Butterflies erupt in her stomach at his words in that deep voice. Pleasure warms between her legs, and she has to remind herself that this moment with Calder is a passing situation. His help stems from a duty to her father.
Nothing more.
“I can walk.” Her words are louder and more assertive.
“Good girl.” His words are harmless, but oh gods, how they roll off his tongue in that somber tone makes her whimper.
She waits, anticipating him to lower her to the ground. When he does not, she huffs. “Jarl Calder?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Please, permit me to walk on my own.” She levels her own forcefulness.
“Princess,” his chest reverberates as he addresses her, “the notion of releasing you from my grasp already pains me. I will deliver you home.”
Aura’s lips snap shut.
She could enjoy the remainder of the evening with this god-like warrior before facing the reality of her failed Trial in the morning.
Besides, striding upright into Blackwood is what her father would expect.
Maybe tonight, she can respect the wisdom of a burly, seasoned Drengr whose mere presence has shaken the young woman to her core.
The path to Blackwood is dark, and an eerie silence hangs in the air.
His muscular, inked arms coiled in tension pull her tighter against his chest. His strength and soothing demeanor provide an unsettling protection.
“Can you feel their presence?” She whispers, looking up at his unreadable expression. “The Drengr searching for Isabel. They must be all around us. Watching, waiting.”
His pace quickens, but his attention to her father’s men surrounding the home doesn’t lessen her trepidation over the reality that Isabel Kilton’s venomous intention is still out there.
Up along the path, they overhear an argument.
“...he has approved all Drengr stationed at the Blackwood checkpoint.” She recognizes the voice of her friend Kjarton, a blacksmith and Drengr often called upon to help protect Blackwood.
“Listen, I understand Uncle Sig better than you ever will. I need you to calm yourself.”
Oh, for the love of the Briny God. Is that cousin Edmund? Uncle Slode and Uncle Bertie’s son?
As they draw closer, the moonlight reflects Kjarton’s incredulous expression while Edmund, draped in a wolly Gothi robe, smokes a pipe while yawning loudly.
“By the gods! Miss Aura!” Kjarton points his axe at Calder as they approach. “Halt!”
Edmund shoves his weapon away. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.”
“I am a Drengr of Sigvid!” Kjarton’s hands quiver in indignation.
Edmund clutches his pipe between his lips. “And I am a nephewof Sigvid.” He mocks the Drengr’s outrage. “What do you want me to say?”
“Kjarton!” Aura shouts to him. “Edmund and Calder are permitted on Blackwood property.”
At least, I assume.
He runs his hand along his braid. “Miss Aura! I cannot allow anyone not approved by His Majesty. Besides your father’s recent mandate of the Drengr…none may touch-”
Edmund’s fist flies out of nowhere and connects with his face, knocking the Drengr out cold. Calder treads on him instead of walking around.
“Sorry, Kjarton,” Aura mutters as they continue the journey with Edmund humming a naughty ballad.
