Destined for a King by Ashlyn Macnamara

His lip curled in a way she’d rarely seen from the guard.
    “Is aught amiss?” she asked carefully.
    “Nothing at all. My lady,” Rand added almost as an afterthought.
    “What were you doing abovestairs?”
    “Your lady mother required my assistance.”
    Torch stepped forward, nearly shouldering her aside. “With what?”
    Rand pressed his lips together but withered soon enough under Torch’s glare. “She wished me to carry a message to Lord Belwin.”
    “I do not need to remind you that Belwin is no longer lord here.” Torch did not raise his voice. He did not need to. Every word from his mouth bore a surprising authority for a man reportedly raised in the wild. “You will go to the walls and take up your duty. There will be no carrying of messages.”
    “Your pardon. Lady Amara begged me. Your commander has forbidden her to visit her husband.”
    “I shall have a word with Kestrel, then. Never let it be said I stood in the way of conjugal bliss. Lady Amara may visit her husband under supervision.” Torch’s hand sought the railing, his knuckles whitening as he gripped, as if he could not support himself much longer. Or perhaps he missed gripping the hilt of his sword. “What is your name?”
    “Rand.” Again, the hesitation. “My lord.”
    “In the future you will remember to treat your lady with respect.” There was no mistaking which lady he referred to.
    Rand eyed Calista. “Your pardon, my lady.”
    Torch nodded. “As you were.”
    He watched Rand descend the stairs before tackling the next flight. He held fast to the railing as if it were a weapon. Proud, oh yes. Too proud to beg a woman for help.
    But however long it took, she would stand beside him. Gods help her if he stumbled, though. His weight would be too much for her to stop him from falling. She shook her head to chase away the image of him lying crumpled at the foot of the stairs, broken. She had to make certain he arrived at the top safely. For her father.
    “I thank you for allowing my mother a small kindness,” she said. “Although it occurs to me that if you can walk as far as the bailey and take up arms, you might let my father go free.”
    Once more, he came to a halt, but this time, she suspected, his stopping had less to do with fatigue. “Not yet.”
    “Why?”
    He stiffened.
    Yes, and now she’d put her foot in things quite neatly. She straightened her spine. “Your conditions for my father’s freedom have been met. You’re healed.”
    He turned to face her, his expression grim. She felt as if she were back in the bailey watching him lift his sword against Kestrel. Only this time, she was the one facing the blade. Like Kestrel, she’d overstepped. Torch held all the power, and she’d best remember that.
    “It is as I told Rand.” He spoke to her just as quietly but every syllable rang with authority. A shivery tingle passed down the back of her neck. “I am in command here. Belwin will be released on my word and no other’s.”

Chapter 8
    Infuriating man. Calista’s stride lengthened as she circled the interior of the castle walls, ever aware of the guards above. Torch’s men. At an order, they’d shoot her, and she’d best remember that.
    He wouldn’t do it.
    No, not when he insisted on marrying her instead. He’d come to claim her, along with this keep, and claim her he would. His actions today left her with no doubt on that point.
    He was a man who expected and received unquestioning obedience from his men. Surely he’d require as much from his wife.
But Magnus would hardly be any different.
    Bloody, stubborn, thickheaded arse…
    But handsome nonetheless. Powerful. Enticing. Intriguing.
    She slammed into a barrel, sending the air rushing from her lungs. Staggering back, she hugged her belly.
    A red-faced farmwife clad in brown cottar-spun opened her mouth, no doubt to berate Calista’s clumsiness, but her expression changed in an instant when she saw whom she was addressing. “Take care,