The Great Hunt (23 page)

Paxton’s hand was throbbing. The lack of sleep and physical trials of the past day and a half were finally catching up with him. He felt as if he could sleep for days. Maybe he would once he found a safe destination for himself. Once this cut stopped stinging, he’d be ready to go. He looked at the nearest guard, and said, “May I be taken to Mrs. Rathbrook?”

The young guard lifted an eyebrow and leaned closer where no one could hear. “You sure you want the Rocato touch? The castle has a regular healer who can sew that up and give you herbs for the pain if you—”

“No.” Paxton’s chest flamed with anger as he bit out, “Mrs. Rathbrook healed me before, and as you can see I survived just fine. She’s no one to fear. She’s not Rocato.”

The guard gave a “suit yourself” shrug, and Paxton’s fists itched to punch again. He let himself be led to the one place in Eurona where he did not wish to be while his fingers were marked—the castle. The place where the one person in Lochlanach lived whom Paxton’s mind and heart could not handle—the princess.

Princess Aerity heard the commotion through the closed window of her studies room. Her teacher frowned at the disruption. He was already grumpy after having to postpone their lesson to late afternoon. But it was hard to concentrate when the men were shouting outside. Her heartbeat quickened as she began scribbling the last lines of her Eurona trade composition. She pushed it hastily toward her teacher and stood.

“Here you are, Professor. I’m sorry again for the delay today.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and rushed from the room.

When Aerity reached the great doorway to the commons, a guard held out his arm. “I’m sorry, Princess, but tensions are
high among the hunters at the moment. I can’t let you go out there.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to peer past him.

“Just a scuffle. It’s under control now.”

“Hm.” Aerity moved into the side study room, an old library with shelves upon shelves of rare editions only a scholar could appreciate. She went to the window and saw two hunters being led toward the castle, surrounded by guards. She could have sworn the bowed head among them was Paxton’s. Aerity rushed back to the doorway of the study and peeked through the crack as the men were led in: one of the gruffer Ascomannians, bloodied and swollen, followed by Paxton, his hands in loose fists, his hair a mess of brown waves around his face.

A flash of vivid red covering Paxton’s closed hand caught Aerity’s eye, turning her stomach. Another injury. This one from a fight. She waited until the men had all passed, then followed them quickly down the hall. Droplets of blood trailed the floor in their wake. A maid was already at the entrance of the hall, rag in hand.

Around the first corner, Wyneth and Lady Ashley stood arm in arm as the men passed. Wyneth kissed her mother’s cheek and then went straight to Aerity’s side, taking her arm instead as her mother went toward the High Hall.

“What happened?” Wyneth whispered.

“I believe Paxton and one of the Ascomannians had a fight.”

Wyneth sighed and shook her head.

“Will you do me a favor?” Aerity asked. “Will you go to the men and find out what happened for me?”

Wyneth stiffened a bit. “You mean, outside? With the hunters?”

“Erm, yes.” Aerity didn’t understand her cousin’s reluctance. She’d been around the men many times now. And then she remembered the way Lord Lief had watched Wyneth. “You know what? Never mind.”

Wyneth cleared her throat. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll go.”

Wyneth began to turn away, but Aerity kept hold of her fingers. “No, Cousin. The details don’t matter. Won’t you talk to me?” She gave a gentle tug until Wyneth faced her and met her eyes, smiling gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing at all.” Wyneth squeezed her fingertips. “I’m feeling a bit off, perhaps coming down with something—”

Aerity shook her head. “Stay inside, rest in the warmth.”

“No, the fresh air might be good for me. I will find out what’s happened and return shortly.”

“Wyn, wait.”

Wyneth ignored this. “I’m fine. Go check on the skirt raiser.” She kissed Aerity’s cheek and walked away, unwrapping a shawl from her waist as she went and tossing it around her shoulders.

Aerity watched her cousin until she had gone. A wave of worry batted at her heart—it was unlike her cousin to keep her thoughts so guarded from Aerity. She wished they could
talk about all of this, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

Aerity made her way to the infirmary wing where the guards had left the men in separate rooms. She went to Paxton’s doorway. His back was to her, and he seemed to be looking down at his hands. A young, beautiful nurse bustled up beside her with a steaming bucket of water and clean rags.

“I’ll take that,” Aerity told her.

The nurse’s eyes widened, looking from Aerity to Paxton. “But, Princess . . .”

Aerity gripped the edges of the bucket and gave the girl a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I assure you. If you could tend to the Ascomannian hunter I’d be much obliged.” The girl glanced toward Paxton’s still form again, and nodded, looking somewhat crestfallen.

Aerity waited for the nurse to disappear before entering Paxton’s room, kicking the door shut behind her. She set the bucket on the table. If possible, he was even dirtier than he’d been when she found him that afternoon.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Paxton said morosely without looking at her.

The despondency in his voice filled her with worry.

“We should clean your hands so Mrs. Rathbrook can tend to your injuries better.” She dunked a cloth into the hot water. “Come here, Paxton.”

He stared at a blank point on the wall. “I will wash myself, Princess. You can go.”

Aerity bristled. “Can you not set aside your asinine pride for one moment, Paxton Seabolt? Are you like this with every person? Every woman? Or only me?” Her emotions were rising. She’d tried over and over, driven by the chemistry between them and the few glimpses of warmth he’d shown, like fleeting gifts of golden flecks she couldn’t keep hold of.

Still, he stared at the wall, unmoving, hands clasped tightly.

“Why did you even join this hunt if you hate me so thoroughly?” Aerity snapped, immediately regretting the question.

Without looking her way, Paxton said, “It was never about you, Princess.”

She swallowed hard. She’d known that. Perhaps it was even one of the reasons she felt so drawn to him—he wasn’t after the prize of promised wealth or a royal lass in his bed. Yet she swore there’d been a mutual attraction from the beginning. Had it all been wishful thinking? Girlish imaginings?

“Of course,” Aerity said quietly. Her palms rested on the side of the bucket, her fingers dipping into the water as her heart sank, and she felt as young and foolish as Vixie. “Just . . . wash while the water is hot.”

“I will. You can go.”

Aerity bristled. “I should stay until Mrs. Rathbrook gets here. You look as if you’re about to fall over.” He finally looked at her, with hard eyes that made Aerity feel as if he’d struck her. Indignation burned through her. She was tired of
this. “What cause have you to hate me so? It seems the more kindness I show, the more bullheaded you become!” Aerity threw the cloth back into the water with a smack. Paxton’s jaw clenched.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” Aerity frowned up at him.

“Well, you won’t need to worry about my bullheadedness getting in your way another day, Your darling Highness. The moment my hand is healed, I’m leaving.”

Aerity flinched. “Leaving?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes searched each other, seeking something she couldn’t explain.

“Why?” Aerity whispered.

“For reasons you wouldn’t understand.”

Aerity’s eyes burned. He was right: she didn’t understand this man or his reasons. She believed he was acting out of hurt, but she couldn’t figure out what could possibly have hurt him so deeply, or what it had to do with her.

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, Paxton. I want to help you, but—”

“You wouldn’t want to help me if you knew.”

Aerity stared up at him. Did he have a criminal past? With his sort of temperament, it was a possibility. Even so, he seemed the type to act out of a sense of honor and justice, not petty reasons.

Aerity stared into the depths of his dark eyes, searching for answers. “I think you underestimate me, hunter. But I cannot stop you if you choose to go. I can only tell you with all honesty that I wish you would stay.”

As she moved closer, she swore she felt Paxton soften, though his face remained impassive. She moved closer still, fully expecting him to back away, but he didn’t.

“I must leave today,” he said in a low voice.

Aerity, knowing this could be the last time she saw him, went up on the tips of her toes and placed her lips against his. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed. When he didn’t stop her or push her away, she brought her hands up around his neck and pulled herself higher, tasting the fullness of his salty lips, like the seas.

“Princess,” he whispered in a guttural tone against her lips. “You don’t know what you do.”

“I do know, hunter. I know exactly what I do.”

His head pulled back and his eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of punishment, anger, and desire. “You’ve no clue who I am.”

Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh at a sense of foreboding. “Then tell me. Who are you, Paxton Seabolt?”

He slowly took her wrist from around his neck with his good hand and moved his bloodied, dirtied hand to the edge of the bucket, nodding toward it. He watched her, inviting her to wash him now. Aerity, flustered by the intensity in his eyes, as if he were inexplicably daring her to do this, reached
into the bucket with a shaking hand and began to wash his wrist and top of his tightly fisted hand. She gently turned his hand and coaxed open his fingers, dunking his open palm into the water. He didn’t flinch, but it had to hurt as she gingerly wiped away the grime to reveal a gaping slash in the middle of his palm. Blood seeped out, coloring the water in swirls of red.

Aerity wound the cloth around his palm and set to cleaning the caked-on dirt from his fingers with her bare hands. When Paxton tensed, Aerity glanced at him. His jaw was set in hard lines as he watched her work.

She gently continued, trying not to cause him further pain, using her small nails to scrape away the dirt edged into his cuticles. The bit at the very bottom was particularly difficult. She splashed more water on his fingers and rubbed again, staring, then scratched harder, pushing at the dirt, willing it to budge. But it was too straight, too uniform, too smooth.

Her stomach dropped. She looked at his next finger, and the next. All the same.

It wasn’t dirt at all.

Aerity went still as she stared at the purpled lines. She stood still, but the room seemed to be moving. For a moment she forgot to breathe. She couldn’t look at Paxton’s face, but she could hear his quickened breaths close to her ear. In a moment of denial, Aerity scratched lastly at his thumbnail, only to reveal another line.

Almighty seas . . . Aerity felt a sob rising up inside her as the truth flooded her system.

“Paxton . . .”

“Now you know.” His voice was resigned. “Now you can let me be.”

But she couldn’t. She knew he had not received those lashings from hurting another person, unless perhaps it was self-defense. No matter his outer temper, she had always sensed the man underneath this secret—a secret massive enough to warrant his anger and hurt. Aerity knew in her gut that he would have only used his power as a last resort.

He remained so still beside her, allowing her to keep his hand in her own.

Truth and understanding continued to pour over Aerity in a heavy wash. Stories cartwheeled through her mind—Lashed being persecuted and abused, rounded up and killed out of fear. She had studied the history of the Lashed in great detail. The thought of anyone seeing his hands in this state, of anyone trying to kill him, filled her with a fierce protectiveness. She held his hand tighter.

He could have chosen not to reveal this to her. Aerity felt certain that Paxton did not share his true identity lightly. In fact, he’d probably done it to scare her away, and at great risk to himself. Well, it hadn’t worked, because she wasn’t scared of him. If he’d intended to put a greater gap between them, he’d only succeeded in making her feel closer. Her heart filled with empathy.

Words would not do at this moment.

Aerity turned and their eyes caught. He stared at her as if wading through thorns, searching, waiting for what harsh word or sharp accusation might come from her lips.

The princess rose to her toes again, circling his neck with her wet hands, and pressing her mouth against his. He jolted in surprise before reacting. This time, he did not remain still.

Paxton’s free hand rounded her waist and pulled her body firmly against his. His mouth took over, his lips moving against hers in a heated rush of ownership that caused her entire body to react.

He growled against her lips. “Will you never cease to surprise me?”

Aerity was overwhelmed and could only cling to him, her eyes stinging with emotion as she soaked in all he’d held back, all he’d tried to keep hidden. She hadn’t been a fool after all—he’d felt this thing between them as much as she had.

Distant footsteps and voices sounded down the stone hall, and Paxton stepped away, rubbing his stubbled jaw with his uninjured hand. Aerity felt cold as she dropped her arms to her sides, except her mouth, which still burned. Paxton moved closer to the bucket, over which his injured hand hovered, the cloth now stained red.

“You should go,” he said.

“Please don’t leave tonight,” Aerity whispered. “Talk to Mrs. Rathbrook.”

She could only hope the woman would have some sort of idea or advice for Paxton.

His expression was one of disappointed strain. “I can make no promises to you, Aerity.”

She swallowed and nodded. This was about life and death for him. It was wrong that he should have to live this way, that he should have to give up his freedom. Aerity needed to speak to her father. Something had to be done in the kingdom. It was one thing to read about Lashed. To see this pain, to feel it up close, was wholly different. She felt ashamed at her past inaction. She could no longer be silent.

A quiet knock sounded on the door as it opened. Mrs. Rathbrook’s gaze passed between Aerity and Paxton before she let out a knowing sigh.

“Go,” Paxton whispered to Aerity.

The princess gave a nod and shared a meaningful look with Mrs. Rathbrook before she exited the room, leaving her to heal, and hopefully mentor, the magical man who had so ensnared her heart.