Donovan and Brandela were on the move again long before sunrise the next morning. Brandela was grateful for the semi-darkness and the early morning quiet. Somehow it made it easier to cope with the confusing and conflicting emotions that were coursing through her mind and body. Daylight would seem too harsh and overwhelming for such feelings.
She had woken, slowly and gently, wrapped in Donovan’s arms and his warmth, and for a moment she had wondered if she were dreaming. It was so pleasant, and she had snuggled closer, breathing in his musky scent and reveling in the safety of his solid embrace. Then, as sleep had lifted and she realized what she was doing, shame had washed over her and she’d pushed away from him violently, waking him. She’d been unable to look at him since.
What were these strange emotions and how could they be so pleasant and yet so confusing and frightening at the same time? It was only the warmth that I craved, she tried to convince herself, but she knew it was something more. What was this strange attraction she felt toward this man—this human? Elves weren’t supposed to be attracted to humans. In fact, her mother and the other noble ladies of her class had always spoken as if such a thing was quite impossible. What was wrong with her? She sighed, deeply disturbed by her thoughts and abruptly decided to put them out of her mind for examination at a later date.
As the sun lightened the horizon, she began paying attention to her surroundings and saw that they were leaving the grassy plains and heading into a lightly wooded area. The trees were not very big compared to the ones in the Wood Elven forest, but they brought a sense of comfort as they reminded her of home. As the trees gradually surrounded them, she could feel her spirits rising. Once I get home with my people, everything will be okay, she told herself, and as the sun filtered through the leaves and branches and warmed her skin, she began to hum.
“You’re in a cheerful mood this morning,” Donovan called back without turning around. The trees and Brandela’s beautiful voice were working their magic on him, also, and he was relieved to feel the heavy tension of the morning beginning to lift.
“Yes,” Brandela replied. “It’s this place and these trees. It’s odd but, despite the fact that I haven’t had a chance to wash properly in weeks and I don’t have suitable clothing and I’ve never been so destitute in all my life, I’m still surprisingly happy. This scenery is very pleasing and it cheers me up. Nothing else seems to matter all that much right now.”
“You’re right, that is odd,” answered Donovan. “I would never have guessed that a princess would enjoy living like an outcast.”
Brandela smiled, and for a while they walked in a companionable silence.
“Donovan, when we reach the trade routes, do you think there would be any way to arrange to get me some new clothing? I believe these clothes I’m wearing would fit you a lot better than they fit me.”
Donovan chuckled. “So you noticed that. I was wondering when you would get around to asking about my Elven Ranger uniform.”
“Ah, so I was right,” Brandela exclaimed triumphantly, trotting to catch up with him. “I knew these clothes belonged to you!”
Donovan smiled at her and answered, “Yes they do. Your assumption was correct.” But there was sadness behind the smile and he walked on quietly, absorbed in his private thoughts.
Brandela, puzzled by his sudden shift in mood, asked, “Why do you look so sad? Was it something I said?”
Donovan sighed softly. “I was just thinking about an old friend who made me that clothing. She was like a mother to me.”
“Was this the Elven woman who raised you at the southern outpost?” asked Brandela. “I remember my father talking about her.”
Donovan frowned. “I’m sure he had little good to say about her,” he growled.
Brandela glanced sideways at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. It was true, though. Her father had spoken of the woman with great disdain. “He said she was an able trainer,” she offered, truthfully.
“She was a remarkable trainer. She saved my life and taught me everything I know.”
“What was her name? Perhaps I know of her,” asked Brandela.
“It’s doubtful that you would know her,” answered Donovan. “She was a Wood Elven warrior, not a noble lady, like you.”
Brandela hesitated, and then suggested, “Perhaps when we get back home, you can introduce me to her. We will be passing through the southern portion of the Wood Elven forest on our way to Alder-wood, will we not?”
Donovan’s voice was sad when he answered, “Unfortunately, Princess, she died in the raid on Garock’s army soon after you were captured. Alayna was killed by the enemy commander, Garock, just before your father’s army arrived and rescued the other maidens.”
They walked in silence for a while then as Brandela absorbed this information. When she finally spoke, her words were hesitant and she was obviously troubled. “I am young by Elven standards, and I don’t have much experience in dealing with loss, but I can imagine how difficult it would be to lose someone who was like a mother to you. This was the year I was most likely going to be married off to my future husband and I never expected for any of this to happen. I feel directly responsible for the loss of your friend, and for this you have my deepest apologies.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess. If there’s anyone truly at fault, it’s your father. You’re not responsible for his actions.”
“What do you mean?” asked Brandela, her brow furrowed. “Please elaborate further?”
“Your father knew that we were drastically outnumbered and would be unlikely to survive when he ordered us to attack Garock’s army. If not for Alayna, none of us would have survived. Your father would have been quite happy to find us all slaughtered and out of his hair.”
Brandela opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. She knew her father and his hatred of humans very well, and she knew what he was capable of. She was deeply troubled to think that he could have purposely caused Donovan so much grief.
“Why?” she asked, very quietly.
Donovan glanced at her, puzzled. “Why what?”
“Why would you risk your life to save the daughter of the man who caused you so much harm?”
Donovan stopped walking and looked down at his feet, weighing his words carefully. “To be honest, Princess, you were not the main purpose that brought me to Garock’s encampment. Garock is directly responsible for Alayna’s death. By rescuing you, I was actually disobeying a direct order from high Lord Aden, but to do so would cause the complete failure of Garock’s mission, causing his suppliers to take revenge on him. His demise would serve as my revenge for Alayna’s death.”
“So, my father did not send you?” clarified Brandela, struggling against the sinking feeling that was overtaking her.
“No,” answered Donovan, somewhat guiltily.
Did my father send anyone? wondered Brandela. Out loud, she forced her voice into a confident, positive tone. “Well, with any luck we will return unharmed, both of us, together, and when we arrive I promise I will take up your cause with my father, directly. I will make it my purpose to see that you receive a full pardon.”
For a long moment, they stood there and stared into each other eyes, a bond of trust forming almost palpably between them. Donovan was the first to tear his eyes away and turn and start walking again. He was so tempted to do something stupid, something he knew he would regret in the end. She was so hard to resist!
Brandela followed behind him, blinking back tears of frustration. Her heart was pounding and her cheeks were flushed with confusion and—what? Desire? They walked on in a strange, tense silence and did not speak again for the rest of the day.
Garock bent down to feel the ground where the footprint was imbedded. The track was at least a day old. They had gotten further than he thought they would and, judging by the lack of signs of a camp or fire, it seemed that they were not bothering to stop and hunt for their food either. He cursed, realizing that this was going to be harder than he had hoped. Still, it had been a while since he’d had such a challenge. Under other circumstances, he would have actually enjoyed the hunt, but this time he could not afford to let his prey slip away.
“Sooner or later, you’ll slip up,” he called to the unknown soldier, somewhere in the wilderness ahead of him. “And when you do, I’ll be ready and waiting!”
To his second-in-command, he said, “It looks like they’re headed for the trade routes. If they get far enough ahead of us, we could lose them. It’s imperative that we catch up to them as quickly as possible; if we don’t, we shouldn’t even bother returning to the encampment because we’re all dead.”
His second nodded his head, his expression serious and determined. “They can’t keep up this pace forever,” he said. “The princess will slow them down, eventually. They’re still at least seven days from the trade routes. We’ll close the gap before then and catch them.”
Garock agreed. “I want the princess alive. As for the soldier, whoever he is—just kill him.”
His second saluted and continued following the tracks ahead of the main group.
Donovan and Brandela travelled steadily eastward for the next two days, taking few breaks throughout the days and sharing the blanket for a few precious hours during the cold nights. Brandela was exhausted, but determined to keep up with Donovan, who seemed tireless. He reminded her, several times, that Garock’s men could have figured out their route by now and were probably trailing them. They must keep moving, as quickly as they could, to reach the trade routes. It was their only hope of losing their pursuers.
Brandela was surprised, therefore, to see Donovan preparing a fire when they stopped to make camp at the end of their forth night of travel. He had left her, briefly, to rest, and had come back with two freshly killed rabbits. He figured they had gotten far enough away to risk a fire and their first decent meal in days.
Brandela’s mouth watered as she watched Donovan turning the skinned, cleaned meat on the improvised spit he had made over the fire. Fat dripped and hissed in the flames and the aroma of the roasting meat was making her half-crazy with hunger. He grinned at her and seemed more relaxed than he had in days.
As she watched him, she found herself wishing that he was one of the Elven nobles. She would enjoy the prospect of a bonded mate a lot more if she could chose for herself someone like Donovan. She had gradually, over the past couple of days, come to accept her attraction to him, although she knew nothing could come of it. He had an inner strength that came from his unbending will and loyalty to duty and honor that had nothing to do with the master he served and everything to do with his character. She found his self-discipline immensely attractive, and he was reliable and confident in his abilities. It was only natural that she should be attracted to a man like that, she reasoned. Also, he was very handsome.
Brandela was startled from her thoughts by the sound of Donovan’s voice telling her that the food was ready. She snapped to attention and looked at Donovan, startled and flustered. He looked back at her, amused and smiling. She blushed, wondering if he had seen some clue about what she had been thinking, but he said nothing— simply gestured to the spit and the juicy, waiting meal.
Composing herself as best she could, she stood and walked over to him. He held the stick of meat out to her and—she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed it from his hand in a most unladylike manner and ripped her first bite of meat from the bones. She sank to her knees with a groan of pleasure and bit into the delicious flesh again.
Through a mouthful of rabbit, she mumbled, “This meat is so delicious. I honestly think this is the most wonderful meal I have ever tasted in my entire life.”
Donovan laughed. “Where I am from, we often say that hunger is the best seasoning to any meal.”
Brandela began laughing and soon lost all control. It was the first time Donovan heard her laugh, and the musical quality of her joy was enchanting. He chuckled and watched her with delight as he dug into his own meal.
When they finished eating, Donovan told Brandela that tonight she could have the blanket to herself. “With the fire going, I’ll be able to stay warm without it,” he explained.
Despite herself, Brandela frowned. Although she hated to admit it, even to herself, the last three nights that she had shared the blanket with Donovan had been more than pleasant. She would miss that sense of comfort and safety he unwittingly made her feel when he held her in his arms.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “It’ll still get cold enough for you to be uncomfortable. I don’t mind sharing.”
Donovan grinned at her in surprise and replied, in a teasing tone, “Princess, if I didn’t know better I would say you wanted me to cuddle with you.”
Brandela’s face flushed red hot. “I was only trying to be helpful,” she spat, outraged. “It’s not my fault that you’re too dense to understand my clear intent.” She turned her back on him and went marching off to the other side of the campfire, snatching up the blanket as she went. She huddled down near the fire with her back to him and settled herself for sleep.
Donovan knew he would hear no more from her for the rest of the night. He smiled and thought how very cute she was when she was angry. He knew he shouldn’t tease her like that but he couldn’t help himself—she was such an innocent little thing. He’d make it up to her in the morning. Right now, the meal and the warmth of the fire were making him drowsy. He was simply too tired to make the effort.