Page 55 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
After days of training, disappointing twilight searches in the city, and secret nighttime encounters in the hazel grove, they were going out in the blazing light of day for a change. No dark carriage this time. They would be taking his horse. She’d barely slept last night, thinking about it.
We’ll be traveling on narrow back trails.
They were trying a new angle in searching for leads on her father, and it sounded promising. She was growing impatient and wanted results, or at least some hope. She hurried down the palace steps, eager, but then slowed when she spotted Tyghan standing beside three gray dapples.
“One of these is yours?” she said. “I thought you’d have a larger horse like the other knights.”
“I do, but the white steeds draw notice. We want to blend in. The dapples are easier to handle too. It takes years to master riding a hotblooded destrier. You’re not ready.”
Tyghan noted the slight roll of Bristol’s eyes.
They were venturing out to the more remote hamlets and winding paths of Danu where carriages couldn’t go. It was a rare daytime excursion. There were only so many sectors of the city where Eris could plant leads that went nowhere. Every evening Bristol grew more discouraged, and he and Eris concocted a plan to give her distance from her daily disappointments, because ultimately, her searches would never produce the results she wanted. She’d brightened last night when he told her they were going to discreetly comb the eastern hamlets that day.
“Who is the third horse for?”
“Cully.”
She stared at the horse like it had pissed on her boots. “We need a chaperone?”
“A third set of eyes and ears is always useful.”
“Ready!” Cully said, coming up behind them, a toothy grin on his face, happy to be released from training that day to accompany them.
Tyghan wanted him along as a buffer to quell any growing gossip. During the bright of day, Tyghan was more likely to be seen, and there were already several lords and ladies ambling near the carriage portico ogling them. Departing alone with her would be a flame to tinder. They still blamed his brother’s reckless excursions with his mistress on their current woes, and if they ever found out Bristol’s parentage, there would be hell to pay. He’d been careful not to be seen with her beyond the boundaries of necessity. As far as they knew, she was only another recruit who came to this world in search of adventure—and a relative.
“We have a lot of miles to cover,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Bristol lifted her foot, but struggled getting a firm foothold in the stirrup. She still had no training with horses. He looked at her back, her shirt neatly tucked into her snug trousers, the curve of her hips and her waist within easy reach. He averted his eyes and waved Cully forward. “Help her up.”
Cully complied.
Once in the saddle, Bristol shot him a sharp glance. “Let’s hope we don’t run into more mistaken identities,” she said. “There seem to be a lot of fae around here who don’t know a mortal from a goat—or an insult from a compliment.”
“He was a faun,” Cully corrected. “Half goat.” That was the last mistaken identity they’d encountered.
Tyghan mounted his horse. “I never said it would be easy.”
A low hiss escaped through her teeth.
When they were out of the city, Tyghan veered them onto a narrow trail that led to a coastal hamlet, a place where he knew there would be no sign or word of Kierus. His knights had already scouted the area.
Along the way they made inquiries at farmhouses and the occasional inn.
“If you see someone who meets that description, let my associate in the city know—Mae at the textile house,” Tyghan said at stop after stop. “He’s come into some gold—I want to make sure he gets it.”
“He’s traveling with trows,” Bristol added. “We want to make sure they get their reward too.”
She received mixed reactions to her comment. No one traveled with trows.
Cully left Mae’s contact information with them. That had cost Tyghan another heavy pouch from the treasury. But Mae’s love of gold made her predictable and reliable.
When they were out of earshot of their last stop, Bristol asked, “Is it hard to kill a trow?”
Caution crept into Tyghan’s thoughts. “Is that your goal? To kill them?”
“They have a lot to answer for. They hunted down my father.”
Tyghan felt the stab of her assumption, and what she would like to do to her father’s hunters. “Yes,” he answered, intending to put her aspirations to an end. “It’s hard to kill trows, because they’re good at killing others first.”
