wretch!”
Christiana laughed at him. “Nay, my lord. Were they broken, your breathing would be greatly labored. Bruised, perhaps. Broken? No.” She stood just beyond his grasp, her hands on her hips as she stared down at him. The tales were correct. He was more handsome than a man had a right to be. “I’m sure you received far worse on the jousting fields in your day.”
He stared at her, assessed her. She knew he was contemplating his surrounding and his ability to make a break to freedom.
“You might reconsider.” Her tone was bolder than she felt. “I have your horse… and your seal.” She held up the ring and watched him, knowingly. As expected, he felt his chest. “Looking for this?” She lifted the chained medallion and laughed at his surprise before slipping it down the front of her man tunic. She could feel it nestled safely inside her loosely laced corset. “Yes. I hold the key to your kingdom, my lord.”
His face, as he watched her, twisted with an odd mixture of heightened interest and… admiration?
“And what will you do with your ill-gotten power?” Dark brows quirked at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he labored to push himself into a sitting position.
“Strike a bargain.” A moment of confusion followed her words as she stepped back, wanting to distance herself from the rising King. She had not expected him to move so quickly.
It took him only three long strides to close the distance between them. He laughed as his hands went around her neck. Frightened, Christiana did not cry out. She refused to give him the satisfaction, though her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared up at him. He was a good foot taller than her. She swallowed hard knowing the thumbs pressed against her throat felt her every movement. She was desperately aware of him, his breath warm on her face, his body firm against hers.
Helpless to move, she watched his eyes dance over her face, stopping to gaze at her red lips before those dark pools flicked back up. She was sure a different whisper from Temptation’s voice called to him from their amber depths.
“My lord.” She tried to sound disdained, though achieved little more than a hoarse whisper.
His fingers inched back into her dark curls as he closed the distance between them before his lips covered hers.
Christiana remembered the dagger, his dagger, slipped inside her own boot now. When he lowered her to the ground, as he surely would, she could retrieve it. But then…all hope would be gone.
Did hope remain? She wondered…
