Wen Spencer - A Brothers price

Ren eyed the house in question. Mostly stone, with a slate roof, it looked like a fortress. Flowers grew around the footing, softening the impression, but she noticed for the first time the lack of bushes near the house. The trees were in full summer foliage, yet the house remained unscreened, allowing a view for miles in three directions. West of the house were barns and outbuildings, checking winter winds. None of the buildings touched the house directly-they could be set fire to and not take the house with them. A cupola, she noticed now, on the highest peak of the house, looked over the barn roofs to the west. A dark line of a rifle barrel showed that even the cupola was guarded.

In this remarkable house, instead of lying dead in woods, her charmed younger sister found refuge.

It figured.

Ren laughed aloud as it occurred to her how typical the event was of Odelia’s life. “Odelia always had the luck of a cat. A countryside full of sheep-witted farmers, and she finds a veritable fortress to land in.”

“I see you’ve stopped worrying about her.”

“Currently she seems safer than me. That is, if these farmers weren’t part of stealing the cannons.”

“Doubt it,” Raven said after considering it for a while. “Locals might have run the barge aground-sandbars change overnight-but they wouldn’t have left it there for us to find. The barge was left because it couldn’t be moved. What with the draft horses in the barn and twenty little sisters, this family could have pulled the barge free. Whoever is riding herd on those cannons, they’re scrambling right now.”

“The attack on Odelia was a distraction.”

“Most certainly,” Raven said. “A handful split off to keep us busy so the rest could deal with the cannons and small arms.”

Ren cursed softly; they had been so close to catching the thieves. “Damn Odelia. Why’d she have to go off alone?”

“She wouldn’t be Odelia if she had a lick of common sense.”

“Riders!” came a call from a sentry. They turned and watched the troop of Queens Justice ride up. The leader was a graying, trim woman with a crooked nose. She blinked in surprise at the royal presence, then flashed a snaggletoothed grin at the princess and her captain.

“Lieutenant Bounder, at your service, Highness. Heria Whistler came to fetch us, saying that a soldier had been left to drown in their creek. One of yours, I take it?”

“My sister Princess Odelia.”

Bounder blanched. “Mothers above, is she all right?”

“She’s in there.” Ren waved toward the imposing farmhouse. “They wouldn’t let us in until you arrived.”

Bounder laughed. “Sounds like them, making royalty stew like a neighboring farmer. Glad to see you had sense to wait for us. You have to cat-foot around the Whistlers.”

“They’re trouble?” Raven asked.

“Oh, not trouble, just dangerous to corner,” Bounder said. “At the local fairs, the Whistlers don’t start the trouble, but they always end it. No nonsense, just pow. and lay the other girls out flat. You’d think the farmers around here would learn, but every year it seems one of them has to be taught what it’s like to cross someone trained to fight.”

“I didn’t know farmers were so quarrelsome.” Raven murmured.

“It’s all on account of the men,” Bounder said.

“Pardon?” Ren was sure she misheard. Men fighting?

“The Whistlers’ menfolk.” Bounder grinned and clucked her tongue suggestively. “The Whistlers trot them out at social events and women fall over themselves to get near them. But the Whistlers don’t share them out, and sooner or later someone won’t take no as an answer.”

Raven glanced uphill, eyes narrowed in speculation. “Their mothers are away and they’ve got men to protect.”

Bounder nodded. “Like I said. I’m glad you waited.”

With Queens Justice on hand, the rifles were put up, the windows unshuttered, the doors unlocked, and the visitors invited in to check on the sleeping princess.

Inside, the house had the same military stamp: clean, neat, uncluttered, and orderly. The smell of roasting goose filled the house. There were only four teenage sisters; the rest were tiny, giggling girls that ducked shyly out of rooms and behind cover whenever looked at directly. Over the mantel, though, was an impressive array of medals. Death for Country. Queens Medal of Honor. Queen Elder Cross of Victory.

Queens Order of Knights!

Raven had paused with Ren to look at the medals, and aahed at the Order of Knights. “ Those Whistlers.”

“You know of them?”

“Aye. Famous, infamous Whistlers,” Raven murmured quietly, then glanced at a doorway, sending a giggling host of girls into hiding. The sister called Corelle reappeared to lead them upstairs. “I’ll explain later.”

Ren sat on the edge of the bed. suddenly frightened for her sister over again. Odelia lay so still and pale on the farmer’s narrow bed, oblivious to Ren’s presence. When a hand on Odelia’s shoulder failed to wake her, fear and despair mounted in Ren’s chest. “Odelia?”

Odelia sighed deeply. “Rats.”

“Rats?” Ren blinked in surprise and relief.

“I’ve been playing sick for hours hoping they’ll let him come back.” Odelia opened her eyes and sighed again. “And now you’re here.”

“Him? I’m frightened for your life, and you’re ogling farmers’ husbands?”

“Oh, he was too young to be a husband.” Odelia sat up in bed-then looked concerned. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she fought a battle to keep from vomiting, then-carefully-lay back on the pillows Ren propped up behind her. “Okay. I wasn’t totally playing,” Odelia admitted quietly. “But he was very, very handsome.”

“Lieutenant Bounder said the Whistlers had handsome menfolk, but I assumed that was compared to the farming standard.”

“Look at the sisters, Ren. Then think of a man along those lines with hair all down his back instead of a military crop.”

Ren recalled the oldest sister. The girl had been striking enough to remember despite the day’s flood of stressful events: clear pale skin, black hair, large blue eyes, and a full mouth. Ren snorted at the woolgathering, dismayed that Odelia managed to lead her so astray from important issues. For the sake of the country, it was good that Odelia was not the oldest. Her charmed life left her seeing things slightly skewed.

“Odelia, I can’t believe you were beaten half to death, left to drown, and all you’re concerned about is the handsome son of poor landed gentry.”

“I’m still alive. The bruises will heal. Why dwell on the past? The future holds the chance to steal a kiss or two from the prettiest man I’ve seen my whole life.”

“Because whoever tried to kill you is still out there, you’re weak as a kitten, it’s an hour’s ride to the garrison protected by the Queens Justice, and the cannons are still missing.”

“So I stay here, while you look for the cannons.” Odelia’s face went soft with apparently dreamy thoughts. “Maybe he’ll come check on the poor unconscious princess.” She slipped back down in the bed, pushing away the pillows. “Don’t tell them I woke up.”

“You’re hopeless.” Ren had been stifling the urge to take up a pillow and hit her sister. In moving about, though, the sleeves of Odelia’s nightshirt slipped up past her elbows. Ren found herself staring at the large black bruises marking Odelia’s forearms where she had apparently fended off killing blows.

Odelia’s attackers almost killed her, would have surely if they had not thought the water would finish their work. If they had stopped to administer a sounder beating, used a sword instead of a truncheon, used a pistol-