“I’m fine.” She gave him another of her shy smiles then rose to fetch a couple of threadbare blankets from a box under the bed. “The wind had shaken most of the rain from the trees, so I didn’t get another soaking, though I fear we are in for a rough night.”
“What are you doing?” he asked as she made a pallet on the uneven ground. “You can’t sleep there. You will catch your death of cold.”
“What choice do I have?” Eloise glanced up at him before looking away. “I don’t think I could sleep in the chair. It’s too small and rickety.”
“Of course not. You will sleep in your bed, and I shall sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She put her hands on her hips. “I didn’t go to all that trouble to rescue you to have you catch your death. Besides, you’re a prince, even if you won’t admit it outright. I bet you have never slept a night on the floor in your life.”
“You would lose.” He raised his chin, though he wasn’t entirely sure a well-padded bedroll in a heated tent qualified. “Your guardian may have forced you to endure such indignities, but I wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing you were cold and uncomfortable.”
“Oh.” She blinked, the starch going out of her stance and a suspicious sheen appearing in her eyes. “That’s very . . . thoughtful of you, but I don’t know what else to suggest.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He swallowed hard, hoping she would accept his offer while knowing it would cause him an entirely different world of discomfort than the one he would have endured lying on the cold ground. “We should share the bed.” Her eyes widened, and he rushed to add, “It is big enough . . . just. We shall both be clothed, and I promise I won’t take advantage of the situation. To be honest, between my head and my ankle, I am not sure that I could.” It was a lie, but his deliberately rueful tone seemed to do the trick, and she released the breath she was holding.
“You wouldn’t mind . . . sharing?”
“Of course not. I would not have offered if I did.”
A flush appeared on her cheeks, as she looked from him to the bed and back again. “It would be warmer that way, for both of us, as we would have to cuddle up to fit.”
His expression sobering at the image her words inspired, Destrian stifled a groan. “Right. Warmer,” he murmured, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
Stepping behind a screen she had made from one of the thin blankets, Eloise changed into her nightgown and brushed her hair. Now that she was a significant step closer to the fulfilment of her plan, though probably not this night considering Destrian’s lack of capacity, her courage threatened to fail her. Since he was determined to behave in a gentlemanly manner, acting on her burgeoning feelings would require propositioning the man . . . who just happened to be a prince . . . one who was practically betrothed.
What was she thinking?
Eloise put her brush aside.
She was thinking that he was quite lovely . . . to look at . . . to talk to . . . to be with.
As for his betrothal, he was clearly reluctant, and it wasn’t yet official. It was common knowledge that princes and the like took willing maids to their beds . . . not so willing ones as well, though she knew Destrian would never do such a thing. She would have to declare her interest and assure him she wanted nothing more from him than a brief interlude.
Which would make her a trollop.
Heaving a sigh, Eloise began to braid her hair lest it resemble a haystack in the morning. A trollop . . . a servant . . . a slave. Was it such a terrible thing to want to experience happiness?
But you haven’t even known him a day, she reminded herself, though in her defence, it felt much longer. Their time together had been heightened by the dangers they had faced and the odd intimacy of their acquaintance. Eloise doubted she would be granted as much time with her future husband before they wed, and certainly none alone. Not that she had any desire to get to know the man Gloria would chose for her. It was a given that he would have absolutely no interest in her as a person, only what she could provide for him in way of unpaid service . . . and what he would take from her as his right regardless of her feelings or desires.
Closing her eyes in an attempt to ward off a wave of desolation, Eloise considered what she did know about Destrian.
Like her father, he was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. He was kind and considerate of her feelings, something Eloise doubted anyone other than her friend, Ayleth, had given a thought to in years. He also showed a surprising degree of gratitude for one of his station. It might have just been idle curiosity, but he seemed genuinely interested in her, asking questions and listening respectfully to her opinions, a heady experience for a girl who had been relegated to a position of near invisibility upon her father’s death.
Hugging her arms around her middle, Eloise allowed the memories of that painful time to surface. Her instincts had warned her not to trust her new stepmother, Gloria’s gushing praise and avowals of motherly devotion reeking of insincerity. Sure enough, as soon as her father had been required to travel away from home on business, Gloria had dropped the facade . . . to a degree.
Eloise had been reluctant to complain, as her father had believed he was doing her a kindness providing her with a mother and sisters. In hindsight, she had made a terrible mistake hiding her concerns. The sun had not set the day of her father’s death before Gloria’s true character had emerged in all its self-serving and vitriolic glory. Numb with grief and powerless to defend herself, Eloise had been escorted to her new home in the basement while her room, wardrobe of clothes, and possessions were given to her stepsisters. She had not even been allowed to attend her father’s funeral.
While tying off her braid with a piece of string, Eloise considered her options.
There would be considerable risks involved, and it would mean going against everything she had been taught about acceptable, ladylike behaviour. Her father would be appalled if he was still alive, though she imagined he would be equally appalled if he knew how his daughter was forced to live and what her stepmother had in store for her.
Recalling the love he had shown for her mother and the affection they had readily displayed, she questioned the strident voice of her conscience. In her heart of hearts, she believed her father might have understood.
After making sure the fire would burn for a few hours, Eloise dimmed the lantern and returned to find Destrian lying in the bed. His eyes were closed, a crease forming a shadow between his brows.
“Destrian?” she called softly, and he half opened one eye. “Did soaking your foot not help with the pain?”
“No, it did.” He rose up one elbow, the angular planes of his face highlighted by the fire’s glow.
“Is it your head?” She brushed the hair back from his forehead, pleased to see the cut had dried over. “I could make you another willow bark draft?”
“I am fine. Just . . . tired.”
“It has been a long day.” With a yawn accentuating her words, Eloise climbed in beside him. Even with his body pressed against the wall, there wasn’t enough room for the two of them to lie next to one another.
“We’ll need to lie on our sides to fit.” He rolled towards her, and she quickly turned her back.
“But what about your ankle?”
“I shall manage,” he said, threading his arm beneath her neck and adjusting the pillow so both their heads could rest upon it. His body curved around her, with his knees tucked behind her own. Spooning, she had heard it called. When his arm rested on her waist and his hand found a place not many inches below her breasts, she couldn’t help but flinch.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” He went to move his arm, but she caught hold of his hand and entwined their fingers.
“No, it’s all right.” Twisting her head, she looked over her shoulder to meet his shadowed gaze. “We’ll be warm this way. Are you comfortable?”
“Comfortable?” His voice sounded strange, and to her surprise he closed his eyes and turned
his face to burrow into the pillow. “I am fine,” he added after a moment. “Just go to sleep.”
“Very well. Good night.” Turning back the other way, Eloise snuggled into his embrace. A groan rumbled from Destrian’s chest, vibrating through her, and her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
Of one thing she was certain. If she decided to go through with her plan, when the time was right, she didn’t think a great deal of enticing would be required.
Chapter 6
Eloise woke to the sound of Destrian’s breathing next to her ear. Not a hair’s breadth separated them, and his head had found a resting place in the curve of her shoulder. The feel of him surrounding her was unlike anything she had ever known. The closest thing she could compare it to was something she had taken for granted as a girl . . . being safe, cared for, wanted. The tears that had stung her eyes when he had expressed concern for her well-being returned, and she sniffed them back. There had been no place for weeping in her life for a very long time, and she had no use for it now. As wonderful as Destrian might be, this was not a fairy-tale, and he was not her knight in shining armour come to rescue her. Whatever comfort she received from his presence, his touch, was destined to be a temporary balm to her loneliness. If she let it.
Studying their still joined hands in the waning firelight, Eloise questioned the wisdom of her plan. Asking Destrian to make love to her, so that the first time was of her choosing and not the horrible experience she had always expected it to be, seemed like a justifiable proposition. But what if she made life harder for herself? It had taken her months, years, to lock away the painful memories of her parents, only allowing them to roam free on the rarest of occasions. Using recollections of her time with Destrian as a buffer against the insults and indignities she would endure in the years ahead was a nice idea. But they could just as easily prove to be her greatest torment.
Carefully disentangling herself from his embrace, Eloise rose from the bed to tend to the fire, a chore she would need to perform every few hours throughout the night. After checking to make sure he was still asleep, she made use of the chamber pot in the shadowed corner of the cabin. Recalling how difficult she had found the adjustment from daughter of the house to one of its lowliest servants, she wondered what Destrian thought of the primitive conditions. He wasn’t one to complain, in fact, for a prince, he possessed a remarkable degree of resilience.
Smiling at the memory of him standing on one leg, reaching for the washing while wearing nothing more than an unbuttoned shirt and a pair of revealing under garments, she returned to the bed, only to find he had rolled over and was facing the wall. Not wanting to wake him, she climbed in and wrapped herself around him from behind, encircling his waist with her arm. Grumbling a little, he caught hold of her hand and entwined their fingers just as she had done at the beginning of the night.
An “if only” surfaced in her thoughts, and she brushed it aside. There was no place in her life for foolish dreams. There was here, now, and a future she would rather not think about.
A whimper rose in her throat, and she hugged Destrian tight, a long time passing before she succumbed to sleep once more.
∞ ∞ ∞
The next time Eloise woke, she was sprawled partway over Destrian’s body, one arm hugging his chest and her bent leg resting across his hips and thighs. The only way to get closer would be to lay completely on top of him. Looking up, she found him watching her.
“You are awake.” At the feel of something pressing against her inner thigh, her eyes widened. “And you are . . .”
“Sorry about that.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face then cupped her cheek with his hand. “I tried to move away, but there is no room, and I didn’t want to wake you by changing positions.”
“Oh, that was . . . considerate of you.”
He quirked a brow, his chest rising and falling with silent laughter. “More like torture.”
“Really?” Curious, she flexed her leg and felt him move beneath her. Her breath hitched, as did his, the intensity of his gaze holding her spellbound. Was now the time? Summoning her courage, she opened her mouth to tell Destrian she wasn’t offended by his arousal. In fact, unwise though it might be, she wanted him, too. But then she noticed the faint light coming through the flimsy curtains.
“It is morning?” She pushed back on her elbows.
“So?” His arms tightened around her, but he released her when she began to struggle. Leaping from the bed, she ran to the fireplace and stirred the dying embers. Adding the last of the wood, she prayed there was enough heat remaining for it to catch alight.
Sitting up, Destrian ran a hand through his crazily tousled hair. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
With his shirt hanging open, and the sleepy look in his eyes, she could have easily become distracted, but Eloise restricted herself to a brief glance . . . or two.
“The fire was almost out. I normally wake every few hours during the night to add more wood, but I slept through until morning. That never happens.” Shaking her head, she could only imagine it was Destrian’s presence that had kept her nightmares at bay, the ones that worked better than a town crier’s call.
“You were exhausted, which is hardly surprising. You worked like a Trojan yesterday.” He swung around and placed his feet on the cold cabin floor. “Will it take?”
“If it doesn’t we are in trouble, as I don’t have any dry kindling.”
“I see.” After pulling the quilt around his shoulders, he rose awkwardly and hobbled over to her side. Eloise was about to scold him for getting out of bed, as there was no point both of them freezing, when he knelt down and wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. The rebuke died on her lips when she saw the look in his eyes. There was more than desire in the emerald depths, much more.
“Don’t worry.” He softly touched her cheek. “You are one of the most capable people I have ever met. I am sure we shall manage.”
While Cook and the others weren’t unkind, her previous position as their master’s daughter held her apart from her fellow servants . . . that and their risking Gloria’s ire by being seen to befriend her. Destrian was different, his unguarded concern touching something inside her she had kept buried for a long time.
“Eloise?” He cocked his head to the side, and the temptation was too much to bear. Ignoring the now flickering flame, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. A sob erupted from her lips, followed by another, and she began to weep, the first tears she had allowed herself since a few weeks after her father’s passing.
“Shh . . .” Destrian held her close. “It’s all right. The fire didn’t go out, and everything’s going to be okay. I am sorry about before. You have nothing to fear . . . it was just an automatic response. Please, don’t be afraid.”
Eloise’s tears dried up as quickly as they had begun, and she pulled back. “Do you think I would have thrown myself into your arms if I were afraid of you?”
“Ah . . . no?” His tender expression turned to a frown. “It’s just that you started crying after I put the blanket around you, not that I was going to do anything. I just didn’t want you to be cold.”
“I know.” She wiped her face with her sleeve, embarrassed by the show of emotion. “It’s been such a long time since I had anyone take care of me that you took me by surprise.”
“Oh, I . . . I’m sorry,” he stammered. “It won’t happen again. I mean, surprising you not taking care of you, because I do care about you, Eloise, more than I should. But I shall try not to make any, er, sudden moves. As for the other thing”—he jerked his head towards the bed, two bright spots of colour appearing on his cheeks—“you don’t have to worry. It didn’t mean anything. Well, it meant something, but I am not going to act on it—”
Mirroring his earlier action, Eloise cupped his cheek with her hand. “I am not worried.”
“That’s good.” His green-eyed gaze darkened. “I won’t deny I am attracted to you, more than I have ever been to a
woman before, but I can control it. I promise.”
“I believe you.” She snaked her arms back around his neck. “But have you considered I might not want you to control it?”
Destrian’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” she whispered, and he swallowed hard. He seemed quite shy, for a prince, and Eloise worried what he would make of her plan. She didn’t want him to think badly of her, to think her a trollop, but the desire to kiss him was almost overwhelming. As for what might come after . . .
Encouraged by the way he kept looking at her mouth, as if he wanted to taste it as much as she wanted to know the feel of his, she pushed up off her knees. With another of those wonderful-sounding groans rumbling in his throat, he lowered his head, drawing her more tightly against him. His mouth hovered close to hers, but just before their lips touched, he let out a yelp.
“Damn, damn, damn!” He released her and sat back, grabbing hold of his ankle. “I mean, ouch. I mean, sorry.”
Eloise giggled, the occurrence so unusual her hand rose to her mouth in surprise. Laughter, like tears, had been absent from her life for far too long.
“You think this is funny?” He rocked on the cold ground while holding his injured foot.
“No?” The chuckles she couldn’t contain belied her words. “A little?”
“I’m glad I amuse you. Now, help me up.” His tone was gruff, but the corner of his lip twitched, assuring her he could see the funny side. Once he was seated back on the bed with his leg raised, and she saw how pale he had gone, her humour fled.
“I’ll get you something for the pain.”
After grabbing her shawl and tying it around her shoulders—the fledgling fire yet to warm the room—she made up a dose of herbal medicine from her precious bottles of tincture. While he swallowed it down, grimacing at the bitter taste, she checked his ankle.
“How does it look?”
“Colourful.” She sent him a sympathetic glance. “I hate to say it, but I think another soaking in ice water is in order. It seemed to help with the swelling last night.”
Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance Page 5