She peeked over the rock’s edge and saw Caleb’s sword meet a Catcher across his black robed chest. If he seemed emotionless at times when he wasn’t swinging his blade, it was the opposite now. His brows dipped low over his deadly glare. If he never said another word, she would always consider him a savage, for that was how he fought. He never slowed, but his victim slid from his horse as if he melted from the sun. The commander of the Warriors was like a rushing wind, slashing and swiping his sword with brutal precision and Willow gasped watching him. And thought surely, whatever god he served was helping him fight. Helping them all.
Jonas’ blade was nothing but a flashing blur against the glare of the sun, the metal of his blade growing redder with each savage swing he delivered. But it seemed to Willow that the fearsome brute stayed curiously close to Caleb, striking Catchers from the rear before they could even lift their swords against his friend. Caleb needed no protection, and yet Jonas protected him well.
Within ten minutes, every Catcher lie dead on the ground, their poles scattered about their bodies like broken bones. Caleb took only a moment to survey the fallen, then raised his eyes to the rock where Willow was hiding. He wheeled his mount around in a storm of dust and rode toward her.
She was watching him, horrified by the massacre that had just taken place before her very eyes, and hypnotized by the sight of the savage thundering toward her, covered in blood from saving her life. He was a common barbarian and yet there was something about the way he held himself in the saddle. So sure of his command, so strong and handsome… Willow shook her head. It must be the sweltering sun atop her poor head that made her look at this killer with anything more than terror. She had driven him to anger, testing him to his limit. Fool.
Now that her fantasy of him faded and reality settled over her like a damp cloth across the face, she could almost see the smoke coming from his nostrils as he grew closer. My, but he was angry! She stood up, afraid of him, but not letting him see. She placed her hands on her hips, watching as he almost fell off his horse in his pursuit to reach her.
She was not prepared for his hands on her and tried to yank herself free when he gripped her arms. “You dare touch King Baltrasard’s daughter?” She hoped it frightened him. She must have been mad to think it would.
“Do you know who they were?” he demanded, keeping tight control over his temper.
Oh, it had to be the sun. The sun that glittered over his silky, streaked hair that made her quake looking up at him. She couldn’t help but notice the defined curve of his lips when he made his commands. Did she have a fever? Heatstroke. Why wasn’t she trembling? She would never look at Oscar d’leanard this way. She was certain of that.
She realized that she never truly believed all the horrifying things she’d heard her father say about Caleb the Warrior. She was a fool. He was all of it and more. He’d frightened off King Baltrasard Odarre, kidnapped his daughter, and stole everything she owned. He and his men had just killed twenty Catchers.
Now his captive, she stared mesmerized by the way his mouth pursed when he spoke, as if he were preparing for a kiss. She blinked and did her best to sound indifferent.
“They were Catchers,” she replied woodenly, not forgetting that she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.
Caleb nodded to emphasize his unspoken, yes. “Then you know how close you just came to becoming a slave.”
“Well, I’m fine, aren’t I?” She dug her dark eyes into his and struggled to break free. “Your men wielded their blades well.”
He let her go. In fact, he released her as if her flesh were something vile and took a step back, cocking his head slightly to size her up.
“These men don’t serve you. They risked their lives for you because you were in danger, and nothing else. Your attitude doesn’t surprise me though. You’re a spoiled brat. You think everyone lives to please you.” He scowled in disgust at her vanity and then turned and stormed away, calling over his shoulder, “If you wish to leave, go ahead. You’re nothing