Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(105)

Petri flashed him a guilty glance, and Egan laughed. “Getting Sasha drunk, that’s what we were up to,” Egan answered for Petri. “The man needed it.”

Sasha moaned and pressed his hand to his stomach. Damien turned abruptly and led Penelope’s horse onward. They left the high street and passed out of the village, following the road as it climbed into the hills. About a mile from the village, Damien stopped them.

“Egan,” he said fiercely stepping to face him. “Damn you. This is far from over. Do you think Alexander will stop because Felsan is dead? Was Penelope safe when you crawled into the whiskey bottle with Petri and Sasha last night?”

Egan lost his amused look. “Hold steady, lad. We needed it after … you know … that. And the whiskey was piss, so we all suffered for our rashness.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed. “You celebrated survival by getting Sasha drunk and finding Titus a skirt to lift.”

“Ease off, Damien,” Egan said impatiently. “The boy was only getting a bit of what you were having.”

A snarl left Damien’s throat. He had Egan slammed against the nearest tree before Penelope could cry out, holding the man with a firm hand around his neck. “You speak of my wife like that again, and your claymore will be sheathed in your brain.”

Egan looked slightly dazed and not a little sick from the bad whiskey, but he glared fire at Damien. “Let go of me.”

Damien did not move. “Alexander can strike at any moment. Penelope is not to be unprotected for one second. Do you understand me?”

“I understand you fine,” Egan said. One lock of his brown hair fell across his face. “And if you take your hand off me throat, I might let you keep your fingers.”

Damien released him but not because of the threat. His face was granite hard, the look in his eyes deadly. “You help me take care of her, or you leave.”

He turned away, took up the reins of Penelope’s horse, and led it onward. Egan and Petri exchanged a glance before they followed. Titus looked ashamed and guilt-stricken.

“Damien,” Penelope said softly. Damien glanced back at her, his expression hard with both anger and worry. “They did not have to come on this journey with us at all,” she went on. “It was their choice. And Egan has been hurt.”

“I know.” Damien’s voice was stern but the flicker in his eyes was one of stark fear. “But I will allow no one to endanger you, love. And Alexander is so very dangerous.”

Damien turned and led her horse onward. They did not speak of the matter again.



* * *



The next afternoon, as they neared the crest of the pass, it began to snow.

“What the devil?” Egan muttered as the first flakes fell.

“It happens sometimes in these mountains,” Petri said. “Late snowstorms, even in the middle of summer. Should be light.”

Sasha raised his head. He felt better today, though he still moved carefully. “This is not natural.”

“Magic, you mean?” Petri scoffed. “Nonsense. It happens all the time. Won’t be much more than a dusting.”

Penelope felt the cold bite in the air and was not so certain. She recalled a winter she’d spent as a child in the north of England—the air there had held the same crisp note, the breeze slight but not brisk. The snow had fallen in a dense cloud for hours. A thick blanket of it had coated the land the next day, a playground for a young girl. Then, however, when she’d grown too cold, she’d been able to run back into the house, where her father waited, and sit by a huge fire, toasting chestnuts and drinking cinnamon-laced tea.

Here there was no shelter in sight. They’d spent the night in a tiny cluster of houses that huddled around a common area for pigs and sheep. There had barely been room for them all to crowd into the loft of one of the houses, and the crofters had had no extra food to share. Damien had left them coin.

The village, if it could be called that, was ten hours behind them. They’d climbed steadily into the mountains, the air cooling rapidly as they went.

Despite Petri’s reassurances, the snow continued. At first it melted as it touched the ground, leaving a faint residue. Then the flakes fell faster, dusting the leaves and undergrowth with white powder. Imperceptibly, the snow began to stick to the ground, thin brushes of white against the dirt, and then Damien was leaving footprints as he walked.

An hour farther along, the snow flowed over the top of his boots. Penelope shivered, drawing her shawl tighter about her. Her gown was linen, not wool, a garb for summer days. She twitched her toes in her boots, trying to keep the blood flowing.

Walking beside her, Egan rubbed his fingers together, then tucked his hands under his arms. “Damn. This cold gets right up my kilt.”

Penelope tried to answer with a quip, but her lips trembled too much to form words. Egan unwrapped the extra plaid he wore over his shoulders and draped it around Penelope.

“Not much farther,” Damien said. “The top of the pass is a few hours away at most.”

But an hour later, the air was thick and white, the sun gone behind the tall mountains. A sharp wind sprang up, and before long, it had grown to full blizzard strength.

“We have to stop, sir,” Petri shouted.

Penelope could barely see Damien at the end of the reins that guided her horse. Egan bulked to her left, and Sasha’s horse was a black smudge on her right. She could not make out Titus at all, though she knew he walked on the far side of Sasha.