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The ruby was uncomfortably warm against his skin since the first Elder Brother concocted this scheme, but now it seemed to sear his flesh. Damned magic. The bones and ruby gave Sandor long golden locks and a face the Kingslayer would’ve envied.
Why did he follow her with that arrogant bastard?
No one else had ventured out of doors with the autumn storm rolling in. The wind was bracing coming down from the Giant’s Lance. Alayne accompanied Harrold Hardyng out the postern gate, and Sandor followed carefully. They kept to the worn path trailing through the evergreens, but he then led her toward a spring-fed stream still flowing through moss-covered stones. The youth must be who her father intended to marry her to. Harry the Heir he’d heard him called, and many a story about him as well. Sandor already hated him.
When Harry kissed her, it was hard for him to stomach, but as he feared, she soon struggled to get him to stop. Every impulse in Sandor urged him to act, despite his companions’ warnings to avoid such until it was time. She managed to slip away from him and said something Sandor couldn’t hear. When the gallant Harry advanced towards her again, she stumbled backwards on the uneven ground, falling.
Sandor made a whistling noise like a bird, not unlike those used by one of the mountain clans. It carried enough that Harry spooked and left her. That made Sandor grit his teeth. Cowardly as well as arrogant. Knights of the Vale appeared to be as shit as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
He stalked towards her as she attempted to rise, gripping the bark of the tree. The cold made his leg throb, but he dare not show it.
“Lady Alayne,” he remembered to say. “It is fortunate I came upon you.” He carefully helped her stand.
“Ser Byron, thank you for your assistance.” Her voice was tremulous and soft as she tried to compose herself. With her gloved hand braced against the nearby pine tree, she attempted to take a step and grimaced. She leaned towards the tree, preferring its support to his own. Gods be damned. He couldn’t wait to unhorse this pompous cunt, heir or not, in the tourney. He’d put loftier lords into the dust for less.
“I’ll have to carry you,” he said.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll manage. Thank you.”
“I cannot abandon a lady in need,” he said, hoping she understood his censure of her potential betrothed.
“Do I have you to thank for the whistle?” She asked, though her tone was anything but grateful.
“Aye,” he admitted, and she finally looked him straight in the face then. A testy, strained look she gave him, but he could see what lie in those blue depths. Alayne was as much a glamor for her as Byron for he. Inside she was Sansa, and she was alone and afraid.
“I just need a moment…to myself,” she said.
Fucking hells. He let out an agitated sigh, his hands tensing and curling inward. He had not a clue how he should proceed. All he knew was he would not leave her behind. Without further preamble, he bent to lift her up in his arms. She didn’t weigh much more than he remembered. She gasped, her body turning as rigid as ice in his hold.
“Forgive the over-familiarity, my lady,” he said, attempting to still play his part. “Don’t worry I won’t steal a kiss unless you ask.”
“Put me down, good ser,” she insisted, trying to conjure a voice of authority but failing adorably.
Not a ser, he wanted to say as the corner of his lip curled up. “Thank your gods I didn’t toss you over my shoulder. Now settle,” he bade her, his voice harsher than he intended. Too close to his own rasp.
Her brows scrunched in puzzlement as she stared up at him. Wordless, she studied his face. She was too close. He could smell her, all rose petals and womanliness. The ruby burned like a glowing coal against his skin, the iron surrounding it like a ring of fire. He nearly put her down just to rip it off his arm. He’d told himself he would go through all seven hells for her, and the ruby was intent to prove it.
“I didn’t realize your eyes are more a gray,” she said, sounding almost wistful.
Fuck. “Is he your intended then? Will they announce the betrothal soon?” He asked. The question served its purpose to draw her gaze away, out towards the forest as he ambled back through the rocky terrain toward the mule path.
She didn’t answer, and they lapsed into silence. The pain in his leg shot up his spine with every step, but he didn’t care. He would hold her like this all the way out of the Vale if he could. She clutched her cloak as the wind blustered around them with bits of snow and ice in it. He could feel her begin to shiver.
What if he did tell her now? Not another soul around to know. “You should be by the hearth with a cup of spiced wine, not out here in the cold,” he said. On some errand for Littlefinger doubtless.
“You forget I’m only a bastard daughter. I don’t need to be lectured on what I should or shouldn't do,” she said with boldness, despite her teeth chattering slightly. There was a bitter sound to the way she said bastard.
He snorted at that. “Is that what he reminded you of? After leading you out away from any eyes or ears.”
“Not all it would seem. Why did you follow me? I doubt my father told you to.”
“No good reason,” he said dryly. “Is that the first time he’s tried?”
She pursed her lips. He thought he’d pushed her too far again, when she said, “It was.”
“You mustn’t allow yourself alone with him. That is if you wish to be a maid for much longer.”
“You presume too much, ser,” she snipped, but her tone took a flirtatious bent as she eyed him again. “In truth, you seem to take an undue interest in the fate of my virtue. Or is it my hand you’re concerned with?”
He huffed a laugh. “Sweet Alayne, I’m but a humble hedge knight. I couldn’t hope for either, even a kiss would ruin me. Though a fine hand it is, and even finer your virtue I would wager.”
Her lips pressed together to hide an amused smile. “I did not give you leave to use my given name so freely, ser.”
The postern gate was nearing, so he asked her, “Do you wish me to set you down before the gate, my lady? You may have my arm for as long as you require it.”
“I would prefer that, yes. Being carried wouldn't be seemly,” she said. “Though my absence will be noted soon I fear.”
Setting her down carefully on the stony path, he meant to give her his right arm, but it was his left she reached for to steady herself.
“Likely only a sprain, but can you put any weight on it?” He asked.
“What’s this?” She asked. Her hand must’ve felt the band around his arm beneath his doublet.
“A trinket,” he tried to dismiss it.
“Why do you keep it hidden then? Is it a secret?” She attempted to walk with him, but it was a struggle. Her grip on him was desperate as she winced, her pretty face unable to mask the pain.
Unsure how to respond concerning the ruby, he was saved from the endeavor by the postern gate opening and Lothor Brune barreling out of it. His chance was missed. He should’ve kneeled in front of her and ripped the ruby off or whispered to her little bird, and she might’ve known. But would she be glad of it or have him thrown out? He still didn’t know.