Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,40

cheek. There was no help for it.

Attired in jeans and a hunter green sweater with sleeves to her wrist, she was comfortable and warm enough with the slight chill pervading the air. A pair of hiking boots with a thick tread was her choice of footwear. Angled over her head and across her body, the strap of the camera case fit snug and secure. It was all she'd brought.

Slowing the mare to an easy canter once they entered the woods, Chey let the horse clop along with the reins loose between her fingers. She trusted the mare to find the best footing.

A good thing, too, because she was distracted with thoughts of Mattias and Viia. Of the attack. Of who might be watching even as she rode out this early in the morning. She was under no illusions that her comings and goings were being observed.

With any luck, whoever might be watching would lose her now that she was obscured by the trees.

Coming upon the lake, she ducked a low branch and straightened. A heavier veil of mist hung just above the water, floating like old ghosts. Surreal and slightly eerie, Chey panned a look left and right for Sander.

“You're late,” he said somewhere behind her.

Startled, Chey twisted in the seat. Sander leaned against the trunk of a large tree, arms crossed over his chest. The camouflage pants he wore fit his hips well, as did the snug, long sleeved shirt of indiscriminate green. A pair of sturdy boots, laced up the front, had a thicker tread than her own. He blended in with the forest, as she knew he'd meant to.

“I'm right on time. Should I have--”

“...what the hell happened?” Sander's amiable tone fled. In its place, something cold and unforgiving.

Chey turned the mare toward him so she wouldn't have to keep craning her neck around. He pushed off the tree, giving her a first glimpse of the shoulder holster he wore. It was the same color as his shirt and she hadn't noticed it upon first glance. His eyes were pinned on her face.

On the bruise.

“I accidentally bumped into the cabinet door. In the bathroom.”

“And does the cabinet door have knuckles?”

Chey arched a brow. How had he discerned that? “What?”

“You heard me. Who hit you?” He strode up and rested a hand on the mare's bridle. His eyes were sharp on the wound.

Chey shifted on the saddle. It creaked under her meager weight. What was she supposed to say to his adamant declaration? He'd caught her off guard with his forward assessment. And the longer she took to answer, the more guilty she probably looked.

Licking her lips, she toyed with the dark withers of the horse's mane.

“Chey...” There was a warning in his tone.

“Look, Sander. Can we just have our day? I've been looking forward to the canoe trip. I promise I'll explain everything afterward.” She met his eyes. His were sharp, taking in every detail.

“The river isn't going anywhere,” he pointed out. “It wasn't Mattias, was it?”

She shouldn't have been surprised Sander knew about her trip to the city yesterday. The entire castle and all the staff probably knew. It did surprise her he thought Mattias capable of such an act.

“Of course not. He's always a gentleman.”

“Always? That makes it sound like you've had several interactions with him.”

“Well, I do live at the castle,” she countered.

“And how many interactions have you had with Paavo?”

“...point taken. Paavo doesn't seek out my company.”

“And Mattias does?” Sander looked away from her bruise to her eyes. He didn't sound or look accusing, only curious. As if he was narrowing down suspects in his mind about who might have hit her.

“Once or twice. Don't say anything, but he wants me to capture some private, personal pictures of Viia. You know, candid, soft shots when she's not aware I'm taking them.” Chey stressed the business aspect of their impromptu meetings, and at the same time, asserted that she knew he was involved.

“I see. Who else seeks your company out?”

“You?” She couldn't help but add a liberal dose of sass to her reply.

Finally, he smiled. It wasn't the easy going smile she'd seen in the cabin, but it was a smile nevertheless. “Yes, but we both know I didn't strike you.”

“I don't picture you as the type to hit women. Just the type to tackle them off their horses.” A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth.

He eyed her, then laughed. A raspy, quiet sound that echoed over the water. “Half of that