To Target the Heart Page 2

  Hamish quietly guided his mare along the stable front, skirting open stable doors and scattering the odd discarded piece of grooming kit. If he could get his horse into her stall, he might stand a chance of slipping into the castle before anyone noticed his presence.

  He’d almost made it when his brother glanced his way. Gordon’s mouth split into a wide grin as recognition lit his face. He jogged over, drawing the attention of a young stablehand who was instantly at Hamish’s side to relieve him of the mare’s reins.

  “Good to see you could make it,” Gordon said. “I thought for sure that you’d gone bush on us.”

  Hamish wordlessly dismounted.

  His brother’s brows lifted to their highest. “By the Goddess’ sweet name, what have you been up to?”

  “Ewan’s farm,” Hamish replied, jerking a thumb back the way he’d come. “Boar took out all the leeward fences.”

  His brother nodded. “Aye, I ken you were going to check the damage. But what’s all this?” He gestured to Hamish’s attire. The pig’s blood had dried on the trip out of the woods, but it’d left dark marks all across the soft brown leather of Hamish’s hunting jacket.

  Hamish self-consciously brushed at where the tunic hem was unprotected by his jacket. His trousers, baggy in the traditional style, were also liberally smeared with blood and dirt. The laundry workers would no doubt give his ear quite the chewing once it was known. “We tracked down the boar. He’ll nae be destroying much but a wee bit of hunger now.”

  Gordon clapped his hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “Well, you missed the ambassador’s arrival.”

  “Did I?” Hamish finally relinquished the reins to the waiting stablehand. He nodded his thanks to the lad and turned back to Gordon as his horse was led into her stall. “I’m fair heartbroken.”

  His brother beamed. “You might be when you see who they sent us.”

  Who? Hamish peered at his brother, trying to decipher just what had put that gleeful twinkle into his normally stark green eyes. “I thought it was just some countess?” He glanced back at his parents and the man they were speaking with. No woman at all beyond his mother. Including his sister. “Where did Nora scamper off to?” Granted, she wasn’t much one for the false niceties of politics, but if Hamish was expected to be here, then so was she.

  “Herding the troublesome trio to lessons, where else?”

  “And your daughter?” At twelve years of age, Sorcha was more than old enough to begin the training that would eventually lead to her taking the throne after her father. Even if she did prefer stalking deer to politics.

  “She’s probably the one leading them astray, as always.” Still grinning, Gordon shook his head. “Come on. Mum’s head is practically exploding trying to be civil about the change.” His brother chuckled and pulled him in close. “Let’s see if we can still make that dam burst.”

  “Nae that I’m complaining about her absence,” Hamish said, choosing his words carefully as they veered within earshot of his parents. “But did something happen to the original ambassador they were sending?” He’d admit to a few unfair prayers sent her way, but it wasn’t her fault his mother played matchmaker with him and every single noblewoman.

  His brother shrugged. “He said she couldnae make it.”

  “He?” Hamish echoed. His gaze flicked back to the man chatting with his parents, barely seen around his father’s shoulder. That was the ambassador? They’d sent a man? After his mother no doubt requested the ambassador be a woman? Small wonder she was fair fuming.

  He rounded the crowd, hoping to get a good look at the ambassador to determine just what sort of man their kingdom would be dealing with.

  His silvery-white coat remained closed without any noticeable way of doing so. No metal buttons like Hamish’s own attire, nothing visible at least. What Hamish had first mistaken to be a cape appeared to be a shawl. The red fabric hung over one shoulder, winding behind him to hang in the crook of his other arm. The way it draped spoke of him being very conscious that the golden thread embroidered along the edges be visible to everyone.

  The man’s whole outfit seemed to scream the same thing. Luxury. The silvery-white garb halted at his knees to reveal matching trousers that hugged his figure far more than the voluminous fabric encasing Hamish’s own legs. All of it was heavily embroidered in a sort of floral motif with gems stitched into the design. The stones sparkled in the noon light and made the man look very much like a cheap trinket.

  No one, not even Hamish’s own mother, looked quite so… gaudy. If he planned on impressing anyone in Tirglas with such an obvious display of wealth, he’d quickly learn that bearing weapons and proving he knew how to use them would work far better.

  “Aha!” Hamish’s father bellowed. He’d turned sometime during Hamish’s scrutiny and now singled Hamish out with one thick finger. “There’s me missing son. Come, lad.” His father beckoned him closer, clapping a hand onto the ambassador’s shoulder, which had Hamish wincing in sympathy right alongside the man. To the uninitiated, his father had quite the grip.

  The ambassador turned, his brow arched in curiosity, and froze. On his face sat an odd metal framework encasing a pair of small clear discs like windows for his eyes. From behind these eye-windows, the man’s gaze flicked over Hamish in apparent disinterest, widening to reveal a multitude of colours as they slowly traverse back up Hamish’s body before making eye contact. A ring of black darkened the edge of his eyelids, making the whites that much brighter and his eyes seem huge.

  “This is our ambassador, Darshan vris Mhanek.” His father fumbled with the foreign words. What could be seen of his face through the thick and greying, dark red beard was screwed up in concentration.

  Hamish knew as much as any Tirglasian did about the Udynea Empire, which wasn’t a lot. But he knew what those words meant, or at least in part. Not just any ambassador, then. The empire had sent a prince in place of the countess. He held out his hand and bowed slightly, getting his height as close to the man’s and then a little lower. “Welcome to Tirglas, your imperial highness.”

  The ambassador continued to stare at Hamish. His eyes had glazed over, much like a deer stunned by a glancing arrow. One brow lifted and the slight twitch of his moustache suggested a restrained smile. There was the faint suggestion of a beard trying to break free, tamed to barely cover his chin and cleft. At least they hadn’t sent some clean-shaven boy to negotiate these new trade agreements.

  He waited patiently for the man’s brain to catch up with his ears. He’d heard from the other ambassadors that the Tirglasian accent made it difficult for some foreigners to understand, that certain inflections took a while to grasp.

  Then, Darshan blinked and a soft redness touched his olive-brown cheeks. His gaze flicked to Hamish’s outstretched hand, which Hamish only now realised still showed traces of pig blood. The man’s gaze shifted, clearly taking in Hamish’s blood-stained attire.

  Grinning sheepishly, Hamish wiped his palm clean on the side of his trousers and offered his hand again.

  The ambassador slowly accepted the gesture, the rings adorning his fingers glittering in the noon light.

  Hamish couldn’t help noticing how the man’s slim fingers lacked anything in the way of calluses. Not a warrior, then. Not in the traditional sense, at least. Udynean nobles were strong spellsters and a prince would certainly be one of the more powerful.

  “H-hello,” the man mumbled, his tongue barely able to utter the greeting. “Uh…”

  “Hamish,” he offered, giving the man’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

  The man cleared his throat, his face growing redder. He ducked his head, the soft curls of his dark brown hair bobbed. “Darshan.” The word came out soft and crisp.

  “So I’ve heard.” Still, it was nice to hear the name spoken by its owner and not mangled by his father.

  Another faint blush took the man’s cheeks. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, your highness.” He spoke Tirglasian quite smoothly, with the in
fluence of his tutors lingering in the slight rolling tones. There was the hint of a musical note in the words that suggested his natural voice wasn’t used to being quite this harsh.

  Hamish straightened and slowly released his grip on Darshan’s hand. “I do apologise for me absence. I was told your ship wouldnae get in before the afternoon.”

  “Yes,” his mother interjected, coolly slipping between them. She glanced his way, the icy depths of her blue eyes flashing their customary warning whenever he was near a man of unknown background. “We were all taken aback by the unexpected fair winds that rocked the harbour this early morning.”

  “I am no sailor,” Darshan admitted as if it weren’t completely obvious that his perfectly-manicured hands had never held anything rougher than silk. “But the winds did seem to favour us towards the end.” The longer he talked, the less stilted his accent became. Each word gained a rich, velvety tone and a softness that had Hamish’s mind briefly meandering into forbidden depths.

  It wasn’t until Darshan cleared his throat a little louder than necessary that Hamish realised the man had still been talking. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long day, you ken? You were saying?”

  Brief panic flickered across the man’s face before his expression turned neutral, although his gaze darted all over the place. “I… believe I understood that, yes. I merely mentioned that—”

  “How oddly the sailors reacted,” his mother interjected, her brow furrowing as she eyed Hamish. “Dinnae blame them. In all me life, I’ve never seen the winds shift eastward for another month or so.” She placed a hand on the ambassador’s back, turning him. “Come, your imperial highness. You must be weary after such a long journey. I’ll have one of the servants escort you to the guest quarters.”

  Darshan eyed the castle with barely-concealed dismay. Had he been expecting it to look different? Or was he not yet ready to settle? If Hamish ever found himself in a foreign land, sleep would’ve been the last thing on his mind.

  “Why doesnae Hamish show him the way?” Gordon suggested. “Since he missed the ambassador’s arrival.”

  Hamish fixed his brother with a very pointed stare. What was he thinking? Their mother would never allow him to be alone with Darshan without her believing he was bending over for the man. He didn’t want to be responsible for another ambassador’s swift banishment. Especially when they were also a Udynean prince.

  Their mother’s head whipped around, causing the end of one honey blonde braid to slap her shoulder. She glared daggers at Gordon, who smiled innocently back. It was a facade that Hamish envied at times. Being the eldest, his brother got away with more than he felt was fair at times.

  It didn’t help matters that Gordon would use that leeway to needle Hamish and had done constantly ever since his brother found him kissing one of the stable boys back when he was a lad. Thankfully, Gordon always stopped short of outright suggesting anything that couldn’t be innocently construed.

  The ambassador continued to stare at the castle, oblivious to the silent berating going on in his midst. Hamish took the man’s preoccupation as an opportunity to re-evaluate him.

  If Darshan had been a Tirglasian, his attire would’ve been considered a frivolous waste, but the rumours of Udynea suggested they’d plenty of a great many things. It likely hadn’t occurred to him, although there was a spark of cunning in his eyes that hinted at more. Especially in the way the man’s stare didn’t settle on one spot. That muddy-brown gaze roved across the castle walls, followed several of the servants and guards, and flicked towards the stables before sliding to the front gate. Calculating.

  Hamish just wished he knew if the man was looking for weaknesses to relay in an attack or searching for a way out should his mother renege on the man’s protection. Unlike Udynea, Tirglasian spellsters were sent off to spend their days in cloisters, their healing talents called upon only in times of dire need.

  Trying not to startle a man that was likely capable of spewing fire, Hamish nudged the ambassador’s shoulder. Attention got, he jerked his head towards the castle door. “Come on, it willnae take long to show you the way, then you can get back to staring at our defences.”

  A small, slightly sheepish, smile creased the man’s eyes. He inclined his head and indicated Hamish lead the way with the sweep of one bejewelled hand.

  Darshan remained silent as he followed Hamish into the castle. Although he’d learnt the local language during the trip from his home on the other side of the continent to the Tirglasian capital of Mullhind, he wasn’t entirely confident in himself to utter much coherently at the moment.

  His father had also seen to it that he was briefed during the trip, but it had been in simple things, common customs alongside their current political and economic standings and the like. They’d even touched on a few cultural differences to help him avoid any major gaffes.

  No one seemed to have had the wherewithal to prepare him for the introduction of the hulking man currently leading him through the castle corridors.

  Confident his actions would be less obvious than his previous appraisal of the courtyard, he took another sweeping glance at Hamish. Tall, he’d wager a full foot more than himself, if not slightly more. Quite a bit of flesh on that frame, too. Muscle rather than fat, if those broad, brown shoulders and thick arms were any judge as to the state of the rest.

  Even the man’s hair didn’t shirk at being big and bold. The whole glorious fiery, orange-red mass of coils had been gathered at the back of the man’s head and, rather than hang down, it stuck out like a flag caught in a zephyr. Darshan could quite clearly picture sinking his fingers into those curls whilst—

  No, he softly cautioned himself before his thoughts could meander into predictable places. You can’t go doing that to yourself again. Nevertheless, his gaze indulgently slunk down the man’s back, settling on Hamish’s behind. He subtly unbuttoned the collar of his outfit. Behave. The gods might’ve had a sense of humour, sending him to the pit of the world then populating it with men like this, but he wasn’t some savage with no self-control. You’re here for a reason. He bit his lip and stifled a sigh. Sadly, that reason wasn’t to sleep with the locals.

  Not that such a minor detail had stopped him before. If this was anywhere other than Tirglas, he likely would’ve already propositioned the man. Perhaps even had a chance to feel what was under all that clothing.

  “And here we are,” Hamish announced, jolting Darshan out of his little fantasies.

  Darshan scrutinised their surroundings. Nothing about the corridor suggested there was any difference to the rest of the castle they had walked through. It was all the same bare slabs of stone. Even the door Hamish gestured to sat part way down the corridor instead of at the end, which it would’ve done had Darshan ventured into the guest wing back home. How ever did the people get around without becoming altogether lost?

  Hamish faced him as he opened the door to what Darshan could only assume to be the guest accommodations. “I doubt it’s quite what you’re used to, your imperial highness, but it’ll be better than a ship’s cabin.”

  Offering up a small smile, Darshan casually leant on the doorframe in a vain attempt at pretending his legs hadn’t just weakened at the mere sound of the man’s smooth brogue. At least he had gained a little more control over himself. Having his mind go blank on all bar one subject had been mildly mortifying, especially over a simple greeting. Get a grip. This man was likely married, with children. What an utter waste. Still, his father had made his stance on Darshan’s dalliances with already-spoken-for men quite plain.

  “It might be a wee while before you get your land legs back.” One side of Hamish’s beard twitched as the corner of his lips lifted with amusement. “I’d take it carefully for the rest of the day if I were you.”

  Before now, Darshan hadn’t seen many thick beards. Not that men around Minamist didn’t grow full beards if they so chose, but they were typically on much older men. Yet here… all the men seemed to sport one, be th
ey working on the docks or guarding the castle. It somewhat served to make him feel a little underdressed, with his carefully-groomed moustache and goatee. None of his tutors had mentioned anything pertaining to an expected look.

  “I guess I’ll leave you be,” Hamish continued. “You probably want to get settled in before someone comes to call you for dinner.” That glorious sapphiric gaze lifted to briefly meet Darshan’s, stunning him all over again, before falling away.

  Like gems. Darshan used to scoff at those who dared such a trite comparison, but he’d never before met someone for whom the phrase rang true. The most lovingly cut blue aquamarine stone couldn’t compete with the crisp shade of the man’s eyes. Gods, it put the very ocean to shame. Coupled with the way they almost shyly peeked out from beneath the muted orange shade of his lashes, it rather seemed like Darshan had somehow sinned just meeting them.

  With great difficulty, Darshan tore his gaze from the man to give a cursory glance around the room that would be his for the next few weeks. The bare stone walls were illuminated only by the light streaming through a single eastward window. Whilst his travelling chest had been whisked from the ship upon their arrival, he hadn’t expected it to be sitting in the far corner. Efficient. The palace servants would’ve been hard-pressed to match such a speed.

  Sparse came to mind as he took in the meagre furniture; a bed and a small table. Functional did, too. That rather sat in line with what his tutors had briefed him on. He should’ve expected the Tirglasian guest rooms would look more akin to the palace dungeons back home than his own lavish bedchamber.

  Darshan turned back to his guide, stilling the man with a gentle hand on that very-much-toned bicep. The warmth of the man’s bare skin sent a fluttering spark through Darshan’s fingertips straight to his groin. He bit his lip to stifle a whimper at the passing thought of how easily the man would be able to lift a person. “Hamish, was it?” he managed.

  “It is, aye.”