Sorcerer's Lover

Chapter 1 Warin of Lymouth watched the procession of horses passing on the road from his perch in the tree above. Crouched perilously on the thickest branch, he leaned forward, searching the riders for the one he sought. No, not that one. Next…no. There! Warin stretched as far as he could, craning his neck, watching his prey. The man he sought, Benedict, was protected, surrounded by a small but well-armed group. He didn’t worry about that. Though the men protecting his prey were all seasoned warriors, hired by his intended victim’s father to guard him on his journey, they would offer Warin no trouble. He watched them passing his location, his gaze fixed on Benedict the entire time. A slight afternoon breeze moved Benedict’s blond hair. The guards with him were dressed in mail, but Benedict himself hadn’t bothered. No doubt he believed his warriors would prevent anything from happening. For just the briefest moment, Warin stared at the man’s broad muscled back, enjoying the ripple of the material as it strained when he moved. Warin’s c**k perked up. Not at all convenient. He needed to help his sister Eleanor, and allowing his physical attraction for Benedict to muddle his thoughts would be unwise. Warin’s boot slipped on the branch and he struggled to regain his footing. Unfortunately, he caught the attention of the warrior riding directly behind Benedict. “Who is there?” the man called, reining his horse to a stop. Warin lost his struggle to stay on the branch and plummeted to the ground. He landed with a painful thud and, for just a moment, lost his breath. Face down in the dirt, he heard shouts all around him. He was abruptly turned over. The big oaf who’d spotted him grabbed his shoulders and shook. “Who are you? What do you want?” “Unhand him, Samson.” Benedict’s blond head appeared in place of the oaf’s. He was ridiculously handsome. Truth be told, Warin had never admired blond men particularly. Most fair-haired men would be nearing baldness by maturity, but Benedict’s honey blond hair was rich and full. An unruly lock spilled out to cover one of his sky blue eyes. Actually, he was very nearly pretty…no…beautiful. He had high cheekbones, a perfect aquiline nose, and slightly darker lashes that swept over those extraordinary eyes. Warin sighed. Benedict frowned. “Are you injured?” “My lord, please allow me to handle this,” the oaf protested, trying to take Benedict away. “Pray do not accost me so, Samson.” “You are under my protection, my lord. You must allow me to take care of this knave,” Samson said grimly. Benedict shook his head. “He is unarmed and fallen. He can hardly harm me.” Warin resisted the smile that pulled at his lips. So Benedict thought him no threat? He let out a low groan and touched his head. Benedict tsked. “You are hurt. Samson, we must take this man with us and see to his injuries.” “Absolutely not. He fell from a tree, my lord Benedict. He was no doubt up to nefarious deeds. He is not some wounded bird to be mended.” Warin decided Samson was completely tedious. Samson grabbed Benedict by the shoulders and moved him away. He leaned back over Warin and snarled, “Who are you and why are you watching us? Hmm?” Very well, so they weren’t going to take him with them and make it a bit easier on themselves. So be it. Good strong air once more filling his lungs, Warin struggled to sit up. He glanced around quickly, taking the positions of all his opponents. He waved his hand at Samson, flinging him violently against the nearest tree. “Samson,” Benedict gasped. He turned his wide-eyed stare to Warin. He’d lost color. “How did—” “No time to explain, your highness. You are coming with me.” Warin rose fluidly from the ground, ready to deal with the rest of Benedict’s guards. Besides Samson, he’d had four other armed men. He made short work of them, knocking the heads of two of them together, rendering them unconscious, and then sending the other two into nearby trees. Benedict scrambled on the ground, backing away from Warin, and reached for the sword at his side. “I cannot let you do that, your highness.” Warin slipped his hand into a hidden pocket of his doublet and removed a small wooden container. “You won’t be in here for long, and there are holes so you will be able to breathe.” “What?” Warin shrugged and threw a dark green powder on Benedict. It didn’t take long. The absolute shock on his prey’s face when he started shrinking was worth all the trouble he’d had to go through to get up into the tree. “You don’t want to run, your highness. I am the only one who can bring you back to your normal size.” He reached down and picked up the inches high prince. Opening the wooden box, he carefully placed the little man inside and closed the lid.