Chapter 10 The Hellion #5
Her eyes returned to his face. He had a strong cleft chin and a square jaw with angular cheekbones.
Dark eyebrows arched over his gray eyes in a sardonic expression.
His lips were wide and curved. His scars were immediately visible.
Her gaze traveled to the left side of his face and neck, where a large lesion—which must have been caused by fire—warped the skin into an unnatural texture.
His left ear, as well, looked misshapen, though it was hidden partly beneath his long hair.
The scars spread across his left cheek almost to the corner of his lip, causing one side of his mouth to pull slightly upward in a permanent smirk.
The same scar caused his left eye to appear half-closed, though by its brightness and his fierce expression, she didn't think he was blind.
A small nick sliced through his left eyebrow.
Celise blinked twice, staring at his stern face, terrified.
“You . . . you’re Lord Elias Blackwood," she stuttered.
“I am.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“If I have reason to.”
Oh no.
Lord Elias Blackwood, the most notorious bachelor in the kingdom, looked different than the gruesome cadaver she had imagined.
Unlike the descriptions in The Lady’s Letter, the scars did not mutilate his entire face, nor did they seem to impede his ability to speak or eat.
But the left side of his body must have been badly burned at one time.
As her eyes flickered over his scars, she tried to hide her horror.
Celise took a step back.
A force of habit, she found herself bowing to Lord Elias as a servant might bow to a master. Her messy braid of raspberry hair spilled over her shoulder as she ducked her head down.
“My lord, um, Your Grace, um . . . I should go,” she gasped.
Then she vaulted up into the saddle.
She grabbed the Hellion’s reins and kicked the beast hard. “Go!” she cried.
Go, go, go!
The horse leapt into motion.
“Wait! Stop!” Celise heard the Mad Dog shout behind her. Then she heard an actual roar of frustration rip from the man’s throat. She thought he sounded just like a daemon from the Abyss. “She’s getting away! Stop that horse!”
Mother of Dust, I am not this bold, she thought.
Then she slammed her heels into Tempest’s side.
The horse leapt forward into a full gallop.
Tempest didn’t seem to care at all that his former master was screaming obscenities after him.
Celise didn’t look back to see if anyone followed her.
She didn’t know if any of the soldiers responded to Elias’s cries.
In either case, his men didn’t have mounts, so they wouldn’t catch up with her easily.
She couldn’t allow herself to be captured.
She couldn’t allow Marcella to find out about her little misadventure.
She needed to get back to the Moongazer Tower as quickly as possible.
Her hands tight on the reins, Celise leaned forward almost flat against the stallion’s neck, and as one, they raced through the darkness.
Through touch and breath, she controlled the horse, sensing the ground through Tempest's hooves as one body.
She could feel his fire beneath her, the power of his muscles, and the raging spirit of the beast as they soared over brook and gully.
She had never ridden a Hellion before, but his unbroken charge through the darkness felt like riding a stormhead.
She imagined lightning flashing under his hooves and hurricane winds carrying them aloft.
She felt utterly fearless. Untethered. Free.
She would regret leaving the stallion behind once they reached the castle.
By the slope of the mountain and the lean of the woods, it seemed they were headed in the right direction.
Running at a reckless pace through the dark night, Celise eventually caught sight of a white manawood grove on the next ridge.
Good. We’re close. The trees shimmered with an ethereal light under the stars.
Beyond that, she saw the shadow of Gravenmere’s curtain wall towering against the night.
She relaxed as they entered the grove of silver trunks and feather-soft leaves.
Elias followed the girl up the side of the quarry but gave up when he reached the woods. Tempest was too fast to follow on foot. By the time he entered the dark tree line, horse and rider had vanished without a trace into the night.
He lowered his lantern with a groan. Any attempt at tracking them would be futile. Damn. The girl had slipped his grasp once again!
Who is she?
Spy, maid, lady or thief—he needed to know!
His mind burned with a terrible fascination.
It set his teeth on edge. Was she one of the gala’s guests?
A servant of a noble family? Perhaps she had slipped onto the grounds with the rug delivery that afternoon?
It stung his pride how she had slipped through his fingers twice.
He should have tied her up the first moment he recognized her, when he saw her wide, terrified eyes from across the manawood grove.
Inexcusable. He was the Hero of the Realm and the High Commander of Firehelm Fortress, and this little moonflower had slipped through his fingers twice!
How could he call himself a soldier if he couldn’t track down one simple, dimlit girl?
With a growl of frustration, he began casting about the underbrush for any clue to her identity. He pushed aside ferns and dug through dead leaves. Her escape had been frantic, desperate; surely she had dropped something of personal value? Something to give herself away?
He cast around for several minutes until his eyes detected a small, sparkly object on the ground.
Yes.
He bent down and picked it up. It looked like a hairpin. It was decorated with a small silver horseshoe attached to one end. It must have fallen out of the girl’s messy braid when she fled.
He frowned. The crystals embedded along the horseshoe were very fine. It didn’t look like something a maid would wear, though he couldn’t imagine a lady jumping on the back of a Hellion without a shred of hesitation.
He turned the small hairpin over in his hands, thinking over their encounter. A headache began to pulse behind his eyes, and he groaned a second time.
The little moonflower had run off with his favorite coat.
Damnable dust.
He needed to get it back.
He would not let her go this time.