Across the Midnight Sea

Chapter 30: Warden Rathor

Its been a weird last few days for me mentally, but it felt good to come back to this story and write. I will have some more posts for my other stories soon, but I hope that there are at least a handful of people who are happy to see an update for this story. If you are among that handful please be sure to leave some love in the comments and a vote up on that star in the corner. Thank you for being there and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Strong arms carried Adira inside through the garrison and gently laid her down on a chaise in a grand hall.

"Bring water," he father ordered and within second a cup was in his hands and bring brought her lips.

Adira drank down with a hiccup and tried to get a handle her emotions. She was supposed to be proper and proper ladies did not blubber and cry in public.

When she looked up at her father she saw that his face too was lined with tears, though he had not made a sound. The fact that he, battle worn and rugged, commander of a city could cry made it somehow easier for Adira to let herself feel.

"I am so sorry, my love," he said gently. "I promise no one will ever harm you again. You are safe here. I will keep you safe."

When he said it, she believed it.

There was a sincerity to his voice and in his eyes that, despite her trepidation and niggling worries about the circumstance of her arrival, made her believe that she could be safe.

Warden Rathor wiped away the tears from his daughters cheeks with a gentleness completely at odds with his mountainous size. She had forgotten how tall her father was, how broad. He looked the part of the Tamerian war hero down to the letter.

Would the hero risk the wrath of the king to keep her here?

The though caused Adira to still in her fathers arms, quieting her sobs.

There was a very real possibility that Lord Gregor's arm would be long enough to stretch across the Midnight sea and snatch her back.

She could only pray that her disappearance was enough of a problem to dissuade him from any desire for her as a wife.

With nothing on her lips that she dared speak aloud Adira chose to fill the silence by sipping down more water.

"I am sorry I did not recognize you for yourself. When I sent for you..." her father cleared his throat. "When I sent for you there were two that came impersonating you. I thought you just another imposter seeking shelter."

"Its me," Adira managed to croak, her voice still tight from tears.

"I know," he touched her cheek gently where the soldier had struck her.

His eyes flashed with anger for a brief moment, the emotion quickly tucked away.

"Bring Ice," he ordered one of the servants. "I should have recognized these eyes," he looked at her intently "My own eyes, my mother's eyes, my daughter's eyes."

Ice came and Rathor handed the cloth to his daughter.

Accepting the ice gingerly Adria placed it against her cheek, wincing slightly when the cool ice filled cloth made contact with her heated flesh.

"He will be punished."

"No on my account," protested Adira. She had seen too many people in pain.

Her mind went instantly to Imre, tied to the mast, helpless.

Then it sifted to him laying there in bed as she tended his wounds.

He had been so beautiful. Outside of helping him there had been another feeling that seeing him there had spurned inside her. A part of her had wished to touch him, not to heal, but to embrace.