In a movement eerily similar to Felix’s submission, Barrow pivoted and dropped to one knee, but his hand was moving, sliding his blade from its sheath and slashing the air. He easily met Felix’s swing, but Barrow hadn’t aimed his blow to block Felix’s attack. A shriek pierced the air as Felix’s mace and his forearm dropped to the ground, hewn from his body by Barrow’s sword.
Felix fell to the ground, still screaming and holding the bloody stump of his arm. Without looking back at the fallen warrior, Barrow left the ring. He didn’t break stride until he stood before Ember. The slight incline upon which she stood put them face-to-face, and she found she couldn’t breathe.
Ember stared at the tall knight. Every muscle in her body was taut as if she’d been in the ring herself. Her gaze lingered on his arms, his chest, the muscles of his thighs. Ember had seen dozens of men fight in her sixteen years at her father’s estate. She’d never seen anyone move the way Barrow had.
Though she couldn’t fathom why she would merit such a gesture, Barrow bowed to her.
“My lady.”
She was still shaking when he turned to her father and said, “We leave for Tearmunn in an hour.”
Edmund Morrow, pale with rage, answered. “An hour.”
TWO
EMBER WATCHED AS servants carried another chest laden with gowns from the room she’d shared with her sister all of her life.
“I’m afraid Father has given me some of your dresses,” Ember told Agnes, who was seated beside her at the foot of the bed. “I don’t remember having so many.”
Agnes laughed and took Ember’s hand. “The dresses are yours. Most of mine have been packed for France.”
“You shouldn’t have to travel with us,” Ember said, frowning. “Not now. You’ve been ill lately. This journey will do you no good.”
“I can bear it if it means our parting is delayed.” Agnes offered her sister a weak smile. She paused and then said very quietly, “I envy you.”
Ember frowned. “Envy me? Sister, I go into an unknown that offers no prospects for marriage or all those things you crave. You’ve been asking me to find a way out of this obligation.”
“I know I have.” A gentle blush painted Agnes’s cheeks. “And I do fear the place that claims you. But . . . you go with Alistair.”
“It will be a comfort to have a friend at Tearmunn,” Ember mused. “Perhaps he’ll keep me from making a fool of myself—” She stopped when she noticed the way Agnes was watching her and the way her sister’s eyes were glistening. “Agnes? Are you ill again?”
Though Agnes had always been the more delicate of the two sisters, lately she’d been subject to fits of weeping without provocation.
Agnes shook her head, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’m well enough.”
“Don’t envy me,” Ember said, taking her sister’s hand. “For I’m likely to be a scullery maid to these mysterious knights, while you will soon be a countess wrapped in silk and dripping with jewels.”
Agnes didn’t answer, but kept her eyes downcast. Another tear slid over her pale skin.
“And you know the Count de La Marche is said to be very handsome,” Ember teased. “You are surely the fortunate sister.”
“I wish . . . ,” Agnes murmured.
Ember squeezed Agnes’s fingers. “Do you not wish to go to France? I’ll support you if you want to beg Father to release you from this betrothal.”
Agnes shook her head, pulling her hand away from Ember’s grasp. Agnes reached up and touched the brooch pinned to her gown.
“A husband who sends such lovely gifts will no doubt dote on you,” Ember said, hoping to cheer her sister.
With a soft, choking sob Agnes covered the brooch with her palm, pressing it to her chest. “This gift was not from the count.”
“Then who—” Ember’s question was cut off by someone clearing his throat.
Barrow stood just inside the door to the sisters’ room.
Agnes jumped up and curtsied. She quietly excused herself, hurrying from the room.
Ember sighed and rose from the bed.
“I didn’t mean to scare away your sister,” Barrow said as he quickly surveyed the room.
“You didn’t,” Ember told him. “She hasn’t been well of late.”
“It’s a shame your father insists that she accompany us.” He frowned. “That anyone but you travel north, in truth.”
She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry for that.”
“I came to see if there were more chests,” Barrow told her. “If there are, we’ll need another wagon.”
“I believe those were the last.” Ember laughed. “And I would be happy enough to accompany you without my family or the chests.”
Barrow came closer, his gaze curious and intent. Ember stiffened, feeling her pulse quicken with his scrutiny.
“I believe that,” he said. “And I would have argued about the burden of this caravan he’s put together had I not maimed one of his men.”
Ember swallowed hard, remembering the blood and the screams as Felix fell to the ground. “That was no fault of your own.”
In the pause after she spoke, Barrow watched her face, just as he had in the courtyard. Ember’s skin felt warm and her fingers began to shake, but she refused to break his gaze.
At last he said, “I’m glad you understand that.”
Barrow sighed, and when he pulled his eyes from hers, Ember was struck by a strange sensation of loss.
“I’ve come to take my leave, Lady Morrow,” he told her. “Once the caravan is prepared, I’ll travel ahead of your family. We were expected at Tearmunn much sooner than will now be the case. I need to inform the Circle of this delay and of your family’s imminent arrival.”
The warmth of her blood had vanished. Her hands felt clammy. “You won’t be with us?”
He turned to face her and seeing the fear in her eyes said, “Lord Hart will be with you to ensure there are no further delays.”
Ember looked at the floor. She didn’t want to speak ill of Alistair, but she knew her father would see him only as the childhood playmate of his daughters. It was Barrow her father now feared. With the knight absent she wondered if she’d be traveling north at all.