The Great Hunt (Eurona Duology, #1)(48)

22


Lady Wyneth was so lost in her drawing that she didn’t register people in the library until they stood before her. She looked up into the grinning face of Lord Lief Alvi, and quickly closed her sketchbook. He was with two guards and two other Ascomannian men, who brought with them scents of damp fur.

“Hello, my lady,” Lord Alvi said.

“Er, hello.” Wyneth’s head was murky with creativity, lines still moving about in her mind, begging to be drawn. She pulled her feet out from under herself, smoothing down her gray skirts. Sounds came back to her now, muffled rain against the tall windows.

“We’re giving a tour of the castle, Lady Wyneth,” a guard said. “Sorry to disturb you.”

She shook her head and forced a polite smile, feeling Lord Alvi’s warm gaze on her all the while. “No problem at all.”

“So, this is the royal library.” The guard motioned his hand around at shelves stretching to the high ceilings, and cozy nooks with leather chairs and woven rugs. The other Ascomannians grunted, making a quick scan, looking bored.

“Where is the indoor archery range?” the hairiest man asked.

“Down the stairs, right this way.” The men set to leave, looking back at Lord Alvi.

“Go ahead without me. I wish to see the ancient texts.”

The larger, hairier man from the coldlands lifted an eyebrow high and then shrugged before leaving. Wyneth’s insides bounced and spun as Lord Alvi’s presence surrounded her. She moved her eyes slowly up to him as he turned toward her sketchbook.

“What were you working on?”

Lady Wyneth placed her palms on the cover. “Honestly, nothing of interest. I make drawings for my siblings and cousins, to entertain them.”

He grinned and sat in the chair beside her, pulling it closer. Great seas, he was large. And he didn’t smell musty like the other men. He smelled almost . . . salty.

“I would love to see.”

Wyneth felt her face warming. “No, really, Lord Alvi—”

“Please. Call me Lief. And let me see your sketches.”

Oh, fine. What did it matter what he thought? She handed the book over, her heart beating too fast. He opened it, giving his full attention to the drawings.

“‘Crocket’s Race,’” he murmured. “And Crocket is a crocodile?”

“Mm-hm. You see, Prince Donubhan is a bit . . . competitive,” Wyneth explained. “He likes to cheat, and pouts if he doesn’t win. So Princess Aerity and I came up with a story about a crocodile that cheated so much in his river races that the other crocs no longer wanted to play with him.”

Lord Alvi flipped through all the pages and chuckled at the end. “Remarkable.”

Wyneth went hot, resisting the urge to fan herself as she watched his strong hands skimming across her drawings. Then he plucked her pencil from the binding pouch, and did something that shocked her—he began to sketch, the pencil scratching with ease in his oversized hand.

Wyneth giggled as the form of a bird began to take shape on Crocket’s shoulder.

Lord Alvi spoke low. “Each time the little croc tries to cheat, the bird gives him a peck. Like his conscience.”

“That’s quite good.” Wyneth had never seen a lad draw so well.

“Let’s keep this our secret, aye?” He set down the pencil and gave her a bashful grin, softening her all over.

“My lady.” He reached for her hand, but she swiftly pulled it to her lap. She could not allow a repeat of their last encounter, even though she thought of it often enough. Too often.

“My lord,” she said. “We cannot.”

Their eyes met, filling her with pain and longing that she couldn’t comprehend.

“Lord Alvi,” called a deep voice from the doorway, echoing. Wyneth jumped and Lord Alvi wrenched his head around. “Care to visit the indoor range with us?”

The Ascomannian lord gave him a nod. “Aye.”

Before he could say another word, Wyneth reached over and took the sketchbook from his hand, standing.

“Good evening to you all.” She nodded at the men, avoiding Lord Alvi’s eyes, rushing from the library.

Emotions welled inside her. She wanted to get to her chambers before she exploded. As she turned the corner she ran smack into somebody.

“Lady Wyneth!” Harrison gave her a friendly grin. “How nice to see you.”

Her throat constricted and her eyes burned.

Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Seas, he reminded her so much of Breckon: polished, handsome, polite. Even their bodies were of similar stature, the lean muscles and tapered waists.

“I don’t feel well.” Laughter from the Ascomannians sounded from down the hall as the men headed toward the archery room. Harrison narrowed his eyes at the sound.

“Did Lief do something to you?” Harrison took her by the shoulders. “Did he touch you?” When she didn’t answer fast enough, he said, “Tell me!”

“No, Harrison,” she said in a rush.

He stared deep into her eyes until he seemed assured she was telling the truth. Then he took a deep breath and removed his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the way he pursues you. It’s disrespectful to you and Aerity. To Breckon. Keep your distance from him, Wyn. I saw—”