The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

man. If I still know him, he still likes to make a show of his power. You might be questioned, asked to state your business and the like.” He grimaced, failing to mention that he himself would probably be searched. No need to plant even more worries in her head.

“And I’m to tell these sentries that we was waylaid by Romas, an’— Ah, bugger.” She chewed on her lower lip again as she thought. “I can nay sound proper. We’ll be ratted.”

“Not if you keep talking. Act confident. Take no lip. Attitude will get you everywhere with these thugs.”

Slaíne shot him a meaningful look. “And they nay will look on ya?”

He let the comment roll with a laugh. “We’ll be fine.” They slowed their pace. Aidan’s thirst was growing under the heat of the rising sun, but he would not risk Summoning a water skin and possibly give himself away. Again he checked for Pulls. None familiar, save for Dewhurst’s, who must be on his estate, such was the distance. He felt for Larkin’s Pull; nothing. Good…unless she was hidden by the presence of iron. And there was no return of the Pull he’d experienced back in town. But still he did not drop his guard, releasing her hand.

“Where did you live?”

Aidan cringed. “On the other side of town.”

Slaíne nodded, her brow creasing. “An’ you were lord of this all?”

This was the last topic he wished to discuss with Slaíne or anyone, for that matter, now or at any time. So instead of elaborating, he gave her a non-committal shrug.

Slaíne took the hint and pressed him no further.

The busyness of the town fell away, along with several hundred human Pulls, leaving them in the thick of a small wood. Aidan sensed four new Pulls hidden in the trees near them, and the artificial call of a bird seemed to cause Slaíne some confusion. She started to look among the leaves, but Aidan coughed a warning, and she returned her eyes to their path.

Several human Pulls ahead at the manor were drawing together at a point high above the trees. Archers, he thought ruefully. What could have possibly set them on their guard…unless Larkin really had set a trap and didn’t need to be present for it to be sprung. Aidan ground his teeth. He was about to take Slaíne by the arm and steer her back whence they came, but a Pull was quickly making its way toward them, and one was moving in from behind. They were good and surrounded now.

To Aidan’s surprise, Slaíne came to a halt and put up a hand for him to stop. Then, entertaining the air of someone both spoiled and bored, she opened her mouth and said snappishly, “If you would be so good as to show yourself, sir or sirs, I would be most obliged.” Silence. She let out a heavy sigh. “How’s a lady to feel, being followed around in the shadows like she’s some sitting duck? Out wi’ you, I say.” There was another silence, and Aidan feared Slaíne had erred in her presumptions. Twigs snapped as two Pulls from the side and one from ahead rushed toward them. Hands sweating and itching for Slaíne’s silver sword, Aidan bowed his head and tried to look the part of the foolish servant.

The two men, both guards from either side of the wood, made it to them first. They wore the regal red cape and the golden-brown tunic and slacks of Dewhurst’s guard and had the swords to go with them. The weapons, however, were not drawn, though one of the men rested his hand on the pommel. “What have we here?” he asked, amused.

“A vamp and her pet?”

The two laughed for a moment until Slaíne joined in, a note of menace in her lilting voice. The men’s laughter became more uncertain and soon cut off altogether. One coughed. The other grimaced.

At last, Slaíne’s laughter died and she placed her hands upon her hips. “If we’re quite done wi’ this merriment, I would like to know if I mayn’t pass in peace.”

They were bulky men, overfed and underworked. Both wore chainmail over their dirty tunics. That had to make them sweltering hot beneath and perhaps a good deal cross. As it was, both faces were blotchy red and beads of sweat had formed on their exposed skin, sure signs that they were no match for Aidan if there was to be a fair fight. And there wouldn’t be.

“Rattish, Lefere, enough of your posturing.”

Aidan started and looked up at the sound of the new voice before lowering his head again and staring at his muddy boots. It had been a woman’s voice speaking to the men, something Aidan had not anticipated. This voice held authority, and that could only mean one of two things: either Lord Dewhurst kept a woman as head of the guard, or…. He shuddered at the thought.

The hem of a white gown came into view, and Aidan chose to stare at it. No, definitely not head of the guard. Dewhurst had remarried. The rake. The devil!

He stopped his mad stream of thoughts. There was a conversation going on, and he must attend.

The woman was saying, “I hope my guards have not been giving you too much trouble.”

Slaíne let out a chirp of a laugh. “It isn’t anything I ain’t heard before.”

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”

“Oh, I’m originally from Ilitris.”

“I have not heard of that place. Where is it?”

Aidan grimaced internally. Slaíne needed to speak with more “Ilitris is a small mountain town. Not many’ve heard of it.” She must have sensed some of Aidan’s frustration, for she interrupted the woman’s next question. “I’m sorry to cut in, like. But I’s beset by highwaymen not five days prior. I’m to meet up with the rest of my convoy ’fore the week is out, and we’ll like as not replace what was taken.”

“You poor dear. Have you reported the