Beguiled (The Fairest Maidens Book 2) Read online

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Young Adult: The Fairest Maidens Series

  Beholden

  Beguiled

  Besotted

  Young Adult: The Lost Princesses Series

  Always: Prequel Novella

  Evermore

  Foremost

  Hereafter

  Young Adult: The Noble Knights Series

  The Vow: Prequel Novella

  An Uncertain Choice

  A Daring Sacrifice

  For Love & Honor

  A Loyal Heart

  A Worthy Rebel

  The Bride Ships Series

  A Reluctant Bride

  The Runaway Bride

  A Bride of Convenience

  Almost a Bride

  The Orphan Train Series

  An Awakened Heart: A Novella

  With You Always

  Together Forever

  Searching for You

  The Beacons of Hope Series

  Out of the Storm: A Novella

  Love Unexpected

  Hearts Made Whole

  Undaunted Hope

  Forever Safe

  Never Forget

  The Hearts of Faith Collection

  The Preacher’s Bride

  The Doctor’s Lady

  Rebellious Heart

  The Michigan Brides Collection

  Unending Devotion

  A Noble Groom

  Captured by Love

  Historical

  Luther and Katharina

  Newton & Polly

  Beguiled

  Northern Lights Press

  © 2020 Copyright

  Jody Hedlund

  Jody Hedlund Kindle Edition

  www.jodyhedlund.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are accordingly inevitable. All other characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Roseanna White Designs

  Interior Map Design by Jenna Hedlund

  Table of Contents

  Half-Title

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Young Adult Fiction from Jody Hedlund

  More from Jody Hedlund

  Chapter

  1

  Mikkel

  Thick fog swirled around our boat like steam rising from a cauldron.

  “We should return to camp.” I glanced around, unable to see past the white mist that hedged us in on every side. For midmorning, the fog was unusual in the estuary. “Something in the air bodes of evil.”

  At the bow, Fowler tilted up his head and sniffed the air as if he were a hunting dog searching for prey. “Nay, the morn mist be hugging the shore longer this day. ’Tis naught more to it.”

  “Sir Gregor?” I paused in hefting up the hemp net, which was wriggling under the weight of the salmon, trout, and flounder left by the tide when the water had dashed back to the sea. “What say you? Shall we make this our last haul and return to camp?”

  Gregor peered into the woven reed baskets surrounding him at the stern. Even with his left eye covered by a black patch, he saw more than most people with perfect vision. “Perchance. We do have over half our catch.”

  Fowler pulled at his end of the net, straining against the load. As a dwarf, his arms and legs were short, but they were also thick with bulging muscles. “The master’ll string us up and pelt us with rotten fish carcasses if we be returning without full baskets.”

  The master would do no such thing. Blade might have a severe name and was spiteful toward his enemies. But in the two months I’d lived with his band on the Isle of Outcasts, he’d never been cruel to his own men.

  At a splashing and plopping of water somewhere in the mist behind us, my spine stiffened. I peered around us, but there was nothing but fog. Even so, I sensed danger closing in. “What if the rumors about the Loch Ness monster awakening during the day are true?”

  Fowler shook his head. “Nay. Couldn’t be. She ever only hunts at night.”

  “But we cannot discount the recent sightings of her at dawn. And we cannot discount the possibility that all our fishing during the day might leave her with little to prey upon at night.”

  Before coming to the island, I’d assumed the giant man-eating sea monster was nothing more than a creature of myths. However, the outcasts swore Loch Ness lived in the deep waters surrounding the isle.

  On several occasions in the moonlight, I’d sighted an eel-like head poking out of the water. Part of me wished to hunt down and kill the beast. But the perpetuation of the frightening tales of the Loch Ness monster kept the outside world from venturing to the island and spewing their hate at the outcasts.

  Except for the Inquisitor . . .

  I paused, straining to see and hear beyond the low cloud covering. Was the zealous witch hunter closing in on us?

  Several feet away, a dark form took shape in the mist, then vanished. Someone—or something—was drawing nigh.

  “Fie upon you, Mikkel,” Fowler groused. “Stop your worrying and do your work. I may be an unusually strong man, but even I cannot be lifting this net on my own.”

  I wanted to command him to silence, but whoever was out there had probably already heard us and knew our location. Instead, as I resumed hauling in my end of the net, I met Gregor’s gaze and attempted to communicate silently for him to be alert.

  With oars lying idle in both hands, Gregor nodded and examined the mist too. His profile was normal, with smooth skin and perfect features. But as he shifted his head, the other side of his face, the one with the eye patch, came into view, revealing misshapen skin, puckered and splotchy from his temple down to his jaw and neck. The burn scars continued over most of the left half of his body, covering his arm and hand.

  Since the May morn on the wharf when my father’s weapons master had introduced me to Gregor, I’d been curious how my scribe had sustained such serious burns. But he hadn’t offered an explanation, and I hadn’t pried. It had been enough to know the Lagting had chosen Gregor for me because his appearance gave us the excuse we needed to take up residence on the Isle of Outcasts.

  Set off the western coast of Norland, the island with its thick forests and large rock formations, had become a refuge for the outcasts of society, particularly those with physical differences and deformities such as Gregor’s. In addition to being misfits, many were hardened criminals.

  During the voyage from my home in Scania to the island, Gregor and I had discussed strategy an
d decided the only way the outcasts would allow someone like me, without limitations, onto the island was if Gregor posed as a noble lord and I accompanied him as his servant.

  So far, our ruse had worked. While many questioned why Gregor needed to bring a manservant, no one realized I was Prince Mikkel of Scania, the firstborn son of King Christian of the Holberg lineage. I’d played my role well, treating Gregor as my lord, having to compensate at times for my scribe’s difficulty in ordering me around.

  Whenever Gregor protested, I assured him this was all part of my Testing, that the small deception was necessary in order to gain access to living amongst the outcasts. They accepted him as one of their own, and in doing so, tolerated my presence. At the very least, they’d ceased shunning me completely, as they’d done for weeks after we first arrived.

  Gregor shifted on his bench, staring into the fog, rigid with readiness, obviously sensing the same peril I did.

  “See you something, my lord?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he whispered tersely. “Someone is there.”

  Fowler stopped laboring. “If you sense danger, my lord, then we need be heading back.”

  I’d learned that Fowler and the others sought Gregor’s approval because of his title. I found it both odd and enlightening to be disregarded as a servant when I was accustomed to people catering to my every word. I’d once believed my subjects deferred to me for my merit, but now I suspected it was largely because of my position as a prince.

  The observation was one amongst many I’d made as I strove to fulfill the purpose of my Testing to look on the heart.

  With a curt hand motion, Fowler indicated that we release our catch of fish and head to shore. Carefully, I lowered the stone sinkers, trying to prevent them from splashing against the calm water. As we emptied the net, Gregor dipped the oars in deeply, letting the motion of the waves aid his effort.

  Look on the heart. My thoughts flitted back to the day in the spring when my two brothers and I had received our commissioning for the Royal Testing that would determine which of us was worthy to become the next king of Scania. Birth order was no guarantee of kingship. Instead, a group of wise advisors called the Lagting sent each prince to a different place to prove himself by facing and enduring hardships for six months.

  As an outsider trying to ingratiate myself among outcasts, my Testing had proven to be challenging, likely more so than Vilmar’s. Sentenced to be a slave, all Vilmar had needed to do was show up at the Gemstone Mountains in Warwick and work. Excavating jewels would be difficult, and he’d face hunger and deprivations. But he was no doubt enjoying his friendships and charming his way out of any difficulties.

  Vilmar had also probably charmed his scribe into writing pages upon pages of accolades to take back to the king and Lagting. Even without his scribe’s glowing review of his Testing, the Lagting had always favored Vilmar, the outgoing and friendly prince. And ’twas no secret many of them wanted him to be the next king.

  I drew my brows together in a scowl. My brother was an honest man full of integrity. I had no doubt he’d make an excellent king if God willed it, but I wasn’t ready to concede now any more than I’d ever been. It took much more to lead a nation than popularity and friendliness.

  As I dragged the net back inside the boat and dropped it into the hull, I reached for the other pair of oars. Fowler hopped up onto the front bench, standing at the ready, his hunting knife drawn.

  Another boat containing half a dozen men emerged from the mist and scraped our hull. With tightening muscles, I dropped the oars and lunged for my spear, but with the net thrown in haphazardly, my fingers fumbled to find the handle. Shouts erupted around us, and new footfalls thumped into our boat, rocking it and weighing it down.

  Abandoning my efforts at wielding my spear, I jumped to my feet with my knife in hand. Though I was most proficient with a spear, I was skilled with any weapon. My father’s weapons master had made sure of that. Before my attacker could swing, I ducked, pivoted, and grabbed him in a headlock, pressing my blade against his chest.

  Ahead, Fowler exchanged sword blows with another intruder. And behind me Gregor was doing the same. A quick look told me all I needed to know. Irontooth’s band was assailing us.

  Of all the threats facing us this morn, I’d neglected to consider our rivals on the island. In truth, I had no issue with the other group of outcasts. I’d never met them, had only seen the several Blade had recently captured and enslaved. From what I could tell, they were no different or worse in their physical limitations than anyone in our group. And yet, the bands had been warring with each other for years.

  Now with one of Irontooth’s outcasts within my grip and arms pinned at his back, I was loathe to hurt the poor soul. If not for fate, he could have been my companion during my Testing instead of Fowler. Gregor and I had just happened to land on the area of the island closest to Blade’s camp and had been intercepted by his men instead of Irontooth’s.

  The clang of metal and the grunts of fighting rose into the fog. I needed to put an end to the skirmish to prevent anyone from sustaining serious injury.

  “Hold your weapons!” I repositioned my blade against my captive’s neck, which was covered with a strange black material. “And your man will remain safe.”

  “Man?” said a decidedly feminine voice from the person I was holding.

  I dropped my gaze to find a pair of beguiling green eyes peering at me. Even though the black silky material rose above my captive’s nose, leaving the top quarter of the face visible, I was left with no doubt that this was a woman—a very comely woman.

  “Unhand me.” She spoke smoothly, though her voice was somewhat muffled behind the veil. “As you can see, I am no man.”

  Yes, I could see that. This was no mere peasant or tradesman’s daughter. Something in her tone and the way she held herself told me she was a woman of some bearing, perhaps of noble birth.

  I let my knife fall away. I would have released a poor woman too. I wasn’t predisposed to the rich. Was I?

  Before I could figure out my next step, the woman twisted out of my grasp and elbowed me with a force that left me gasping for breath. Then before I knew what she was doing, she bent, grasped me from behind, and flipped me over her back. I landed in the hull with a crack that knocked any remaining air from my lungs.

  An instant later, she was standing upon my arms, this time with her knife pressed against my neck. “Hold your weapons.” Her bright eyes captured mine as she mocked me with the words I’d spoken moments earlier. “And your man will remain safe.”

  I attempted to move my hands to protect myself, but the heels of her boots ground into my wrists, and excruciating pain shot up my arm.

  From the quiet at the back of the boat, I could tell Gregor had stopped fighting his opponent. But ahead, Fowler continued to battle a man twice his size with an abnormally big head and enormous ears.

  Even though Fowler fought valiantly, he lurched about and bumped into the side of the boat. The rocking motion threw him off balance, and he started to fall overboard. His opponent grabbed him, placing a swift blow across his head and knocking him out.

  The woman on top of me didn’t let up on the pressure on my wrists, and I gritted my teeth to keep from shouting at her.

  As though recognizing my self-control, her eyes flashed with more mocking humor. “See that you and your manservant cooperate.” She nodded toward Gregor. “Or you will both be rendered unconscious too.”

  My servant? How did this woman know Gregor was my servant and not my master?

  She gave a disdainful bow. “My lord, you do not belong on this island. And Irontooth aims to find out who you are and why you are here.”

  Chapter

  2

  Pearl

  My prisoner was handsome. I don’t know why that fact stood out to me, but it did nonetheless. Strands of his shoulder-length fair hair were plaited into small braids on one side of his face. The scruffy layer of stubble on his jaw and chin was s
lightly darker in coloring, making the blue of his eyes all the brighter and more alluring. The rest of his features—his nose, mouth, cheekbones—were flawless, almost regal.

  While spying, Toad had heard the eye-patch man calling his companion Mikkel and ordering him around. In return, Mikkel had addressed the eye-patch man as Sir Gregor. Toad hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Mikkel didn’t belong on the island and that he carried himself with the bearing of a lord.

  One well-placed word on my part had confirmed the truth: Mikkel was not a servant.

  He bucked against me so sharply and suddenly my hold upon his hands wavered. He took advantage of my inattention by rolling away from my boots and blade. An instant later he was on his feet, a spear in his hand aimed at me.

  Not only was he noble and handsome, but he was well trained.

  Fortunately, I was also well trained after living on the island for the past year and spending every spare moment learning all I could about weaponry and fighting. Before he could make another move, I had my bow up and an arrow pointed at him.

  “Go ahead and throw your spear . . . if you wish to die today.”

  With a sweeping glance, he took in the boat behind me with three of my companions inside, all wielding weapons at the ready. Then his gaze rested upon me. Wearing a man’s tunic, breeches, and boots, I made a dismal picture, though his narrowed eyes revealed naught, not even the repugnance I was certain he must be feeling at seeing a woman attired as a man. He was surely also wondering what deformity I was covering with my veil.

  Irontooth and Felicity were the only two who knew the truth about my veil and why I was hiding behind it. Once I’d revealed my identity to them, they’d agreed I would be safer if no one else knew. Never in all the months since then had I felt the urge to show myself. Until this moment . . .

  For a reason I couldn’t explain, I wished I could give this fine-looking stranger a glimpse of my face and earn his appreciation, not his disdain.

  Slowly, he lowered his spear. “I have no wish to meet my Maker this day . . . my lady.” His blue eyes challenged me to deny his use of the title. In some ways he was right. I was nobility. But I was also so much more. Or was I? When I ran away from Warwick last summer, I left behind my title, power, and rights. And when my mother had proclaimed the news of the hunting accident and my death, perhaps Princess Pearl truly died after all.