Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He picked up the knife and stuck it out of sight in one of the cupboard drawers. “Very well. If you don’t intend to use it, then it’s best we hide it away so no one else does.”

  She followed him as he then strode to the parlor and picked up the pouch he’d set on the floor beside the sofa. Had he decided not to eat the lamb stew she’d heated? Those scratching noises had distracted them, but their meal was still sitting in the tureen, bubbling hot and untouched.

  If he was in no hurry to eat, then neither was she. In truth, she was more scared than hungry.

  He reached inside the pouch and withdrew a box containing a pistol and a leather wrapping that held a small blade. He’d earlier taken off his sword and scabbard, but he picked up the scabbard now and secured its belt around his waist and then strapped the leather strings to his thigh. He slipped the sword inside the scabbard.

  “How many weapons do you have hidden in there?” Winnie asked, craning her head to peek inside his travel pouch. It was a decent size and could easily hold clothes, weapons, grooming apparel, and who knew what else?

  “Unfortunately, only these weapons. Not enough to dispatch whatever will be prowling outside tonight.” He flipped it closed, but not before she’d noticed what appeared to be a silk cravat and vest, and a bright white cloth that she recognized as a shirt of finest lawn, no doubt tailored on London’s Savile Row.

  She doubted his name was Mariner or that he was a sea captain, so much was obvious. But was he possibly a lord? If so, why did he feel the need to be so secretive about his true identity?

  “Are you certain these fiends are not after you? Who are you really?” She raised the sturdy iron shovel and waved it in front of his face without much diligence or enthusiasm because, in truth, she trusted him. He did not strike her as the sort who would place her life in jeopardy to accommodate himself. Quite the opposite, she sensed that he would have put as much distance between them as possible—for the sake of her safety—if he thought this unknown enemy was after him.

  Winnie heard more sharp scratches against the parlor windows and let out a cowardly eek. Her heart was now slamming against her chest, and her every limb trembled. She was no match for those wild dogs. And what if an army of villains stood outside her door along with those beasts? She was useless as a fighter. Could Captain Mariner take all of them on by himself?

  He came to her side and tucked a finger under her chin. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re wondering whether I can defeat whatever is waiting outside your door. I give you my oath, here and now, Winnie. I promise to protect you.” He tweaked her chin with a playful confidence he could not possibly feel. “Or die trying.”

  Winnie had read stories about valiant knights who’d fallen in love with fair maidens. The valiant knight would then risk his life to save said fair maiden and afterward there were kisses and pledges of love exchanged… and possibly more kisses.

  He eyed her curiously.

  Was Captain Mariner going to kiss her now?

  He chuckled softly. “No, I’m not going to kiss you.”

  She gasped. Had he read her mind?

  He strode past her and marched back into the dining room. He drew back her chair, all the while gazing at her with lingering amusement. “Well, are you going to sit?”

  No kiss?

  She shook out of the bumble-headed thought and obediently sank into the chair. What was wrong with her? Goodness, this was a strange day! As strange as the dreams she’d been having lately. “I don’t want you to think that I wanted you to kiss me. How dare you suggest such a thing!”

  “I didn’t. You just did.” He walked to the opposite side of the table and sat in the chair across from hers, his manner remarkably calm, as though he was used to women fawning over him. No doubt, he was. “Stew smells good. Here, hand me your plate.”

  Although still wary of him, she lifted her plate and held it out. He ladled the concoction of meat, onions, and potatoes onto it and then did the same with his. However, he piled his plate high and did not bother to say grace before digging in.

  “How can you eat at a time like this? Aren’t you worried that whatever evil is gathering outside will attack? Or that we’ll be caught unprepared, chewing day-old stew as they leap through the windows?” She winced at the shrewish sound of her own voice, but she was peeved that he hadn’t kissed her… and peeved that she’d wanted him to kiss her… and peeved that she was harboring these ridiculous thoughts when she really didn’t know anything about him.

  And peeved that he knew she was hoping for a kiss.

  He could be one of them and plotting to murder me as we eat.

  He frowned lightly. “Stop muttering to yourself and take a bite of your stew. Murder, indeed! I’ve just told you that I’m here to protect you.”

  “From those dogs?” In truth, she was beginning to think she needed protection from her own wanton thoughts. He was too handsome by far. Was fear putting these ridiculous notions in her head? Or was it desire?

  She was far too inexperienced with men.

  “Yes. Dogs, demons. All manner of evil creatures. There’s no telling who is out there or what is out there or how long it will take for me to be rid of them. It could take all night.”

  She took two bites and then set down her fork. “Assuming for the moment you are telling me the truth and not ladling hog swill—”

  “I am telling you the truth.” He shoved more stew into his mouth, swallowed it, and was about to take another bite but paused. “If you’re not going to eat, then talk to me. Start at the beginning. Tell me how you came to live with the dotty Merridale sisters.”

  “They’re loveable, not dotty… well, sometimes they can be quite… dotty. As for my childhood, it was unexceptional. Why would anyone be interested in me? I’m no one important, just the daughter of a baron and baroness who died long ago. I was shipped off to my maiden aunts… well, I sometimes call them my aunts because I love them, but we’re not related by blood. They’re really my godmothers.”

  “I know that part. They love you, too. It was obvious from my little chat with them.”

  She set down her fork again and leaned her elbows on the table. “Just how much do you know about me?”

  “Not enough, obviously. I’d like to know more… much more.”

  Her elbows slipped off the table’s edge. “What do you mean by that?”

  He cast her a grin capable of melting any young lady’s resistance. Indeed, capable of melting the thick stone of Hadrian’s Wall. “I’m a gentleman, remember? I can’t tell you what I’m really thinking. It would scald your innocent ears.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  “Well, you asked.” He was still digging into his stew. Did the man never tire of eating?

  She pushed her plate aside, for she had no appetite. “Will you stop shoveling food down your throat long enough to talk to me about serious matters? About the threat outside my door, not my childhood or what I look like without my clothes.”

  He choked on his last bite. “Very well.”

  It wasn’t much of a concession since his plate was now empty. He’d eaten all the stew.

  He pushed back his chair and rose. “Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  As she watched him, he strode from the dining room and soon returned with a sack. He poured its contents into his glass and then arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Care for some?”

  She’d set out their finest Kingsley crystal, and the amber liquid in his glass now sparkled like a glorious and fiery setting sun. He relaxed back in his chair and was about to drink, but paused to glance at her. “Well?”

  “No.” It looked like the honey drink he’d given her earlier at the fair.

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll pour you a glass anyway. You’ve hardly touched your food. At least have something to drink.”

  She pushed it away. “I’m not thirsty. And how do I know you haven’t poisoned it?”

  He rolled his eyes, obviously e
xasperated with her, and then rose to his full, imposing height. Reaching for his own glass, he drained its contents and then came around to her side of the table, his chest brushing against her shoulder as he reached for her glass. He took a sip and then another. “Here. Now we’ll both die if it’s poisoned.”

  She took the offered drink with reluctance. “I hate condescending warriors.” Especially handsome ones with rippling muscles and crystal blue eyes that could see straight into her soul. “Not that I’ve met any but you. I hope there aren’t more like you around.”

  “No, none quite like me,” he said in a husky murmur that sent her heart into palpitations as he settled in the chair beside hers and leaned close. Good thing she was seated, for her legs could no longer support her, having melted as swiftly as butter in a hot pan the moment their bodies touched. “There aren’t many eligible young women like you either.”

  Had he said eligible? As in courtship? She drained the delicious honeyed concoction, needing the fortification because she was in deep, deep trouble if he intended to court her.

  How had the conversation shifted to that when they had been talking about the dangers lurking outside?

  Her heart once again beat as fast as a rabbit’s in anticipation, not able to think of anything but the kiss she ought not be thinking about at all.

  He frowned lightly and rose once more, no doubt deciding she was not all that appealing when viewed up close and seeking to put more distance between them.

  She rose on unsteady feet and poked him in the chest. “Who are you really? If I’m to die tonight, I’d like to know.”

  Her hand slid onto his granite-hard arm to keep him from turning away, which was laughable because he was twice her size and too strong to be stopped from doing anything he wished to do. And even though he’d denied it, he could still be intending to kill her.

  “You’re a nuisance,” he said with a groaning sigh. “You’re not going to die, not at the hands of those fiends lurking outside nor by my hand. I’m not in the habit of killing innocents, not even impertinent May princesses.”

  She mimicked his expression, which seemed to irritate him further if the clench of his jaw was any indication. Sighing, she raised her hands as a sign of truce. “Forgive me Captain Mariner, but you must admit, this is all a bit odd. Those dogs have put us both on edge.”

  “I suppose. And you may call me Ardaric. Just Ardaric. I only use my formal title when I’m out in public or at Court.”

  “It is all a bit odd,” she insisted, rather an understatement to be sure, but he’d just mentioned that he had a formal title and it sounded as though he had been presented at Court. She decided not to press him further about his true name. Did it really matter? She knew he wasn’t from the Lake District, for anyone that handsome would not have gone unnoticed by any female over the age of ten or under the age of ninety.

  He would leave soon and she’d never see him again.

  He must have been thinking the same thing, for she was feeling wistful and he had the same surprisingly wistful look in his eyes. “Winnie, we strayed off the topic. Tell me more about your childhood. What were you like as a little girl?”

  She supposed it was a harmless enough question. Her childhood, what she could remember of it, had been happy and she couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “I was an odd child, always dreaming of faeries. This district is steeped in faerie lore, and I was easily drawn to it. The fields and meadows come alive with bluebells at this time of year.” She leaned closer, as though about to reveal something very important. “Faeries often live among the bluebells, so if ever you see a bed of those flowers, you’ll know those fabled creatures are about.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and eased back, grinning as he listened to her. “I’ll keep that in mind… but from now on, I’ll think of you whenever I see bluebells.”

  “I’m sure you’ll forget me the moment you leave town,” she said with a laugh, although it wasn’t filled with merriment because she knew that she’d miss him terribly once he was gone. “About those faeries in my dreams, some were kind, some were handsome… some were evil. I called the evil ones Dark Fae. They all seemed real, but I could never make out any faces.”

  He leaned forward a little, but his arms were still crossed over his chest. “I’m intrigued by this land of faeries that you’re from.”

  She peered at him. “They’re only in my dreams. I’m too practical to walk around in that fantasy world during the day.”

  “By your expression, I think your dreams were not always sweet or pleasant. What did your Fae look like?”

  “I’ve just told you, I never see their faces.”

  “Do you see their bodies? Their surroundings? Tell me about that.”

  She shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking, that those horrid dogs are somehow connected to my childhood. They’re not. I’ve never seen them before.”

  He frowned. “My instincts tell me that they must be related somehow.”

  “And my instincts tell me nothing of the sort,” she replied, matching his light frown, but she soon relented. “I’ve never been in danger before, so I suppose mine might not be as keen as yours. In truth, my head is so muddled right now I feel dense as a rock, just as thick as one of Miss Allenby-Falk’s hideous desserts.”

  “Perhaps you don’t have a warrior’s keen instincts,” he said, his expression once more tender, so that she wished he would unfold his arms and take her in them, “but you may have knowledge that will clear up this mystery. Indulge me for the moment. Tell me what you can about your unusual dreams.”

  “Very well. I know it will sound ridiculous to you, but you resemble the handsome faerie prince who always comes to my rescue. Same blond hair and big… er, muscled body, although my prince had the power to shift into a smaller being or a larger, winged dragon. I must confess, when I first met you, I tried to look behind you to see if you had wings.”

  He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Sorry, no wings.”

  “And I doubt your big body would fit in the palm of my hand. You’re not very cheerful or playful. If you were truly a faerie, you’d have faerie dust to sprinkle. You don’t even have pointed ears.”

  “Elves have pointed ears,” he replied, taking mock offense by the comment. “Fae ears are perfectly shaped.”

  As was the rest of his body, but she wasn’t about to remark on it. “You wield a sword like a warrior. And you don’t seem the sort to merrily dance the night away.”

  “I will dance on occasion. Perhaps you and I will share a waltz before I depart.”

  Her heart caught in her throat. “A waltz? As they do at fashionable London balls?”

  He nodded. “If you wish.”

  She did, but she’d also learned something important about him. He knew how to make his way around a London ballroom and had attended more than one such glittering affair. He was no stranger to Society. “Thank you, but there is no one at hand to play the music for us.” She cast him a hesitant smile. “However, I promise to think of you next time I dance in my dreams with my faerie prince.”

  “I’m honored, Winnie. And about those wings or faerie dust. I know a little about faerie lore as well. The Fae are actually taller than men, but can shift into smaller beings when they wish to be closer to the elements.”

  “What elements?”

  “The elemental forces of this world. Wind, fire, water, and earth.”

  She took a long glance at him. “Your element is definitely earth. You’re sensible and well-grounded. You’re a Woodlands Fae, for certain. Some prefer to live under mushrooms or flowers. They’re the ones who shift into smaller beings.” She studied him for another long moment. “But you don’t ever like to be small.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “No. I prefer to remain as I am now, in my natural form.”

  She laughed lightly. “It suits you quite well. Your turn to guess about me. If I were Fae, which element would I be?”

  “That’s an easy question.” Hi
s gaze once again softened as he regarded her. “You’re a Water Fae.”

  She shook her head and laughed again. “You’re wrong. I can’t swim.”

  He moved closer to her side, close enough to make her body tingle. “Then I had better teach you,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

  Captain Mariner in the water, his wet hair slicked back and water droplets glistening off his lightly bronzed bare chest… her heart shot into her throat again as she imagined him emerging from the azure depths like a magnificent sea god. She was terrified of water and her dreams were often of her drowning, but she wouldn’t be afraid if he was by her side. She trusted him with her life. The realization stunned her. Could she trust him with her heart? “I had better clear away the dishes.”

  Chapter Four

  Winnie was about to reach for the dishes when she heard a sharp knock at the door and turned toward it. Captain Mariner stepped in front of her and put a finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, nudging her firmly behind him.

  She gasped as a jolt of warmth shot through her body.

  “Did I hurt you?” He spared her no more than a glance, for the person at the door was knocking with persistence.

  “No. Your touch felt quite nice. Unexpectedly nice.” Why had she admitted this to him? She was on edge and prattling inanely. A sigh of pleasure slipped out before she could stop it. “A pleasant heat, actually.”

  He glanced at her again, and his lips curved upward in an almost smile that left her weak in the knees.

  Was he going to kiss her? Once the danger had passed, of course. But he turned away and once more concentrated on the door and the person now pounding on it which was the sensible thing to do. He was capable of keeping his wits about him while she was fluttery and distracted, unable to stick to her purpose or believe that someone truly wished to harm her. Why her? She wasn’t important to anyone.