A princess on the run, Briar Aldrich has no choice but to take on the role of scullery maid when Lord Sterling Huntington stumbles upon her in the woods and doesn't recognize her. But how safe is she actually in his home? And how safe is her heart?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sterling took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the crisp morning air into his lungs as he could. It was a beautiful day for a hunt; slightly overcast but brightening by the second. The men at his side walked on through the brambles, conversing unobtrusively with one another. Douglas guided them all. As head of his guard and one of Sterling's oldest friends, Douglas knew these woods and their pitfalls better than any man. So he always rambled on ahead, ushering them away from the coarser terrain and keeping his eye out for game. So, when he crested a small, grassy knoll and lifted his bow, poised to shoot, they all fell stationary and silent. Sterling did as the others, falling immobile and observing his comrade diligently. When Sterling discerned Douglas' unusual hesitation, he hurried on ahead to his side, the question of his indecision already formed upon his lips. But saw the object of Douglas' vacillation soon enough when he ascended the hill himself and saw Douglas' arrow aimed straight for a frightened girl with her back against a tree.
Sterling shunted Douglas' targeted armament away from him and bellowed. "Are you deranged? She's just a girl!"
Then he was jogging down the steep slope of the small hill toward her, inclined to come to the aid of the defenseless maiden but, as he approached, she pulled a dagger as swift as a fox and held it out to him, suspended straight against his throat. He came to an abrupt halt and raised his hands in surrender. Behind him, he noted the familiar sound of half a dozen men nocking their arrows. They would have them all trained on her, ready to shoot if she should wound him. She held the dagger steadily enough but he could see the trepidation in her eyes and knew that she was purely petrified.
"Whoa," he said evenly, keeping his hands raised in surrender and his voice as tranquil as possible. "It's alright. We aren't going to hurt you."
"That hasn't been my experience with men," she retorted, and he noticed then what sort of condition she was in. Her dress was torn in many sections, mostly at the hem, presumably due to a frenzied excursion through the gorse. She was covered in muck and a few crimson stains that, alarmingly, most closely resembled blood. Her hair was unkempt, tugged from its former coiffure and inundated with twigs and leaves. And the dagger, which she held so vigilantly poised at his throat, was covered in blood as well.
"I promise," he claimed, gradually lowering a hand. She flinched at the movement but allowed it. He touched the flat of the blade with his index finger and then gently pressed the tip of the dagger down, away from him and its point of contact at his jugular. "We aren't going to hurt you. My name is-"
"Lord Sterling Huntington," she concluded for him. His mouth dropped open slightly in wonder.
"You know me?" he questioned.
"I know whose land I'm on."
He narrowed his eyes, examining her intently. Even now, covered in dried blood, six arrows aimed directly at her heart, the girl stood tall, head held high, dagger in unshaking hands. Her equanimity was on a level that was to be venerated. Her unflappable courage and quick witted remarks only served to heighten the mystery of her persona. Sterling had never before encountered a woman who remained so confident when placed under the obvious strain that whatever the night's affairs had comprised of. Then again, he had never met a woman who had managed to pull a dagger on him. He liked to accredit himself with relatively quick reflexes but this girl's agility had put him to shame.
