Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

Moira laughed uproariously at that and tugged me out of the
room behind her. “Men are such grumps when they have to show weakness. If John
has to take to his bed, he’s a holy terror, ordering me about and having a fit
when I don’t do things his way.”

“Really?” I asked. “You two look like you always get along
so well.” The way they worked together last night, I assumed they were always
like that.

“Most of the time we do, but anyone spends as many years
together as we have is bound to have squabbles from time to time, especially if
one of you is feeling poorly.” Moira and I descended the stairs, and she
stopped us in a little foyer leading to the dining room. “I would like to ask
you, miss.... Why did you defend me up there? How do you know you can trust me?”

It was a good question—one I couldn’t answer in a sensible way.
Mostly, I had reached my limit for enduring Gideon’s tirades. “I just do.”

She considered my simple explanation for a moment. Then smiled
crookedly. “I appreciate that. I do. But you can’t always be so trusting, m’lady.
From now on it would be best for you to assume the people you come across are
more likely to want to do you harm than good.” She turned and started toward
the back of the inn. Before she disappeared from sight, she called over her
shoulder, “Tell your
brother
I’ll bring him a shirt he can button in a
little while.”

She left me standing alone in the foyer with no further
instructions. I felt lost. The thought of contending with Gideon’s cross mood
again made me hesitant to return to our room, but what else was I to do? At
home I would go to Father’s library or nag Stephen into playing a game of queen’s
court with me. Sometimes the ladies on staff would bear my presence in the
kitchen and show me how they made whatever we were eating for the meal that
day, or Father would take time to coach me with my crossbow. On nice days, I
wandered the woods with Nonnie, having imaginary adventures, and wouldn’t come
home until nearly dark.

Thinking of my sweet mare inspired me to walk down to the
livery stables to check on her. She seemed glad to see me. So glad, in fact,
that I decided to take her out and tour the large town of Thropshire. She
nuzzled me, sniffing at my skirt pockets, expecting I had brought her a treat.
I didn’t disappoint. Holding out my flat palm toward her, I revealed the sugar
cubes I had lifted from the tea tray. Her velvet lips plucked the treats from
my hand, and she crushed the sugar between her big flat teeth like a mortar and
pestle. Then she nuzzled my ear, asking for more, and her breath puffed at the loose
hairs around my neck.

“Ooh, stop that,” I said, giggling. “It tickles.”

Once I finished arranging Nonnie’s tack, I hitched up my
skirts and flipped a leg over her saddle. The gown was made for household
chores, not riding horses, and I struggled to arrange my skirts in a way that
preserved my modesty.
What would Gerda say? She’d probably thank the god’s that
I wear tall riding boots.

The village was busy with carts, carriages, and a few other
horseback riders, most of whom were men. A few ladies scurried past, bearing
packages and groceries. One woman with wispy blond hair tucked under a white
kerchief gave me a sour look after she took in my bunched dress and muddy boots.
She shook her head and marched on without a second glance.

Nonnie and I passed a few interesting shops I would have
loved to stop and explore, especially one belonging to a bookmaker, but I had
no money, and Gideon wouldn’t appreciate me acquiring anything else for us to
fit in our packs. Thropshire was a lot like Glennich but after a while, the
bustle and hubbub of the busy town overwhelmed me. Nonnie and I turned away
from town and sought the outskirts where we might find more room to move about.

At the edge of town, the road curled south toward more of
the rocky, barren hills like the ones Gideon and I had already come through.
Off to the east I spied a green meadow and a small wooded area. I pointed Nonnie
toward the little park, and we made our way over the spring green grass at a
lazy stroll. The meadow rolled down to a creek that was invisible from the
road. We descended the hill, and my horse kicked into a trot as she gave in to
the urge to taste the fresh water. Once we reached the creek, I slipped from
the saddle and allowed her free rein to roam the bank.

Buffered from the noise of the village, the park was
peaceful and quiet. I found a dry rock ledge close to stream’s edge and sat on
it so I could remove my boots and dangle my toes in the water. Nonnie munched
on shoots springing from the mud, and she seemed content with her freedom.

I splashed my feet in the stream and hummed a tune my father
used to sing sometimes. His lovely voice would goad members of the household
who had musical talent into performing with him whenever he could find an
audience to listen. I slid off the rock and waded through the creek to the
other side, ignoring the way my calves cramped, protesting the cold.

A batch of daises sprouted in a sunny spot on the opposite
bank. My fingers itched to pick them and string them together. The sun shined
on my shoulders, and I settled in the soft grass thriving in the little pool of
light and bided time by weaving a daisy chain.

“
The silver moon and all her stars shine on and on and
on...
” I sang the first line to the song I had been humming. Then, as I
inhaled a breath to begin the next line, a clear male voice interrupted,
singing: “
Till the sun comes up and says t’us all: It’s dawn, it’s dawn, it’s
dawn
.”

I sprang to my feet and spun around. Some short ways down
the bank, a slim legged mare bore a young man with hair as pale a corn silk that
hung loose in a glossy mane sweeping over his shoulders. He shot me a
mischievous grin and sang the third line. “
The nightingale now fast asleep
dreams of nighttime come again
.”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded at me. I interpreted the
gesture to mean he wanted me to finish the song. A hot blush burned on my
cheeks—evidence of my mortification at being caught singing and weaving flowers
like a mindless child—but the stranger made an encouraging motion, and I sang
as if he had put me under a spell. “
While the rooster crows so we all will
know the day is to begin
.”

The stranger wore a fine black coat, waistcoat, and a crisp
white shirt and neck cloth. His attire would have been too formal for riding
except he paired it with knee-high black boots and buckskin trousers. He
laughed, threw his leg over his saddle, and dismounted.

“I always liked that one,” he said, approaching with a
springy step. His eyes shimmered a silvery blue that, with his fair hair and
complexion, gave him an eerie, spectral appearance. His fine boned features
enhanced the elegance of his movements. Except for the rather severe suit, he
looked like something that should have stood on a pedestal in a garden.

“Jonathan Faercourt,” he said with a slight bow, “but my
friends call me Jackie.”

A giggle rose in my throat, but I choked it down and
curtsied instead. “A pleasure, Master Faercourt. My name is…” I hesitated,
considering whether to tell him the truth. “My name is Grace.” I always liked
the name better than Evelyn, anyway.

“Grace? You don’t seem sure about that.”

“Oh, you took me by surprise is all.”

“I didn’t intend to sneak up on you, but I was surprised to
find anyone here.”

“Nonnie”—I motioned to my horse— “wanted to get away from
the village and this seemed like a nice place for a horse to wander.”

Jackie studied me. His gaze made me feel translucent. “This
is
a nice place. It’s the reason I came here, too.”

“Do you live in the village?”

He turned and pointed through the trees in an eastern
direction. “No, I live on an estate about three or four miles that way.”

I realized, then, that I might have trespassed. “Is this
your land?”

“It is, but you are welcome. You’ve made a delightful
addition to the daisies and violets.”

His compliments unnerved me, and I felt gangly and gauche.
Another blush heated my cheeks.

“You’re not from Thropshire, though,” he said. “I know all
the village girls and I’ve never seen you before.”

I shook my head. “I’m visiting, passing through on my way to
Braddock.”

“Braddock? Have you booked passage on a ship?”

“Yes.”

“What a shame.” He clucked his tongue. “Inselgrau is so
lacking for sources of natural beauty. It could barely stand to lose one of its
finest specimens.”

“Do you mean me?” The men at Falstaff were mostly old, or
married, or both. No one had ever flirted with me, before. Was that what Jackie
was doing? “Or are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m telling you the truth. I hope
you’re not in a hurry to leave. I’d enjoy your company.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” I didn’t think Gideon would stand
for us to stay any longer than that.

“Tomorrow? Who is this
we
?”

“My brother and I.”

“Your brother? Maybe I could talk him into delaying your
departure for another day. In which of the inns have you reserved your rooms?”

I shook my head and waved him off. “I shouldn’t even be
talking to you. If he knew, he’d be angry.” Angry was a polite word for what
Gideon would be.

“Angry? Why?”

I shrugged “He’s protective, I guess.” My excuse sounded
unconvincing to my own ears, and Jackie must have thought so, too.

“If he’s so protective, then why are you out here by
yourself?”

“I slipped away before he woke up.”

“Then I’ll have to make the most of your company in the time
we do have.” Jackie tilted his head and squinted at the sun. “Just how much
time do we have, exactly?”

I laughed, unable to help myself. “If I don’t show up for
supper, I’m sure he’ll come looking for me.”

“Good. We have more than a few hours until suppertime. Get
your horse and we’ll ride for a while, if that suits you?”

I nodded and started for Nonnie, but stopped before taking a
second step. I would have to hitch my skirts to make my way across the frigid
creek. Alone, I wouldn’t hesitate, but in the company of gentleman.... Jackie
noticed my hesitation and, before I could register his intentions, he had
lifted me off my feet and carried me across the creek. My heart thumped like a timid
rabbit’s, and my breath caught in my throat.

Jackie deposited me on the bank next to my scruffy boots, which
looked particularly road-worn next to his gleaming attire. He crouched beside
me, focusing somewhere in the distance. I studied his profile as I laced my
boots. He wasn’t as tall as Gideon, or as broad, though not many young men
were. Still, Jackie had nearly half a head of height on me, and his tailored
coat set off a sturdy set of shoulders. My heart fluttered as I remembered the
easy way he lifted me and carried me across the slippery rocks.

When I had finished tying my laces, he stood and stretched a
long fingered hand down to me. “Ready?”

When I took his hand, he pulled me to my feet. I paused
again, remembering the hassle involved with mounting Nonnie back at the stables.

He laughed. “What’s the trouble now?”

“Would you mind looking away for a moment?” I didn’t want
him to lift me onto my horse the way he had lifted me across the creek. I could
tolerate only so much being tossed about in one day.

Once had I settled in the saddle and arranged my skirts as
tactfully as possible, I cleared my throat. Jackie mounted and urged his horse
around, facing east. He nudged her forward with a gentle knee. I followed
beside him, splashing through the creek and then up the hill through thickening
trees away from town.

“May I ask…? Where are you and your brother going after
Braddock?”

My stomach clenched, mostly because I didn’t know the answer
myself other than Gideon’s ambiguous plan to take us to Dreutch.

“To the Continent,” I said. It was the safest answer. Maybe
Jackie would take my vagary as a hint to change his line of questioning.

He smiled. “I assumed that much.”

“We’re going to do a bit of roaming I think. Sightseeing.”

“Will you go to Galland first?”

So much for taking a hint
. Galland had a large port
city called Pecia that received most ships from Inselgrau. It was logical to
assume that would be our first destination. “I believe so.”

“And then from there will you go south? Venitzia is
beautiful in the spring.”

I shook my head. “No, I think we will go north.”

“To Dreutch, then?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a dreary place. Why go there?”

“We have family we must see. They’re expecting us.” I hated inventing
lies on a whim. Perhaps Jackie would ask something I couldn’t answer—or would
answer incorrectly—and he would suspect my deceit.

“You don’t sound eager,” he said.

“I’ve never been away from home before.” True enough.

Jackie halted his horse and turned in his saddle to face me.
“So, why go?”

I stopped beside him and considered my answer. “My family
hopes to reestablish connections beyond Inselgrau. Our relatives in Dreutch
offered to host me and my brother for a while.”

“Hmm.” Jackie put a finger to his chin in a thoughtful pose.
“They’re looking to marry you off. They want to align some sort of business or
political relationship. Am I right?”

Letting him draw his own conclusions was easier than making
ones up. “Maybe.”

After that, he turned the conversation to other matters and
revealed a bit about himself. The land over which we rode belonged to him. His
parents had died at a young age, leaving Connolly, as he called it, to him and
his younger sister, Cicely, who lived with a distant aunt in Pecia. “I visit as
often as possible,” he said. “On her eighteenth birthday I’ve promised she can
come here to live with me. Until then I keep the place alone, except for the
staff.”