“It can wait.” He reached for her hand. “It is bitterly cold. Why don’t you come back to bed until the room warms and tell me what you meant by your words? You do realise the situation is impossible?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Eloise shrugged, intrigued by the light her taunting words caused to blaze in his eyes. She had never flirted before, never known the thrill of desire and being desired in return. When he tugged her closer, she didn’t resist.
“What does that mean?”
“It means”—she leaned down and whispered next to his ear—“that I am looking forward to kissing you without interruption. But first, I have to go get us some more firewood. Otherwise we run the risk of both freezing and starving, and I have no desire to do either.”
After brushing her lips lightly to his cheek, she collected her clothes and went behind the screen. Bemused by her boldness, she couldn’t suppress a grin . . . which faded when she glanced towards the empty wood bin. With no time to waste, she took the axe down from its place on the wall, propped it near the door, and fetched them both an apple.
“To break your fast.” He shook his head, and she added, “You will have to wait for something more substantial, I am afraid. I did not speak in jest. If the fire goes out, I will be all but impossible to get it started again, and I can’t cook without a flame.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” He put the apple on the bed and grabbed her hand once more. “I just can’t believe I am letting you do this . . . go out in this miserable weather and chop wood while I lay abed like a sluggard.”
“You can’t help that.” She squeezed his hand. “And it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”
He tugged her a step closer, so that her thighs were pressed against the side of the bed and she had to grab his shoulder not to end up falling in his lap. “I will make this up to you, Eloise, I promise. I will find a way to give you what you want.”
Desire sparked low in her belly at his words. “What I want?”
“Freedom from your guardian, and a life of your choosing.” Lifting the hand he still held to his mouth, he brushed the back of her fingers with his lips, lingering far longer than the courtly gesture required. The tingling inside intensified, while her legs turned to jelly.
“But I thought you said it wasn’t possible,” she whispered.
“I shall find a way to make it happen.”
“Oh.” His words were astonishing—life changing—but all Eloise could think of was other, impossible, things. “Can I still have a kiss?”
“God, yes.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “But it’s dangerous. I fear once I start kissing you, it will be difficult to stop.”
Their gazes met, equally heated, and she swayed towards him. Since Eloise didn’t want him to stop, it would not be a problem.
The fire snapped, breaking the spell, and she reluctantly straightened.
“Eloise, wait,” Destrian called when she reached the door. “Where are you going? What direction and how far?”
“Why?” She turned back to face him.
“So that I know where to look for you if you don’t return.”
“But your ankle?”
“My ankle be da—”
“Damned?” she finished for him when he snapped his mouth shut.
“If anything were to happen to you . . .” He grimaced, as if the thought caused him pain.
The temptation to return to the bed, pull back the covers, and burrow into Destrian’s embrace was so strong, Eloise had to grip hold of the door frame to keep from acting on it. She was probably reading more into his concern than was warranted, her neediness and the emptiness that had plagued her for so long making her vulnerable . . . and foolish. But his concern for her wellbeing seemed genuine.
“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen.” She mustered a smile.
“Humour me? Please?”
She shrugged a shoulder. Knowing it would be almost impossible for him to reach her if something went wrong—and invariably too late—she gave him the directions as requested.
“I should be back mid-morning, but don’t panic if I am delayed. I have an old sled that I use to carry the wood, and it is slow going.”
“Be safe.” He waved, and Eloise nodded in return, her hands filled with the axe and old sacks she would need for gathering kindle. It was only when she was making her way, as stealthily through the forest as the old sled would allow, that she faced the implications of his promise.
If he was able to secure her freedom, making it possible for her to avoid being forced into a marriage not of her choosing, was it wrong of her to still want to be with him while she had the chance?
Unable to pace, Destrian was reduced to drumming his fingers on the scarred surface of the small wooden table. His gaze remained fixed on the hands on his pocket watch moving inexorably around the face. He hadn’t expected the time piece to survive the fall and subsequent soaking, but after retrieving it from his coat pocket, all he’d had to do was wind the knob to set it ticking once more. Having no way of knowing the actual time, he had taken a guess, his purpose to keep track of how long Eloise was out in the forest . . . alone . . . doing work that should not befall a lady.
In her absence, he had done what he could to tidy up the cabin—namely, straightening the quilt on the bed and removing their dry clothing from the makeshift line. It had been a first for him, picking up after himself, a chore normally undertaken by his valet or page. As for leaning on the flimsy broom and hobbling out into the bushes behind the cabin to empty the chamber pot, he doubted anyone of his acquaintances would credit such a thing. But he had done it. For Eloise.
The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Destrian, a smirk curving his lips.
Most gentlemen gave flowers, chocolates, or fripperies when they wooed a lady, jewellery if it was a serious courtship. Disposing of bodily waist didn’t even make the list, though he suspected Eloise would be appreciative.
His smile fading, he expelled a gusty sigh. What on earth was he doing? Courting her wasn’t an option, which made even thinking about wooing her reprehensible. But he couldn’t get the idea of kissing her out of his mind. Spending the night with her warm, soft, curvaceous body wrapped in his arms had been heaven . . . and hell. He had known her less than twenty-four hours, but already the thought of their being parted was unthinkable. If he allowed things to go any further—just a kiss, of course, as anything more was out of the question—he doubted he would survive their inevitable separation.
“So speaks the man stricken by his first ever bout of infatuation,” he murmured to the empty room. It was a good thing Merek wasn’t here to witness his older, responsible, dare-he-admit to occasionally dour brother’s predicament, as he’d have laughed him to scorn.
“It is all right for some.” Destrian’s wry tone did little to hide the concern he felt over the fate of his companions. A world without his carefree brother, who wooed and won the ladies without a thought while eschewing the finer feelings Destrian held in secret regard, was not one to be contemplated. Nor was kissing Eloise but contemplate it he did while the minutes ticked by, one agonising second at a time.
Chapter 7
Chopping wood was one of Eloise’s least favourite chores. If all the time she had spent scrubbing, cleaning, and lifting had added any perceivable musculature to her arms she might have found it easier, but they remained stubbornly slender. After an hour of swinging the axe, they also ached. With the sled loaded as much as she dared—any more and she would not be able to pull it back to the cabin—she allowed herself a few moments rest. After arching her body to ease the tension in her weary muscles, she scanned the nearby trees and bushes. Without a convenient thunder storm to cover the sound of the axe striking wood, her presence would be known to anyone in the vicinity. Her hope was whomever might be out there wouldn’t be bothered to investigate, assuming she was a wood cutter about his business or a trapper replenishing his stockpile before the first snows fell. But there we
re no guarantees.
It wouldn’t be the first time Eloise had garnered the attention of dangerous men, her swift feet and knowledge of the forest’s twisting trails saving her from capture in the past. The remoteness of the location was a protection, of sorts, as few travellers ventured this deep in the woods. But the king’s son and heir had gone missing. There were sure to be soldiers scouring the trails that led away from the river, some intent on rescue, others on capture, and some to finish Destrian off.
A branch snapped, and Eloise tensed, but when she heard nothing more than the rustling of the wind in the leaves, she released the breath she was holding.
A group of men on horseback had passed within a stone’s throw of her on the journey from the cabin. She had tried to get a glimpse of them without being seen, but the shrubbery in which she had taken cover had been too dense. There was a chance they were the king’s men, but the risk of encountering deadly foe rather than dubious friend—soldiers not known for asking questions before they attacked—had discouraged her from making herself known. The only safe bet was to wait until Destrian was able to walk before they ventured out together, so he could announce himself to his allies or hide with her from his enemies as necessary.
That it would take days before his ankle was strong enough to undertake the journey to the nearest village, days during which the two of them would be cooped up inside the cabin alone, wasn’t Eloise’s doing.
Hefting the axe once more, she set to splitting the last log into kindling, a more enjoyable task than cutting up the thick branches of the fallen tree. At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for the smile that kept curving her lips . . . lips that would soon be kissing Destrian. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her at the thought. Would his lips feel as soft as they looked? As warm? Would he taste as sweet as he smelled . . . well, sweet and salty with a hint of musk? He was a man, after all.
She pictured him brushing his fingers along her jaw as he had that morning, cupping her cheek with his hand before lowering his head to hers. She would definitely wrap her arms Around his neck again, hugging him close to bring their bodies into contact.
Eloise paused and fanned her face, the memory of her soft curves pressing against Destrian’s hard planes heating her blood more than her labours. Whether the tingle in her fingers was due to wielding the axe or in anticipation of threading her fingers through the curls that nestled at Destrian’s nape was uncertain, but she itched to feel them again.
How would they go about it? Standing would be a problem with his ankle, but the chair was too flimsy to support both their weight. Suggesting they lay on the bed would be terribly forward, though it made sense and wasn’t that outrageous since he had suggested something similar before she had left to fetch the wood. The fire would have gone out by the time she returned, and the cabin would take time to warm. They could cuddle up together like they had the night before, or in front of the fire, but she would be careful of his ankle this time. Destrian was sure to be hungry, so she should probably cook his breakfast before they did anything . . . else.
Eloise’s smile faded, her conscience—and a latent dose of common sense—warring with her desires about both the morality and risks involved with pursuing her plan. A kiss was one thing, but anything more? Whatever else did, or did not occur between them, she would savour the kiss. Destrian’s kiss. The first man with whom she could imagine being intimate without fear or revulsion. It was hardly surprising. He was young, handsome, and he looked at her with both kindness and curiosity, as if he wanted to know her, Eloise, not just take what he could regardless of her feelings or wishes. Then there was his intention to free her from Gloria’s control. How could she not adore him?
Eloise’s smile returned, giving way to a grin. A life of her own choosing! Well, as much choice as a girl in her position could hope for. An independent source of income, a say in whether or not she took a husband, though she shied away from that possibility, her mind too filled with thoughts of the young man awaiting her return to even contemplate opening her heart to another.
If things went as she hoped, she would have options but not limitless ones. She could not choose a life with Destrian, of course, not one of respectability.
Bending down to collect the kindling and place it in a sack, Eloise tried to ignore the insidious thought that worked its way into her mind, but it refused to be pushed aside.
Princes and kings kept mistresses, or so she had heard. Would Destrian?
“That is not an option,” she muttered, hefting the bag onto the sled with the logs she had already piled in place. “Destrian is a good man, honourable, decent.” He might be swayed to lie with her, though she had her doubts, but he wouldn’t betray his wife once he was wed. “You have no right to contemplate such a thing,” she added more firmly.
“And which ‘Destrian’ shouldn’t you be contemplating, lass?”
At the sound of a man’s voice behind her, Eloise lunged for the axe. She grasped the handle with both hands, but before she could swing it, the intruder’s booted foot came down hard, holding the blade firmly in place. Looking up, she found herself inches from the tip of a very pointed sword. Stupid girl. Caught up in a silly fantasy, she hadn’t heard the tall, fair-haired man’s approach.
“Speak truthfully, and you shall come to no harm.” His reasonable tone was at odds with his aggressive stance. He gestured for her to stand, and Eloise did so, scrambling backwards in the process. She darted a glance to either side, but her escape routes were blocked by other men, soldiers by the look of them. One was holding a crossbow, his arrow pointed straight at her heart. A whimper escaped her lips, and her knees threatened to buckle.
“There is no need to be afraid,” the first man said. “Just tell us what you know, and we shall leave you in peace.”
Under the circumstances, Eloise was not inclined to believe him. “Whose men are you?” she asked, determined not to betray Destrian, no matter what they did to her.
“We’ll ask the questions.” The crossbow-wielding man strode forward and grabbed hold of her arm. “Now tell us what you know.”
“Easy, Rulf.” The man with the sword stepped forward. “She might be able to help.”
Eloise winced, but the dark-haired Rulf’s grip did not ease. He seemed much rougher than the fair-haired gentleman, who was dressed too finely for a mere soldier. With his cloak hidden from her view, she couldn’t tell if he was one of Carac’s men out to finish what they had started, though something about his eyes gave her a glimmer of hope.
“Release her,” he said, and the soldier did so after giving her arm a shake. Eloise clutched the aching limb with her other hand and eyed them both warily.
“I am Baron Winterfold, loyal to the new king of Varianda , Cedric.” He lowered his sword and gave a brief nod of his head. “Now tell me about this Destrian of whom you spoke.”
“Show me proof.” Eloise raised her chin, grateful her skirt hid her knocking knees though they were probably all too aware of how terrified she was. What hope did a young woman have against grown men?
“Proof?” Rulf raised a hand, and she cringed in anticipation of being struck. “How dare you speak to the baron in such a manner! We are searching for the King’s son, Prince Destrian, and you will tell us what you know.”
“Easy.” Lord Winterfold caught hold of Rulf’s arm. “Living under Althelos’s rule will have taught her to be cautious.” Turning to Eloise, he brought his cloak over his shoulder, so she could see the insignia—a red lion, not Cauis’s black dragon. “Prince Destrian is my friend, and I hold grave fears for his safety. I found his cloak near the river, rent with an arrow hole. Please, tell us what you know.”
Swayed by the sincerity in his blue eyes, and hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mistake, Eloise gave a jerky nod.
“The prince was shot in the back by one of Carac’s men. A captain.”
“The bloody fool.” Rulf turned and paced a few yards. “What the hell was he thinking ri
ding off alone?”
“He wanted to protect his brother and companions,” Eloise said in Destrian’s defence. “He knew of the trail through the pass and thought he could outrun the attackers’ horses.”
“You have spoken to him? He is alive?” Lord Winterfold’s eyes flashed. “Where is he?”
“He is at my cabin, hurt . . . but not too badly,” she added when he blanched. “His back is only bruised, as the arrow lodged in his satchel, but he sprained his ankle in the fall.”
“Take us to him. Immediately!” Rulf demanded. He was the more volatile of the two, and had bruised her arm, but Eloise was inclined to forgive his fierce manner in light of his obvious concern for Destrian.
“Very well.” She took a hesitant step towards the sled, reaching for the ropes with which to pull it.
“Leave that,” Lord Winterfold said, gesturing for her to precede him to the trail. “We shall move quicker on horseback.”
“I can’t.” At Eloise’s refusal, he raised a brow. “The fire will have gone out. I left Destrian in bed to try and keep warm, but the cabin will be freezing.”
Both men stared at her for a moment before the baron spoke, his tone laced with bemusement. “You have our thanks for taking care of Prince Destrian, but we need to move swiftly. The palace is in an uproar.”
Eloise shrugged. “Be that as it may, I don’t know how quickly he will be able to move with his injuries, and all he’s had for breakfast is an apple. I promised him a cooked meal on my return.”
And he had promised her a kiss. Foolish tears stung the back of her eyes at the realisation she had missed her chance. She should be relieved these men weren’t intent on harming her, and she was, but she couldn’t help wishing another day—or two—had passed before they had been found.
Not wanting to have to return later, Eloise straightened her drooping shoulders. “If you help me with the sled, it won’t take us long to get to the cabin.”
Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance Page 6