‘And I told you, you have nothing to fear from Steffen, that I would protect you. Why do you not trust me?’
‘Why would I?’ Eva spat back, staring moodily at the slatted boards beneath her boots. ‘You’re his brother, you are connected by family. I am nothing to you.’
On the contrary, he thought with a jolt. You are most definitely something. Someone. Someone I don’t want to let go of, just yet. The thought thwacked into him with the force of a crossbow bolt, stunning, unexpected, allied with a flicker of hope. Newborn and tentative, but, aye, it was there: hope. He cared about Eva, he realised, cared about what happened to her. The air stuck in his throat and he frowned, glancing away across the river, the wide choppy expanse. A flock of seagulls circled over a flat meadow that ran down to the water’s edge and he watched their wheeling progress for a moment, heard their lonesome, mewling cries. What was it about this woman that captivated him, held him in such thrall?
She sat before him, half-drowned, stockings peeking in sodden folds beneath her hemline, tumbling hair plastered chaotically around her head. Most women would be in tears by now, hysterical, clinging. Not Eva. She refused to give up, or give in to him, battling stubbornly for any ounce of freedom she could find. Her stance was defiant: spine pulled straight, shoulders set in a determined line. Her rare courage drew him, like a beacon in the darkness.
‘I would not leave you at the mercy of any man, let alone my brother, whatever it is you think he might do,’ replied Bruin eventually. Squinting against the brilliant light across the water, he realised the boat had almost reached its destination: a tiny inlet that sat below the gatehouse of the castle. Oak trees clustered along the bank, bare branches dusted with snow sweeping low across the water, frilled ends sketching the shallows. The boat grated against the shingle, a rough, discordant sound, as the men manoeuvred the vessel on to the stones.
Standing up, Bruin placed his foot on the edge of the boat and sprang out, boots crunching on the loose gravelly stones. As the men secured the oars in the rowlocks, he barked a few words at them and they began running through the trees back to the castle, the sunlight streaking down through the dark grid of criss-crossed branches, striking patches of white snow on the brown earth. Bruin watched them go, then turned back to Eva sitting proudly in the boat. ‘Now, my lady, will you come with me to Deorham?’
Eva pursed her lips, feeling her strength drain away. ‘I suppose I have no choice.’
‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘You don’t.’
She stood up slowly, her legs wobbling, almost giving way. Her wet gowns pulled heavily on her shoulders. ‘So be it,’ she stuttered out, reluctantly. He had won. Her brain, scrambled by her dunking in the river, seemed void of solutions to her predicament. She couldn’t think of a single one.
‘And no more attempts to escape?’ A taut muscle flexed in the hollow of his cheek.
‘I promise,’ she replied meekly. Her eyelashes fluttered down, a gesture of compliance.
Bruin wasn’t fooled. Despite Eva’s acquiescent behaviour, the demure flick of her velvet eyelashes, he had no intention of believing her. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he gripped her waist, lifting her shaking body out of the boat. He placed her beside him and she staggered a little. Water streamed from the ends of her hair, the long strands plastered lovingly to her curves like silken skeins. Like a mermaid, he thought, a fairy creature from a story long ago, fey and ethereal.
The material of her gown clagged uncomfortably against her chest and belly, the chill cloth prickling her forearms. ‘I have to change,’ she announced. ‘I can’t travel like this. I need to go back to the castle.’
Bruin’s mouth set into a firm line. ‘No, Eva, I’m sorry. We’ve wasted too much time as it is. The men have gone back for the horses and some clothes for you.’
‘But…’
‘No, Eva.’
At his brusque refusal, her eyes flared with annoyance; she pursed her lips, folding her arms belligerently across her chest. ‘What gives you the right to treat me like this?’ Irritation laced her tone; she plucked viciously at the fabric stuck wetly to her thighs.
‘No right at all,’ he replied amiably. Beneath the trees, his features appeared hewn, as if from wood: craggy and angled. And yet his mouth held a surprisingly generous curve. ‘Other than the fact that I made a promise to my dying brother and I aim to fulfil it. In whatever way possible,’ he finished, ominously.
‘In whatever way possible,’ she repeated slowly, turning away with tears in her eyes. ‘Riding roughshod over people’s rights and opinions, determined to have your own way. How like your brother you are.’ Condemnation dripped from her voice. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t march me to Deorham in the middle of the night, with your knife at my throat!’
Dark streaks clouded his eyes, muting the silver. ‘Is that what Steffen did to you?’ Nausea rose in his gullet.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘No, he didn’t do that. He threatened all sorts of things, to scare me, but he never carried them out.’
‘I am sorry you had to endure such things.’
‘Are you? Then why are you dragging me back to my persecutor? If you’re sorry?’
A dull flush covered Bruin’s cheeks. He sighed. ‘You know why, Eva. I’ve known my brother all my life; I’ve known you a couple of days. There is such a thing as loyalty, despite what he has done. And, yes…’ he held up his hand as Eva was about to speak ‘…I do believe what you told me about him, but I also believe that he needs to be able to ask your forgiveness before he dies.’
Eva glared down at her boots poking out from her skirts, the leather stained dark from the water. She knew what Bruin said made sense, that she couldn’t deny a man, any man, his last dying wish, but she also knew how clever and manipulative Lord Steffen could be.
Bruin’s eyes slid over her lowered head, the defiant glitter in her eyes. ‘Eva, you have to know when to stop fighting.’
‘Give in, you mean.’ Her voice was bitter.
‘If you want to call it that, then, yes,’ he replied calmly. Through the trees, the filtered light danced on his shoulder, patches of shadow. ‘You’re not going to survive much longer in this world if you keep behaving like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re invincible. Speaking your mind when it would be better to remain silent. The physical risks you take…’ he shook his head ‘…why, even a man would baulk at them.’
She jerked her chin up. ‘You don’t understand, do you, Bruin?’ Her voice adopted a dangerous lilt, a shrill note of discord. ‘I’ve had to be like this.’ She kicked petulantly at a small stone, watching it skitter away to the water’s edge. ‘When my father and brother were killed, I was left everything that my family owned. I managed the estates, with the help of good bailiffs. My servants were happy, everyone was happy…’
‘And Steffen took it all away from you.’ Disgust rose in his mouth, a sour taste.
‘Yes.’ She angled her gaze up to him. ‘He took it all away from me, but not without a fight.’
He shoved one hand in his hair. ‘Most ladies in your position would have given it to him without argument. Surely that would have been easier?’ And safer, he thought.
‘Is that what you would have done?’ She glared at him archly. In the limpid light, the skin in the hollow of her neck gleamed with a pearl-like lustre. The pulse in her throat beat rapidly. What would it be like to place his fingertip on that very spot, feel her blood race beneath his touch?
Bruin tilted his head to one side. ‘No. No, I would not have. But then, I am a man. I can fight my own battles.’ He stuck his thumbs into his sword belt.
‘It shouldn’t make a difference.’ Her tone was tight, laced with bitterness. ‘Your brother picks on the wealthy unmarried women, the rich widows. Daughters and wives. In my case, I think the King condoned his
behaviour because it’s seen as fit punishment for being related to a rebel. I’m not the only one, Bruin. Lord Steffen has ruined other women’s lives, too, stripping them of their lands and wealth. Their dignity. Did you know that?’
Bruin rolled his shoulders, frowning. ‘I did not.’ What, he wondered, had his brother become? Had Steffen’s childish competitiveness, his petty jealousies, developed into something far uglier? He knew that Steffen had resented his own skill as a knight, particularly when it drew praise from the King, but had this resentment grown into something far crueller and more widespread?
Eva’s mouth twisted, eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘I’ve fought for what I think is right, Bruin, not just for me, but for all the other women who have suffered at his hands. It was time for someone to stand up to him.’
Her words gouged into him. If he had stood up to his brother as a child, then maybe Steffen wouldn’t have gone on to torture and humiliate such innocent woman as Eva. ‘You were brave to do such a thing, Eva.’ He paused. ‘Steffen—can be unpredictable.’
She threw him a sharp look. It was the first time Bruin had referred directly to his brother’s character. ‘I had to try,’ she whispered. Her shoulders sagged downwards, her small frame wilting beneath the harsh reality of his words.
He watched the fight drain out of her, vulnerability sifting across her face. His hand caught her icy fingers, a gesture of apology, before his fingers dropped away. ‘I’m sorry it has to be like this, for your sake.’ he murmured.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Eva replied. ‘I’m not entirely stupid. I do know how this world works and where women are placed within that world.’ She threw him a wan smile. ‘We are at the bottom of the pile.’
Bruin dipped his head, about to speak, but she placed a hand on his chest, stalling him. ‘The men are back,’ she said, raising her tone with a false jollity. Her pronouncement sounded inane, cutting through the intensity of their previous words. She fixed him with her brilliant blue gaze, opening her eyes wide in innocent question. ‘What do you want me to do?’
He grinned at her unexpected meekness. Taking the pile of clothes from the manservant, he handed them to her. ‘Go and change in the bushes over there.’ Bruin nodded at an area of low vegetation. ‘And make sure you stay where I can see you.’ A ruddy colour dusted the top of his cheekbones as he realised the implication of his words. ‘I mean—well, not all of you, obviously.’ God, her beauty made him stumble over his speech like some callow youth.
‘Obviously.’ Her response was dry as she marched off in the direction of the bushes edging the woodland. Ducking behind a thick scrub of holly, she peeped over towards him. ‘Can you still see me?’
‘Yes,’ Bruin muttered hoarsely. He turned abruptly to check over the bridles and saddles of the new horses from the castle stables, acutely aware that, barely a few feet away, Eva was removing every stitch of clothing.
* * *
Roughly following the line of the river, the route to Deorham led north out of the sweeping valley that had been Eva’s home for the last few months. Her sanctuary. Already she missed Katherine’s calm, easy company; it felt strange, unusual to be away from her friend, away from the simple routines of domestic life, the tolling of the chapel bell that structured the day, the playful shrieks of the children. She hoped and prayed they would be safe and happy, that King Edward had not arranged some ogre of a husband for his only niece, Katherine.
The clear, settled weather held; although the air was chill and snow lay on the ground, the sun shone brightly, hot against her spine. The cold weather had turned the mud on the track into hard, unyielding furrows, easier for the horses. Ice sparkled down from the trees, glittering like tiny crystals. Occasionally, the earthen banks alongside the track rose steep and high, plunging them into shadow, branches bending over the space to create a dank hollow, laced with brown, brittle ferns.
The dry clothes imbued her with a renewed energy; behind the thicket of bushes she had changed every last scrap of clothing, scrubbing her wet skin briskly with the linen towel that someone, supposedly on Katherine’s orders, had placed in the leather satchel that was now strapped to the rump of her horse. Her chemise and undergarments, her stockings, even her leather boots had all been replaced, the wet garments handed back to the servants who were returning to the castle. Her new gowns were of fine wool: a blue dress over an undergown of pale cream. She recognised the hooded cloak as one of Katherine’s, swinging out in voluminous pleats from her shoulders. The warm layers enveloped her, gradually driving out the icy chill of the river from her body.
Her horse was docile, but lively and responsive to the touch of her knee, or twitch on the reins. At Striguil, she had ridden out on a daily basis, inspecting the crops in summer, checking the food and hay stores in winter. Before they had set off, Bruin had asked her if she could ride, and before he could help her, she had stuck her foot into the stirrup of the chestnut mare and swung herself up easily, side saddle, her right knee crooked before her. Bruin had grinned, a quick flash of praise, and she had blushed stupidly in the glow of his approval.
Now, he led the way along the stony track towards the ridge that marked one end of the valley. She had no choice but to follow him; Bruin had attached a leading rein to her horse. He didn’t trust her, understandable after what she had tried to do, but still annoying. Sighing, she studied the broad expanse of his shoulders, his red surcoat straining over bulky muscles. A quiver of delight rippled through her belly, but she quashed it swiftly, pursing her lips together with an acceptance of the inevitable. After his earlier words, a small part of her believed that he was on her side; she must hold on to that thought, for now there was no option left to her but to trust him. Trust that he would protect her against Lord Steffen.
CHAPTER TEN
The sun was beginning to drop as Bruin and Eva finally crested the ridge at the head of the long valley in which Katherine’s castle was situated. They had been unable to follow the river for the last mile or two: the bank was too steep and rocky for a track to run alongside, so the path had deviated upwards instead. The horses had climbed a rocky zigzag path, their step sure and slow, a strengthening wind catching at their manes, fanning the coarse hair out across their noses. Brilliant gorse, shining yellow, gathered in clumps along the track, spilling abundantly down the steep hillside. Trees became increasingly sparse, branches contorted, until at the top there were none, only a vast plain, empty but for patches of stiff, fawn-coloured grass, blown sideways.
Eva’s stomach rumbled. She shifted awkwardly in the saddle, drawing one gloved hand through the arm slit cut into her cloak to surreptitiously rub her belly. Easing forward, she stretched out the cramped muscles in her back. Despite her horse being led by Bruin, the lengthy ride was taking its toll; she was out of practice and her limbs started to protest. Her hip bones ached. Her eyes watered, aching with the continual squinting against the glaring sunshine, the vivid blue sky. The breeze scoured her cheeks. But the exertion of the ride, combined with the new dry clothes, had warmed her after her time in the river, and for that, she was thankful.
Below them, the countryside flattened out. Down to their right, the river wound a steady course, hugging the low hilly contours, studded with clumps of bare-branched oaks. To the left the flood plain extended across flat pasture, bisected by hedges. And ahead in the distance, a higher range of hills, tops covered with orange bracken, their looming bulk shimmering on the horizon. Pulling in his reins, Bruin slowed to a stop. His knee nudged hers as her horse moved alongside him. Silently, she envied his energy, the superior physical strength that no doubt would keep him riding all day. She knew she was holding him up, being tugged along by the leading rein, but she was glad of it. Because the slower they went, the more likely Lord Steffen was to die before they reached Deorham.
‘Why have you stopped?’ Eva asked. ‘Are you lost?’ Her horse stood slightly highe
r on the slope than Bruin’s, dropping its head to rip up the sparse, short grass.
‘No, I know the way,’ he answered. ‘But I thought we would rest for a moment.’ In the harsh, unrelenting light, his cheekbones seemed cast from stone, angular in his tanned face. Dark bronze bristles hazed his chin, lending him a saturnine, devilish look. Catching her quick glance, he rubbed a rueful hand across his jawline. ‘Aye, I had no time to shave, but you can spare me the reproving look. If you remember, I had other things on my mind this morning.’
Eva grimaced, flushing at the memory of their kiss in the shadowed hallway, ducking her head to study the line of silver discs that decorated her bridle. His firm mouth moving over hers, searching out the softness, flirting with her innocence. Her body splayed beneath him. Her stomach hollowed out with insensible yearning. ‘It was a mistake,’ she replied sharply. ‘I was upset. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘I wasn’t talking about that.’ Amusement etched his tone.
‘What—oh!’ The colour on her cheeks deepened to a rosy red. ‘You mean my escape.’
‘Why, what did you think I meant?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows innocently, although he knew to what she was referring. He hadn’t forgotten the kiss: the luscious pliability of her feminine curves; her sweet mouth.
‘Nothing. I thought you meant that.’ She twisted the leather bridle with irritation—what was the matter with her? She was usually adept at maintaining a haughty aloofness, a sneering disdain, around men, even more so since her time with Lord Steffen. And yet with Bruin? Every glance, every smile, even the slightest brush from his arm, made her heart sing stupidly, an unsteady desire knocking through her, incandescent, unsteady. Why, oh, why did it have to be him? This man, larger than life itself, with his wild brindled hair and diamond eyes. Her body cleaved towards him with a treacherous determination that she seemed powerless to control. Staring grimly at the pale flickering grass, she waited for Bruin to move off. She would do well to put such thoughts out of her head, and concentrate on the journey ahead.
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 33