Blaze (Blaze #1) (12 page)

“Indeed I
did,” he says, and stretches, and I see how proud of himself he is.
“I try to do one gallant thing before breakfast every day. It’s
good for the appetite.”

“I… see,” I
say slowly. As far as I know, it’s customary for soldiers and
heroes to be humble in their accomplishments, not effortlessly,
easily arrogant.

“And,” he
continues, oblivious to my silence, “it's nice to have done someone
a service. I’ll do you another and let you know it’s foolish for a
serving girl to be out in the woods alone. Especially at this time
of year. The hunting’s been terrible – that wolf was starved almost
to death. It makes them brave enough – or desperate enough, rather
- to venture close to settlements. Even close to castles.”

That’s when I
remember I’m wearing the simple dress and coat I wear when I go
walking. I can’t stand the gowns my stepmother forces me to wear,
and going outside is one of the best excuses I have not to wear
them.

“There is a
guard, close by,” I say, slowly. “But the wolf surprised me while
he stopped to eat.”

“Foolish,” he
says again, and suddenly he’s standing close to me. All the easy
laughter is gone from him, and suddenly his face is hard. His eyes
are cold, and my breath halts. Have I escaped one danger only to
fall into the hands of another?

His lips are
close to my ear and if he moved a fraction closer, his body would
be pressing against mine.

“And
dangerous,” he whispers. I shiver at the feel of his breath against
my neck, a soft breeze on my skin. “Anyone could be out here.”

But then he
leans back on his heels, and sketches out a tiny bow.

“Luckily for
you,” he says, “you have me to keep you safe. Allow me to introduce
myself. Captain Alexander Farrell, of the personal guard of Prince
Sebastian of the Summer Islands.”

The way he
stands, the commanding lines of his posture, the easy set of his
shoulders… of course this man is a soldier. I’ve seen his type all
my life, coming and going from the castle, full of themselves and
their own reputations. And no matter how much they might laugh and
joke, their hands are always near their blades.

He looks at
me, waiting for me to speak.

Does he think I should I tell him how impressed I
am?
I think, and
annoyance blooms in my stomach.

“And you
are…?” he prompts, and I search for an answer.

“You were
right the first time,” I say. “I am…”

A name, a
name, think of a name!

“I am Ruth,” I
say, and give him a curtsy as small as his bow. “I am a serving
girl, for the Princess Snow White.”

He stands up
straight at that.

“Princess Snow
White,” he says, and grins. His teeth are white and straight, and
when he smiles, his lips raise at one corner first. “Then this has
already been its own reward. I rode a week ahead of my men in order
to be the first to catch a glimpse of her before the Tournament of
Princes begins.”

“Is it true,”
he asks, and he lowers his voice, “that she is as beautiful as
people say?”

Something
stirs in my stomach, and with a shock, I realize: I’m jealous. But
there’s another feeling there: satisfaction.

“I cannot
judge myself,” I say carefully, “I’ve known her so long that her
face is familiar as my own. But she will be flattered to hear that
this is how she’s spoken of.”

There’s a
pause. His attention has drifted; he’s looking at something just
over my shoulder.

Soft
flakes of snow are falling. The puffy gray clouds overhead are
finally filling the promise they’ve been holding all morning. He
reaches out and brushes something from my hair. A
snowflake.

“She must be
beautiful indeed,” he says softly, “if people speak of her, and not
of you.”

Blood rushes
to my face and I have to stare at the ground.

“Where are
you?” comes a shout from somewhere behind me. Ralf, the fat,
slovenly guard set to watch over me in the mornings, has finally
worked out I’m not where he left me.

If he calls
out my name, Alexander will know I lied.

“Thank you
again,” I say in a rush, the words running together in my haste. “I
owe you my life. And I have no way to repay you.”

Without
knowing what I’m doing, I dart forward and kiss him softly on the
cheek, my lips lingering for a second longer than they should.

For an instant
he looks stunned, but then he recovers. The arrogant laugh is back
in his eyes.

“I’ll think of
something,” he says, grinning that crooked grin again. “I’ll tell
you what it is the next time I see you walking out here.”

I blush again,
and turn away to hide my face. I make my way to where I last saw
Ralf, picking my way carefully through the brush. A smile bursts
across my face.

I hope you do see me again, walking out here,
I think.
I truly do.

Erika Chase is an avid traveler, decent
baker, and expert garage sale shopper. She lives in San Francisco
with her pet cat who chooses to remain nameless on the
internet.

Blaze
is her first series of erotic
novels.

Erika Chase on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/authorerikachase

Erika Chase on Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/ErikaChaseWrite