He tugs her to the light to continue inspecting the bruises imparted by Isabel. “Who is the woman who did this to you?”
Once more, his question demands an answer.
“Isabel Kilton.” She spits the name as if it burns her tongue.
“I have not heard that surname in a long time. Yet, I recall it was not of favorable opinion.”
Aura tugs on her copper curls. “I messed up! I allowed her to get close to me, and she seeks vengeance for her father, but I’m not even sure who that is!” Her hands drag down her face. “Pops is going to kill me.”
“Where would she go?”
She swings her hands at her sides. “Risking crossing the dangerous fjords alone back to Timber is laughable. She must hide in Toftlund.”
He tilts her head and examines the wounds on her face once more. “That may be true, Princess.” The way he utters her title is like the sun’s rays tickling her skin, wrapping her in a heated embrace. “But tracking her this evening is not your concern.”
“I am an excellent tracker,” She argues.
His hand wraps around her mouth, silencing her protests to mumbles that reverberate between her legs.
Why is he forcing such a reaction within me? Worse, why do I want him to continue?
“Your skills are not in question. You are far more useful to your family and country if you heal from your wounds.” He nods to her sore figure, and he is not wrong.
Aches and pains have crept along her limbs, and she is unsure how long she can support herself upright.
“Perhaps your idea is wise,” she mutters once he releases the pressure of his palm on her trembling lips.
Except, she has no inclination to listen to his words. No matter how weary she feels, she will tear apart every home in the city tonight in search of Isabel. “Jarl Calder, this has been a pleasure. I shall take your suggestion and be on my way home.”
“Wonderful,” he releases her from his cage, “I will escort you.”
“No need.” She smiles, taking calculated steps toward the dock.
“That is not what I said.” He tugs her by the waist until her front collides with his.
Calder scoops her body into his arms as her heart pounds, cradling her delicately to his surprisingly comfortable chest, not hard like the younger Drengr, who cared for nothing besides resembling the cragged peaks of Fjell Mountain.
“This is wholly unnecessary!” She protests even while she clings to his armor.
“Dammit, Grandpapi, now, will you help me?”
Nothing.
Forsaken by my grandparents. How wonderful.
Curiously, he trudges outside the city walls toward her family home of Blackwood. She suspects his identity would lead to more issues with the Princess in his arms.
She quiets as the pain inflicted by the Trial overcomes her body.
Mostly.
“I can walk,” she mumbles.
“Use your words.” He growls a warning.
She narrows her eyes in response. “I do not fear you, Iss Drengr.”
“That may be so, but I am not asking, Princess.”
