had seen her. A trumpet blared, then another and another, and before long, sixteen mounted warriors, including three chieftains and the king, thundered toward her, shields raised as though they expected a volley of arrows from the trees.
She halted and squared her shoulders. She would not run toward them as though she fled a conquering army, and she would not behave as though she’d escaped a murderous horde, though she probably looked it.
Her cheek felt bruised and there was a long scratch across her brow that she’d acquired in one of her tumbles down the hillside. She tried to smooth her hair and found it adorned with sticks and bits of grass, too many to remove in the seconds she had. The tie that gathered her neckline was gone, making the round neck hang too low on her breasts. She gathered the extra cloth in her hand and noticed a tear at the seam where her shoulder met her left sleeve. Her skirts were speckled with drops of blood and a dirty handprint at her thigh.
She’d left her robe behind.
Her new green robe was still in the woods. She’d used it to cover Hod while he slept; she desperately wished she had it to cover herself now.
The king called a halt and the party pulled up, shading their eyes and staring down at her with scowls and wary disbelief.
Lothgar of Leok was the first to spur his mount forward.
“Are you all right, Daughter?” he asked, his dread evident.
“Yes. I am quite . . . well,” she said.
She had not thought what she would say. Mayhaps she should say nothing at all. It had worked for her more times than not.
“There is blood on your skirts, Liis of Leok, and blood on your face,” Lothgar said gently.
She stared numbly down at her ruined gown and tightened her hand at her bodice.
“Even so . . . I am fine. ’Tis but a scratch from a tree branch.”
“Fine?” the king snapped, reining his horse to a stop beside her.
“Yes.”
“Where . . . have . . . you . . . been?” he asked, enunciating each word like he pounded a spike into the ground.
“I took a walk in the Temple Wood. It was quiet. Peaceful. And I was weary, Majesty. I do not sleep well . . . and I have no one to sing to me.”
Banruud glowered and Lothgar laughed, his perennial good nature lightening the mood. The chieftains had all heard of the king’s reliance on her songs. A few of the other warriors snorted but swallowed their mirth when Banruud raised his hand, demanding silence.
“You fell asleep in the forest,” he stated, unconvinced.
“Yes, King Banruud. But I heard the bells and the trumpets, and I knew you were . . . looking for me.”
“The whole bloody mount is looking for you, Daughter,” Lothgar interjected. “A thousand citizens—contestants, chieftains, and clansmen—were awakened by alarm bells and the news that a daughter was missing.”
“I regret that,” she said quietly.
“You regret that?” Benjie of Berne jeered. His braid was unkempt and bits of food were caught in his beard. He looked as though he’d been dragged from his bed or his table. They all did.
“You are not to leave the mount, Daughter,” Lothgar interrupted. “You are fortunate to have only tangled with a branch.”
“She should be lashed,” Benjie of Berne grumbled. “She should be tied to the whipping post and lashed. Publicly. She’ll not run away again.”
“You’ll not lash a daughter of Leok, Benjie of Berne,” Lothgar shouted.
“Someone should,” Benjie snapped.
No one disagreed.
“You will ride with me, Liis of Leok,” Banruud demanded. “Punishments—whatever they may be—will be meted out later.”
“I will walk,” she argued. “If I ride, the people will think me injured or weak. I am neither. So I will walk, Majesty.”
She could not go around him. There was nowhere to go. The chieftains made a wall in front of her. The king bent and swooped her up, tossing her across his saddle, her belly to the horse, her head and shoulders hanging off one side, her legs off the other. She flailed and her bodice slipped, and she was certain more than one warrior caught a glimpse of her naked breasts. She clutched at her dress and pushed herself up with one hand, trying to sit, and almost toppled over the other side. Banruud put a hand on her back, pressing her back down.
“Banruud,” Lothgar warned, but the king ignored the chieftain from Leok.
“A good shaming is what she needs, Lothgar,”