First Sergeant Roy Sutter stalked the line of raw recruits, his voice cracking like a whip. The training yard rang with barked orders and the shuffle of boots on hard ground. “Left, right, left! You’re not in your gramma’s kitchen—this is Verdancia’s shield!” He halted, glaring at a crooked file. “I’ve seen mule teams straighter than you sorry lot. Tighten it up before I tie you together myself!”
“Yes, sir, Drill Sergeant!” they shouted in unison.
“Halt! Present arms.”
The line shuffled clumsily into order. One recruit fumbled with his crossbow strap. Another started to present his rifle upside down, correcting his mistake at the last second.
“You call that ready? Grip those weapons like the Iron Army’s breathing down your neck—fast, smooth, silent! If a raider came at you right now, you’d be meat on a spike!”
Lark watched her father prowl the length of the formation, eyes sharp, boots grinding grit. “Marchland is stone and steel. Be stone or be trampled!”
The recruits snapped to attention under his glare, breath coming hard, faces streaked with sweat and fear. Lark stood at the back of the field, pride for her dad blazing in her eyes. As if on cue, he locked gazes with her. Recognition, surprise, and joy flickered over his weathered face.
Clearing his throat, Roy ordered, “Give me five laps around the yard, double-time, then take ten. We’ll meet at the range for target practice. Hustle, hustle!”
The recruits groaned but stepped out into a fast jog. Roy started toward Lark. She ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck. He swept her off her feet and twirled her around like he had when she was a child. Setting her down, he kissed her cheeks.
“What are you doing here? What’s with the uniform? Your hair!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“There’s a lot to tell,” she said, breathless with excitement. “I’m in the army now too. Gramma sends her love.”
“Ah, sunbeam.” Tears welled in his storm-gray eyes as his firm hands lingered on her arms. “How long are you here for?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. A prick of sadness stung her heart to think about leaving. But she knew he was safe and well and making a difference. Gone were any feelings of abandonment, any blame toward the queen for tearing him from her arms. Looking at her father now, she beheld a great man, a hero, a guardian of the kingdom.
“Then let’s make the most of what time we have.” With a smile, he wrapped a powerful arm around her shoulders as they made their way from the parade grounds, sweaty recruits huffing out breaths as they obediently ran their laps.
Chapter thirty
Tea and Temptation
Lady Cassandra Cade set aside reports and forecasts, crossing the cool marble floors of her sitting room to gaze through the open, lofty window of the historic mansion she called home. Portraits of ancestors lined the oak-paneled walls, their gazes heavy with expectation—a legacy she must uphold. Did they approve of her decisions? At least she hadn’t disgraced the family name yet.
The classic manor on the bluff afforded her a stunning view of the estate grounds and the river beyond. A compact steamboat pushed a barge toward port, its smoke so thick she could almost smell it.
Cassandra caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass—smooth peachy skin pulled over sharp cheekbones, long auburn strands wound into a stylish updo, and piercing green eyes, missing nothing. Even in casual clothes, she remained stunning.Not as beautiful as Mom was,she concluded.
Daddy expected my husband would hold his seat of power and influence, but that plan fell to dust.Neil had held the title Lord of Marchland for less than a month. They’d barely finished burying her father when her husband followed him to the grave—yellow fever. At only twenty-five and childless, her advisors had urged another marriage. Now, at thirty, she remained without a husband or heirs.
“Your tea, my lady.” Elsie’s timid voice rousted Cassandra from her thoughts.
Pivoting, she inspected the tiny young woman, her dirty apron and dull gray scarf hiding unwashed hair. The teenage maid set a gleaming silver tray with a china cup, saucer, and teapot on the cherry table beside Cassandra’s usual chair.
“Will that be all, my lady?” Hollow eyes searched hers.
Cassandra had felt sorry for the girl who suffered ill health, but she couldn’t allow her to sully the Cade reputation. “Go to the basement closet and select a more fitting wardrobe for yourself. Then bathe, scrubbing thoroughly. Henceforth, you shall dine in my kitchen with the cook and eat what she prepares for me. If we cannot get you healthy and presentable, I’ll have to place you elsewhere. This is a good post for you, and I’d hate to see you laboring in a field somewhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The twig of a girl rushed out, hopefully to obey.
Taking her seat, Cassandra poured her tea, wishing for sugar. She dribbled honey instead. They hadn’t had granular sugar since … Shaking her head, she picked up the worn paperback, leaves yellowed with age, and found her dog-eared page.Gone with the Windwas her favorite comfort read, always inspired by Scarlett’s resolve and clever plans.
Cassandra made a ritual of afternoon tea—usually a moment of solitary relaxation, though sometimes shared with company. Her cousin Suzanne was on friendly terms, and half a dozen prominent Marchland women fawned over invitations to tea. It was as though teatime was the only civilized activity remaining to enjoy.
A timid knock at the door. Cassandra scowled, huffed, and laid down her treasured book. Before giving a reply, she raised the cup to her rosy lips for another languid sip, inhaling the fruity fragrance. The knock sounded again.
“Lady Cade, a Captain Moreau is here from Nelanta with a letter from Queen Frost.”
Cassandra stiffened, setting her cup aside. She and Frost were neither allies nor enemies, their tenuous relationship dangling in between. Many thought she’d fall into lockstep with the queen since they were both women of power with no husbands or fathers to guide them. But while Azaleen bartered on behalf of all Verdancia, Marchland remained Cassandra’s primary concern.
