Elena had started pretending to be other people when she was five. At first, it was princesses and fairies. As she grew older, it became Russian heiresses and Turkish harem. She did it to escape the boring life she had always known – the balls, the rounds in the park, shopping for ribbons and husbands. Very few of people knew of her hobby – her maid, Annabelle, and her man, Dalziel. While both were very protective of her, they knew they had no hold on her, no way to make her stay when she hatched a plan.
When Elena's sister Elizabeth went missing, Elena put on a concerned, but passive front to her family and friends. She spoke to the guard, and then retreated back to her room to solace and to worry. But of course, that's not what really happened behind closed doors. She impersonated everyone from a footman to a duchess to a beggar, trying to gain information. At last, she found a trail of clues, leading to Scotland, where she believed a man held her sister in the attempt to keep Elizabeth's marriage to the Duke of Brunswick from fruition. Such a marriage would be beneficial to both families, and an heir would seal the duke's line.
After several failed attempts to find someone to escort and protect her on the journey to Scotland, she came up with one of her schemes. While no gentleman could even offer to escort a single, attractive, unworldly female across the country, either she had to seek out a man that wasn't a gentleman, or she had to become someone other than herself. She would fine a man who had no care for laws and what was
done
, and she would also become someone else. She would become a widow, someone unattractive, aging, and in no need for delicate care.
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"Get up, man! Move your feet!" Kaden could hear the shouts around him, and he shook his head to clear the fog. Opening his eyes, he saw the two cloaked men, and the matching glints off the knives they held before them. He struggled to his feet, staggered, and squared his shoulders for battle. He inwardly cringed, hearing his thought of "battle", realizing that this was all the battle that was left. These ruffians, unpolished in their fight and weapons, were now the only threat to the crown, and to him. He charged forward, surprising the smaller of the two. In the moment of surprise, Kaden thrust his shoulder under the much lower arm of the attacker, hearing the satisfying clink as the knife fell to the ground. One more uppercut, and the cloaked man fell to the cobblestones with a thud.
Kaden faced the remaining man. While his face was still cloaked in darkness, he could see the sallow skin, and a recent gash across the man's chin. He picked up the fallen knife, and the two starting circling each other. He heard the rustle of clothing behind them, heard murmurs and knew they had an audience. He waited until the man tensed, preparing to strike, and then ducked and thrust. He felt his knife hit home and knew the fight was over.
He cleaned the knife off on his now dirty overcoat and shouldered his way through the crowd. He felt a tug at his arm and turned, rising his arm in protection. Although it was too dark to tell for sure, he saw an older woman, gray streaks in her hair. She motioned for him to join her out of the crowd. He followed, more out of curiosity than anything. When she stopped and turned into the streetlight, he observed her silently. The telltale gray put her age at late forties, early fifties, but Kaden knew all too well that sometimes life aged people before their time. He took in her pale, age spotted skin, wrinkles lining her forehead and mouth. Her lips were bloodless, almost as if the life had been sucked out of her. Her body was mostly covered by a large brown cloak, but he saw stooped shoulders, no chest to speak of, and everything about her seemed to wring true of someone that had had life thrust upon them, over and over.
"I would like to make a proposition to you, sir. I am in need of someone to escort me to Scotland, to the area of Tarlien. I believe my daughter is being held captive there and I will need protection to get to her. I can offer you in compensation the wedding trousseau she was to have had provided to her by her fiancé." The old woman spoke with a rough growl to her voice. He should not have been surprised. There was no beauty left in this woman. He found himself wondering at the life she had led. He began to turn away, when she again grabbed his arm.
"Please, sir. At least take a moment to consider it. I will offer you all that I have, in exchange only for your company." The lantern from a passing guard lit up the side of her face where the street lamp had not. He sucked in a breath, as eyes the color of violet fire looked up at him in earnest. If eyes were the window to the soul, he thought as he chuckled to himself, her soul was a treasure indeed. He felt the tremble of her hand, the yearning in her eyes, and sighed. Any other night he might have refused, but tonight, caught up in the boredom of the gentry and the never ending request to attend balls and tea times, he found himself agreeing.
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Elena had to keep reminding herself to slouch. Raised with perfect posture, it was hard to change a lifetime of habit. She glanced to her side through her eyelashes and viewed her present company. He was large, very large – but then, that was why she chose him. She needed someone intimidating, someone that at the mere look of him, others would flee. He certainly had that. His green eyes pierced through to one's soul it seemed, his dark features cloaked in mystery and pain. He had beautiful dark hair, cut shorter than what was currently in fashion. The wave to it lent him a bit of carefree arrogance, the only thing soft on his person. He had thick dark lashes, tan skin, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His neck was as thick as both of her arms. His shoulders were the most impressive thing about him. They seemed to take up the whole carriage, forcing her into the smallest corner so she wouldn't unnecessarily brush up against him. He was obviously physically fit, and had an aura of danger. She looked back down at her hands, in a moment of vanity, wishing he found her attractive.
Kaden saw her rubbing her hands together, and wondered if she was cold. He was continually hot, a curse of his hot blood, said his mother. He saw her hover closer to the far side of the carriage, clearly shrinking away from him. He inwardly sighed. He knew his size was intimidating, and it didn't help that he had a wicked temper and a curse of bad luck for finding himself in the middle of fights. Most men were afraid of him, and while women tended to find his size tempting instead of frightening, he knew not all the women were the same.
"What is your daughter like?" His voice cracked into the silence like a whip. He saw her flinch, cursed himself for not easing into it.
"Elizabeth is...life itself. She is warm and kind and beautiful. Everyone has always loved her. She has golden hair and blue eyes that rival the streams. Even as a child, she was always trying to love and aid her kinfolk, and strangers. That is what I fear lured her into this man's trap. She was always very trusting. If someone had asked for her help, she would've went to them." Elena's voice trembled, and she fought to gain composure.
"Were you not with her when she was taken?" Elena fought not to defend herself at the accusation, saying, "While we were inseparable at one time, she was newly affianced. She spent lots of time in town, with her other married friends, and her fiancé. It was impossible for us to spend every minute together. She was leaving her friend's townhome in Sussex on her way to the Duke of Brunswick's home when she was taken. That is her fiancé."
