“I don’t want any trouble.” She tried to sound as fierce as she could.
His eyes widened as he drew in a breath. “Norah?” he whispered.
Did he call her a name? Was it her name? Her chest tightened. Did she know him?
She pulled back the hood of her cloak as she took a step back, with her arm still outstretched and threatening to use the dagger. They only stared at each other.
His blond hair was short, but not too short. His square jaw held the shadow of a beard as it tapered to his chin, although she could tell he was a man typically clean-shaven. He wore light armor over a thick jacket—he was a soldier of some sort. His fitted breeches met polished boots, and silver trimmed his scabbard. He wasn’t like the men who had chased her before. And there was something about him…
He took a step closer, and she moved back, gripping the dagger. “That’s far enough!” she warned.
His face twisted in confusion. “Norah?” he said again. He took another step toward her.
“Stop!” she demanded, holding the dagger in front of her. “Don’t come any closer.” He was already too close.
He looked at the blade and then back up at her. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Alexander.” His eyes held the glint of a tear. “Norah, it’s me.”
No recollection came as she studied him. She had no memory of his face, his concerned brow, his eyes. No memory of his name. Yet he seemed to know her…
Relief flooded her, but she clutched it back. She wasn’t having the best of luck in meeting trustworthy strangers in the forest. He held his hand up in pause, then slid his sword back into its scabbard without taking his eyes off her. She softened her stance but didn’t lower the blade. A handsome face didn’t make one trustworthy.
“You know who I am?” she asked, still guarded.
“Of course,” he said with a broken breath. “I’d know you anywhere.”
“And who am I, exactly?” If he called her a witch, she’d stab him.
His brows drew together. “You don’t know?”
If she knew, she wouldn’t be asking, but she bit back the snap of words on her tongue. Emotion glazed his face, bringing a stir of her own. Her heart raced as she shook her head.
He hesitated but then asked, “And you don’t know who I am?” His voice came even softer.
She shook her head again. “No.”
He winced and then looked to the ground for a moment. Then he swallowed.
“Who am I?” she pressed.
His eyes found hers again, and they burned a brilliant blue. “You’re Norah Andell… of Mercia, the Northern Kingdom.”
Norah Andell. A name strangely familiar to her, yet not. Slowly, she lowered the dagger.
“I’ve been searching for you.” He gazed down at her hands, and his brow creased. “You’re bleeding. Are you hurt?”
Chained in her bewilderment, she didn’t move as he swept forward and took her hands in his, but his touch made her jump. “Um, no,” she said, pulling away. “It’s not mine.” He was so close to her now. Dangerously close. But he didn’t feel dangerous. He felt safe, and…
No. She didn’t know this man. Then something caught her eye. The breastplate of his armor bore a raised emblem—a winterhawk—the same as the pendant around her neck. She reached up to her chest and clasped her fingers around it. “Who are you?”
His brow dipped. He paused before saying, “I’m Alexander Rhemus, lord justice to the queen regent. Norah, she’s been waiting for your return. We all have.”
That didn’t make sense. “The queen regent? Why?” Why would a queen regent be waiting for her?
“Because you’re her granddaughter.”
Her pulse quickened. Her granddaughter? She shook her head. “No, that can’t be right.” A granddaughter of a queen wouldn’t be wandering alone in a forest. “That can’t be right,” she said again.
“I tell you the truth, but, Norah”—he glanced around them—“we should go. I can explain everything on the way, but right now, we need to get out of the Wild.”
She took a step back. She wasn’t going anywhere with him. Not yet. “How did I get here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then how did you know where I was?”
“I didn’t, exactly,” he answered with a tilt of his head. “I’ve been searching for what I saw in a vision.”
She raised a brow. “You saw a vision, and you just got on a horse and came to find me in the middle of a forest?” No rational person would do that.
“Not just any forest—the Wild. But yes.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but that was the least of what she needed answered. “That’s madness.”
“But… you’re here,” he countered. “And we really do need to go. It’s not safe here.”
She took another step back. “Why?” As far as she was concerned, the forest was keeping her safe from random strangers.
“The Wild isn’t kind to those who trespass.”
Was that what had happened to the two men earlier? Yet it hadn’t done anything to her. Maybe this was a ploy to get her to go with him. If she was who he said, how had she come to be wandering alone in a forest, anyway? Perhaps she’d run away. Maybe she didn’t want to go back. She bumped up against a tree behind her.
“How long have I been gone?” She couldn’t have been out very long. Her dress wasn’t too soiled, aside from her fall, and her hair hung untangled and neatly kept.
He pushed out a scant breath, baffled. “You remember nothing?”
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “No.”
He stared at her. “You’ve been gone three years.”
Her breath quivered, and she gripped the tree behind her to steady herself. “Three years?” She shook her head. That wasn’t possible. How could one, especially the granddaughter of a queen regent, just disappear for three years?
He looked around them again. “Norah, please. We have to go.” He reached out his hand. “Will you let me take you home? Your grandmother’s at the castle.”
Castle. She glanced around for her fox. Her thoughts had been in jest, but perhaps he really had been leading her to a castle. Better than a burrow.
“We won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Alexander told her. “But there’s an old homestead we can reach before dark. It’s not much, but it’s shelter with a place for a fire.”
She still fought the uncertainty, trying to take everything in and searching for clarity on her situation. But she did need shelter and a fire. And still, there was something about him…
“Norah,” he pleaded, “you do know me. You may not remember yet, but I do. And your people do. They’ve been waiting for you a very long time.”
Her people. She knew he meant it in reassurance, but it brought only more anxiousness. So much responsibility. If people were truly waiting for her, they’d expect something from her, need something from her, and what could she give if she couldn’t remember?
And could she trust this man? She shifted, glancing at the winterhawk emblem on his breastplate again, then the gilded handle of his sword. He certainly wasn’t the same as the foul-intentioned men before. It was almost nightfall, and it had started to snow. She couldn’t see another choice. She’d have to trust this stranger—this stranger who knew her. Slowly, she nodded.