A Sneak Peek of Taken by the Elderman
Chapter 1: Hilla
Craighcebor, Kingdom of Meria
“Get your hands off of me.”
I did not survive these past two years to be taken prisoner now.
My sister’s men are mere yards away from us. But as I open my mouth to scream, tis promptly covered by a gloved hand.
I saw my opportunity to escape as my husband cowered inside the blacksmith’s shop. He yelled for me to return inside, of course. But I knew there was help to be had. All I needed to do was get to one of my sister’s men.
The queen’s men.
One glimpse of the glorious Tree of Edingham on one of the men’s surcoat, spotted through a crack in the closed window, was all I needed to summon the courage to finally leave the loathsome man responsible for me being here, in the thick of battle.
Ignoring the screams and relentless clanging of swords between my hateful husband’s men and innocent Merians that surely spell death for some, I sprinted to the door of the darkened shop, where Whitley hid like the coward he is, and tossed it open—and was at once grabbed from behind.
Now I try to turn around, to see my attacker. But his hands are like wrought-iron vices. One of his arms encircles my waist as he drags me effortlessly away from my salvation.
When I was accused of adultery, I did not fight.
When I was excommunicated from court, I did not fight.
When my husband came to my bed, I did not fight.
But now, as this hooded stranger whose robes mark him as an Elderman, drags me away from my sister’s men, away from the only thing I’ve lived for these past two miserable years—to be reunited with Cettina—I fight like the devil.
“Be still.”
His voice is like a whip cracking against my resistance.
Farther and farther from the fight we move until the edge of the small village is just out of running distance. If he manages to get me into those woods, I am lost. And so, with every bit of strength, I push against his arm. To no avail.
Attempting to bite his cupped hand, and failing, I watch as the very husband who made my life hell these past two years is dragged from the blacksmith’s shop by the queen’s retinue, taking him captive for this unauthorized attack against the Merian village. As always, I do not fear for myself.
Nothing this man could do to me, short of slitting my throat, could compare to all that I’ve gone through since the day my father announced my betrothal to the aging Lord Whitley of the Edingham Borderlands. But without my account of what happened here today, the bastard could very likely use his silver tongue to escape persecution. Again. Whitley’s treachery against my sister must be exposed lest she remain in danger. Cettina must know he ordered the attack to draw Edingham into a war with Meria. One my sister does not want.
I hear the horse before I see him. Panic wells inside my chest, bubbling to the surface. Does he plan to take me with him? Why?
I cannot leave this border town. Not with Cettina’s men so close by.
Think, Hilla. Think.
He cannot get me on that horse and keep me silent all at once. We are not so far away from the village that my screams will go unheard. Tis my only chance.
But then, I am let go.
Taking a deep breath after being trapped by my kidnapper, I prepare to run. Until I see the reason for my release.
Two men, my husband’s men, are approaching from behind. Swords drawn, they stare down my abductor without a glance at me.
“Give her to us.”
Though one is hardly known to me, I am quite familiar with the taller of the two. One of many who’s guarded my door every step of our loathsome journey from our home at Redmare Castle to the ill-fated village of Craighcebor, his cruelty matching that of his master’s with no care for my well-being.
“She comes with me.” That emotionless response, from my captor, makes me curious to see his face. From my vantage point, I see only deep brown robes and a hood. What does the Elderman want with me? I’m not so naive to think his intentions are pure. Under the current Prima’s leadership, the actions of many of these supposed “men of God” leave much to be desired.
When my husband’s men step forward toward us, the Elderman warns them.
“One step closer and this morning’s sunrise will have been your last.”
My captor’s words manage to sound menacing but not exaggerated. As if he means each and every one.
But one churchman against two armed knights?
Tis only when the Elderman draws his sword that they stand down. My husband’s men, those with no qualms about attacking a village of innocents, men who appeared a moment ago so mighty and strong, turn and run.
They sprint in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with . . . not a simple Elderman. I’d not noticed his sword. My feet remain still even though this is my opportunity to run. He turns to me, his face still obscured by the hood.
“You are a Shadow Warrior,” I say.
His nonanswer is my answer. I resign myself to this new fate, for resistance to such a man would be the height of futility.
Chapter 2: Aiken
That we are feared even more than we are revered worked in my favor today. Though I had two plans to get the lady onto Sorel without attracting attention, her sudden acquiescence made the task much simpler.
But now, as she—the traitorous sister of the queen—sits practically on my lap as we ride, rattling off question after question, none of which I’ve thus far answered, I wonder if I’d been too hasty when I decided against tying a rag around her mouth.
“Answer me,” she demands, as if she were the queen herself.
Since getting as far away from Craighcebor is my only concern, I try to block out her questions and concentrate on those who might be following us, but her constant barrage is beginning to grate.
I’ve seen the queen only twice, but not in the past several years. Unlike Cettina, a strikingly beautiful woman with blonde hair so light some call it unnatural, Hilla, her hair a darker shade, might seem to pale in comparison. But her full lips are hard to ignore. Her hair, neither blonde nor brown. Her shape, neither slim nor thick. All the same, I recognized her immediately. Even if she’d not been hiding in that smithy’s shop with her equally traitorous husband, I could have identified her as the queen’s sister. Clearly raised at court, the daughter of a king, her mannerisms mark her as more than a mere noble.
“Where are we going?” she demands yet again.
Ignoring the question, I slow our mount nearly to a stop. Although not the main road, this particular path is well-traveled enough to cause concern, and I’ve detected a presence. Moments later, a deer sprints out from the dense woods, directly in front of us, disappearing almost as quickly.
“How did you know he was there?”
After more than an hour, finally a question I am able to answer.
“A change in the sound of the woods.”
I spur our mount forward.
“He speaks. Finally.”
I do not answer, as there is no need. Speak only when necessary. Answer only when your words cannot be used against you. Two of the many, many lessons I received in training all those years ago.
After a moment passes without me elaborating on those words, Lady Hilla makes a strangled sound of frustration, and I’m brought back to that day when Baldric Orazio began to instruct me.
“If you are to complete your training, you cannot be simply another warrior. A skilled swordsman. Or bowman. This isle has plenty of both. But you must be more than that. Your secret weapon, my son, are these.” My mentor pointed to my ears. “You cannot listen if you are speaking.”
Minutes turned to hours with none but that single deer as our witness. Lady Hilla, now squirming in front of me, her backside reminding me I’m still very much a man, finally reached her limit.
“Either you answer some of my questions, or I will jump from this horse.”
Listening less to her words than the tone of her voice, I conclude the lady is serious. She is actually considering such a thing. And although that would solve the problem of what to do with her, it would leave me with a dead body to attend to.
“You would risk breaking your neck?” I ask, responding with little more than an arch of my brow when she snaps back, “Yes,” so quickly. She is speaking from emotion. Not surprising as that is precisely what most people do in situations they cannot control.
“Surely,” I say, because tis fact, “you’ve deduced I do not mean to kill you?”
I’d have told her as much sooner, but then, I’ve no great desire to reassure a woman who conspired with her husband to incite violence for the sole purpose of starting a war between two kingdoms.
“I would not think a Shadow Warrior, an Elderman, would kidnap a queen’s sister either, but alas, here we are.”
I’d smile at her sharp wit if I did not think so poorly of the woman.
“Indeed,” I say, against my own better judgment. “Here we are.”
Knowing I must offer at least some bit of information lest the woman actually carry out her threat, I tell her only what she needs to know.
“I do not plan to kill you. We will stop as soon as I deem it safe.”
Though I thought the explanation sufficient, she continues with more questions.
“Why did you take me? What do you plan to do with me? Where are we going?”
It has been an excessively long day. My head began to throb hours ago. And though we’ve actually started backtracking toward Craighcebor along a different path, and are indeed traveling toward Edingham—a fact that Lady Hilla does not seem to realize—there is always a possibility Whitley’s men could still be looking for her.
Not to mention the queen’s.
I’d considered some time ago taking her directly to Queen Cettina’s men to let them deal with the traitor. She cannot come with me to the Merian court, of course, so I will need to relinquish her into Cettina’s care. But first, once I am sure we are not being followed, I will learn the truth of her actions. Learn precisely how large a threat she is to her sister’s rule.
This woman will share any secrets she holds. And as the wife of one of the most hated men on the Isle, Lady Hilla may provide valuable insight into his goal and that of his warmongering allies.
“They say,” she begins again, “you are the deadliest of warriors in all of the kingdoms.”
Nay, that accolade belongs to another group of men, although the warriors who fight for the church are highly skilled indeed. I wait, curious where she intends this new argument to lead.
“They say the Prima’s Shadow Warriors could overwhelm any of King Galfrid’s men, and my sis—the queen’s as well, at the same time. And quite easily.”
She thinks I do not know her identity. This time, I do smile. How very much Lady Hilla has to learn.
“They say none see you coming. That you could raise your sword before the enemy even has a chance to blink.”
I say nothing but silently agree with her assessment.
“Why then, would an Elderman, a Shadow Warrior, a man whose skills are superior to all others, waste such talents on a lowly woman such as me?”
Two things become apparent to me with her question.
Lady Hilla believes that flattery will advance her position. A belief that is not all that surprising given that she is married to a man who loves himself above all things. Such a tactic must have worked well with Whitley.
Second, she believes that disparaging herself as a woman might gain my trust. Indeed, there are men who feel themselves superior because of their gender. The man I serve, the leader of the church, is such a man.
Since she cannot see my face, I allow myself to smile. If she knew who I truly served, knew my life’s purpose, Lady Hilla would not make such a remark. One I know she does not believe herself.
Tis not because of her questions that I slow once again to a stop. This is as good a place as any to camp for the night. To begin my interrogation.
Lady Hilla has questions, but I do as well. Ones she will answer.
Of that I have no doubt.
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