Page 135 of Wolfkissed
“My lord.” The maid swallows hard and remains in her deep curtsy. “My apologies.”
“Call the housecarls to take him to the dungeon.”
“My lord.” I step forward, my heart pounding. “Please, hear me out. I am Lady Rosamund Briar, your betrothed.”
He gives a slow, incredulous blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your betrothed,” I say doggedly. “Surely you have my portrait, just as I have yours.” I lift and open my locket. “Here. You sent it to me so that I might know you when I see you.”
And I didn’t, but that’s a moot point.
“Even if I accepted that you are indeed Lady Rosamund, who I was told perished in a terrible incident perpetuated by our enemies, the dark fae… then who is this half-naked fae with you?” His mouth turns down at the corners, a look of disgust in his gaze.
“He has accompanied me and protected me on the journey here,” I say. “His name is Valen?—”
“A rogue fae? Is he a dark fae?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly, and hear Valen’s sharp intake of breath. “He saved me from… from the attack and acted as my bodyguard on the way here.”
“Is it indeed you?” Lord Eorl abandons the goblet on the mantlepiece and steps closer to me. Lifting a hand, he snaps his fingers at the cowering maid. “Bring the portrait.”
“My lord.” The maid all but flees the room, skirts flapping. “Right away, my lord.”
His gaze moves from my head down to the toes of my muddy shoes. “Did you walk here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why? Why didn’t your family provide a carriage for you, as well as appropriate escorts?”
“That’s a long story,” I say and feel suddenly very weary. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
He’s still frowning, but he gives a nod, indicating one of the armchairs by the fire. “The maids can clean the fabric afterward. That’s, after all, their job.”
“… and Valen carried me away, and we were lost in the woods for days. But he is a hunter, so he can track,” I continue my desperate, elaborate tale, “and eventually found the way here.”
I risk a glance at Valen who is standing beside the armchair, arms folded over his bare chest, head bowed. His eyes glimmer under his lashes. I don’t know what might happen if Lord Eorl finds out Valen is indeed a dark fae, and a wolf.
“I don’t understand.” Lord Eorl has reclaimed his glass, though he hasn’t offered us anything to drink. Which is understandable. He still doesn’t know whether to believe our strange story. “How did you find yourself alone outside your home, opening yourself to such an attack? And how come nobody has reported it to me?”
“My family reported it to you,” I mutter, watching his face, trying to reconcile this living man with the picture I’d created of him in my mind. “They thought I died. But I didn’t.”
Two servants bustle in, carrying an easel, the maid from earlier following them with a smallish portrait, which she displays and backs away.
I stare at the girl in the portrait. Her dark hair, her blue eyes, her hands folded in her lap, on top of a book. The sadness in her expression.
“I thought you’d be younger, you see,” he says.
I start. “The wedding was postponed several times. The portrait was created long ago. You thought I’d still be a child?”
He shrugs. “That’s what I was sent.”
Valen growls. When I glance at him, his expression is thunderous.
I return my gaze to the portrait. A knot is growing in my throat. “Does that mean you don’t believe me, my lord?”
“Oh, I believe you. You’re obviously the person in the painting. It means your family lied to me.”
I nod. “They did, my lord.”
