from the inn she had met the previous fall.
“Yes, me,” she replied evenly.
“I wondered if the Tyriel Gerome told me about was the one I had met a few months back.”
“Looks like it,” she said cheerfully, sliding her blade into its sheath. “Aryn, is it?”
“I didn’t know the Kin hired themselves out to wagon trains,” Aryn said, squatting down beside her. Damp tendrils of hair clung to the sides of his face and neck and his bared chest glistened with sweat. And it was every bit as fine as she had imagined it would be, wide, sculpted, muscled. His arms were roped with muscle, but not overly so, his shoulders wide and powerful, and she imagined, would cradle a woman’s head perfectly.
After.
Oh, yummy.
Hmmm. Maybe, just maybe, this trip could turn out to be rather pleasant. Very pleasant. If he would just…cooperate.
Since the day was rather cool, Tyriel guessed he had been practicing. Nodding at the shallow nick on his forearm, she asked, “That happen in practice?”
Glancing at it, dismissing it, Aryn said, “Yes. The short, stocky redhead. Chastin. He’s got a fast hand. How did you end up hiring your blade out? I’ve never known a lady of the elves to want to leave the wonder of their lands for ours.”
“I’m a breed, Aryn,” she said shortly, sliding into her harness and rising to her feet. “You know what that means? I don’t belong with the People. And as much as I love my mother’s folk, I can only take so much of them at a time.”
“Who are your mother’s folk?”
“You’re not as closemouthed as I would have expected,” she mused with an arch of her brow. And then she reached up, grabbing a hand full of springy black curls. “With hair like this, who else? The Wildlings, of course.”
A laugh tumbled from Aryn’s unbelievably beautiful mouth as he dropped to sit beside her, mirth making his eyes dance.
“Oh, bloody hell. That is rich. The Wildling lady and a lord of the kin—I’d think an angel and an incubus would have made a better match.”
“Quite possibly. And you’re not the first to make such a comparison.” A sad, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips and her exotic eyes took on a faraway look. “But we’ll never know. My mother died in childbirth. If she hadn’t been with the Kin when she went into labor, I wouldn’t be here.” Shrugging her slim shoulders, she said, “I can say, without hesitation, I had an interesting childhood.”
The amusement faded from his eyes and he bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
“No reason for you to be. My father loved me, as did his family. They couldn’t have predicted my mother’s death.” She hesitated before adding, “Childbirth is a dangerous business.”
“Your father raised you then?” He drew one knee up, resting his elbow on it as he studied her.
Such a simple, innocent question. No reason for to cause such a volatile surge in her emotions.
And yet…
Tyriel rose and eyed the swordsman, her eyes narrowing. Emotions swirled within, surging with the violent power of a storm.
Aryn uncoiled and got to his feet, hands out in front of him in a conciliating manner. His blue eyes widened, growing shades darker as nerves spiked.
Her sharp ears picked up the erratic trip of his heartbeat.
Tyriel blew out a soft, control breath and pulled back on the magic that had built inside her, causing her skin to glow and her eyes to spark.
Such uncontrolled spikes of power hadn’t happened in ages.
Closing her eyes, she pulled the power back inside her and turned from Aryn.
She walked away, his unanswered question an echo in her mind.
Hours later, that question still sounded in her mind.
Who raised you?
The wagon train left in the morning at first light. If she had any sense, she’d be in town, getting a decent meal at some fine inn, the last she’d have for several weeks, if not more. Instead, she sat by the creek near where the wagon train encampment, her leather leggings shoved up to her knees and her bare feet in the chilly water.
Lowering her eyes to the cold, clear water, she tried to figure out why Aryn’s question had upset her so much. She had loved her father, still did. She’d never once questioned his love for her. Keeping her isolated from her mother’s family had been a misguided attempt to protect her.
Da was a good father, had always been kind, loving, generous, unafraid to show those emotions. Not exactly a commonality among the high fae,