Heir Untamed (14 page)

“Then they took the blindfold away but before I could see who it was, they backhanded me.
That's
how I got the bruise, Sander.”

He didn't say anything for a full minute. Chey started to wonder at his silence. Finally, he spoke.

“Do you have any ideas who it might be? Has anything else happened to spark suspicion in your mind?”

“Yes.” She saw no reason to lie. Not now. “Mattias showed me the Queen's garden--”

“Even though you both knew it was off limits?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Go on.”

“I took a few pictures. We had only just arrived, more or less, when Natalia found us there. She...she was...” Chey hesitated to out the girl for her drinking.

“Drunk,” Sander guessed.

“That's right.” Maybe it wasn't the secret Chey thought it was. “And very angry I was there. She threw her glass at me.”

Sander arched a brow. He ran his hand under his horse's mane and gave the strong neck a pat. “Did it strike you?”

“No. She missed. All the same, she was unhappy I was there. So I suppose she had some motive. The other is...Viia. Due to the nature of the threats regarding Mattias and myself, and the venomous stares she's been giving me, she's the other that came to mind. Beyond that, I don't know.” Chey watched Sander's expressions. He looked thoughtful, considering. And not judgmental.

“Tell me your impressions of your attacker. Off the cuff, first things that come to mind. Don't think too hard about it,” he said.

Chey shifted in the saddle. “I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. But they were strong enough to pin my head down, at least. I didn't get the impression of...size. What am I trying to say...” She trailed, struggling to define what she meant.

“It wasn't the same as if I was leaning over you,” he guessed.

Chey realized he was right. “Yes, exactly. I didn't have the impression of bulk, of someone obliterating the rest of the room.”

“Good. What else? Just say whatever strikes you. Often your subconscious picks up more than you realize.”

“They were angry. Frustrated.”

“How so?”

“It was the terse way they whispered. You know how when someone is irate and speaking in clipped syllables? Even with the accent, I noticed it.” She hadn't pinpointed that until Sander goaded her into speaking freely of the attack.

“What about smell? Did you catch a scent of anything?” Sander slowly circled his horse around her own.

Chey followed the animal as far as she could see to one side, then picked up on the other. Watching with her eyes. She frowned, thinking about his question. “I don't recall smelling anything.”

“Think hard. Something sweet, something masculine? A certain soap, sweat?” He didn't take his eyes off her as his horse clopped front to back and around again.

The methodical motion lulled Chey a little. “Nothing. I don't remember any scent associated with the event,” she finally said.

“All right. And you're certain you don't lean one way or another as far as a female or male voice?”

“No. It wasn't just whispering, but...I want to say they were speaking through something that changed their voice. Maybe. Or they did it on purpose to throw me off. It was so middle of the road that I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman at all.” That part frustrated Chey more than she wanted to admit. It would have been an easy clue to home in on.

“On a scale of one to ten, how hard did they strike you?”

Chey met his eyes and cocked her chin in consideration. “Seven? I've been clocked before. This person has some strength to them. It could have been stronger though. So I say about a seven.”

“Did the fist feel bigger or smaller?”

“I'm not sure. It didn't feel like a sledgehammer, but it also wasn't a feminine slap. They got their knuckles into it. My head snapped to the side with the force, so whoever it was has some decently honed muscles.”

“Very good. Just one moment.” Sander reined his steed out of the circles he'd been making and angled away while he took out his phone. He spent three minutes, no more, giving orders in his mother tongue.

Chey wished she knew what he was saying. Or who he was talking to. Would this change everything? Would the family send her home, thinking she was too much trouble to bother with? God, she hoped not. She hadn't worked long enough to pay back what money she'd already spent.

Sander tucked his phone away and guided the horse back her direction.

“What will happen now?” she asked.

“The appropriate people know. What I want you to do is pretend like everything is going as it would if you hadn't told me. Do the same things, take the same precautions. Don't let on that you've confessed, all right?” He brought his horse to a halt facing the opposite way again.

It gave her an excellent view of his face. His sharp eyes. “I can do that. The Royals won't send me home, will they?”

“No. We're going to take care of it. However, I can't have someone shadow you all the time or they'll know what's going on. So you're going to have to watch your own back in the castle. Try not to make it easy for someone to hurt you.”

“Well that makes me feel all fuzzy inside.” Unease brought out her natural sarcasm.

He smiled, but didn't laugh. “Yeah, it's not the best circumstances. Hopefully, they'll tip their hand sooner than later, and you won't have to worry about it anymore.”

“What about them planting a relic in my room and framing me for theft? I really don't want to go to jail.”

“We're aware. The security in the castle know what's going on. Two of them will be going through your room while you're out here with me to make sure no one has pre-planted anything in your absence. Sorry for the intrusive nature of their search, but it's for your benefit.” He swung the horse around and started off again through the forest at a brisk walk.

Chey noted that he wasn't heading back toward the castle. She kneed the mare into a walk. “Sander, wait. Where are we going?”

He glanced back. “Canoeing?”

“...after what I just told you?”

“There's nothing we can do but wait, Chey. Wait and check your belongings and work the investigation until a solid lead presents itself. And it will. One way or another, we'll find out who did this.” He sounded sure.

“I guess you're right.” Frowning, she let the mare pick her path behind Sander's horse. She watched how relaxed and at ease he was in the saddle, moving with the gait as if he'd been born with one foot in the stirrup. She supposed he probably had, with easy access to the stables his whole life.

“Right now, you're safer out here with me than anywhere else.”

“Unless the person starts taking pot shots at us again.”

“We'd know. There are extra security measures in place after the last incident. No one will be taking any unexpected shots at anyone today.”

“What you really mean to say is that other people know where we're going, and have cleared the way.” It made the most sense in Chey's mind, rather than spread the military out over thousands of acres of land.

He twisted his shoulders to look back, grinning. “Excellent deduction. Actually, they've cleared the way up to a certain point. No one but you and I know where we're going. If anyone was to try and follow, the guards would see.”

Chey smiled, a wry curve of her lips that lingered even after he turned to face front. “You think of everything.”

“I try. Come on. The fog is starting to burn away. I want to be on the water before it's all gone.” He dug his heels into his mount's sides, encouraging the horse into a canter once he hit a small trail.

Chey's mare automatically matched the pace. For now, Chey set aside worries and questions and concentrated on the trip ahead.

Chapter Nine

Chey understood exactly why Sander wanted to hit the water before the mist lifted completely. With the sun on the rise, it created a surreal veil over the river and through the trees that was stunning and beautiful. Balanced on a seat in the rather crude canoe, Chey snapped picture after picture.

After they'd arrived at the cabana at the edge of the river, Sander had tied the horses to posts near a water trough and pushed one of three canoes halfway into the water. He'd pre-loaded it at some point with food, water and a few other necessities. After she'd boarded, he pushed off and hopped in.

Now the river snaked ahead through terrain she could only describe as rugged. A high cliff flanked the left side after the forest broke away to rock. The right was a mix of shore, boulders and trees. Twice, with caution, she turned on the seat to take several pictures of Sander. He smirked instead of smiled.

“Oh, come on. It won't hurt you to smile just once.”

He flashed a devastating smile while her camera was hanging around her neck instead of up at her eye.

“That's not fair! Do it again.” She raised the camera.

“You're supposed to be taking pictures of the landscape, not me.”

Chey wanted to say that he made the landscape much more interesting but didn't dare. “One more smile.”

Sander angled the oar across his lap, the paddle hanging over the water. Beads of gold dripped from the blade into the river. He looked as rugged as the terrain drenched in colors of the sunrise, and Chey didn't waste the opportunity to get a few more pictures.

He indulged her and smiled, all teeth and charismatic charm.

“Thank you. Was that so hard?” She teased him while she turned to face straight, one hand shooting out to the bench she sat on when the canoe rocked side to side.

“Yes,” he retorted with a dry tone. “You didn't rock the boat that much, don't worry. This baby can take a lot more than a gentle sway before it tips over.”

“It does feel pretty balanced,” she admitted. Chey was a novice to canoeing. Any kind of tilt prompted her to hold on whether she needed to or not. “Do you do this often?”

“When work permits. I do get days off like other normal people.” The slice of the paddle through the water was quiet yet effective.

“And you control all of the security for the Royals?”

“Yes. I have managers that oversee the castle itself, the front gates, and the back property here. A whole different crew represents the guards who protect the family on a more personal basis.”

“Do you ever protect the Royal family on a more personal basis?” She glanced over her shoulder. He snorted.

“I prefer to worry about security as a whole.”

“That was a diplomatic answer if I've ever heard one.”

“I can be diplomatic when the situation calls for it.”

She laughed. “Like when you tackled me off the horse?”

“You should learn to mind. Then I wouldn't have had to tackle you at all.”

“I only mind when the situation calls for it.” Chey should have checked her sass at the door, but couldn't care enough to do so.

He barked a short laugh. The sound carried across the water. “
Really
now. Isn't that interesting. I wonder what situation that could possibly be,” he said in a way that suggested he knew exactly which situation it was.

“Quit wallowing in the gutter. I can all but hear your dastardly thoughts from here.” It amused her that he thought it had something to do with bed or sex. Most men would though. They were hardwired that way.

“What I'm wondering, is if you're ever going to pick up the oar and row.”

“You're doing a splendid job.”

“You can't fully experience canoeing unless you actually do some of the work. Come on.”

Laying the camera against her chest, checking the strap around her neck twice to make sure it was secure, she grabbed hold of the oar tucked inside the canoe and got a good grip on it. Then she glanced back once to time her stroke to his. The pull on the oar was stronger than she thought it might be.

“Don't dig it all the way in to the grip you have on the handle. Let the paddle do more of the work.”

In her attempt to fix her stroke, she accidentally sliced the paddle into the water too soon, creating a splash that washed over the front of the canoe.

“That's why I sat in the back.” He sounded amused.

Feeling mischievous, Chey reversed the slap of the paddle, sending an arc behind her.

He grunted, then spewed a few sentences in his mother tongue.

Laughing, she dipped the oar again, this time without any splash. “That's what you get for being smug.”

“Do it again, and I'll show you what you get for being petulant.” A playful growl laced his threat.

“I wasn't being petulant.”

“Yes you were. Semantics, though. Just understand that my paybacks are serious business.”

“You wouldn't dump me into the water.” She glanced behind her, a brow arched.

He arched one back. Wouldn't he? That's what his expression said.

“My camera!”

“Can be replaced. Though the pictures you've taken cannot. Pity.”

He won that round. With a silent laugh, Chey faced forward and got down to the business of rowing.

. . .

The breadth of the river narrowed and widened, pinching between cliffs and then shallowing out as the craggy rock fell away to forest or the flat of the river's edge. Sander knew his way well, Chey discovered, steering them through the deeper part of the shallows, through swifter currents and around boulders thrusting up from the depths that might have otherwise caused problems. He guided her in rowing and in the sights at the same time, explaining how untouched some of the terrain in these distant acres really was. Few hikers or Royals ever ventured this far back in the property attached to the castle, leaving it pristine and wild.

Chey got several amazing photos of birds, fish that swam close to the canoe near the surface of the shallows, and gnarled trees with branches twisting toward a blue sky.

Finally, Sander steered the canoe toward a flat part of the shore just in front of a sloping rise of rock. She could see it climbed into another craggy cliff overlooking the river.

Encouraging her to disembark, Sander pulled the canoe up onto the sandy loam and used a tether to secure it to a fallen tree. He tugged out a small cooler and a backpack from between the bench seats, then led her up a rather steep incline made of boulders in various sizes and shape. Sure footed as a mountain goat, he didn't need to hold onto the rock like she did. Up to the challenge, Chey ascended until they crested the top of the cliff—and what a sight greeted her from that lofty height.