The Soul of a Rogue (Box of Draupnir #3) - K.J. Jackson Page 0,1

two of them—a late-in-life babe born after her elder sister had Jules—and she knew how seriously both Jules and Des took protecting her.

It was her turn to return the favor.

She would find where the Box of Draupnir had come from and return it to its origins, giving them that peace.

No matter what.

The wheels of the carriage suddenly lagged, the constant clitter-clatter of the rear left wheel and its loose steel tire slowing into a dull thud.

Moving her bonnet in her lap to the seat next to her, Elle scooted forward on the rear cushion as the carriage slowed. Not again. Sheep on the road? A deep rut from yesterday’s rain?

The carriage had been stalled several times in the last eight hours since she’d left Jules and her family at Seahorn Castle along the Somerset coast.

Eight dreadfully long, silent hours.

Rune, the man Jules had saddled to Elle’s side to keep her safe on the journey home to the Isle of Wight, had chosen to ride outside the carriage on horseback rather than keep her company.

Which was completely fine.

Elle didn’t need the man to entertain her. Except for the fact that she was terribly bored and too much time in her own head was never good.

But from the first moment she saw Rune at Seahorn Castle a day ago, she recognized exactly what the man was.

A hundred layers of sin.

One after another, wrapped in the most ridiculously handsome man she’d ever set eyes upon. His odd copper-green eyes had looked her up and down and she had gaped for a too-long moment at his perfectly molded cheekbones and jawline. His light brown hair held streaks of almost blond and was longer than fashionable, but not so long it was out of control, the tips of it curling about his neck. The whole of him was lean—smooth and sleek—almost like the panther she’d once seen in Lord Larring’s menagerie during a house party at his country estate.

The whole of Rune was dangerous. A fact she instantly understood.

Sin like his had its place, but not at the moment. Complications were the last thing she needed. She’d promised Jules and Des that she would do her best to discover the genesis of the Box of Draupnir in the ancient mosaics buried near her home on the isle, and then return the cursed thing to wherever it belonged.

She meant to deliver on that vow, as impossible as it seemed. For their safety, for their new babe’s safety. She wasn’t about to let a stupid box threaten their lives, and she could have no other mission, no other distractions until she’d fulfilled her promise to them.

That she’d recognized the box as the same one depicted in those mosaics had been eerie—a coincidence like no other that even her skeptical, logical mind couldn’t explain away.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t believe in the curse of the box. They did—others did—and the threat the box created was very real. Too many evil men were determined to possess the box for the power it supposedly carried—the promise of untold riches and power. Men who would stop at nothing to make the box their own.

Which made the threat very real for all who possessed it. Cursed or not.

So Elle hadn’t even suggested that Rune ride in the carriage with her. He was a complication she wasn’t about to entertain—no matter how bored she was. No matter how many hours of silence she had to endure.

The hiccups along the roadway had been her only excitement that day. The muck at the bottom of a hill they’d had to push the carriage through. A farmer and his slow mule. A flock of ducks that had decided that waddling along the middle of the road was convenient.

Elle leaned slightly out of the open window and into the summer air, looking ahead. Hopefully this delay would be more exciting than the squawking ducks.

A rush of air and mass shot by her head, close to decapitating her if she’d been leaning out a trifle bit farther. The muscle and sweat of Rune’s brown horse buzzed past her face, splattering flecks of dirt and wet droplets onto her cheek.

She jerked back into the carriage, wiping her face. Blast that man. What sort of boorish ogre had Jules set upon her? No matter how handsome he was to look at, Rune had no manners. None. Nearly killing her like that.

Shouts cut through the air—she couldn’t make out what was said, but the carriage slowed even further, almost to