Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance

by Elise de Sallier

  “An hour, two at the most.” Rulf shrugged.

  “She is a sound sleeper. She won’t even know I’m gone.” Ayleth smiled and ducked into the back room, returning after a moment with a cloak wrapped around her shoulders and a red velvet one for Eloise. “Shall we?” She gestured towards the door, acting for all the world like they were heading out for afternoon tea.

  “Not so fast,” Rulf growled and caught hold of Ayleth’s arm, forcing her to retrace her steps.

  “Keep your voice down,” Ayleth scolded. “If you wake my daughter and she realises I am leaving, she’ll wail like a banshee and wake the entire village.”

  Rulf’s eyes widened at the unlikely threat, but he did as requested, staying quiet while giving the room with the sleeping child and empty bed a quick look over.

  “Now, get a move on,” he said once they had closed the door to the bedroom, seemingly satisfied. “The sooner Miss Sommerville becomes Madam Festerly, the sooner the crown prince will forget about her and do his duty.”

  Tears burned the back of Eloise’s eyes, and she hastily brushed them aside.

  “Don’t lose hope,” Ayleth murmured while Rulf spoke to the driver. “Destrian said he loved you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he has responsibilities . . .”

  “Which I’m betting include making sure the woman he cares for is safe. We just need to delay things for as long as we can and pray he doesn’t dawdle.”

  Chapter 13

  Destrian strode down the corridor, the mask Eloise had worn to hide her identity clutched in his fingers.

  “A tad keen, are we?” Justin smirked, and he shrugged a shoulder. His friend was right. Destrian had been as miserable as sin these past three weeks. The faint hopes he had harboured in the first few days after his rescue that there might be some way for him to continue his association with Eloise, even if only as her benefactor, had been exposed for the impossibility it was with Rulf’s announcement she was planning to wed another. He shouldn’t have been so angry, as his own plans had been equally set, but it hadn’t stopped the knowledge she had used him from hurting.

  But she hadn’t!

  She was here!

  And his eagerness to see her again bordered on desperation. Their reunion, while completely unexpected and sweeter than any dessert the palace chefs could conjure, had been far too short. Admitting that he loved her, to himself as well as publicly, had been a moment of sheer catharsis. She had not reciprocated, which was understandable given the circumstances and their audience, but the light that had appeared in her eyes gave him hope it wouldn’t be long before she graced him with a similar declaration. Then there was her response to his kisses.

  Destrian groaned, lust and longing coursing through him as he recalled the feel of her supple body pressed to his, her soft lips, her sweet taste.

  “Is something wrong?” Justin lengthened his stride to keep up with Destrian’s almost run.

  “Wrong? No, I just didn’t expect to keep Eloise waiting so long.”

  She was probably worried, and he wished he had less equivocal news. With Gorvenal unconscious and barely clinging to life, the heated discussion that had followed the visiting sovereign’s collapse had been a mostly three-way affair, with Destrian finding himself in surprising agreement with Seraphina against his own father. While there was no doubting the ageing monarchs would prefer to see their kingdoms united, believing only a combined force could stand against Carac, it wasn’t unheard of for a crown princess to ascend the throne unwed.

  “I want peace and justice for my people as much as you want it for yours.” Her voice had resonated with conviction and authority. “But I don’t believe that can only be achieved through my submission to a man, especially one who would rather be married to another.”

  “Princess Seraphina, you have my humble apologies. I would also like to add that you have my support for whatever you decide.” Destrian had bowed in her direction, ignoring his father’s sputtered protest.

  “She doesn’t get to decide. She will have to wed, as Gorvenal won’t tolerate such defiance. Nor will I!”

  The words Seraphina had spoken to her father earlier replayed in Destrian’s thoughts, and he had felt an unexpected kinship with the proud, unbroken princess. Turning to his father, he had vowed with a heavy heart. “You have my undying loyalty, the sweat of my brow, and the blood that flows through my veins, if necessary, but my heart belongs to Eloise. In light of this, I am afraid I can no longer promise my unquestioning obedience.”

  The look on his father’s face haunted Destrian as he rounded the corner that led to the room where Eloise had been taken. The hallway was empty, and Justin did a double take.

  “Where’s the guard?”

  Destrian broke into a full run, Justin calling after him, “I don’t know. There should have been two of them. I sent Valden and Walker. Good men. Loyal.”

  “Yes, to Rulf. Valden at any rate.” Destrian burst through the door, hoping against hope but finding the room empty. His curses filled the air, and he wasted precious seconds upending a table that stood beside the bed. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down . . . and think.

  “Where would he take her?”

  “Rulf?” Justin asked, his face uncommonly pale. “I don’t know, honestly Destrian. I am so sorry. I should have stayed with her myself, but I thought I could be a voice of reason in the discussion with your father. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “You weren’t to know.” Destrian gripped Justin’s shoulder then headed for the door. “I’ve had a bad feeling ever since we arrived from Angeles that not all was as it seems, and I have been gathering what information I could on the various factions. Rulf is a fanatic, but I never expected him to plot against me.”

  “I thought he wanted the alliance?” Justin asked as they ran down the hallway.

  “He does. At any price, it would seem.”

  After collecting their cloaks and swords, they departed through a side exit so as to avoid the crowded ballroom and the guests Destrian had so rudely abandoned. After summoning a half dozen men-at-arms, he called for their mounts to be saddled, stopping only long enough to confirm that Eloise had indeed left with the senior member of the King’s guard. To his relief, he learned they were travelling by carriage. Rulf had a head start of almost two hours, but they should be able to make it up . . . once Destrian settled on a destination.

  “Where to?” Justin called as they galloped along the winding road that led down the mountain. “There are a dozen villages where he could take her, all within a few hours ride. Have you any idea of his intention?”

  A sick feeling settled in Destrian’s gut as his suspicions crystallised. Rulf was not known for his flexible thinking, as he tended to see the world in black and white. His original plan to see Eloise married off to remove the risk of Destrian being distracted from his duty, as Rulf saw it, probably still stood.

  “Let’s try her home village . . . Hallewell. This Festerly character would have needed to go there to collect her. If anyone’s about, we can ask if they have seen or know anything.”

  The streets were all but empty when they reached Eloise’s village, the occasional drunk staggering home from the village pub of no use to them. Although it felt like they were wasting precious time, with no other leads, Justin approached an elderly fellow out walking his dog.

  “Oh, aye.” The man nodded. “I seen a fancy carriage a while earlier. Mind you, with the goings on at the palace, the roads ’ave been busy tonight, and I expect they soon will be again when the revellers return.”

  “Did you see where it went . . . the carriage?” Destrian asked.

  The man slowly shook his head. “No, but I did see from whence it came. The new seamstress’s place, which seemed a little odd to me. Although I suppose one of the fancy ladies might ’ave needed a repair on a gown.”

  After thanking the man, Destrian withdrew the mask from his pocket. “The dressmaker Eloise mentioned must h
ave given her the gown she wore tonight, though why would Rulf take her there?”

  Half expecting to find the place in darkness, Destrian was relieved to see a lantern hanging beneath the modest portico and an older lady waiting in the shadows.

  “Do ye be the Prince?” she called out when they rode up.

  “I am he,” Destrian said, urging her to continue.

  “Oh, thank ’eavens. Me mistress, Madam Norton, ‘ad a visitor about an ‘our ago, a frightening fellow. She snuck into me room, the one I share with her little lassie, and ‘ad me ‘ide under the bed, slipping me this note to give ye. She said it was urgent ye received it tonight.”

  Destrian brought his horse closer, taking the parchment from the matronly woman. “He is forcing Eloise to marry Festerly tonight. They were to meet him at the local inn.” Destrian crumpled the note after reading it in the lantern light. “Which direction is it?” he asked the woman.

  “In the centre of town, Your Highness, but I’d ’ead up the hill to the church. Our local minister’s a devout fellow, and ’e’d not perform a wedding unless it was on consecrated ground.”

  There was no way to hide the sound of so many horses cantering up the cobblestone roads, and Destrian’s heart pounded in time with the drumming hooves. If he was too late and Rulf or this Festerly hurt Eloise . . .

  The wind had picked up, pushing clouds across the sky and obscuring the crescent moon. Riding in the dark was a treacherous business, and Destrian signalled for the men to slow to a trot. They were almost to the church, the faint outline of its steeple rising in the night sky guiding them through the gloom. They were almost to their destination when the boxlike shape of a carriage appeared out of the gloom from where it rested in the shadows. Destrian’s relief was tempered by the knowledge Eloise was being held against her will . . . and could be harmed in the melee that was sure to ensue.

  “Your Highness?” The soldier holding the carriage horse stepped forward. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not if you don’t interfere,” Destrian said, leaping from his horse. “Watch him, and don’t let anyone else escape,” he ordered his men, before signalling two of them closer. “See if you can find a rear entry, but wait for my signal to attack. There are women and a reverend inside, and I don’t want them harmed.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” They bowed then ran to do his bidding while Destrian approached the front of the church.

  “Here’s hoping the Lord forgives us for the blasphemy,” Justin muttered, as they entered the chapel with their swords drawn.

  Destrian shrugged. Saving Eloise was his priority. The Lord would have to understand.

  The interior of the church was shrouded in darkness, all except for the group gathered near the altar, illuminated by a lantern’s circle of light.

  “Rulf!” Destrian shouted from the vestibule. “I know you’re here and that you have Eloise. Let her go, and I might let you live.”

  “Let me live?” Rulf replied, a puzzled tone to his voice. “I am doing you great service, Your Highness. Keeping you from making a regrettable error of judgement.”

  Destrian walked slowly down the central aisle, his gut roiling at the sight of Eloise being held by a giant of a man to Rulf’s left. She was dressed in a different gown than the one she had worn to the ball, still lovely but of a more subdued colour and design. Her face was pale, but she didn’t appear to have been hurt. Destrian wanted to smile his reassurance, to let her know she was safe and would soon be in his arms. Then he saw a glint of silver, the brute holding a knife to her side, and his steps slowed.

  “The only error of judgement here is yours Rulf, yours and the thug you have embroiled in this foolish plan.” Destrian edged closer, his gaze flitting between Eloise’s and the men holding her prisoner. The priest and a dark-haired woman stood off to the side. At a signal from Justin, they backed away. Three of Destrian’s men appeared out of the shadowed rear corners of the church, awaiting his signal.

  “Now, now.” Unaware or uncaring that he was surrounded, Rulf spread his hands. “You will thank me one day, my liege, and we’ll laugh about this together.”

  Destrian’s jaw clenched. The man was delusional if he truly believed such a thing. “If you’ve hurt Eloise in any way, any way at all . . .” he ground the words between his teeth. “. . . I shall see that you die slowly and painfully.”

  “No one’s going to die, Your Highness. You’re being melodramatic, but I understand, as you are not thinking straight. She has bewitched you, and understandably so. She is quite lovely, but you have to conceded she is mistress material . . . nothing more.”

  “Rulf . . .” Destrian’s muscles bunched as he prepared to attack, but Justin put a hand on his arm.

  “The men are almost in position,” he whispered in his ear, and Destrian stood his ground.

  “Think about it, Your Highness,” Rulf continued unwisely. “The princess is an exceptional woman, beautiful, one any man would be proud to have for his wife. In time, you might tire of her, and we can call for your little plaything. Festerly will have her well trained by then.”

  His blood reached the boil, and Destrian shook Justin off. He pointed his sword at the brute holding Eloise. “Let her go . . . now!”

  “Not bloody likely,” Festerly growled, dragging her in front of him and lifting his knife to her throat. “Not unless ye give me yer assurance I’ll be allowed to leave ‘ere, wiv me money.”

  Destrian stalked closer. “I don’t care about the damned money, but if you hurt her, I will gut you.”

  Festerly lowered the knife. “I can keep the gold?”

  “No!” Rulf shouted at the same time that Eloise raked the heel of her boot down her captor’s shin. The giant shouted, loosening his hold, and she shoved her elbow into his belly. The knife fell from his hand, and she wrested herself free, dropping to the ground.

  “Stay down, Eloise!” Destrian kicked the knife out of the way while Eloise crawled under the altar. Rulf raised the sword he had kept hidden behind a pew, and Destrian spun to face him, leaving Justin and his men to subdue Festerly. Falling under their combined weight, his arms flailed, as he refused to give up without a fight. Muffled shouts, and the sound of fists connecting with solid flesh, filled the air, but Destrian’s attention was fixed on his opponent’s sword, swinging towards him. He blocked the strike, the shock of it resonating up his arm, retaliating with one designed to wound not distract.

  “Your Highness, be reasonable,” Rulf said as their swords clashed again and again. “She’s a nothing . . . a nobody.”

  Suppressing the roar that wanted to burst from his chest, Destrian channelled his rage into making every lunge and parry count. Rulf was one of the men who had taught him how to fight, mentored him, protected him during the years of exile. They wanted the same things, or so Destrian had always thought, peace and political stability. But the man was no longer his ally. Whatever his motivation, for lying to him, deceiving him, and threatening to harm Eloise, he was the enemy.

  Holding onto the ridiculous notion that Destrian would forgive him for his deception, Rulf continued to argue his case, his strikes lacking conviction. There was a hesitancy to his movements, one Destrian did not suffer from, and he punished the man with blow after resounding blow. A slash across Rulf’s thigh saw him falter. Finally comprehending his life was in real danger, he began to fight back in earnest, the edge of his blade catching Destrian’s left arm. Sucking air in through his clenched teeth, Destrian refused to be distracted by the pain.

  “You’re a fool,” Rulf snarled, as they circled one another. “You could have had it all . . . the three kingdoms united under your rule, with me as your chief advisor.”

  Lunging forward, Destrian’s blade missed Rulf’s side by a hair’s breadth. “I think my father might have had something to say about that.”

  “We have plans that don’t include the overly honourable King Cedric, plans much more suited to the reign of Destrian the Insecure.” Rulf taunted. “What
a waste? You find your backbone, only to go to battle over a mere maiden.”

  Not missing their significance, Destrian stored away Rulf’s words. He was aware some of his father’s men interpreted his quiet ways as weakness, but they were mistaken. He might not possess his brother’s charm, but what he lacked in bluster, Destrian more than made up for in determination. His next strike did not miss, slicing across Rulf’s belly. The cut wasn’t deep, but the damage was enough. Rulf’s sword dropped to the ground, and he soon followed, Destrian’s sword at his throat.

  “Don’t kill him!” Justin shouted, and Destrian looked up, relieved to see Festerly had been subdued, the man’s hands tied behind his back while blood trickled from a gash on his brow.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” He jerked his chin to where Rulf lay prone at his feet, and Justin slowly approached.

  “Because you will regret it. You have defeated him, Destrian. He can do no further harm.”

  Destrian wasn’t convinced, his heart pounding in time with his mind’s cry to finish the man who had threatened Eloise, once and for all.

  “Destrian?” Her soft cry drew his attention, and he looked to where she was standing with the priest and her friend. She took a step towards him, and he signalled her to wait before turning back to Justin.

  “Very well, but make sure he is securely bound. There are questions I want answered.” Letting his men take over, Destrian put his sword aside and turned to Eloise. Without hesitation, she ran into his open arms, her lithe form moulding to his.

  “Oh, Destrian, you came for me.” She hugged him tightly, and he buried his face in her hair. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  He lifted his head and waited until she raised hers, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Of course, I came. I love you.”