Broken (The Captive #5.5)(2)

The whole mess of his parent's world was enough to make his head pound and now he and Merle were going to have to wade through it. They would be good allies to each other over the coming years, they had been together since they were babies, and trusted each other with their lives. Both of them were also content to let their fathers battle through the swampland of the aristocratic world while they remained on the sidelines.

The leaves of the trees, still wet from the raindrops sitting upon them, brushed against his forearms and dampened the deep green tunic he wore. His hand drifted down to his bow, excitement pulsed through him at the prospect of the coming hunt. He was hoping for some boar today, some good competition to liven up the boredom that had fallen over him since they'd arrived on English soil once again two weeks ago.

The woods gave way to reveal a small clearing and a stream that he'd been able to hear the water trickling through for almost a mile now. Merle's horse splashed through the stream and Atticus would have followed if he hadn't caught the faint hint of mint on the breeze and pulled his mount up.

His head turned, he sniffed at the air again as his eyes focused on a splash of purple color amongst the dense underbrush of the woods. Atticus leaned forward to peer into the trees. The scent of rose oil drifted through the air and filled his nostrils. Shifting movement revealed the flash of a woman's mantle amongst the leaves and brambles.

"What are you doing?" Merle demanded as he stopped his horse in the middle of the stream.

Atticus gestured toward where the woman remained hidden. Amongst the thick alders, elms, and oak trees she would have been nearly invisible to anyone but him. "Show yourself!" he called at the shadows.

There was a slight shuffling of feet before a head popped out from around the trunk of a thick elm. The woman lifted a haughty black eyebrow as her raven colored eyes ran over him from head to toe and back again before she thrust her shoulders back. Her pointed chin jutted out as she defiantly met his gaze once more.

She wasn't human; he could tell that much by the lack of a beating heart. The tunic she wore was a deep purple color but the dye had faded, the hem was worn, and he could see the different places where it had been patched. A gold cloth belt was cinched at her waist, emphasizing her slender midsection and rounded hips. She wasn't human but she was no noblewoman either, not in those clothes and not out here in the middle of the day. Most noblewomen were napping now in preparation of the night of drinking and socializing to come.

He frowned as he took in her high cheekbones, thin-bridged nose with a pert slope at the bottom of it and her full red mouth. Her lips were pressed together and unsmiling right now but she didn't look disapproving or apprehensive, she appeared more watchful as her head tilted to the side. Her hair, the same raven color as her eyes, hung over her shoulder in a plait that dangled against her waist. Judging by the amount of power he sensed in her, she was younger than he was.

She was such a mixture of light and dark with her fair skin and black hair that he was oddly enchanted by her. She was beautiful without even trying and yet it was such a subtle beauty that he doubted any others would even notice her in a room full of women. Or perhaps he was the only one who noticed her. Merle was looking entirely bored as he stifled a yawn and remained seated on his horse.

Atticus kicked his foot free of the stirrup and dismounted from the horse in one easy bound. Merle cursed and turned his horse around to make his way back toward them. "Who is with you?" Atticus inquired as he approached her. He knew there was another woman present as the one before him wasn't the one wearing the rose oil. No, she smelled of the mint she was chewing and emitted the faint aroma of asters that brought to mind the herb garden that grew outside of his home in Italy.

The woman's mouth pursed and for the first time she looked unhappy as she folded her hands before her. "We mean no harm," Atticus told her. "You are clearly not human."

"Clearly," the woman replied in the lilting accent of someone that had been born and raised on this island.

He had spent so much time moving between England, Italy, Germany, France, and other areas of the continent while following the newest king and his whims, that his own accent was a mix of all the countries. Now that he was back in England it had taken on a more English inflection again, but he could easily adapt to every dialect when it became necessary for them to move on.

"Who else is with you?" Atticus inquired again in a much more mellow tone of voice.

"How do you know there is someone else?" she replied.

Atticus simply smiled at her as he folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. "I can smell her."

A muscle twitched in her cheek but she turned toward the woods. "Come out Camille." She faced him again as a small hand parted the foliage and another woman stepped forward. "This is my sister."

Her sister was enough to wake Merle up as he kicked free of his stirrup and dropped on the ground behind Atticus. Camille was shorter than her sister with an enticingly round figure that was emphasized by the clothes she wore. The plait of wheat colored hair that fell over her shoulder dangled to just beneath her full breasts. Her cheekbones were high and carved; her nose slender and aquiline. Eyes that reminded him of the Mediterranean Sea darted nervously over them before Camille took a small step behind her sister. Camille was even younger than her sister and still not fully matured.

Camille was the kind of beautiful that was noticed immediately with her refined features and more rounded figure. She could never blend into a room, and normally he would have found himself as focused on her as Merle was. Instead, he found his eyes drawn back to the darker of the two. If she hadn't introduced Camille as her sister, he never would have guessed it. Their features, coloring, and postures were so different. The one standing across from him kept hold of his gaze, refusing to back down; while the other took another step away at Merle's approach.