The Traitor's Kiss (Traitor's Trilogy #1)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, fearing how Quinn might react if Ash failed. “I’ll be your contact.”


He brightened, dark eyes rising to meet hers. “You’re not angry, my lady?”

She scowled, though her anger had pretty much dissolved. “I didn’t say that. You know your captain could’ve just asked me what I was writing himself or explained what he needed.”

“He never meant to hurt you,” Ash said, taking a few steps closer. He stood straighter, taller. “I was to pass on his apology for my deception.”

“Hmph,” she said. Sage furrowed her brow as she looked up at him. “So you were going to tell me the truth at some point?”

He nodded. “I was going to tell you tomorrow.”

“How? Weren’t you going to be riding rather than driving?”

A handsome smile spread across his face. “I was given permission to ride with you, if you were agreeable.”

She felt herself smile back, though she knew Quinn wouldn’t have allowed such a thing unless it gave him what he wanted from her. “I’m not used to being called agreeable, but if it gets me off the wagon, you can call me anything you want.”





30

AFTER LUNCH AND a much-needed nap to make up for such a restless night, Sage went looking for Darnessa and found her embroidering in the sitting room of her suite.

“How is Clare?” she asked before Sage could start.

“Oh,” said Sage, scrambling to remember what Darnessa meant. “Better. This trip is a little much for her, I’m afraid. I have to do some thinking yet, but we need to discuss her future before we get to Tennegol.”

Darnessa shrugged. “Very well, you can get back to me. Have you talked to Ash Carter lately? I haven’t seen him much since we arrived.”

Sage chewed her lip. “He’s been promoted, so he has new duties.” The matchmaker didn’t need to know he was a sergeant all along.

“Indeed? Anything to do with you and your lessons?”

It was too casual. Darnessa was up to something.

“He seems to think so,” Sage said. “He won’t drive a wagon anymore, and he’s offered to teach me to ride as a thank-you.”

“I suppose that sounds fair.”

Sage already knew how to ride quite well—Uncle William had been surprisingly open-minded and had even taken her hunting a few times—and she’d framed it that way to make Darnessa think Ash owed her something. Still, she’d expected some resistance. “I didn’t think you would approve.”

“Why not?” said Darnessa. “Ladies ride horses all the time, and I rather like the extra room to stretch out in the wagon.”

“Yes, but riding with a peasant?”

Darnessa peered at Sage over the wooden hoop. “Is that what he told you about himself?” She looked back down and shook her head disapprovingly. “A handsome boy speaks to you in half-truths, and you believe him? You must be losing your touch, apprentice.”

The matchmaker’s willingness to let her ride with Ash left a bad taste in her mouth, but Sage left without saying anything more. Darnessa was manipulating her. She wanted Sage to spend time with Ash. And there could be only one logical explanation: the woman was trying to match her. She wanted it bad enough to let Sage back off from acting like a lady. That might not have bothered Sage—she wanted to spend time with Ash, too—except there was something else about him. Something Darnessa wanted her to discover.

So Sage went in search of the one person she thought might tell her. She found Charlie near the kitchens, ferrying food and supplies to the wagons, and she dropped in beside him and offered to help. It took some sideways questioning, but the page let enough information drop by the time they returned to the kitchen. After another round-trip, this time carrying a bag of apples, she made her way back to her room, feeling dizzy.

Spirit above, it explained everything—Ash’s refined speech, the way he dropped formalities, his frustration with being ordered around … and Darnessa’s attitude.

She stared at the hearth fire, letting the low, oscillating flames soothe her chaotic thoughts. The matchmaker couldn’t help it, she supposed. Ash was the only man Sage had ever shown any interest in, so naturally the woman assumed it meant they should be paired. But Darnessa didn’t know Ash spent time with her only because Quinn ordered him to.

A coldness swept over Sage. If Ash did have any interest in her, it would vanish as soon as he found out she wasn’t a Concordium bride—she wasn’t even a lady. He could have anyone he wanted. Even Lady Jacqueline wouldn’t turn him down.

No, Darnessa was a fool. Sage had nothing to offer him.

Except whatever help the soldiers needed. And friendship.

Yes, she could do that.

Meanwhile, she was obligated to do her job. Sage pulled her ledger from the deepest layers of her trunk and flipped to the entry on Captain Quinn. With fingers that trembled, she gripped the quill and wrote on the blank page opposite.

Ash Devlinore “Carter” (B) born ~489

Sergeant, 1st Army, 9th Cavalry

Father: King Raymond Devlin

Sage sat back as the dinner bell’s summons echoed off the stone walls and into the window. She didn’t think she could bear writing anything more that night, so she tucked the book back in her trunk under the breeches at the bottom. Suddenly she remembered the matchmaker’s knowing smile when they parted earlier, and a sly smirk of her own twisted her mouth.

You want me to ride, Darnessa? Fine. You asked for it.





31

DUKE D’AMIRAN LOOKED up from his late dinner in the Great Hall of Tegann as the bound man was brought before him. The captive’s black-and-gold livery was torn and muddy, and he reeked of sweat and excrement. D’Amiran covered his nose with a lemon-scented handkerchief and motioned for the gag to be loosened.

“Traitor!” the courier sputtered. He tried to spit, but his mouth was too dry.

The duke remained composed. The man would plead for death soon enough, but D’Amiran doubted he knew much worth the effort. He had a few questions, though, mostly about why his brother was having so much trouble finding the prince. It was making his allies restless.

“How did we acquire this man?” he asked.

Captain Geddes habitually tugged his left ear, which was missing a large chunk. “Our Kimisar friends caught him. He carried a dispatch from General Quinn intended to meet the escort commander when he stopped at Underwood.” He pulled a bundle of papers from his jacket and laid it on the table. “The letters are in code.”

The duke glanced through them as he addressed the prisoner. “Am I correct in assuming you don’t know how to translate these?”

“Yes.” The courier looked back steadily.

Erin Beaty's books