Into the Shadows by Linda K Hopkins

Chapter 14

Lark’s hands were tied once more, and she stumbled wearily as she struggled to keep up with the Drameara. He had increased his pace, and she glared angrily at his back. Two days had passed since her assassination attempt, but instead of lowering his guard, he seemed more vigilant than before. She had managed to retrieve a piece of blade, however, when she had attended to her personal business the morning after the attempt, and she could feel it digging into her leg where it lay in the pocket of her pants.

They had left the open plains behind them and the terrain was far more undulating than before, with rocky hills and small clumps of trees. The path they were on was narrow, and they had not passed a town for days, but from time to time she saw small huts and cottages in the distance.

It had been drizzling on and off all morning, and Lark was glad for the few rays of sun that were starting to make themselves seen through a break in the clouds. The light caught the whitewashed walls of a house ahead of them, making it gleam. It was larger than the other cottages she had seen, and beyond the house she could see yellow fields of grain, each clearly marked off with wide corridors of grass. A small rock in the path made her trip, but the Drameara did not even slow his pace as he yanked her forward. She glared at him angrily, imagining herself driving a knife through his back and into his heart.

“Your thoughts are so loud I can hear them from here,” he said over his shoulder. She frowned but remained silent. “The tiny piece of blade you carry in your pocket could cut my skin to ribbons, but you should know by now that you cannot kill me.”

She bit her lip to cover her shock, then muttered, “Never say never.”

He gave a dry laugh. “You have more spirit than I expected in such an insipid creature.”

“And you have less between your ears than I would have expected for such a big head,” she retorted.

“No need to pout, princess. Even your precious Guard are unable to kill me.”

“You say that so often it’s getting tedious.”

He fell silent, and she smiled grimly. Perhaps she could irritate him to death.

There was a movement outside the house and she glanced up to see a woman step out, a large crate in her arms. She set it down against the wall before retracing her steps. The sun caught her golden hair as she stepped to the door, then paused and turned when a man came around the corner and pulled her into his arms. Wrapping her hands around his dark head, she gave herself to his kisses before pulling back and smiling up at him as Lark stared in shock. The woman was clearly Cambrian, but just as clear was the fact that the man was Rhymer. She watched as they entered the house, his arm around her shoulders, then dropped her gaze to the ground as she considered the sight. Unions between Rhymers and Cambrians were forbidden, to ensure that bloodlines remained pure, but these two were living together in the open, snubbing their noses at the law. And it seemed clear that they were happy together. Although the path past the house was little more than a track, if the Crimson Guard came across them, it would mean death for them both.

Her mind was so preoccupied she did not notice that the Drameara had stopped walking until she bumped into his back. She quickly stepped back a pace.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

“I want to bathe.”

“Bathe?” She looked around in confusion to see a small pond a short distance away, on the opposite side of the path to the house.

“Yes. I haven’t bathed in days. You could do with a wash, too.”

She backed up another step. “I think I will survive, thank you.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you please, princess. What would your family say if they saw you now?”

She looked away and stared at the house. Her family might not even recognize her in her grimy yellow shirt, tangled hair, and heavy, peasant boots. But nothing on earth would induce her to step into the water with the Drameara.

He led her to the edge of the pond and dropped his bag as he began relieving himself of weapons. She turned around and walked over to the other side of the path, towards a small stand of trees, their fruit ripening in the sun. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Drameara tugging off his boots, and turning back, headed into the trees. She would take a moment to attend to her own private needs, and since the man already knew about the piece of blade she had hidden away, there was no reason not to use it to cut her bindings. It took a little maneuvering to remove the blade from her pocket and then slice through the rope, but finally it fell to the ground and she shook out her wrists, glaring at the cuffs balefully before returning the blade to her pocket. A small bird hopped from branch to branch and she watched it for a moment before heading behind the trees. In the distance she heard the door of the house open, and peering around the trunk, she watched as the woman stepped out once more. A voice called from the house, and she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It was clear that this woman had not been coerced into a relationship with the Rhymer, and Lark wondered what she would think of her situation. Would her sympathies lie with Lark or the Drameara? She could not imagine that a Cambrian woman would approve of the way she had been kidnapped and dragged across the countryside.

The woman laughed again, and suddenly Lark knew what she had to do. Without a backwards glance she began running towards the house. The woman looked up in surprise, watching as Lark grew closer, her eyes widening as Lark grabbed her hands.

“Please, you have to help me,” Lark gasped. The Rhymer man stepped from the house.

“Who’s this?” he asked, and the woman shrugged.

“I don’t know. She appeared from nowhere.”

“He’s going to kill me. Please help me hide.”

“Who?” the woman asked, but she was already pulling Lark towards the house.

“A man. He kidnapped me near Lenora and has dragged me all this way.”

“Lenora?” A look passed between the man and woman that Lark could not decipher.

“Please, you must help me. He’s going to kill me.”

“Yes, of course,” the woman said. “There’s a cellar where you can hide. Where is he?”

“I left him at the pond.”

“Then there’s not a moment to lose. Quickly, get inside.” The woman gestured Lark forward as the man pulled open a door in the floor. There was a narrow ladder which Lark hurried down as the door closed behind her, leaving her in darkness. It was only as the light shut out behind her that she wondered at the wisdom of the plan. She had no way of knowing if the pair were trustworthy. She had no option but to stay, however, and see the plan through.

The minutes ticked by as Lark waited, clutching the ladder to ensure she did not get lost in the dark. She could hear the murmur of voices above her and the sound of feet on the floorboards. After what seemed an interminable age, she heard a knock on the door and the Drameara’s voice through the floor. Hearing it sent a shiver through Lark as she leaned her head against the ladder, straining to listen.

“I’m looking for a Cambrian woman. I believe she came this way.”

The woman answered, although Lark could not make out her words.

“Well, if you see her, please be careful. She’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” It was the man who spoke.

“Aye. Left a trail of bodies across the countryside.”

Lark gripped the ladder tightly as she listened in shock. There was a nervous laugh as the woman said something.

“Unbelievable, I know. She gets into violent rages and leaves destruction in her wake.”

Lark’s jaw was clenched as tightly as her fists when the door above her opened and she looked up to see the Drameara gaze down at her, a small tic at the side of his mouth the only evidence of his humor. She glared at him angrily as she mounted the ladder. “How dare you say such things about me,” she hissed.

“It served my goals,” he said as she stepped out onto the floor. The woman was watching her nervously, although the man seemed unconcerned about a potential murderer in their midst.

“He’s been lying to you,” she told them. “I have not done any of those things!”

“She’s correct,” the Drameara agreed. “She’s really my wife.”

“Your wife?” The Rhymer man looked shocked.

“No!” Lark shouted. “I’m not his wife.”

“Well, what is it?” the Drameara said. “My wife or a murderer?”

“Neither,” she seethed.

He turned back to the couple. “As you can see, she’s wearing my cuffs.”

The woman’s gaze dropped to the cuffs as Lark looked at him in shock. “Really,” she sneered. “If these are yours, what does the V stand for?”

“My initial. Vance.”

“Vance?”

“She doesn’t know your name?” the woman asked suspiciously. “Are you sure she’s your wife?”

“She knows me by my nickname.” He gave a deprecating smile. “We’ve only been married a few days.”

“He lies,” Lark said.

“Those cuffs look costly,” the man said. “How did you afford such an extravagant gift?”

“They’re an old family heirloom,” the Drameara explained.

“Really?” Lark said. “If these are yours, then take them off.”

“Very well.” Taking her by the wrist, he placed his hand over the seam where the cuff had been joined. It sprung open and fell to the floor, and he repeated the action with the second cuff. Lark stared at her wrists in shock, then looked up to glare at him.

“You were able to remove them this whole time?”

“Of course.” He glanced at the couple. “As you can see, the cuffs respond to my touch.”

“How?” the woman said, staring at the cuffs. Her eyes flew to the Drameara. “How did you open them?”

The Rhymer’s gaze was fixed on the Drameara, and he laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “I think it’s best if we don’t know,” he said.

“But –”

“Eve,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

She glanced at her husband, then back at Lark. “Are you his wife?”

“No!” Lark said, but her protest was drowned out by the Drameara.

“She is,” he said. “Now give me a kiss, wife, and show these good people that you were just being foolish.”

“Get away from me,” she hissed, taking a step back, but she was stopped in her tracks when he caught her around the neck and pulled her back.

“I can replace the cuffs just as easily,” he whispered in her ear. He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting hers, and after a moment’s hesitation, she lifted her face to his. Her arms hung at her sides and she clenched her hands into fists as he closed the distance between them and placed his warm, firm lips on hers. Lifting his hand to her chin, he tugged slightly, parting her lips, and then his tongue was in her mouth. A shiver she couldn’t repress passed through her, and she clenched her hands tighter, standing stiff and still. His mouth moved from hers and slid across to her ear.

“You can do better than that,” he whispered.

“No,” she moaned.

“You want the cuffs?”

She groaned and his mouth was back on hers. His hands slipped down her back, going lower as he pulled her close. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth over her lips as he delved deeper. It was impossible to resist his touch, and she placed her hands on his arms, then slid them around his neck. His warm skin beneath hers was her undoing, and she tilted her head, giving him greater access as she returned his kiss. The room and the audience faded away as she held him and she felt as though she was drowning in his touch. His grip tightened around her waist before his hand slid up her back and he began to caress her neck with his fingers. The intensity of skin against skin, the feel of his hands, his mouth, his tongue, all set her nerve endings on fire, and she was lost to the moment. The shuffling of feet and a loud cough brought her back to her senses, and she pulled back, staring at the Drameara in shock. His black eyes caught hers and held them for a moment before he turned away. He reached down, swept the cuffs from the floor, and placed them in his bag.

“I think you should go,” the Rhymer said.

Knowing any further protests were useless, Lark hurriedly stepped outside, quickly walking away as the Drameara fell in beside her. She turned to face him.

“How dare you?” she demanded angrily.

“You should be thanking me for removing the cuffs.”

“Thanking you? You humiliated me!”

“You needed to be brought down a notch or two.”

“You’re despicable.”

“And having kissed you, I can only wonder why the prince agreed to make you his wife. You really are an Ice Queen.”

She glared at him, then spun on her heel and marched towards the path, holding up her chin as humiliation washed over her.