As the Last Petal Falls Read online

  As the Last Petal Falls

  Once Upon a Romance, Book Two

  Jessica Woodard

  copyright

  Copyright ©2012 Jessica Woodard

  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without permission of the author, with the exception of fair use.

  dedication

  For my person, who will never read this, but loves me anyway.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Her Royal Highness, Vivienne Bellicia Victoria, Crown Princess of Albion, shining jewel in the court of King Regal Augustus II, was coated in icy mud. She was drenched to her hips from the melted snow seeping into the fabric of her riding habit and soaking her pantaloons. Each fall in a deep bank added to her wet muddiness, not to mention her misery. Her riding gloves were so cold they were leeching heat from her hands, but she kept them on to protect against the sharp stones that seemed to leap up from under the snow to attack her every time she fell.

  This was all Max’s fault, of course. If she lived through this blasted storm she was going to spend a vast amount of time making sure he knew how very stupid he had been. In highly specific detail. With more than an ample sufficiency of yelling.

  She tripped on a fallen tree branch and went sprawling into the frozen muck once more. Groaning, she forced herself to her feet and marshaled her arguments. Point one: If Max had never agreed to help her escape the kingdom, her father’s overbearing protectiveness, and, of course, the king’s refusal to tell her anything of her mother, then she never would have escaped. She would, even now, be safely in her own bedchamber in front of a roaring fire. Bored out of her mind, chafing at her father’s rules, and longing to run free, perhaps, but safe. And warm. And dry. Clearly it was Max’s fault that she was out here in the first place.

  Before her, a rocky ravine cut a jagged course through the earth. Vivi bit her lip. She didn’t want to climb it, but if she tried to go around she would lose the bearing she was following through the woods. She almost gave in to the temptation to scream her frustration, but she was too tired to succumb to histrionics. Instead she carefully let herself down over the edge, and imagined telling all this to Max. She could practically hear the shout of laughter he would give out. For a moment the thought warmed her, on the inside if nowhere else. Then her foot slipped on an icy outcropping, and her careful descent became an uncontrolled slide. The rough surface forced her riding skirt up to her thighs, and she felt her stockings rip as her knees scraped along the ground. When she tumbled to a stop at the bottom of the ravine, she was bruised and aching. The temptation to sit there and snivel was almost overwhelming.

  Right. Point two: Max had given her that horrible horse. Honestly, what sort of well-trained animal would bolt just because of a teeny, tiny pack of wolves? Admittedly, bolting was exactly what she had wanted to do, and she would have been very pleased with her horse had a poorly timed jump not thrown her off into a thicket. She had watched in horror as her ill-bred beast, pursued by the wolf pack, had disappeared among the trees.

  Max would laugh at that, as well. Vivienne had always been so very proud of her riding skills; she would challenge him to tricky courses and crow when she defeated him. How he would roar to hear she had been unseated by nothing more nerve-wracking than a handful of overgrown dogs and a tiny jump over some wayward bracken. Maybe she’d change it, in her story, if she saw him again. When she saw him again. Maybe she’d tell him she’d been chased by mountain lions and had been unseated by a wild plunge over a waterfall. Yes, that would maintain her dignity.

  Of course, he’d still laugh, because he’d know she was lying through her teeth, but she would ignore him. Royalty had that privilege.

  The other side of the ravine was sheer, and the roots of the trees were exposed as though a recent mudslide had unearthed them. She stretched to grab a particularly sturdy-looking one, and then hauled herself up, pushing her feet against the rigid ground and pulling hard with her arms. The next thick root was off to her left, and she leaned out to grasp it, forcing her frozen fingers to close. She began to shift her weight, when the root suddenly came free. Her upper body swung out into open air, wrenching her right shoulder, and dislodging her feet from where they had found purchase. Her shoulder screamed in pain, but she found another handhold and pulled herself back up, vowing to test her grips more carefully.

  Point three: Max had given her those books on survival, along with the available maps of the mountains. If she hadn’t read them, then when this storm came along she probably would have tried to wait it out, which likely would have resulted in her death. Death would at least mean she wasn’t wet and cold anymore, so that was still Max’s fault. And the map of the area: that was the thing she blamed him for the most. A small keep was marked on the map-out in the middle of this forsaken mountain desolation-and when she had been thrown off her horse, she had decided to try to make for the keep in the hopes that the inhabitants could help her on her way.

  If she’d never seen that map she probably would have turned back. Her horse had most of the camping gear and supplies in the saddle bags. She was only carrying a small money pouch and an even smaller pouch with her midday meal, which she’d planned to eat on horseback. She knew where the towns and hamlets behind her were, but she didn’t want to go back. If she went back, she was bound to be caught, and that would be the end of this little trip. Still, she wasn’t suicidal. If she’d backtracked it would have been a hard trip, but she would have made it, and even now she’d have a nice space in a barn and a warm meal in her belly.

  Max would laugh hardest at this, she suspected. The idea that Vivienne would ever describe accommodations in a barn as “nice” would send him right over the edge into howling mirth.

  Instead of being warm and dry and full in a barn, however, she was here, trudging across an entire mountain range to get to a keep she wasn’t even sure exi st ed. Even if it was there, she supposed it might be ancient and abandoned. Shelter would be preferable to this open storm, but a stone keep with no fires or food would be a very dismal place indeed.

  Vivienne finally reached the top of the ravine and slogged forward, dragging her sodden skirts through the brambles. Mud was plastered down the front of her riding jacket, and her gloves were going to freeze in place if she didn’t keep her fingers moving. Easier said than done, though. After her climb her hands ached, and when she clenched them, trying to keep her blood flowing, her fingers felt dull and clumsy. A low, throbbing pain was the only sign
that they weren’t completely numb from the cold.

  A tear rolled down her cheek-it felt boiling on her icy skin-and she realized it was no use. She was going to freeze out here, without ever finding the little keep, and she would never have a chance to tell Max all the convoluted reasons that this was his fault. She wondered when he would start to wonder about her, and if he would ever know, for sure, that she was gone. Vivienne felt sadness ripple through her, a sort of gentle harmony to the hopelessness, at the idea of her best friend never knowing what bec ame of her.

  Before her loomed a dense cluster of saplings, and the idea of pushing her way through them was almost more than she could bear. She leaned against one of the saplings, a tall poplar that quivered in the gusting winds, and tried to convince herself to keep moving. Ahead there was a break in the trees. Vivi could see the swirling snow coming down hard, unhindered by branches. She would go as far as the clearing, she promised herself. She took one slow, leaden step, then another. Just as far as the clearing. It became a mantra she chanted, to keep her feet moving.

  Vivienne broke into the open air, and then paused and caught her breath. Directly in front of her the ground fell away in a steep slope, out of which the dark shapes of boulders rose through a light layer of snow. Whorls of white flakes danced in the open air of the tiny valley she had found, tucked deep in this infernal mountain range.

  And there, nestled in the valley, was the keep.

  She gave a shout of sheer joy. Oh blessed map, oh wonderful Max, oh magnificent friend! The heavy snow obscured most of the details, but the dark edifice was an imposingly large blot against the white, snowy background. A few flickering lights cut through the storm, proving that someone was, indeed, home. Aside from the keep, the valley was nothing but a flat plane of snow, bordered by thick woods on all sides.

  The gusting wind from the storm buffeted Vivienne as she stood on the edge, making her stagger to regain her balance. With her hands and feet half frozen it would be difficult to make her way down safely, so she began to cast about for an easier way. To her left the drop-off was even more severe, nothing but a sheer rock face with trickles of ice frozen on the hard surface. Descending there was out of the question. Off to her right, the slope eventually eased into a more gentle incline, but not for more than a mile. Vivi sighed; her destination was in sight, but she was going to have to scramble halfway around the valley if she wanted to make it there in one piece. She still had quite a ways to go.

  She began to stumble around the rim of the ridge, grumbling. In her adventure novels, no one ever mentioned how much your toes hurt when they started to freeze. Come to think of it, Max had encouraged her to read all those ridiculous novels. Yet another thing for her list of grievances. Really, it was getting quite long. She was just wondering if she’d be able to find paper in the keep and write it all down, when a howl rose up from the forest behind her.

  Vivienne’s blood froze in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. The wolves. She hadn’t even thought of the wolves. What were they doing here? A well-fed horse should have been more than enough of a meal for the pack, there was no reason for them to circle back to her. All this flashed through her mind in a moment, then her frustration nearly choked her. What did it matter why they had followed her? She was so close, safety was tauntingly near, but she could never outrun the wolves. They would overtake her long before she reached the shelter of the walls. It was hopeless. Her knees started to collapse, dropping her down in the snow, when she thought of what Max would say.

  Giving up, Princess? I guess seven generations of royal pampering have thinned the blood. Comes from all that inbreeding, I suppose. She could practically hear him, see that insolent grin he’d give.

  Her knees locked, and before she realized it she had taken a step. Her pulse thundered in her ears and her chest heaved with each panicked breath, but she was not giving up. Not now.

  Not ever.

  With no time left to find a safer route, she started down the steep slope before her. A flicker of motion caught the edge of her vision. Vivienne moved faster. She aimed herself at a large boulder and charged down the slope, catching herself against the immense rock just before she fell. Her hands smacked onto the rough surface, cold even through her gloves, and the force of the collision jarred her whole body. Turning, she caught sight of the wolf pack, cresting the ridge behind her. Fear choked her throat as she redirected herself towards another boulder and kept going.

  The speed at which she ran, the slope of the hill, the unsteady footing-all made her momentum deadly. When she tripped just before the next boulder her body flew forward, headed for a calamitous impact with the unyielding surface of the the rock. She slammed her hands against the stone to keep her head from smashing against the craggy face, and heard a sharp crack. Her right arm flared in agony, and Vivi screamed through her gritted teeth. She used her left arm to shift her weight off the boulder and stumbled a few steps before running again. Each step was torturous to her injured arm, but she used her good hand to clutch it close to her chest and kept going. She ran for the next boulder, throwing her left shoulder against it to check her momentum. Stopping would see her brought down; she would just have to deal with the pain.

  Her feet stumbled and lurched, but kept moving ever faster. The wind caught at her skirt and jacket, whipping her hair to lash her face. The speed would have been exhilarating, if the chance of mishap, injury, and subsequent consumption by wolves hadn’t been so high. She needed her breath to run, but still a hysterical laugh escaped her lips, born of adrenaline-spiked terror. Around her she heard the wolves howling again, sounding out the joy of the hunt.

  She shot past the final boulder. Now she was pelting straight downhill, keeping her right arm clutched close to her chest. She was flying down the slope, taking giant bounds over the snow, moving with reckless abandon. Vivienne had always been good at committing herself when it came down to an all-or-nothing gambit. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw the dark shapes of the wolves, flanking their quarry, and fear spurred her on. Two hundred feet remained of the perilous incline, one hundred, only fifty... She reached down into reserves she’d never known existed, and put on an extra burst of speed. The valley floor lay smooth before her, and now it was just a race to the walls of the keep.

  Then the ground gave way beneath her.

  Her feet crashed through the thin crust of ice and snow that had hidden a small stream, running along the foot of the hill. All her momentum was floating away though its swirling eddies, as the icy current drenched her garments and slowed her feet. Around her the giant canines leapt easily across the narrow brook. Her waterlogged skirts tangled on driftwood as she struggled back onto solid ground, and her boots slipped on the icy rocks that lined the banks.

  The gates were close, so close, but she would never reach them without the wolves bringing her down. They had circled around and were slinking towards her with the unhurried pace of a predator that has its prey well and truly cornered. Great shaggy coats of brown and grey steamed in the cold night, and great red tongues lolled out, laughing at her predicament. She knew they needed to eat, knew they chased her for survival, knew they would do the same to a deer or elk or horse, but in that moment it felt personal. Bending down, she tried to wrap her hands around a sizable branch that had been frozen in place on its journey down stream, but when she moved her right arm shooting pains brought her to her knees. As she sank into the snow, she knew there was no chance for any kind of defense. The best she could hope for was that it would be quick.

  I’m not giving up, she thought to Max, wishing he could hear her. I am accepting reality. It’s not the same thing at all. Tears filled her eyes and hovered on her lower lid, blurring her vision. Her arm throbbed in agony, and her limbs were heavy with exhaustion. Her desperate flight had temporarily warmed her, but now that it was over, the insidious chill crept back in. She shivered in terror, and pain, and the unrelenting, merciless cold. Max would understand. He would know she had tried
her best. After all, he knew her better than anyone else.

  Vivienne waited, wearily turning her head from side to side, trying to watch the whole pack. They sat on their haunches, yipping and growling, but otherwise making no move to threaten her. What was going on? Her exhausted brain could make no sense of these unnatural wolves, who chased a woman instead of a horse, and then sat there watching her instead of attacking. She watched in bewilderment as one of the wolves, a huge beast with black fur and grey tips on his ears, detached himself from the rest and padded slowly up to her on what seemed like monstrously large paws. Then he sat in front of her, within arm’s reach, and cocked his large, shaggy head to one side.

  Vivienne began to seriously consider that she had gone mad in the woods, and was imagining this whole thing.

  The grey-tipped wolf turned his muzzle and yipped a greeting, and Vivi became aware of a dark, blurred shape headed in her direction. When she raised her eyes she saw a heavily bundled man astride a horse, bearing down on her from the direction of the keep. He reined up just inside the circle of wolves.

  “What have we here?” The deep voice was shocking after so long alone. At least, that’s what Vivi told herself. It was the only excuse she could think of when, after trudging across half a mountain on foot during a blizzard, and trying to outrace a pack of wolves on a wild madcap flight downhill, her brain finally surrendered to the inevitable and let the blackness of oblivion sweep her away.

  Chapter Two

  Fain MacTíre stared at the lump on the bed with annoyance. When the first report had reached him that the wolves had cornered someone right outside the walls, he had been concerned, alarmed even. He’d wasted no time in riding out to retrieve the intruder, but he’d been shocked by what he found.

  It was a woman. An apparently wealthy, obviously young, exceedingly lost woman. In other words, a complete mystery. She wore riding attire, but there was no horse in evidence. She carried practically nothing on her, but her money pouch held coins minted in Albion, not Toldas. How had a wealthy woman from Albion ended up horseless in his mountain range?