“If you didn’t know I was there—”
“I didn’t shoot! Why won’t you believe me? Do you think I’m lying?”
“No,” he said slowly, his frown darkening, but I was relieved to see it was aimed at the arrow, not at me. “But if you didn’t shoot it, and Barry didn’t—”
“Then someone else did,” I finished for him.
We both glanced around the area.
There was no one else to be seen. I shivered despite the heat of the afternoon, a cold, clammy feeling gripping my stomach.
Who had shot the arrow if it hadn’t been Barry or me? And more important, who was trying to harm Alden?
Chapter 13
My very dear Mercy,
There is no need to snap at Lisa. Despite the shooting incident earlier, you and you alone hold my interest.
Alden slipped the note under Mercy’s door, wincing with pain as he returned to his room to take a quick shower. He’d been so distracted by the fact that he’d almost been gored by an arrow that he hadn’t been paying attention at afternoon melee training, a fact that Vandal and the other two men training soon realized, and which they took what Alden felt was undue advantage of.
His mind returned to Mercy, and a little smile curled his lips while he turned on the water as hot as he couldstand it. She clearly was smitten with him, else why would she get so irate over Lisa’s attempts to flirt?
“She’s in love with me, that’s what it is,” he told the empty bathroom, ignoring the pain of the bruises that lined his back, ribs, and upper arms. “She’s fallen hard for me, but doesn’t yet realize it.”
While he showered, he mulled over how he felt about Mercy being more than just a delightful summer interlude. It occurred to him that if he was wrong, if she wasn’t head-over-heels in love with him, then by rights she could be leaving the following week when the Hard Day’s Knights left Bestwood.
He stared sightlessly at the shower wall, a sudden chill sweeping over him despite the hot water.
“No,” he said aloud, just as if speaking the words would give them validity. “No, she has to love me. That’s all there is to it. If she doesn’t love me, then she’ll leave me, and that’s just... no. She’s just going to have to fall in love with me by next week.”
He would not consider the fact that it was of vital importance to him not only that Mercy stay on at Bestwood after the combat troupe had left, but that she also be in love with him. He told himself it was just that she provided such excellent therapy that he couldn’t afford to have her go, and blithely refused to acknowledge the warm well of feelings that made him feel aglow with happiness every time she was near.
A square of white on the dark, hideous carpet of his bedroom caught his eye when he emerged from the bathroom to dress.
“Ah, another love note,” he said, unfolding the sheet of paper with much anticipation. Would Mercy have done another of her erotic drawings? Would she includea smutty limerick, as she had a few days past? Or perhaps a slightly pornographic haiku, which she had been promising to do for almost a week?
Alden,the note read.I did not shoot you! DID. NOT. SHOOT. Got that?
Mercy.
He frowned at the note. This was not the writing of a woman in love. This was the work of a woman who was annoyed because she knew there was no one else who could have shot the arrow at him, and yet insisted that she hadn’t been the one who had done it.
He stared at the note, indecisive for a moment as to how to deal with it. He wanted to believe her—everything in him told him to believe her—and yet, the evidence told a different tale.
My lovely, adorable Mercy,he wrote, sitting down naked at his desk.If you will glance again at my note with those beautiful eyes of yours, you will notice that nowhere in it do I state that you shot me. Or attempted to. Or even did not intend to, but accidentally did. I simply said how much you fill my thoughts. Which you do.
I look forward to kissing your delectable body, all of it, every last inch of it, tonight.
With a towel around his waist, he slid the note under Mercy’s door, and returned to his own room to dress.
A rustling sound alerted him to the arrival of a new note. He paused in the act of tying a shoelace, squinting at the white sheet of paper. Was it something good, or was she still annoyed? No, she was in love with him (or soon would be)—it had to be good.
He tied his shoe and went to fetch the note.
Look, buster! I can read between the lines as well as the next girl. I did not shoot you, and you know, I’m actually fairly annoyed that you refuse to believe me. Do you think I’m lying? Huh? Is that it? You think I’m a big ole liar?
God, Alden! I’d never think that about you!
