He shifted his feet, but didn’t avert his gaze. “The sea is dangerous, Miss Dahl-Saida.”
Distant music echoed in her ears. “What are you talking about?”
“Just come back to the house with me. I won’t tell my father.”
He reached to take her arm but she shook him off. The wind tore between them, whipping her dark hair into her eyes.
“I’ll walk where I like, when I like. You can’t tell me what to do. You don’t own me.”
His shoulders tensed. “Of course I don’t. Why would you think that?”
“Why would you go along with this?” she demanded, shoving the ring into his face. “No hesitation, no objection, not even asking me how I feel about it?”
Over their heads, the light was beginning to fade, the last drops of gold swallowed up by the regathering clouds. The wind blew stronger, and she smelled rain.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, eyes serious. “I thought you knew. I thought you’d already agreed.”
“Well I hadn’t!” she said fiercely.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly have a choice either.”
Tears burned behind her eyes and she fought them back, feeling so lost and frustrated and angry she didn’t even know how to answer him.
The rain came all at once, driving and cold, and she jerked away from Wen and started briskly toward the house. He matched pace beside her, not saying anything.
She wished her mother were here. She would have been able to convince the Baron and his awful son to let her out of the betrothal.
She glanced aside at Wen and he looked back at her, his face drenched with rain and shadow in the falling light. She hated how he stared at her, like if he looked long enough and deep enough he could see down into her soul. She didn’t even know what was buried there—what gave him the right to try and uncover it?
“Miss Dahl-Saida. You’re shivering.”
And she was, though she hadn’t realized it. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders before she could protest. The inside of the coat was still dry, pulsing with the echo of his body heat. She pulled it tight, and warmth enveloped her.
“Thank you,” she told him, reluctantly grateful.
They climbed the last little ways up to the house in the gathering dark, rain lashing icy against their skin. A lantern gleamed from the front door—Talia wondered if Ahned was looking out for them.
She walked faster, eager for the sanctuary of heat and dry clothes, and slipped on the flagstones, her arms windmilling. Wen grabbed her around the waist as she was about to go down, and for a moment she was caught in the circle of his arms, pressed up against his chest, his breath warm at her ear.
“Let me go!” she snapped.
He released her and leapt backward like he’d been holding a cobra. “Miss Dahl-Saida, I certainly didn’t mean—”
But his words were lost in the sudden clamor of hooves coming up the drive. A horse and rider emerged from the rainy darkness. They clattered to a stop in front of the house, and the rider swung down.
The door opened and Ahned came out, a lantern in one hand. Yellow light slanted through the rain as he strode down the steps and took the horse’s reins from the newcomer. Talia had the impression of a tall, strong form, a long coat, dark hair, the flash of a smile.
“Welcome home, my lord,” said Ahned, with a little bow, then steered the horse back out into the rain, heading across the drive toward the stables. He passed Talia and Wen, the lantern swinging from one hand, and frowned. “Master Wendarien? What are you doing out here?”
Talia didn’t hear Wen’s answer, her eyes drawn to the rider who was just mounting the steps to the door, a dark silhouette against the light spilling out of the Ruen-Dahr.
“Get in out of the wet!” Ahned barked. Wen and Talia didn’t have to be told twice. They ran the last few paces to the entrance, stumbling up the steps and through the door just behind the newcomer.
He turned at their arrival, black boots pooling rainwater on the stones, and her heart took up sudden residence in her ears. He looked about two or three years older than Talia, with dark hair and skin touched with bronze. He was soaked through, his long black coat plastered against his muscular body.
Talia realized she was staring.
He observed her with a kind of amused interest for a moment, and Talia’s face flamed. Her feet were bare and muddy, her gown drenched with seawater and rain, and she was pretty sure there was sand in her hair. What must he think of her?
“Who’s this, Wen?” he asked.
Talia glanced sideways. Wen stood completely rigid, every line in his body radiating tension. “Miss Talia Dahl-Saida of Enduena. My …” He swallowed, and set his jaw. “My fiancée.”
She hated him for saying that.
The newcomer raised both eyebrows and grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Fiancée? How long was I gone?” Then: “Doesn’t matter.” And he turned to Talia. “Caiden Estahr-Sol, at your service.”
He swept her a beautiful bow, and she tried to curtsy in return, but she was stiff with cold and didn’t manage it very well.
He flashed her another smile anyway. “Very honored to meet you, Miss Dahl-Saida. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get out of these sopping clothes. I expect I’m not too late for dinner?” And he crossed the foyer and disappeared up the stairs without waiting for an answer.
Talia stared after him, blinking. “Who is that?” she asked Wen, who still hadn’t moved from his place by the door.
“That,” said Wen darkly, “is my brother.”
Chapter Twelve
I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD A BROTHER!” Talia hissed, still staring after the newcomer in a state of complete bewilderment.
“Raiva’s tongue,” Wen cursed under his breath as he rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t expect him home so soon. Excuse me.”
And then he was gone up the stairs, too.
Talia stood there a few moments more, dripping water on the stones, and then went up to her own room and peeled off the ruined dress.
There wasn’t time for another bath before dinner, but Lyna and Ro dug up a clean gown from somewhere and wrestled Talia into it. It was much plainer than the other one, made of a coarse burgundy with lace on the sleeves, and she wondered if it was one of theirs. They didn’t have a second pair of shoes for her—she’d have to go barefoot.
“Dairon is still gathering things for you, Miss,” Lyna explained as she tugged a comb through Talia’s tangled hair. “Everything ought to be here before you go to bed. If we’d known you were going to go walking in the rain …” She shook her head disapprovingly and yanked at a knot so hard Talia’s eyes started to tear.