Page 4 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

Chapter 2

“Goodness me!” Lady Linnea said, rushing into the stables as soon as we came in. Her eyes were everywhere at once, taking in the way I’d been sitting astride and between Kris’ thighs, then the state of my dress, my hair and my hands. “Give her to me. Quickly now! If the duke catches sight of her like this—”

“There’ll be hell to pay for all of us,” Kris said, sliding off his horse and nodding to the stable boy who rushed up to take Breaker. “Ahh, Nordred. Just the man I was looking for. You can be the one to answer for this, I assume.”

“Milady,” the keep’s horse-master said, ambling closer and sketching enough of a bow to keep Linnea satisfied. But those cool blue eyes, they were on me, not her and he reached out, Linnea fussing all the while, taking my hands in his and turning them over and back. “You took down a stag.”

“Yes, Nordred, you should’ve seen me!”

For the first time this morning, I felt my soul singing with the achievement of it. Part of me mourned the passing of the stag, especially with it being just left there for the foxes and other carrion eaters… But I forced my mind away from that line of thinking. My intention, if I’d been successful, had been to return to the keep and request some of my father’s men to retrieve the carcass. Then I would have consigned it over to Frederick, the keep’s butcher, to clean and dress. Something I could still do, as long as the knights were forewarned that wargen thieves were on the loose again.

“Enough of that,” Lady Linnea said with a dismissive snap. “It’s bad enough we’re standing here ankle deep in dirty straw and horse… dung.”

We really weren’t. Nordred kept the boys working hard in the stables, mucking out the stalls every day and keeping them clean. He went pale with anger at that criticism, but even he daren’t speak over the lady.

“The contingent from Strelae is due to arrive today and the duke wants Darcy in attendance. The king desperately needs Strelan resources and he’s left it to the duke to hammer out the details. If His Grace can get the heathens to agree to all of his points, it will greatly raise him in the king’s esteem.” Her eyes then slid to me.

The lady was a married woman, so her hair was always covered over by a wimple, a piece of cloth that hid the hair and neck but left the face bare. The glory of her hair was for her husband’s eyes only. But Lord Fallow had died in battle before I was born, so now only the gods themselves saw her true beauty. She twitched at the snowy white folds as she inspected me closely, those grey eyes seeing and weighing up everything I was.

“You could become a princess, Lady Darcy,” she said, like that was the thing we should all aspire to. “Married to one of the king’s many sons. Perhaps even Prince Bryson.”

“I don’t think it would suit me to become queen,” I replied hurriedly, my gaze dropping to the floor.

This comment, at least, could be passed off as maidenly modesty rather than rudeness, but the thrust of it remained the same. To be sent to the capital, Aramathia, and to be forced to live my life stifled by royal protocol… My teeth clenched tight at just the thought of it and so did Kris’.

With curious eyes, I watched the muscle in his jaw flex at the mention of me marrying another. Other than a slightly greater friendliness than most men afforded me, I had never received anything from him than the courtesy due any lady. But as I saw a fire kindle in those brown eyes, I wondered, hoped, there might be more. Regardless, any desire I might feel, I was forced to squash it. No matter how I might feel about Kris, I knew a king’s or a prince’s wishes would trump it and that just made my heart beat faster. My fingers twitched, aching to take his in mine and squeeze them, anything to wipe away the storm clouds forming in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nordred said, in that rich, deep voice of his. “I think our lady would find a crown would suit her quite well.”

“As if the opinion of a groom matters in these things,” Linnea sniffed. “Where were you when Darcy came to saddle her horse? Having that troupe of monkeys you employ dance to her tune, I’m willing to bet.”

“Her ladyship managed to get Arden out and saddled without waking a single one of us,” Nordred replied with a broad grin, and even Linnea’s eyelids fluttered a little at that. I’d known the man since I was a small child, and, to be honest, he felt like more of a father to me than my own. Having overheard the older ladies talk, the widows in the keep vied to spend time with the horse master, citing his ability with his hands. “She’s like a thief in the night, this girl.”

“What a pity a rogue’s skills are not on the list of desirable qualities for young ladies,” Linnea said in a waspish tone. “Come, Darcy, we have quite the mess to sort out before the Strelan arrive, and your father has made very clear what the consequences will be if you are not clean, presentable and a proper reflection of the glory of his house.”

And that’s when I felt it, that familiar closed-in, airless sensation. My hand went to my chest as it felt like my breath stuttered in my lungs. My ribs felt like they were made of iron now, heavy and inflexible, my windpipe as narrow as a piece of straw and just as weak. The same old whooping sound came as I fought to fill my lungs, my feet shifting in agitation.

“Milady—” Nordred said, moving forward but Linnea bristled.

“Oh no, you don’t. The duke has promised to have Darcy whipped soundly if she does not comply, and me with her.”

“Linnea, surely—” Kris began to say.

“You don’t know half as much as you think you do, nor are you hiding your ambitions, Kristoff of Stowerling. The duke was deadly serious. The Strelan cannot be offended in any way and to aid that cause, it's a good thing you are in armour, because you’re being sent on patrol,” she replied in a withering tone, ignoring my increasingly desperate state.

“What? But he…”

Their voices dropped away as Nordred came closer, taking my hands in his in a way I knew well, that firm, gentle touch instantly creating a small breathing space in my chest.

“Slowly, slowly,” he said in the same tone he used with a flighty horse, and my body obeyed just the same. His fingers found the remaining cut on mine, the one the wargen hadn’t managed to heal, and he traced its edge with his fingertips, the same kind of tingling repairing the damage. “You’ll be alright,” he assured me. “Remember that in our eyes, you are a queen.”

“A dirty little brat of a queen,” Linnea said. As I finally straightened up, breath coming more easily, I caught sight of her pinched face. “I’ve no more time to argue. I’ll not receive a whipping due to you.”

And with that, I was hauled from the stables and up the backstairs the servants used to get in and out of the keep. Down narrow hallways we hustled, past chambermaids and laundresses, kitchen hands and bedroom attendants, until we pulled up short in front of a large steam-filled room.

“Out wandering the moors again?” Gordon, my father’s steward, asked. He held the door open and kitchen boys walked in and out, pouring hot water from buckets into a large wooden tub. He looked me over with a dispassionate eye, as he and Linnea were used to working together to fool my father into thinking his orders were followed without question. “How will we explain the wet hair?”

“She can wear a veil,” Linnea replied. “They’re quite the fashion in court and that should please her father.” Then she turned to me. “In the tub, girl! It’s bad enough that we’re washing you down in the laundry, without you lollygagging. And don’t think about trying any of your tricks.”

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