He was drawn to her, Michel conceded, the way a man is attracted to a woman’s beauty. Certainly she didn’t lack a woman’s feminine charms. He had not been unmindful of the fullness of her breasts when she slept in his arms or of her enticing womanly fragrance that clung to her even after a hard ride in a filthy sack tied to the back of a horse.
Such an attraction was an inconvenience he could ill afford at this stage of his plans. What was he supposed to do? Attack the city with the king’s niece riding to war at his side as one of their company? He could hardly leave her behind in the wilderness to fend for herself and he was loath to assign a guard to remain with her. The majority of the men who rode beneath his banner had waited their entire lives to take back their homeland. He would not deprive them of their moment. No. It would be best for all concerned if he could find a family in Calei willing to take the maid in and keep her safe until the question of the kingship was resolved. Once peace had been restored, he could assume his role of guardian of the girl and let her grow up a little before becoming some other man’s wife.
Satisfied with his reasoning Michel turned his attention in the direction of their uninvited guest and sought to inform her of his decision in regards to her immediate future. He noticed the way Elena was blushing beneath his intent regard and realized without the least bit of enthusiasm on his part that the budding attraction between them was not purely one-sided. Things were getting more complicated by the moment. He silently cursed the dying king even as he responded to the challenge in his niece’s intent gaze. “As you wish,” he replied in a somewhat belated manner to her claim she was not a child, and then indicated with a nod towards the opening in the tent she should leave him and his men alone to continue their important discussion.
Ignoring his silent command, Elena instead peered curiously around the tent and at its occupants. Michel concluded from her surprised gasp that she recognized some of the men gathered there. She turned back to him and demanded imperiously. “Who are you?”
At the directness of her challenge, beneath the heavy weight of masculine outrage filling the tent, Michel was reminded once again of his twin. Smiling at the memory, but unwilling to satisfy her curiosity, Michel replied, “I am not in league with your kidnappers, and that is all that need concern you at the moment.”
“They called you ‘my prince’.”
When her rescuer simply shrugged in response to her pointed reminder, Elena was forced to come to her own conclusions about his identity. Her first impression that he was a stranger simply passing through the mountain trails on his way to another, undisclosed destination was obviously incorrect. One did not travel with an army trailing after him for a simple trespass through the mountains.
She examined the faces of each of the men regarding her silently and with more than a hint of umbrage at her disruption of their important conference. Many of the men she recognized to be members of ancient Caleinian families, some of them nobleman in their own right. Yet none challenged the royal greeting this stranger was given. She also noted that though he was the youngest among them, they appeared to accept without question the stranger’s authority over them. Comprehension was slow to dawn, but when it did, she almost tripped over her own astonishment. She turned accusing eyes in Michel’s direction and exclaimed in an awed voice. “You’re one of them.”
“One of them?” Michel echoed innocently.
“One of the grandsons. My uncle explained that he was not the true king and how he sent emissaries to your family in Europe seeking the return of one of the true heirs to the throne. You’re one of them. You’re one of the grandsons, aren’t you? Why do you not enter the city? My uncle would be overjoyed and so relieved to welcome you.”
“It is not that easy,” Michel replied, evasively, to Elena’s way of thinking.
“Why not?”
“Your uncle is no longer in control of the city.”
Puzzled by his conclusion, Elena contended, “That’s ridiculous. He is the king.”
“Whose niece was kidnapped from her own bed, in his home, and while under his guard,” Michel spelled out for her. While Elena was still puzzling through the repercussions of his statement, he added pointedly, “If we enter the city now, they will kill your uncle.”
“They will kill him regardless,” Elena’s voice broke on her bitter retort.
“Yes,” Michel agreed, holding her tearful glance, “but I would rather not have his death on my hands.”
“Please don’t send me back. You know what they will to do to me.”
Sensing, despite her desperate pleading, he was still undecided as to the matter of her fate, Elena hurried across the distance separating them and flung herself on her knees at his feet. She clasped his hands in her own smaller ones and lifted tear-filled eyes to his. “Please don’t send me back. I beg of you. I will not be in your way here. I can be useful. Put me to work. I do not know how to hunt or cook, but your men could teach me. I can fetch clean water from the stream and help tend the horses.”
Michel stared down into her dusk colored eyes and knew he was lost. He met Amele’s amused if resigned glance over the maid’s head, before bending down to assist Elena to her feet. “You may stay.”
She let go of his hands and raised them to her face to cover her mouth. He watched the relief flood her eyes and could only wonder at her terror of the past months, knowing her uncle would soon die and leave her completely at the mercy of the wolves that fought for the throne.
“You may have this tent. Do not leave the camp without an escort.” She nodded, as if unable to trust herself to speak the gratitude he saw shining in her eyes. Michel cuffed her chin in an affectionate gesture as if she was one of his sisters and turned and motioned to the others that they would continue discussing their plans elsewhere.
Michel was the last to file out of his now former tent. He glanced back in time to see Elena fall to her knees, her relief at her narrow escape obviously overcoming her ability to remain upright. He watched her succumb to the deep sobs that wracked her slender frame, her back to the entrance to the tent, no doubt assuming she was safely alone to indulge in her emotional display. When he would have returned to comfort her, Amele’s hand on his arm stopped him and drew him away from the entrance.
“You have done enough, my prince. Leave the maid to her tears. She would be embarrassed by your pity.”
Michel reluctantly nodded his agreement and allowed himself to be led away from the sounds of the weeping girl.
They resumed their discussion about the dilemma of what to do with their young guest in another tent hastily prepared for their use.
One of the Caleinian noblemen gave his opinion of Elena’s circumstances in scathing tones. “She must have been kidnapped in her sleep from the castle. I do not hesitate to lay the dastardly deed at Baron Raulf’s door. It is obvious he means to force the lady into a hasty marriage to ensure he will ascend to the throne upon the death of the king.”
“But why force matters? The king is near death, is he not?” Michel countered.
“Yes, or so it is rumored in the city. But there are others besides Raulf who will contend for the throne. If Lady Elena preferred one of the other challengers as her husband it would present a big obstacle to Raulf’s plans for a seamless coup.”
“The girl is too young to wed.” Michel was adamant in his conviction. Why he doubted Elena was even his sister Rhiann’s age, and she was barely six and ten when she was forced to wed the new lord of their father’s estates.
“Under normal circumstances that is true, but the circumstances are hardly normal, and the child is close enough to maturity that there is every expectation she will wed the future king, sooner rather than later.”
“As long as the king lives, she cannot be legally wed without his consent,” Michel persisted.
“True enough, but once the deed is done and the marriage consummated who is going to contest its legality?”
Michel shoved a frustrated hand through
his shoulder length hair. “So what do you suggest we do with her?”
Chapter Five
A week following their guest’s arrival Michel rose before dawn and sought the privacy of a nearby stream to bathe. He was not eager to rise at such an hour, particularly when he would spend the remainder of the day cooling his heels while he waited word of the king’s death. It was not his original plan to skulk around the outskirts of his grandfather’s kingdom in such a ridiculous manner. He had assumed he and his army of skilled soldiers would storm down on the city’s unsuspecting defenders as soon as they were within reach of the city, but all of his half-formulated plans changed when he met King Barnabas.
His honor now prevented him from taking his birthright from the man who had watched over it in his stead in the guise of his faithful steward. No, he would not have the king’s final hours disturbed by the heinous cries of war and worry over his people’s welfare.
As he passed through the entrance of his tent, Michel noted most of his men still slept around the now slumbering fires. He nodded in the direction of the guards posted nearby, and followed the path towards the stream from which he and his companions and horses drew their fresh water each day. His men were not obliged to rise at such an early hour because they did not share in Michel’s burden.
Since Elena’s arrival at their camp, Michel had acquired a second shadow from the moment of his rising until he sought the privacy of his tent in the late evening hours. The maid followed him around wherever he went. Even when he was out of her sight, she seemed to have a sixth sense as to his movements. She sat nearby as silent as the shadow she brought to mind when he trained with his men. When he rode off towards the city to take the measure of its defenses, she followed in his wake, her watchful eyes always on his face. Such was her devotion to him it had become a source of amusement to his men. Even Amele wondered at his patience with the king’s young niece.
For his part, Michel took her silent presence in stride. From the time he was a boy, he was used to having his twin trailing after him, pestering him with questions or giving him the benefit of one of her outrageous opinions. He found Elena’s silent company a pleasant contrast to Melissa’s constant boasts and competitive nature, but he drew the line at having her tagging along when he bathed. Amele jokingly suggested he allow her to accompany him on one of his early morning excursions. Their young guest would likely be so shocked by the view afforded her she would scurry back to her solitary tent and think twice before pestering him again. Michel had laughed at Amele’s cajolery but merely shook his head denying his helpful suggestion and continued with his very early morning trips to the stream.
Upon reaching the water, Michel shed his clothes and stepped into the icy stream, accepting the resulting discomfort as just one more test of his will. He ducked his head beneath the surface and scrubbed his shoulder length hair and bearded face. He ran his fingers across it and decided he would not be sorry to rid himself of the thick growth of facial hair, but for now he would leave it unshaven. He had more pressing matters on his mind than the scruffiness of his beard.
He dipped his head again and then irritated to find the thin silver chain he wore around his neck tangled in his hair, he pulled on the chain to free it. The stone seemed intent on making its presence known to him at every possible moment. Michel wasn’t certain how he could forget it, as he’d been forced to free both his hair and his beard from the chain’s restraint innumerable times since becoming the stone’s reluctant guardian.
A muttered curse escaped his lips as the thin silver strand only entwined itself more fully in his wet hair the more he attempted to free it. Fresh annoyance lent added strength to his impatient yank on the restraining chain. His frustration quickly dissolved into stunned horror as Michel watched the source of his irritation fly high into the air and land with a loud plop in the rushing stream a dozen yards or more from where he stood shivering in the icy water.
Michel cursed louder at this latest disaster and set off in desperate pursuit of the stone he’d moments earlier been doing his best to free himself from. It wasn’t a particular fondness for the ancient amulet that sent him racing down the stream. It was the realization his twin would cut off his own male jewels with the dagger he made a gift to her of if he lost her precious inheritance. He didn’t even want to conjure his grandmother’s reaction when he revealed to her he had managed to lose an heirloom of her house that had been in her family for over a thousand years.
In the shadows beneath the thick branches lining the path to the stream, Elena watched with wide eyes as her rescuer set off with a resounding splash after the strange, blue stone he wore around his neck. Her lips twitched as she witnessed his mad dash down the stream in a race against the swift current carrying his prize away faster than he could keep up with. A giggle emerged at the memory of his panicked expression when the stone had flown high into the air and then entered the water. She wondered if the stone was a keepsake given him by a lady admirer. If so, she was glad of its loss.
Her eyes went dreamy as she indulged in her pleasant fantasies. If Prince Michel was to be the new king, then he was supposed to marry her, not whoever made a gift to him of the stone. She found the prospect much more to her liking than that of becoming Baron’s Raulf’s reluctant bride. She’d made a point to keep an eye on her future husband so he didn’t disappear as suddenly and unexpectedly as he entered her life. If he decided he didn’t care to be king, and who could really blame him given the curse accompanying such a life, she was determined on one thing. Prince Michel saved her when he rescued her from her kidnappers. Her life belonged to him now. She was never going back to the city, at least not without him.
Elena turned away from her hiding place and set off in the direction of the camp. Prince Michel might not know it yet, but his former life was slipping away as surely as the odd stone he wore on a woman’s slender chain around his neck. Whoever had given him the token was part of his past and no longer had any place in his present. No, as far as Elena was concerned, she was the young prince’s present…and his future.
She blushed at the memory of what that future might hold for her. She had never seen a naked man before and she barely managed to swallow her surprised gasp where she hid in the thick growth of trees along the river bank when the prince removed his clothes and the new sun streaked over his naked form as he slid into the icy water. His unscarred, bronze skin stretched tight across his broad shoulders and framed the thick rope of muscles in his arms and chest. His thighs and legs were equally muscular and even his backside was the same bronze color as the rest of him.
Her face had heated up to a fiery blush, and her breath caught in her throat when he shifted his position and stepped sideways into the rushing stream. For a brief moment she caught sight of his stirring manhood resting between his thighs. She was not so innocent she was unaware of how a man mated with a woman. The prospect of such a joining filled her with terror when she thought of Baron Raulf thrusting his manhood into her untried flesh, but she could not summon any of her previous horror at the thought of sharing such intimacies with Prince Michel. No, far from fear, she felt a strange thrill of anticipation coursing through her, leaving her breathless when she dreamt about the young prince’s rough hands on her.
Chapter Six
After long hours spent searching for his sister’s lost inheritance, Michel returned to camp wet, bedraggled and in a foul mood. He’d chased the damn stone a mile down the stream before he admitted it was gone, likely forever. His mind boggled at the thought of its loss. He was not a particularly superstitious man but the loss of the Salusian stone at this critical juncture of his long quest could hardly be taken as a fortuitous sign by even the most optimistic of souls. He passed by his men standing around the morning fires and couldn’t blame them for their amusement they hastily hid at his condition.
Amele left him to his temper long enough for Michel to change into dry clothes and then begged entrance to his tent with a tray of food to br
eak his fast. Michel had instructed the older man to leave such menial tasks to his young squire, but Amele simply ignored his numerous requests and continued to serve him as if he was already sitting on his homeland’s ancient throne.
Michel gratefully accepted the tray from his hands then motioned for Amele to sit and join him on the cushions in the center of the tent while he ate. Michel didn’t volunteer the information that he’d lost the stone, understanding Amele would feel its loss almost as much as he did, but for different reasons. While Michel’s regret centered on the prospect of having to confide his carelessness to his sister and grandmother, Amele was fully convinced of the legends surrounding the stone’s mysterious power. He could not comprehend why his grandmother’s fierce protector could be persuaded by such foolishness, but he was soon forced to admit his own foreboding over the heirloom’s loss was not completely without merit.
“The king is dead,” Amele announced into the silence.
“What? Are you certain?” Even though he’d been expecting the news for several days now, Michel was shocked by his friend’s blunt announcement.
“Yes, the bells tolled at dawn and his colors have been removed from the castle’s parapets.”
“Your countrymen don’t waste any time, do they?” Michel remarked drily.
“Our countrymen,” Amele corrected sharply.
Michel’s quick grin flashed, and then he sighed at the thought of Elena’s grief at the news of her uncle’s death. He regretted the illness that struck down King Barnabas in his prime and decided they would allow the city its grief before setting their plans in motion.
“We will wait until after the king has been laid to rest before proceeding with our plans,” Michel announced and then at Amele’s surprised, admiring nod of agreement, Michel added, “Where’s Elena?”
Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 Page 6
