Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 8: An Unexpected Reunion

Dedicated to a random commenter: Thank you @queenofthornes for reading and commenting!

Chapter 8: An Unexpected Reunion

Pulling back on the reins, Drake slowed his charger to a trot and signalled his men to follow suit. As the sound of thundering hooves died down around him to a low hum, he scanned the small clearing before them, surrounded by sparse woods. "We rest here," he called out over his shoulder and gave his horse a firm pat on the neck before swinging off the saddle. "One hour, then I wish to make Steersberg by nightfall."

They'd ridden three days straight, stopping only for water and short feeds. Through a wide gap between the trees and over the low hilltops, he spotted the cream blur of Steersberg Manor, lying against a thick backdrop of aged pines. Less than half a day's ride ahead; so close, yet so far. Exhausted, his numb legs threatened to give out beneath him as he approached the edge of the clearing. As soon as he'd secured the charger's reins to a tree, he let his body take control, dropping to the ground and slouching against the trunk on a heavy exhale of breath.

All around them, withered leaves of fall scattered in dense heaps. He hadn't expected to spend a whole season in Westdawn the day they received Skar's urgent request for assistance and rode out to join him. Master assassins, he thought with a pensive shake of his head.

That shite was one he did not want to deal with, for now. What bothered him more was that his wife was attacked, in his manor no less, and it was all his fault.

His fault for taking most of the armed men with him, too trusting of the strong walls of his manor to shield against the dangers that might befall the people within.

His fault for spending more time away than he had ever spent with her, even if she never seemed to desire his company.

There were no excuses. It was his fault for not protecting his wife, not being there when she needed him, and his ego hurt from not being the one to have brought her to safety.

As guilt engulfed him, Drake grabbed two fistfuls of his own hair then dragged his hands down his dirt-grimed face. Gods, he couldn't even remember what his own wife looked like anymore. When he pictured Amelia, all he could see were her white-powdered face, big hair and bigger dresses. Yet he knew there was also one moment in time, just before he kissed her, when he thought he'd witnessed a dazzle of beauty in his wife. That kiss...

Holy Mother of...

Drake's hands shot straight to cover the straining tent at his groin, his half-lidded eyes flying open as he darted left and right to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, none of his equally tired men seemed to be paying him any attention. He took a generous swig from his waterskin, before splashing some of the cool liquid on his abnormally warm face and neck.

It wasn't helping.

It must've been too long since his last woman. She even slapped him, damn it! He tilted his head back and focused his gaze on the criss-crossing branches overhead in an attempt to clear his mind.

What would it be like to consummate under the open sky?

He groaned. Most definitely not helping.

"Sir, ye alright?" Gery, the young redhead leaning against the tree to his right, asked with a slight frown.

Tense from awkwardness, Drake gave a stiff nod. This time, he decided to picture William in a dress instead. Closing his eyes, the image he conjured made him want to gag, but it also quickly relaxed him. He sent a silent thanks to his steward.

As the heat between his legs ebbed, it was an entirely different sensation that made his body tense once again. With his eyes still closed and his ears pricked, he listened.