A Daring Sacrifice (5 page)

Slowly, I loosened my grasp over her mouth. When I lifted my hand away completely, I let it hover for a moment, waiting to see if she'd cooperate.

She remained silent, likely realizing that screaming wouldn't do her any good, especially since her companion was weaponless and would have a difficult time following us in the dark.

Without relaxing my hold on her arms, I twisted her around until she faced me. Before she could struggle, I quickly and easily used one hand to pin her thin wrists in front of her.

A shaft of moonlight broke through a gap in the gnarled branches overhead. The glow illuminated her face, showing her to indeed be the young thief who had attacked me earlier in the day. Although she wore a knit hat on her head to cover her hair and her face was still smudged with her muddy disguise, I had no trouble deciphering her feminine features.

She lifted her gaze, and at the sight of my face her eyes widened in recognition and my name slipped from her lips. “Collin.”

“Lord Collin,” I said, unable to resist teasing her. “I thought we got my title straightened out this morning.”

“Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty.”

I grinned, appreciating the jaunty curve of her lips. “You're forgiven, sweetheart.”

Her eyes rounded even more. Was she surprised I'd discovered she wasn't the boy she pretended to be?

“And exactly why are you kidnapping me, Your Majesty?” she said while rapidly regaining her composure. “Did you want to give me another ring?”

I laughed softly, enjoying the witty banter altogether too much.

“Or perhaps this time you're planning to give me real treasure—a pouch of gold or something that might be truly beneficial.”

“And who exactly will be benefitting from my gifts?” I watched the moonlight shift across her face.

“People who need it much more than you.” Her voice turned hard, and her eyes suddenly glittered, reminding me that she was a thief. If her performance that morning was any indication of her skill, she was good at what she did. Of course she wasn't good enough to elude me, but good nonetheless.

I braced my leg against hers to prevent her from giving me a surprise kick or knee.

“The people on my land aren't suffering,” I said.

“And when is the last time you stepped into one of their homes and spoke with them?”

Her question stopped my easy retort. When was the last time I'd spoken to one of the tradesmen who lived in the town bordering my castle, or one of the many peasant farmers who worked my land?

“My point exactly,” she said with a smug smile.

“And a good point it is.”

At my words of agreement, her smile faltered.

I couldn't keep my grin from widening. For the first time since I'd arrived home, I felt alive. Maybe what I'd needed was a challenge to chase away the boredom and restlessness that had beset me of late. Locating this girl and her accomplice had certainly been a challenge, one I'd thoroughly enjoyed.

Bantering with her in the middle of the forest was also certainly more fun than sitting at another long feast or dancing with one more guest I didn't know or care about.

Upon seeing the dry, mud-caked crease that appeared on her forehead, I could tell she wasn't finding quite as much
pleasure in our encounter. “So if you're not planning to lavish me with more of your gifts, why have you kidnapped me?”

“I haven't kidnapped you,” I protested, but weakly. After all, I had secured her weapons, silenced her, and dragged her away from her friend. It wasn't exactly the kind of behavior the Noblest Knight had trained me to exhibit.

She lifted a brow, which made the dried mud on her forehead crack even further.

“I was only detaining you,” I explained hurriedly, “so that I could learn why you were on my land, stealing from me.”

“And I told you. I'm helping people.” Her muscles tensed beneath my grip. She was getting ready to attempt her escape.

I strengthened my hold. Her wrists were delicate and my larger, coarser fingers encircled both easily.

“Now that you know my motivation,” she said, “you may let me go.”

“Oh, may I?” There was something about her way of speaking that didn't fit with her peasant disguise. She was no peasant. But who was she?

“Very well, sweetheart,” I said softly. “I'll let you go.”

Her lips stalled, likely in surprise at my easy acquiescence.

“But first,” I continued, “I want to do this.” With a swift jerk, I dislodged her knit cap. Waves of curly hair tumbled down about her face.

She gave a yelp and yanked her hands, trying to free them from my unyielding clutch. For a moment, she twisted and tugged, attempting to pull away.

“Calm down,” I said. “I knew you were a girl within seconds of your attack this morning.”

Her thrashing came to an abrupt halt. “You did?”

“Of course.” I let my gaze linger on the wild curls flowing in abandon over her shoulders and falling halfway down her back. “You're too pretty to be a boy.”

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open, her brown eyes dark and wide.

The wind swayed a branch overhead. Moonlight slanted down onto her head for an instant, long enough for me to catch a glint of . . .red?

I stared at the curls, and my mind spun with the revelation. Who was this girl? I studied her face again. I had the feeling I should know her, but I couldn't place from where.

She cocked a brow, as if waiting for me to remember who she was. News of my return had spread far and wide, throughout my lands and beyond. Of course she would identify me. But I had no reason to recognize her, did I?

“Have we met before?” I asked.

She started to nod, but then quickly shook her head. “It's of no consequence.” She yanked at her hands once more. “Now let me go.”

A shaft of moonlight touched her bare head again, revealing the red of her hair—a blond red the shade of ripening strawberries.

Strawberries.

At the image a vivid memory flashed into my mind, a picture of a little girl in an angelic gown sitting upon a pure white pony. Her red curls had swirled around her pretty face.

It wasn't the first time I'd noticed this girl. My father had always made a point of seeking out Lord Wessex and his red-haired daughter. But the last time, when she'd been on her white pony, had been different, and the memory had stayed with me all those years.

I'd been hunting with my father when we'd chanced upon our neighbors out for a ride. My father then stopped to converse with the lord about issues that didn't interest me.

All I'd cared about that day was the beautiful white pony. More than anything else in the world, I'd wanted to take the
pony for a ride. I hadn't cared about the girl who sat atop it, or the fact it wasn't proper etiquette to ask for a ride. I'd sidled next to her and asked her anyway.

I'd been disappointed when she'd refused my request.

And then, in my immaturity, what had I told her? My mind scrambled to remember the insult. Something about her hair being as red as strawberries.

She'd taken it for the insult I'd intended, reached over, slapped my cheek, and then called me a straw-headed hay bale.

I'd just grinned, finding amusement in her anger, which had only made her all the angrier. She'd kicked me in the shin with one of her dainty boots and had earned a stern rebuke from her father.

Her father, the late Lord of Wessex.

For a moment I struggled to remember her given name. But after retracing the steps to my past, I finally found it. Juliana.

She was Juliana Wessex.

Inwardly, a tight coil unraveled. I'd solved the mystery that had puzzled me since I'd seen her that morning. I released one of her hands from my prison-like hold, and lifted my fingers to her tangled curls. “I like strawberries.”

She sucked in a breath.

I trailed the spiral down to her shoulder. “In fact, strawberries are my favorite fruit.”

Our gazes collided with a force that left me strangely breathless. From the stillness of her chest, I could tell she'd ceased breathing too.

“So, Lady Julianna of Wessex, do you still have your pretty white pony?” I brushed one of her curls off her cheek, inadvertently grazing her skin.

She released her breath, and the warmth of it doused my wrist.

I had the urge to caress her cheek again but instead kept my finger on the curl, tucking it back with the others.

She brought her top teeth down over her lip, nibbled it, and glanced away. “You're mistaken. I'm not Lady Juliana.”

In the brief discussion about the late Lord Wessex, Irene had indicated that Charles's only child had perished too. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, especially since it had all happened while I'd been away, and there was nothing I could do any more. Through the darkness, I narrowed my eyes upon the young woman standing before me. I'd only been a boy of eight the last time I'd seen her. After we'd ridden away from Lord Wessex and his daughter, my father had berated me and told me a good son wouldn't have thrown away the opportunity to form a match with the girl. He had always envied the neighboring lands, and often schemed ways he could gain them through such a union. One week later, my father had disciplined me for my failure by sending me to live with the Duke of Rivenshire.

I'd only blamed Juliana for a few days. It hadn't taken me long to realize how privileged I was to live in the duke's household as a page. Juliana's kick in the shins had actually turned into the best thing that had happened to me. I owed her my gratitude.

Even though she was now grown and shadowed by the night, I had no doubt this thief and Juliana Wessex were one and the same person. But she obviously didn't want me to know that fact.

“What became of Lady Juliana?” I asked.

“She died in a peasant uprising.” The answer was too quick, almost bitter.

“And you still haven't told me—what happened to her pretty white pony?”

Juliana stared off into the dark forest, refusing to meet my gaze. “It was riddled with so many arrows, it turned crimson as it bled to death.”

“Blessed Mary.” The low tightness of her voice reached into my chest and clutched my heart.

Her eyes glistened and she chewed at her bottom lip again.

I slid my hand to her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Juliana.”

She nodded, and her chin slowly sank so that I was left looking at the top of her bare head.

I fingered another one of her curls. I wasn't sure what the real story was behind the death of Charles Wessex, but I could sense there was much more to it than either Juliana or Irene had told me. And I would find out every detail, eventually.

Throwing away all caution, I released Juliana's wrists and tugged her forward, so that she stood only inches from me. I knew we were practically strangers, that even when we'd been children we'd only known each other in passing. Even so, there was something vulnerable in her stance that made me want to protect her and right the wrongs she had endured.

I ignored the warning clamoring through my mind, reminding me that she was disguised as a thief and that she'd robbed me only that morning. Instead, I reached for her other shoulder and squeezed it, hoping she could sense my offer of friendship.

She held herself stiffly for a moment before she slumped, as if the weight of all her sorrows and pains had fallen upon her in that moment.

“Whatever's going on, Juliana, I'll help you,” I whispered, knowing I could do nothing less. “I promise.”

At my words, she tensed and took a step away. “I don't need your help, Collin.”

“I want to—”

“I'm faring well enough.” She straightened.

“Oh, is that what you call this?” I asked. “Getting kidnapped in the middle of the night?”

Her features hardened, and all traces of sadness dissipated.

“If this is faring well,” I said, “then I dread to see what bad looks like.”

“You won't have to see.” She glared at me. “I'm good at what I do. In fact, I'm the best in the land.”

“The best thief?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“I suppose that's why I caught you? Because you're so good?” I grinned at her stubbornness. It was all I could think to do at the absurdity of the situation.

“I most certainly don't need you around, mocking me as you're wont to do.” She took another step backward.

“I'm not mocking you. I simply find you humorous.”

“Well, maybe you won't find me so humorous once I escape.” With that, she sprang away.

I chuckled and started after her. I liked her spunk.

In the darkness I could hear her crashing through the brush, making as much noise as a mother bear pursuing an enemy. I started after her, following with little effort the path she was blazing.

Somehow she managed to stay several steps ahead, her lithe body racing through the brush as if it were an open field. After several minutes my lungs began to ache from the speed of the chase. She was fast, and I was surprised that she could keep going without slowing down. If my lungs were burning, I knew hers were too.

Finally, when I wasn't sure I could go on, I heard her crash. I stumbled to a halt. For a long moment, the forest was silent
around me. I crouched low behind a trunk and tried to peer through the blackness to locate her.

After a few seconds of searching in the faint moonlight, I located her outline in a beech tree several paces away.

I had to admit, she was no bumbling idiot. She knew what she was doing.

But in the stillness of the forest, questions shouted through my mind. As Charles Wessex's only child and heir, why was she living in the forest as a thief? My sister and others believed Juliana had died with her father. And since she was living under disguise, Juliana apparently wished no one to know she was in fact alive.