‘Do you want to eat?’ Bruin asked mildly. ‘You must be hungry after all that exertion this morning.’
‘You don’t have to keep referring to what happened,’ she snapped. The wind whipped at her veil, a chaotic spiral of silk, and she raised one slim arm to push it back, holding the flying end with her fingers. Beneath the diaphanous material, her hair was still wet, cold droplets trickling down behind her ears, down the elegant column of her neck. She had pinned her hair up into a loose bun with the few remaining hairpins that had survived her plunge into the river. ‘I know you think it’s a tremendous joke that I would try such a foolish thing, but you can stop gloating now. You caught me.’
Her spine was drawn straight, mouth pressed into a hostile line, every inch of her body radiating a prickly, combative energy, a taut readiness for a fight. She had agreed to come with him peacefully, but he suspected their journey would be anything but easy. ‘I was only teasing, Eva.’ He held his palms up, a gesture of apology. ‘And I do have some food.’ The edges of his generous mouth curved upwards.
His quick smile punctured her crabbiness. Her tight-lipped expression eased, appreciating his easy camaraderie, his efforts to dispel the tension between them. Without waiting for her reply, he swung down from his saddle, jumping down into the bristly grass.
‘I have bread and cheese, and a flagon of mead,’ he said. ‘Is that enough to tempt you down from your horse?’ He reached up for her, swinging her light weight down beside him. Her leg muscles screamed in protest and she winced. He frowned as the pain flashed across her face. ‘Your leg?’
‘No, my leg is fine. It’s just that I haven’t ridden for some time,’ Eva replied ruefully. ‘I’m not used to it.’
He chuckled, removing his gauntlets to release the buckles on the saddlebag at the back of his horse. ‘It will become easier,’ he reassured her. ‘Here.’ He handed her a pie filled with chunks of meat, vegetables. ‘Eat quickly, otherwise we’ll freeze standing still like this.’ His eyes moved over her face, her cheeks slapped bright red by the icy wind. ‘Are you warm enough?’ Reaching over her head, he pulled her voluminous hood forward. ‘There,’ he said, with an air of satisfaction, ‘that should keep the wind off you, at least.’
‘Why are you being like this?’ Eva glared at him suspiciously. A wary look crossed her aquamarine eyes. The fur edging on her hood ruffled around her ears, brushing the curve of her cheek.
‘Like what?’ Bruin said through large mouthfuls of pie. He ate with relish, obviously hungry. ‘I’m trying to be nice.’ He swept the stray crumbs from his mouth with his thumb. ‘Eat your food.’
Eva wrinkled her pert, tip-tilted nose, delicate crinkles appearing between her eyes. ‘That’s just it. You being nice. They said at Melyn that you were an outlaw.’
A flinty rawness crossed his face, extinguishing his smile. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Something the maid said to me. Is it true?’
‘Those days are long gone now. It’s a time of my life that I’m not proud of.’
‘Then why did you do it?’ she persisted.
‘Eat your food, Eva…’ he sighed ‘…and stop plaguing me with questions.’
‘Well, at least I can see now why you behave the way that you do.’
‘You think I behave like an outlaw?’ Noticing a raised spot on his horse’s fetlock, he crouched down, running an experienced hand across his destrier’s leg. The side split of his tunic fell open, revealing woollen leggings pulled taut across the thick defined muscle in his lower thighs.
‘You did. You were a thug when I first met you.’ Eva picked at a loose flake of pastry. ‘Now you’re offering me food, helping me down from my horse. Asking me if I’m warm enough.’
‘I’m a knight, Eva.’ His voice rumbled, flint-sharp eyes glittering with undisguised amusement. ‘I’ve spent the last year fighting for the King, living in a makeshift camp with hundreds of soldiers. Forgive me if my manners aren’t quite up to your high standards.’
She flushed. ‘My standards aren’t that high. But you’ve dragged me about with so much a by-your-leave, forced me to do things I don’t want to do…’
He stood up slowly, resting his hand on his destrier’s neck. ‘Not everything, surely?’
She read the silent question in his eyes, flushed deeply. The kiss in the corridor, of course. Her lungs emptied of air, nerves bunched tight with tension. The kiss to which she had responded without restraint would have given her body to him in a moment. He hadn’t forced her at all. A rush of heat spread over her chest, rising up into her neck. ‘No,’ she admitted truthfully, ‘not everything.’ Her eyelashes flew up, gaze sparking with memory. His lips grinding down on hers.
‘We both enjoyed it.’ Bruin bent to adjust his horse’s girth strap. ‘No harm was done.’
Eva flinched, stung by his callous dismissal. She should forget the encounter, cast the memory away. ‘That’s what I mean,’ she replied. ‘You take what you want and you do what you want, without thinking of the consequences.’
If he had taken what he had truly wanted, then she would be more than cursing him now. What would have happened if Lady Katherine had not appeared? Bruin slapped the reins irritably against his horse’s neck, stunned by the direction of his thoughts. He was drawn to Eva’s quiet beauty, aye, by that ethereal light that shone out from the perfection of her delicate features, but was this—whatever it was between them—purely physical? Mayhap he should bed her now and be done with it. But the thought sickened him and he turned away from it. He was not that sort of man, never had been, even in his darkest days.
Stuffing the muslin cloths that had wrapped the pastry back into his saddle bags, he glanced at the lowering sun. ‘You’d better eat up, Eva. We need to find lodgings before night falls.’
* * *
The castle at Goodric, where Bruin intended to stay that night, lay at the conjunction of two massive river valleys, the jumble of buildings sprawling out across the flat meadowland. One river cut through a field beside the castle, running shallow and fast, the lowering sunlight glinting on the sparkling water. Trees cast long shadows across the lumpy ground, still flecked in places with the white tongues of frost. The sun was setting fast, going down in a shimmering display of pinks and oranges, streaking the translucent blue sky.
Bruin slowed the horses to walking pace through the foul-smelling, muddy streets of the small town that clustered around the outer walls of the castle. In this twilight hour, the temperature dipping rapidly, few people were about; those that were scarce gave them a second glance, keen to reach their own dwellings before darkness fell. Woodsmoke hung heavily in the air, filling the narrow streets, stinging their eyes. Through cottage windows, Eva glimpsed families huddled around their open fires, jostling together. Laughing.
‘Have you been to Goodric before?’ asked Bruin, steering their horses across a low wooden bridge that ran directly to the studded oak gates of the castle.
Eva shook her head. ‘No, our lands were to the south of Katherine’s. We had little occasion to venture further north. My father and brother may have visited, but not me or my mother, obviously.’
‘Why “obviously”?’
Eva stared down at her gloved hands on the reins. The daylight was dimming so quickly, she could scarce see the creased leather any more. ‘My mother died when I was little, not above five or six years old.’
‘I am sorry.’ Bruin’s eyes gleamed in the bluish light, chainmail sparkling across his hefty shoulders like a cloak of stars. The enormous hooves of his destrier thudded noisily against the wooden planks of the bridge. Beneath them, the waters of the moat were inky blank, the surface like a viscous skin, impenetrable.
‘Nay, it doesn’t matter, Bruin.’ She hunched down into the encompassing sweep of her woollen cloak. ‘I can’t really remember her at all. I was so young.’
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‘How did she die?’
‘She drowned.’ Eva hitched herself up in the saddle, leaning forward slightly to relieve the strain in her lower back. ‘It was the reason why my father insisted that my brother and I learned to swim. My mother couldn’t; she was returning from visiting the shrine of St Agnes—it’s on a small island just off the coast—and the weather turned bad as she was coming back. The boat overturned.’ She clamped her lips together suddenly, sensing she had blurted out too much; why on earth would Bruin be interested in her family matters?
‘What happened?’
Eva traced his profile in the limpid twilight: the strong, aquiline jut of his nose, the whipcord strength in his neck, highlighted by the glistening chainmail hood pushed back on to his shoulders. ‘Her manservant survived, but was unable to rescue her.’ She paused. ‘In a way, she saved me. Because she drowned, my father made sure I could swim.’
‘Which is why you had the confidence to jump into the river at Melyn. Because you thought you could swim away from me.’ He studied his gloved hands, remembering his shock as he watched Eva fly backwards through the air, cloak flapping. ‘You must have been desperate to do something like that.’
‘I was,’ she confirmed. Her eyes hollowed out in the twilight, huge dark pools in her pale face, haunted by memories. The long lonely hours locked in a damp turret at one of Steffen’s castles; fear plummeting her heart as she heard his boots climb the stairs. Then the crunch of Steffen’s fingers around her own as he forced her to sign parchment after parchment: agreements to hand over her lands.
Bruin saw the sadness cross her eyes; the flick of pain. She had endured so much, he thought, and not only at his brother’s hands. The loss of her family, all that she had held dear to her. An overwhelming desire to look after this woman swept over him. To stand by her side and fight her battles for her. To gather her in his arms, and hold her tight. ‘Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again,’ Bruin murmured.
His voice was a husky whisper, sliding through her veins like silk. A possessiveness coloured his tone, but then she wondered if she had imagined it. For why would Bruin say such an odd thing? Surely she was merely a problem for him, a problem that would be solved when he delivered her to his brother. But he sounded like he actually cared for her.
* * *
‘Bruin? Good God, man, is that really you?’ Lord Goodric, one of King Edward’s most trusted nobles, raised his tankard of mead and bellowed out across the great hall towards them. ‘Come here and share a cup with me! You are most welcome here.’
Unsure what was expected of her, Eva hesitated in the doorway, half-hidden behind the padded curtain that hung to one side of the arch. The cloth smelled of lavender, freshly washed. Bruin was beside her, his arm pressing into the rounded softness of her shoulder. His fingers dug beneath the folds of her cloak and clasped her gloved hand, squeezing it. Heat tingled up her arm. He held her hand firmly as they walked towards the top table, across the double-height hall and up the steps. His assured grip gave her confidence and she drew strength from his fingers, her heart dancing a perilous tune beneath his touch.
Lord Goodric sat alone at the polished wood table, leaning on his elbows, the steward who had announced their arrival now standing respectfully behind him. Goodric was older than Bruin; grey strands rippled through his blond hair, cut square across his forehead and shaved close to the base of his neck. Rolls of crumpled parchment spread out around him, covered in sprawls of spidery words. As Bruin and Eva approached, he half-rose out of his seat, bowing. ‘Bruin, how long is it since I’ve seen you? When was our last campaign together? Was it Tutfield? Or Skenfirth?’ Whipping his head around to the servant, he clicked his fingers impatiently. ‘Fetch mead and cups, now!’ The servant scuttled off in the direction of the kitchens, through a narrow door at the back of the dais.
Bruin grinned. ‘I can’t remember, my lord, but it’s been too long. I appreciate you giving us bed and board at such short notice.’
‘Anything for you, Bruin. Anything. Stay as long as you like. But I’m surprised you’re not with the King now. He’s intent on subduing the rebels. I hear they’ve been fighting further up the river, to the north.’ Goodric slumped back down in his seat. ‘Sit yourself down, anyway, and your good lady as well. Introduce me, Bruin. When on earth did you find the time to marry?’
Eva stumbled forward, her toe tangling in the hem of her dress. Bruin gripped her hand, keeping her upright. Colour blazed across her cheeks and she opened her mouth to correct Lord Goodric. But Bruin turned slightly, pushing her into the nearest seat. He quirked an eyebrow at her: a warning. Trust me, his eyes said, as he wedged her down, a firm hand on her shoulder.
‘This is Lady Eva,’ Bruin confirmed, not correcting Lord Goodric’s mistake. He threw his tall frame into the ornately carved chair, crooking his elbow on the armrest.
Lord Goodric hitched forward so he could gain a better view, his bloodshot eyes raking across the delicate oval of Eva’s face, the elegant line of her neck, slim shoulders. ‘My, my, Bruin, you did well for yourself, didn’t you? What a beauty.’ He tipped his fleshy chin towards Eva. ‘My wife and daughters will be delighted to meet you later, my lady, at the evening meal. I apologise for them not being here at the moment. They are travelling back from Raglan.’ He pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing dramatically. ‘Four daughters and none of them yet betrothed; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Give me a battlefield any day.’ He shoved irritably at the parchments spreading across the table. ‘Take these away, boy!’ he snapped. ‘And pour us all some mead. You look like you could do with some, my lady.’
Eva hitched uncomfortably in her seat at Lord Goodric’s words. Although she still wore her cloak and gloves a great shiver seized her, rattling through her slim frame like a gust of freezing air. Why would Bruin say such a thing, that she was his wife? It made no sense, because surely it made no difference? Maybe he thought it would offer her greater protection. The revelation poured through her like an elixir, a balm. Comforting. She revelled in the delicious feeling, the feeling of being able to rely on someone else, for a tiny moment.
The servant moved between them, collecting up the parchments with a studied efficiency, pouring the mead into pewter cups and setting a large platter of honeyed oat biscuits on the table. ‘I can have more food brought out if you wish?’ Goodric offered, gulping mead from his cup, wiping stray droplets from his mouth with his sleeve.
‘Nay, this is sufficient, thank you,’ Bruin answered.
‘Well, then…’ Goodric cleared his throat noisily ‘…how about some rest after your journey? Forgive me, but your wife looks like she could lie down for a while.’
Bruin’s eyes swept over Eva’s wan face, her swaying stance. ‘Aye, she has had a lot to deal with today,’ he replied, his explanation deliberately vague. His silvery eyes glittered over her. Her heart jolted in response, but not with fear.
‘Then I will have some hot water sent up.’ Goodric clapped his hands decisively.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘What on earth possessed you to say such a thing?’ Eva hissed at Bruin as they walked side by side from the high dais, following a maidservant.
‘What thing?’ Bruin paused, letting her precede him into the dim stairwell. Up ahead, the maidservant held a flaming brand, lighting the stone steps spiralling upwards. They were difficult to see in the shadowy half-light. Eva placed her gloved hand on the rope banister and climbed a few steps. She stopped, twisting around to answer him, expecting him to be below her. But he was on the step below, the difference in their heights putting his sculptured features on a level with hers, shockingly close.
‘You know.’ Eva touched her veil self-consciously. A shudder rippled her voice. ‘The thing about me being your wife!’
Bruin tipped his broad chest forward, his mouth a mere fraction from the downy cushion of
her cheek. A delicious scent radiated from his warm skin: heated wax and woodsmoke; the earth. Desire pleated her heart; the rigid trap of her throat snared her breath. She would not move back, or turn away. She could not. Her body seemed enslaved, hopelessly tangled in the heady power of his presence.
‘Wait until we are alone.’ One big hand splayed across the slender curve of her waist, urging her to continue. Eva baulked at the familiar gesture, even as her belly looped with excitement. She lunged forward, too fast, tripping over her skirts in a desperate attempt to create some space between them.
‘Careful,’ Bruin said, seizing her elbow as the steps loomed up in front of her face. He yanked her upright. ‘This light makes it difficult to see where you’re going.’
‘You don’t have to make excuses for me,’ she flashed back grumpily, wrenching away from his loose hold. ‘We both know it’s these damned skirts, curse them! Katherine’s so much taller than me.’ Gathering up the front of her skirts, she lifted them high above the steps, knowing that she lied. She blamed the clothes, when all the time it was him, Bruin; he was doing this to her, making her act like this, like a woman who had seemingly lost the power to think, or look after herself. Who stumbled around like a fool.
Behind her, Bruin chuckled.
‘I’m glad you think it’s funny.’ Eva fixed her eyes on the maidservant bobbing ahead. ‘You try wearing clothes like these for a day and then you’d realise!’
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 34