Page 8 of North Queen
He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to her as he led his destrier through the hills. He was so afraid it was all a dream, afraid none of it was real. When he glanced back to find her watching him, he forced his gaze forward again.
“How did I come to be lost?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.
He glanced back at her. He still couldn’t believe he’d finally found her. Her question… He forced his mind to focus. Where to start? There was no easy answer, but he had told her he’d explain, and she was waiting. “We were at war,” he said. “Your father took you away. Somewhere safe.”
She straightened. “My father?”
“King Aamon.” One of the greatest kings Mercia had ever known.
“You’ll take me to him?”
His heart fell for her, and he stopped. “No, Norah.” He’d been dreading the day she would learn of this. “He died in the war, shortly after you left, in the Battle of Bahoul.”
She stilled, and her throat moved with a struggled swallow. She’d been close with her father. Perhaps it was merciful that she didn’t remember right now. Despite that, there was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “He was a good man and a great king, and he loved you very much.”
She cast her eyes down, but at nothing in particular. When she raised them, they were glistening. “And if my grandmother is queen regent, then my mother…” Her words trailed off.
“She died in childbirth. You never knew her.”
She quieted. Anger coursed through him—how cruel fate was to give her loss before she’d even found herself. How cruel the gods.
Slowly, he started them forward again.
“How do we know each other?” she asked.
He wavered at her question, looking back at her from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t yet accept being a stranger to her, but he forced himself to answer. “We’ve known each other since we were children. I’m the son of Beurnat Rhemus of Northridge—Beurnat the Bear—who was lord justice and right hand to your father. My family has served Mercia and the crown for twelve generations.” He looked back at her. “It’s in my blood to protect you and the realm.”
That seemed to settle her slightly. He was glad he could give her some sense of comfort.
Their pace slowed in the deeper snow, but he pressed on with greater urgency. They needed to make it to the homestead by nightfall, before the darkness and true cold set in on them.
“Am I alone, other than my grandmother?” she asked.
“You have a cousin, although you don’t know each other well. No other family.”
He glanced back and caught the hint of a frown on her lips. “But you’re not alone,” he added. “There will be many to help you. Your grandmother’s a strong woman who has great wisdom and the respect of the people. She’ll guide you, along with the members of the Mercian Council. And”—he paused—“you’ll have a lord justice.”
Her brows drew together. “And what’s a lord justice?”
Only his life’s duty. But he gave a small smile. He wasn’t offended. “A justice provides counsel and commands your armies. Executes your will. A justice is your right hand.”
“Will that be you?”
He’d introduced himself with that title, but… “I’m justice to the queen regent, who holds Mercia in safekeeping until your return. After your coronation, you’ll select a justice of your own choosing.” And he wasn’t so bold as to assume she’d choose him, especially not now.
The sun had set and only its fading light remained. A wave of relief filled him when he finally spotted the small house in the distance.
“Have you any family?” she asked.
A smile came to his lips. “I have a younger brother, Adrian. You’ll see him at the castle again—or meet him, rather,” he corrected himself. “He’s missed you.”
“It sounds like we were close?”
He nodded. “You were very much like a sister to him. He’ll be incredibly happy to see you.”
“I imagine it will be hard for him that I don’t remember.”
