He turned her so her back was to the tree, then placed his hands on the wide tree trunk, pinning her between his arms. What was he doing? Her heart thundered in her ears as he leaned closer. She opened her mouth to object, but she didn’t dare make a sound, not with enemy soldiers nearby. Holy goddesses, if her heart pounded any harder than this, they might hear her.
His voice feathered against her ear as he whispered in Elfish, “Are you so brave, you’re trying to protect me?”
A shiver skittered across her skin. Why was she reacting like this? It had to be alarm. After all, he spoke Elfish as if it was his native language. And she knew all too well that she could never trust an elf.
The light grew closer, illuminating the clearing on the other side of the tree. The Woodsman leaned to the left as if he was planning to peer around the tree, and she quickly placed her hand against his face to shove him back into the shadow.
Oh, damn, she’d touched him again. She yanked her hand away, but he caught it and peered closely at her fingers.
He brushed his thumb over her fingertips. “You make fire without getting burned,” he whispered in Elfish.
He’d seen her make her escape. She pulled her hand away.
A soft hooting sound came from behind them, and the Woodsman stepped out of the shadow.
“Father—” he began in Elfish, but another voice interrupted him in the same language.
“Oh, there you are. Have you rescued the princess?”
Sorcha stiffened. They knew who she was.
The Woodsman glanced at her, then motioned for her to join him.
She peeked around the tree and spotted a large man dismounting from his horse. A young man, who appeared close to the age of twenty, was holding a lantern and the reins of a second horse. They were dressed the same as the Woodsman, but their hoods were resting on their shoulders. She blinked. They weren’t elves!
She stepped into the clearing. “Norveshki?”
The father shook his head. “Eberoni.”
“Oh!” Sorcha clasped her hands together. She could talk to them in Eberoni! “I grew up on the Isle of Moon, so Eberoni is my native language. Although I do have a wee bit of an accent.”
The father smiled. “It’s a relief that we can talk to you.” He motioned to the young man beside him. “We come from the village of Mt. Baedan.”
“I’ve been there.” Sorcha smiled back. Since these men were from Eberon, she might be able to trust them.
“You’re the Norveshki princess, then?” the father asked.
“She doesn’t look like a princess,” the youth muttered, and the father elbowed him in the ribs.
“Mind your manners, son.”
So was this a family? Sorcha wondered. A father and two sons from Eberon?
“I am Father Kit.” The older man introduced himself with a small bow. “And this is Halfric.”
“But everyone calls me Liz,” the young man added.
“How do ye do?” Sorcha murmured as she tried to figure things out. The older man was not their father after all, but a priest?
“You’re not a Lizard,” Father Kit hissed under his breath. “Use the name I gave you as a babe.”
Liz grimaced. “I hate that name.”
“Humph.” The priest lifted his chin. “Halfric is considered a noble name in Eberon.”
“What’s so great about Eberon?” Liz grumbled. “We had to leave.”
“Enough!” the Woodsman growled in Elfish. “Liz, you weren’t at the meeting place when you were supposed to be.”
The young man winced, then replied in the same language, “It was just too easy, Captain. Most of the army is out looking for you and the rest of our group, and the few soldiers who were left behind are in a drunken stupor. Look what I brought for us!” He held the lantern up to display the goods that were tied to the second horse. Several dozen quivers filled with arrows and another dozen bundles of spears.
The Woodsman stiffened. “You raided their armory? Did I not make my orders clear? You were to take only food.”
“But this means fewer weapons they can use on us,” Liz argued. “And don’t we need weapons for the rebel—”
“Shh.” The Woodsman glanced at Sorcha, and she innocently studied her boots as if she hadn’t understood a word.
Rebellion? Was that what the young man had almost said? What was this Woodsman up to? It seemed clear now that he and his men were a group of thieves from Eberon. Brigands who invaded a neighboring country to steal and cause trouble. She didn’t dare trust them after all.
“I don’t want you taking risks like that again,” the Woodsman ordered in Elfish. “This is my fight, not yours.”
“But we’re all with you, Captain!” Liz insisted.
The Woodsman lifted a hand to stop him. “We’ll discuss it later. We’ve wasted enough time for now.” He turned to Sorcha and switched to the Eberoni language. “We need to be going. I’ll fetch your friend. Then you can ride with me.”
She stepped back. “I-I’m not going with you.”
The Woodsman seemed taken aback for a few seconds. “But I am here to help you. I have a plan.”
Liz smirked. “The Woodsman always has a plan.”
Sorcha shook her head. “I can manage quite well on my own, thank you. Norveshka’s only about a mile to the north.” She pointed to the right.
The Woodsman’s sigh sounded exasperated. “That’s south.”
“Whatever.” She glared at him. “Once the sun comes up, I’ll know which direction to go.”
He stepped closer to her. “Before the sun rises, you need to be far away from here. Once they realize you’ve escaped, there will be soldiers hunting for you all along the Norveshki border.” He motioned toward the second cage. “Were you planning to leave your comrade behind?”
“Of course not.” She lifted her chin. “I broke out of my cage. I can break Aleksi out, too.”
“With fire? If you set the cage on fire, it could wake up the soldiers. And how will you save an unconscious man? Can you carry him out of a burning cage? Can you carry him to the border? It’s actually ten miles from here.”
She gritted her teeth. Blast him, he was making good points, but she didn’t want to admit it. “I won’t set the cage on fire. I can control what I do.”
“Really?” He nabbed the edge of her cape and showed her the area that had burned away when she’d used it to smother flames. “Is this what you call control?”
She yanked the cape from his grip. “Ye’re too pushy.”
“I’m in a hurry because we’re wasting too much time. Will you let your friend bleed to death while we talk?”
Now he was just making her angry. “I know I need help, but do ye expect me to trust a bunch of bandits?”
He stiffened.
“Your Highness.” Father Kit approached her. “I give you my word as a priest that the Woodsman is an honorable man.”
“Honor among thieves?” she shot back, then instantly regretted her words. The Woodsman had stepped away, his beautiful mouth compressed to a thin line. She’d hurt him, but dammit, hadn’t she spoken the truth?