Chapter Seven
One week after Cregan Goshawk and his coconspirators had been executed, Lycus found that his appointment as Kestrel’s jailer hadn’t changed much, despite the woman being declared innocent in front of her countrymen.
She was still treated like a prisoner, for the most part, though her horse had been returned to her and she was permitted to go on rides as long as a guard could be found.
The sour-faced maid assigned to her originally to monitor her remained in place, and most likely continued to report to Lord Vargus about every meal she ate and every stitch she embroidered.
And Lycus was still commanded by Gerard to intimidate Kestrel whenever he decided she was feeling too safe.
After the executions, she’d spent the next three days in bed, only getting up to nibble on a meal. On the fourth day, Gerard had plotted to bring Lycus into her rooms to torment her. He was considering telling her that he was thinking of making her his mistress.
But before he finished plotting this latest taunt, an errand boy popped in to announce that Miss Goshawk had left her room to ask for an audience with Lord Aylmer. He refused, and Gerard then shifted his focus to finding out why and making certain that Kestrel’s requests were continuously denied.
He only succeeded in the first. After hedging a little, Gerard’s lordly father admitted that he was putting off speaking with the traitor’s daughter because he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.
However, Gerard’s encouragements for Aylmer to keep the girl on the bottom of his priority list and let her stew in her rooms failed, as His Lordship must have come up with something, for only seven days later, he sent a page to deliver a note summoning her to his solar.
When Kestrel arrived for the audience, Lord Aylmer barred his son from the room, though he agreed to allow Lycus to stand guard.
She looked astoundingly well for a woman who’d watched her father and trusted members of her household be killed in front of her. The frothy violet day dress was more suitable for spring than the early winter weather, reminding him that she’d only packed for a short visit five months ago.
“What are your plans for me, my lord?” Kestrel’s tone was courteous, but her eyes were steely and assertive. “If you haven’t noticed, in light of my father’s crimes, I’m not very welcome here, so I’d like to go home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible yet, Miss Goshawk.
” Lord Aylmer shook his head as if the matter wasn’t fully in his hands.
“Not until I decide upon a suitable husband for you, who will be given Raptor’s Roost as your dowry.
Unless, of course you would prefer to join Mothers and Sisters.
You’d be able to regain respectability and your blue robes sooner. ”
And you would keep the Goshawk estate and all its income , Lycus thought silently, and have the ability to wash your hands of her and have her never seen in court again.
From the knowing glint in Kestrel’s eyes, she knew exactly what Lord Aylmer was trying for.
However, the little raptor was well-taught in cloaking her true feelings with courtesies and shook her head with a polite smile as she answered in a gracious voice that not even the most vituperative comportment tutor could find fault with.
“Although I do so look forward to having my rank and respectability returned to me, and it is so kind of you to think of such an expedient solution, I’m afraid that I am unsuited to a monastic lifestyle. ”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Aylmer looked genuinely sorrowful at the quick and profitable solution to his problem being rejected.
“Then marriage it shall be. Though you are fair of face and your dowry is ample, recent events will present a challenge in finding a suitable husband. Let’s start with reintroducing you to court.
Come to supper tonight, and I’ll see that you also receive an invitation to Lady Moira’s tea tomorrow. ”
“Very well.” Kestrel gave him a formal curtsy. “With your leave, I shall depart and go for a ride on my horse.”
“That sounds nice, dear,” Aylmer said absently. “Your cheeks could use a little color. Just be sure to take a guard.” Suddenly, his gaze shifted to Lycus. “Wolf, would you see that my ward has a safe ride?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lycus bowed and saw that Kestrel had already left.
When he exited the Lord’s solar, he saw that she’d gotten further than expected.
At the sight of fluttering violet skirts at the end of the north corridor, he realized she wasn’t going to her room to change into a proper riding habit, or even a cloak to keep herself warm in the winter cold.
“Fates damn it,” he grumbled and quickened his pace to a long stride. There was no way in Qua’ al-fán that he’d be seen chasing a woman through the palace.
He caught up with her when she reached the stables.
After one of the stableboys looked to him for permission, Lycus nodded, and saddled Reaper, his black Carthusian gelding.
Kestrel’s horse was an Appaloosa mare bred from one of the Tolonquan tribes.
Her name was Zephyr, and her white coat covered in black spots like a leopard made for a striking sight.
Taking no care for her delicate—and likely costly—gown, Kestrel hiked up her skirts, giving everyone a tantalizing glimpse of her shapely thighs as she leapt up to mount her horse.
With a soft command and flick of the reins, the mare took off like a bolt of lightning before Lycus had finished saddling Reaper.
“Damn it,” he repeated and set off after her.
Watching the little raptor and her Appaloosa race through the usually sedate park area at breakneck speed, Lycus couldn’t help but be astonished at how good of a rider Kestrel was.
But when she started having the horse leap over hedges and bench seats, he cursed with a mixture of worry and vexation.
Lycus pressed his knees into Zephyr’s flank, urging the gelding to speed up their pursuit. “She better not go into the woods.”
After clearing another hedge, Kestrel leaned in her saddle guiding her horse to turn sharply towards the path into the Lord’s Forest.
“Fuck!” he growled.
Although his size and the weight of his armor slowed him down, somewhat, Reaper was fast and powerful enough to catch up with Kestrel’s mare.
By the time he reached the woods, his worry had escalated to fear and his vexation to ire. The little raptor was riding like a bandit escaping the law. Frosty branches with dead leaves snagged her hair and tore at her dress.
Lycus urged his horse on, cursing the overgrown forest path, for with his height, the tree branches posed an even greater obstruction.
Every time one sliced his face, he was transported back in time to the large monster who loomed over him when he was a child, digging the tip of a dagger into his cheeks and dragging the blade until blood flowed, bringing with it burning pain.
With every scream there’d be another cut.
“Kestrel!” he shouted. “Stop.”
The woman ignored him, easily weaving around frosty boulders, ducking branches, and jumping over raised roots and fallen logs. If she hit a patch of ice….
When at last, they reached a snowy clearing, Zephyr slowed enough for Reaper to overtake her. Lycus guided the gelding to intercept the mare’s path, forcing Kestrel to pull back on the reins and bring them to a halt.
Burning with rage, he reached over and snatched the reins from her red ungloved hands. The mare’s eyes rolled back and she started to rear before Lycus whispered a magical command he’d learned from the tribes that calmed horses.
“What in the fuck were doing, riding like that?” he roared, releasing the Zephyr’s reins and seizing Kestrel’s shoulders. “Were you trying to get yourself or your horse killed?”
“Nothing of the sort!” She glared up at him, visibly struggling between the urge to escape his touch while keeping her seat in the saddle. “I know how to ride and Zephyr was born and bred for such runs!”
“Were you trying to escape then?”
“And go where?” Kestrel spread her arms wide in a futile gesture. “My mother’s line is dead and now so is my father’s. And no one would take in a traitor’s daughter.”
“Then why were you in such a hurry that you ruined such a lovely dress? Not to mention the fact that it’s colder than a eunuch’s bed out here.”
She heaved a sigh that echoed an eternity of pent-up frustration. Her cheeks, nose, and ears were crimson from the winter wind. “Because I needed to get out of the castle and I needed to go far, and to go fast.”
Lycus had felt the same need to escape, especially in his youth.
But his fury with her reckless riding kept him from offering sympathy.
“That still doesn’t mean you needed to race pell-mell through the forest, where a mere tree limb or patch of ice could result in you breaking your pretty neck.
Or an encounter with a beast that would make you into its meal. ”
“Maybe death would be better than to be handed over to someone like chattel to someone I could never love.” Kestrel replied hollowly.
“Love has never been a factor in marriages between people of your class.” Lycus reminded her, unable to conceal his disgust at the word, “love.” Such a debilitating, foolish emotion.
“And it’s damn well not worth dying over.
You need to stop reading those silly novels and listening to those pretty songs if they’re going to fill your pretty head with lies and inspire you to court death. ”
“I’m very well aware those are fiction. Sir Gerard gave me that lesson.” Kestrel snapped. “But I refuse to let him take away the joy stories and music give me.”