The Runaway Queen, A Fire and Fury Prequel Novella Read online

  “You are a brave, hardworking, and loving soul, Rose. I find you extremely suitable.”

  “What about all the other women your mother talked about?”

  “You heard that?” he asked, taken aback. “They are a sturdy lot to be sure, and some are fair enough, but none of them move me like you, Rose.”

  “I don’t know if I can love you like that,” she whispered fiercely. “You see?” Rosamund searched his eyes and grasped him by his jerkin. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve more than I can give.”

  “I’ll take whatever you have to give, even if it’s just a smile. I promise.”

  “What if I never do?”

  He smiled, a certain mischievous look in his eyes, and shrugged.

  “I admire your confidence, Gabriel, but I’ve been through too much,” she said, shaking her head in resignation.

  Despite her reluctance, Rosamund felt tempted. He was a hard man, his shape and demeanor forged by the harsh landscape, but he had a warm heart. She thought it would be the loveliest thing in the world to have him wrap his arms around her and never let go. He made her feel safe, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was haunted by the idea of Colestus and his men hunting her down and of the massacre that would ensue. No one here was safe. If Colestus has already taken another woman, he’d always be looking over his shoulder, wondering if he’d sired an heir with her and what trouble that could bring to his future.

  “I can’t. I just can’t,” she wailed. She knelt over the log and wept into her arms.

  “Rose, can’t you see? It’s the only way.” He moved closer to her and patted her back.

  “Don’t touch me,” she warned and moved away from him. “I can do this on my own, Gabriel.” Rosamund sat up, sniffling. “I really can. I had a plan. That Houser fellow was going to hire me at servant’s wages. Wouldn’t someone in his household still take me on?”

  “Oh, you think Houser’s heirs will put you to work?” Gabriel snorted with contempt. “Now, there’s a jolly thought. No, Rose, they won’t. They are a debauched lot. There’s no question in my mind that they would use you, just like the king.”

  “What are you talking about?” she shouted, angry at him. “Hardwin and his brother assured me that the Housers were honorable.”

  “About as honorable with women as I am clean-shaven.”

  “But, but . . .” Rosamund sputtered, leaning back against the log. “You are leaving me fewer and fewer choices, Gabriel. What about a massacre of the villages on this side of the mountain range if Colestus discovers me living here?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to happen, Rose, not from what I’ve heard,” Gabriel said confidently. “All of the evidence points to the king not caring one wit about you and when he goes searching, he’ll look for you in Asterias.”

  “All right, then.” Rosamund gathered determination for her next question. “What will your mother say?”

  “She’s the least of your troubles,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “She says her piece, shrugs, and then fires darts when she thinks we’ve made mistakes. It might take her a while to accept the idea, but she’ll be fine. My sisters will love you. We’ll have to marry soon. I think you must be two moons along.”

  “How would you know?” she asked, flushed with embarrassment.

  He shrugged. “I have sisters.”

  “You didn’t seem aware of my situation before,” she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

  “I wasn’t paying attention before,” he said simply. “Rose, what I’ve noticed about you is how lovely you are, even when you’re caught in a thicket, and how brave. You work hard and you want to learn. There’s something inside of you that makes you want to survive. I saw it when you sat on the ledge, filthy and battered, but not broken. When I realized you were the runaway queen, I became even more captivated. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up for yourself and run away from someone who thinks you are no more than an animal in cage that he can he harm until his black heart is content. Think about it, Rose. You ran away from the king. That’s what makes it almost unbelievable. Do you realize how impossible that sounds? And yet, you succeeded. It makes me admire you even more.”

  “I know that I am desperate, but I have not said that I will marry you. Perhaps I could find someone who would hire me do their laundry. It can’t be that hard to learn, can it?”

  “A washer woman?” Gabriel scoffed incredulously. “Well, that’s a much harder life than what I’m offering. And who would watch the child while you’re bent over the tubs breaking your back and scorching your hands in the scalding water? Rose, you are running out of options. I think I’m your only way out. Come now,” he said, pulling her up from the ground, hands on her shoulders, searching her eyes. “I can’t be that bad.”

  “No, no you’re not.” Rosamund gave him a reluctant smile but backed out of his grasp. “You are a vast improvement.”

  “You poor, dear girl,” he sighed and sat on the log shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe any man would touch a woman that way. Women are to be cherished. If there is trust and a solid friendship, I believe that love will follow,” he said, swallowing hard, and looked at her with hope and anticipation. “I’m willing to make a vow to protect you and the child on the promise of that possibility.”

  Rosamund sat down beside him, her insides in utter turmoil. By accident, she had fallen into the hands of a decent man who wanted to help her. Of course, it was more complicated than that, but could she heal enough to offer him more than friendship? Would her broken heart allow her to love? As she knelt by the log thinking, realization came suddenly, as if a hardy breeze pushed a cloud hovering in front of the sun out of the way, warmth and brightness surrounding her, offering clarity for the first time in her life.

  Colestus never broke her heart.

  He never had her heart.

  Colestus never tried to make her fall in love with him. That was the demise of their relationship, aside from the pain he brought to bear. Here sat a man who was trying to woo her. It made her a little cheerful. Why shouldn’t she take him up on it? Rosamund looked at Gabriel again very closely. She already admired his height and strong, muscular build, the perfect silhouette of his face, and his sincerity. She knew he would keep his promises. A light in his eyes radiated such honesty.

  “What color are your eyes?” Rosamund asked, like a bolt out of the blue.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Gabriel asked, bewildered, apprehension written all over his face.

  “Just look at me, please?”

  He turned toward her, trying not to laugh. For the first time, she noticed blue-green eyes, framed by coppery lashes and brows lightened by the sun. She cocked her head and squinted for a closer look. The center of his eyes were dotted with flecks of gold. They were so different from Colestus’s cold-blooded, fathomless eyes, narrow slits that always followed her like an animal stalking prey. Gabriel’s were wide, full of color and contrast, and most importantly, warmth. At that moment, Rosamund knew that she could spend the rest of her life looking into those very beautiful eyes.

  “They’re green,” he said, smirking playfully. “At least, that’s what my mother tells me.”

  “That’s far too simple a description,” she said, smiling. “They look like the sea and the sky reached out to touch each other and swirled into the perfect color.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means, Rose?”

  “Yes, but stop calling me that,” she scolded. “It’s a name and a life that I must leave behind.”

  “What would you like me to call you?”

  “I can’t pull a name out of thin air, but I do know I need peace and serenity.”

  “Then let your name be Serena,” he said with a satisfied smile. “No one would ever connect the two. And what about the lad you carry?”

  “But, how do you know it’s a lad? Did you learn something more from your sisters?”

  “No, just a guess. E
very new father wants a son first.”

  “Father?” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I suppose that’s what you’ll be. As for the name, something simple, nothing that gives away his royal heritage.”

  “He’s royal because of you, Serena,” Gabriel said, taking both of her hands into his. It took great will power not to jump out of his grasp, but his sweetness and sincerity kept her hands in his. “That jackass Colestus will be lucky if he doesn’t have a rebellion on his hands in a few years when more of the kingdom discovers his many secrets.” Rosamund wasn’t sure what Gabriel was referring to, but she knew enough of Colestus’s dealings with other nobles and how he had a nasty habit of pressing young boys into his army. She’d already heard rumblings of that from Hardwin, whose friends wanted to kill the king with their bare hands because he had stolen their sons. “But such is monarchy. Just so you know,” he added a bit sheepishly, “my father’s name was Nicholas.”

  “That’s perfect. Nicholas…” she said softly, liking the way it rolled off her tongue.

  “I’ll raise him as my own.”

  “I know you will, Gabriel. I can see it in your eyes,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from his.

  “Let me make a vow to you, Serena,” he said, whispering her name in reverence. He knelt on one knee and held one of her hands in his. “I will protect you and the child, and love you both if you’ll let me. If there is respect and understanding, the mutual regard we have for each other will carry us through, no matter what. Will you be mine?”

  She found herself smiling; a broad, genuine, aching smile. “Yes, Gabriel. No matter what.”

  A Special Preview

  Book I in the Fire and Fury series

  In the deep, quiet darkness before dawn, before the light of the sun turned black into grey, and shed its blinding shadows, Meg was sneaking. She was used to walking in the dark, but this time she stumbled as a loose cobblestone pitched her forward. Catching her balance, she straightened her cloak and kept walking.

  “Why must you do this?” Lady Byron scolded Meg from behind as she huffed, trying to keep up. “It’s the middle of the night, it’s cold, these alleys are quite disreputable, and the children. . .” she paused. Meg turned toward her chief lady-in-waiting and saw from the light of a nearby lantern that her mouth curled in distaste. “They cling.”

  “Much like I did?” Meg tried not to laugh. “I have memories of clinging so tight you almost choked, so great was my grip around your neck. Poor little orphans are starving not only for want of food, but for affection.”

  “They smell awful. Their breath could back a buzzard off a corpse,” Lady Byron sniffed haughtily, though she tightened her prim lips in order to suppress a smile. A woman of forty or so years, she was unnaturally thin and prematurely wrinkled. Stern and ridged, she looked as if she had a knight’s jousting lance attached to her backside.

  “Lady Byron,” Meg stopped, placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, and looked her in the eye. “I know the only reason you’ve started coming with me is that my father has entrusted you with my safety. He puts the onus of my behavior on your shoulders, although he does not know that I frequent the city without guards, a little too often, shall we say? But these enterprises of mine will suffer if I cannot visit often. I must see for myself the needs of my father’s people.”

  Lady Byron had informed her that although she couldn’t tie Meg to her bed to keep her from sneaking out of the castle, utter nonsense and sheer folly she’d said, she would not let Meg out of her sight.

  “Look, Lewin’s candles still burn,” Meg said as she grabbed Lady Byron by the hand and pulled her along toward the cottage.

  “The people need help. I can see that, but I still don’t understand why you must involve yourself so much,” Lady Byron muttered. “Princesses should not get their hands dirty.”

  “Oh, but that’s what I love about it, the dough between my fingers and knowing that all the talking, arguing, and convincing that I’ve done with my father is finally trickling down to the people who need it most. The war is so hard on them. We must do what we can.”

  “You’re going to run out of money,” Lady Byron quipped.

  “What good is money during a time of war? I can’t exactly commission gowns for dancing now, can I?”

  “When would you dance?”

  “My point precisely,” Meg said as she opened the door to the cottage of Lewin Cooksey, son of the castle’s head cook and her contact within the city.

  As they walked through the threshold into the kitchen area, Meg could see no one. A fire crackled in the hearth and flour dusted the butcher block, but no one was home at the moment. Perhaps Lewin, his wife, and an army of volunteers had already made their deliveries of the flour that Meg supplied. If that were the case, then she would be disappointed. The most enjoyable part of overseeing her operations was talking to the people who were willing to give up their time to help in the war effort.

  Meg ushered Lady Byron toward the fire so that she might warm up, but turned toward the cellar door when she heard the stairs squeaking. She hadn’t remembered that they squeaked so badly, screeching like the old, rickety wheel of a cart. Then she heard the latch click.

  The door swung open and thumped against the rough rock wall. Two men shouldering large bags of flour walked into the room.

  And there he stood, gazing, completely unabashed for holding her glance.

  Meg didn’t know who he was, even though she’d seen him before, but she couldn’t look away. There was a strange mix of softness and intensity in his light blue eyes, not indecent ardor, crushing neediness, or even squinty dismissal, like she’d seen in the eyes of other men. All of the men her father hoped would solve his political problems and whom he thought at least one might make her happy.

  “Is that the last of them then?” Lewin asked as he and his wife walked in from outside and saw the two men standing in the doorway of the cellar. “Oh, my la. . .” he said, surprised. He hadn’t seen her standing behind the butcher block on the other side of the kitchen.

  Meg scowled him into silence. She couldn’t have anyone call her “my lady” out here.

  Lewin pounded his chest and made a respectable appearance of a coughing fit to cover his gaffe.

  “Yes, sir.” He finally spoke. “That’s the last of them.” He shouldered two heavy bags of flour, but adjusted them so he could use one hand to doff his woolen cap. Nervously tugging at the grimy homespun tunic at his throat, he pulled his gaze away from her. “I hate to ask,” he said, licking his lips as if from thirst, “but is there any bread left or perhaps a drop of mead?”

  “Ho, now. That’s a question,” Lewin chortled to the laughter of his wife. “Those little urchins descend on the food we make like a pack of ravenous wolves. If it weren’t for the war, I’d be filthy rich. The wife here,” he said, tilting his head toward the woman beside him, “she worries about the little ones. You can deliver those bags to my neighbor across the lane and then clean the stable, but we’ll meet again tonight when the children come. We’ll have more food then.”

  He frowned, nodded in grim understanding, and put the cap back on his head, but didn’t move until his cohort, a bit of an older man, nudged him in the back. Throwing his comrade a filthy look over his shoulder, he adjusted the heavy load, and walked toward the door. “There’s a good lad,” his friend said, clearly just to irritate him. There was a slight pause in his step, as if he were thinking of a witty response, but he just shrugged, at least as well as he could under what he carried, and kept walking.

  Meg found herself smiling at the exchange and wondered about him. Certainly, a man that tall, strong, and capable would be in the army. Heaven knows that’s where her beloved country, Asterias, needed men like that. But he didn’t dress like a soldier. Sporting only a simple belted tunic, breeches, and thick rags that he bound on the bottom of his legs on top of a crude leather shoe, he also wore a ragged shawl wrapped around his shoulders that looked
like it doubled for extra warmth. He appeared to be a poor man who worked day to day for his next meal. These two men must be very hungry, indeed, for she had seen them working at her enterprises all over the city.

  “Don’t worry,” Lewin said with a grin. “I won’t tell my father that I caught you with a rather. . .” he paused, clearing his throat, “impressive man.”

  “Why would I worry?” Meg said, as she walked toward the fireplace and Lady Byron, trying to hide the heat she felt rushing to her cheeks, cursing herself for staring. “Besides, the king’s cook wouldn’t believe a word you say. He loves me more than he loves you.”

  “That I don’t doubt,” Lewin sighed and cast a mischievous side glance toward her, “and keeps your secret.”

  “I can’t give evil men an opportunity to wreak havoc on the king by kidnapping me, so, yes, it is a secret that must be kept,” Meg said circumspectly. “I’m sure many would call me selfish for flitting away from the castle, but I’d go mad. I need to do something useful.”

  “It is by your good graces that we have enterprises at all.”

  “The royal granaries are over-stocked for now and I am happy to put the extra to good use. I don’t know how much longer I can divert the supplies. They will have to go to the army before long. And you,” she said, pointing her finger in playful reprimand, “must remember to call me Meg. No more close calls. I will give your father a full report when I return to the castle. Now, if I can just get that door to the tunnel to open without a fight. . .” she paused, thinking and snapping her fingers. “I’m sure I’ll see him just after sunrise.”

  Meg turned on her heel and walked out the door with Lady Byron following in her wake. Paying more attention to the ties on her cloak than to her steps, she tripped on the stone steps and careened face first into a very solid chest. His chest. When Meg looked up, his face showed outright alarm. He placed his hands on her shoulders, as if she were a delicate vase full of flowers, and pushed her upright so that she could stand without leaning on him. Having entirely lost her words, she looked down and found a grave interest in her boots. When Meg ventured a look toward them, the older one tried desperately not to smile, and the one with the eyes, well, he couldn’t seem to look at her, either. The silence was insufferable, so she whirled in the opposite direction and left them behind.