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treacherous than whatever foe might be lurking among the trees. When the sound did not repeat itself, I began to relax, only to remember that I needed to walk through those woods to return to the baron’s house.
    I scrambled down from the boulders to begin my hike back through the forest, finding it much more challenging in the dim light to spot the path. I faltered, reluctant to walk among the looming trees, each of their trunks thicker around than was I and many times as tall, but I could notstay the night without shelter or defense on the banks of the Recorah. With no other choice, I began the trek back to the baron’s home, feeling as if the forest was closing in, tightening a net of darkness around me.
    As I walked, every noise—the rustle of a branch, the hoot of an owl—sent my pulse racing. I persevered, fear now amplifying the sounds of the night, but though I was moving cautiously lest I fall on the uneven footing, I was making good progress. Just when it seemed that more moonlight was penetrating the gloom, a sign that the trees were beginning to thin, a hand clamped tightly over my mouth. Unable to breathe, unable to scream, with icy terror solidifying the blood in my veins, I fell back against a muscular chest. Then cold steel depressed the tender skin of my neck.

CHAPTER 4
WITHOUT GUARDS
    â€œYOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO TELL ME WHAT you’re doing here,” a man snarled into my ear, removing his hand from my mouth to grasp my upper arm.
    With death but the slip of a blade away and the gruesome image of my own blood spilling down my chest foremost in my mind, I squeezed words through my constricted throat.
    â€œI—I’m lost,” I gasped. “Please, please don’t hurt me!”
    For one horrifying moment, all was still. Then I felt the dagger lift away from my throat.
    â€œAlera?”
    The man’s voice was laced with disbelief, but I was too frightened to care. I desperately attempted to pull away, not yet processing that he knew my name. Reaching for me with his other hand, he turned me around.
    â€œPlease, I beg of you, let me go,” I pleaded, suddenly not only in fear for my life. I cast wildly about, not wanting to see the face of my captor.
    â€œAlera, look at me.”
    This time when he said my name, his voice compelled me to stop struggling. Mustering my courage, I glanced up tosee unkempt silvery bangs framing familiar eyes—eyes that even in the darkness I knew were indigo—and I collapsed against him, light-headed with relief.
    The man who had been my bodyguard for most of my life lifted me into his arms and carried me out of the trees and up the hill. I laid my head against his shoulder, enormously grateful to be in his company, for with him I was safe. When we reached the house, he set me on the ground with my back against one of the walls, and a shiver ran through me, which did not pass his notice.
    â€œPut this on,” he said, removing his leather jerkin and draping it around my shoulders. The familiar garment, which he wore over a white shirt, was warm from his body, and I nestled into it, comforted by its feel as well as its scent. It smelled of leather, the woods and the smoke of campfires; in short, it smelled like London.
    â€œEat this,” he tersely continued, placing something in my hand that he had taken from the pouch at his belt.
    My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and I shoved whatever he had given me into my mouth. It was chewy and dry, obviously something soldiers carried with them, but I cared not.
    â€œI want you to wait here.” London’s voice was hushed, but firm. “I’ll only be gone a couple of minutes.”
    I nodded, too worn-out to respond. He studied me, unusually hesitant, then dropped to one knee in front of me. He withdrew a dagger from his boot, pressing it into my hand. With a brief but reassuring touch of my cheek, he walked away along the length of the house to my right,