Were they her family? If he let her go, would they be the first people she told about him? And if he killed her, were they the ones who would avenge her?
The female lowered the plasma dirk, but strangely, she no longer smelled like fear. Just that tender blooming aroma mixed with the metallic scent of the blood streaming down the side of her face. Was death so common here? Was her life somehow so miserable that to die at the hands of an enemy was a relief? Ved had fought and killed many adversaries in his life, and some of the strongest had still felt panic in their final moments.
She stared up at him, dark eyes gleaming with unanswered questions and a wetness he didn’t understand. He was so close that her flowy attire brushed against his shin guards as she wobbled.
Hewas the intruder—she’d done nothing wrong. Her only offense was that she’d seen him. He’d taken many lives, but this kill wouldbe without purpose, without honor. He growled his frustration, but she barely reacted to the sound.
He’d make it quick. He would—
He didn’t have time to do anything before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into his arms.
She’d fainted.
Chapter 6
Isobel
Isobel awoke in a fright. Startled, she sat upright, sucking in a deep breath.
The world came to her in a rush, as if everything was vying for her attention at once. She wanted to tear off her clothing, run, and hide all at the same time. But her logical faculties blessedly forced themselves to the forefront as her emotions, senses, and instincts were in complete turmoil.
First, she wasn’t dead. But she should be, shouldn’t she?
Secondly, she was surprised to find that she was in a bed.Herbed. Safe. Besides her tender head and ankle injuries, and some other minor aches, she was whole and untouched.
Blinking, she let that settle in. She felt the tension release from her muscles, the fight-or-flight feeling leaving her shaken as it fizzled out.
Despite the books she vicariously lived through, Isobel couldn’t think of a time she had experienced anything exceptional. Invites to strategically planned tea times, gossip-filled luncheons, and extravagant balls for the purpose of courtship didn’t come anywhere close to what she thought had occurred last night.
With that being said, she felt like she was doing quite well adjusting to the fact that she had either experienced vivid hallucinations or something quite uncanny and otherworldly.
Minutes passed as she tried to reconcile her memories with reality. However, she was most certainly past the appropriate time to sleep in. Disoriented and anxious to understand what had occurred the previous night, she slipped out of bed. She was surprised to find her ankle took her weight with only the slightest protest.
Daring to look at herself in her mirror, she took stock of her appearance. She was dirty, her hair matted and more disheveled than her dark curls usually were upon waking, and her clothing was muddy and torn in parts.
It was all evidence of the fact that she reallyhadfollowed smoking metal vessels as they crashed into the woods. And then lived through all that ensued afterward.
To include Dark Armor finding her in the forest.
Except where there should’ve been a gash on the side of her face, there was only a faded bruise and the smallest of scars. Yet the injury could not have been her own fabrication; there was dried blood crusted on her ear and neck. Had it somehow already had time to heal?
And how exactly had she made it back to her room? Her ankle had hurt so much that she’d been unable to fully put her weight on it. Had she really trudged all the way back home, without any memory of doing so, only to have it barely twinging with pain now?
Or had she been carried?
“This makes no sense,” Isobel whispered to herself, fighting against the dread crawling down her back like an ill-placed bug.
Clara’s voice drifted down the hall, bringing her back to the present. At any moment, someone could come bustling into her room and see her, and she had no way of explaining her appearance. Although, therewas something about looking like a wild spirit that made her smile. A proper woman wouldneverlook such a way. Her exterior, for once, matched how she felt inside.
Another declaration from Clara pushed her into motion. She was grateful that she had long since done away with being woken by a lady’s maid. Anna, Clara’s maid, sometimes helped her with the more tedious trappings of womanhood, but if Isobel could, she dressed and readied herself.
She shimmied out of the calamity that was her gown, which she then shoved into the bottom of her trunk. Later, she would have to find a way to dispose of it—and think of some way to explain a missing piece of her wardrobe. Next, she washed the blood and dirt from her hair and then her skin. Tossing the dirty water out the window, she looked for anything else that could give her away but found nothing.
By the time she made it to the drawing room, Henry and Lord Richard were speaking about some business endeavor they’d been considering, and Clara was sitting across from a gentleman caller. She couldn’t remember the lad’s name, but he babbled on about soil retention while Clara clutched her teacup as if contemplating throwing it at him.
It was all so ordinary.
Without greeting anyone, Isobel crossed the room to her favorite chair. It was upholstered in pale green damask and positioned between two windows, which just so happened to look out over the lavender fields.
