Exile’s Bane by Nicole Margot Spencer

His buff coat rode high up over his belly. At sight of us, his eyes went wide, and he grabbed his matchlock musket, though I could detect no lit matchcord, nor its giveaway smoke.
    My cheeks sucked in, head held high, as though I expected to be recognized, we rode on unconcerned, the lady and her servant headed home. We continued thus, my sweaty hands slick on the reins, heart pounding, and my mouth a sudden dry wasteland.
    They watched us for some time, the soldier unsure as to whether or not to approach us. But he did not, and soon we were at the spot where I had left Peg. The city spread out below us in the afternoon sunlight, the whirring whisper of River Croal close by. The house guard must not have come this far, after all, for the traffic in the town had settled.
    Round helmets were still to be seen patrolling here and there in the market areas and along the streets which were crowded with tall, high peaked houses, a distinct air of suppression in the unnatural quiet. Duncan studied the occupied town, asking questions about where he could go, where the markets were, the churches and the town hall. I studied him closely as he surveyed the town. His square jaw, his broad shoulders, his flashing, multi-hued eyes could not hide behind any disguise. This vital man in his oversized hat and cloak, which covered a multitude of weapons, was not at all what he appeared to be, not now nor in his rightful uniform. That inkling had struck me once before when I first encountered him. It seemed stronger and more certain now.
    We went on, carefully skirting the edges of town by moving through fields and small stands of trees. Finally, we came to the meadow that I had last seen covered with summer flowers. It was green now, and sparkling with moisture.
    “My friend’s home is just beyond the old church ruins there.”
    “Let us walk from there. I have something I want to ask you.”
    We rode across the wet meadow and dismounted at the edge of the tumbled-down old church, only one of its thick Norman walls still standing. The Reedy house, surrounded by a leaning stave-board fence, appeared in the distance before us as we strolled around the edges of the ruin in comfortable silence, leading our horses by their reins. We continued on for some ways.
    “I will protect you, as best I can, despite your insistence on leaving Tor House.”
    I jumped, shocked by his sudden words. He put an arm around me, his hand resting at my waist, and I leaned into him, thankful for his presence.
    “In this time of war, riding around the countryside looking for supporters is neither a safe nor a sane thing to do. But I respect your feelings and understand better than most what drives you.”
    By the time he finished this rush of words, we had come to the shabby little gate before Thomas’ house. The house’s thatch roof was bare in spots and dark with mold. Where the barn had been just last summer was a jumbled pile of timbers, as though it had been left where it fell. The huge old lilac bush at the gate remained. Its blooms were spent, but it still leaned over us in a protective canopy.
    “Will you wait for me, Elena?” he asked. He took my hands in his.
    “Wait for you?” I looked up into his dark, probing gaze. More than anything, I wanted to say yes.
    “Until after the war. I would court you properly,” he said, as though he assumed I questioned the proprieties of his suit.
    “I have no idea where I might be,” I hedged.
    “I shall find you,” he declared. And surely he would. If he lived.
    Other than my father, I had never known any man who understood and cared for me. Yet I could not accept Duncan’s attentions, much less a courtship, while engaged to another man. Though I had rebuked my betrothal to Gorgon, it remained a legal complication that could whip around and put us both in deadly peril of the earl’s wrath and at the mercy of the King’s law.
    Despite this, having found Duncan, I did not want to lose him. My mind raced and my