* * *
She slipped back down to the kitchens. The manservant, Simon, was crouched on his haunches by the fire, poking at the flames. He looked up as Eva clicked the door shut, his face pallid with tiredness. The pouches beneath his eyes seemed composed of many folds, stacked one on top of the other.
Bruin stood at the table, tearing pieces from a stale hunk of bread, chewing hungrily. Her heart leapt, then plummeted at the sight of him. He had removed his cloak, the blue fabric hanging over the bench that ran the length of the table. Chainmail glistening, his tall, muscular body filled the space with a dancing vitality, constantly snagging her gaze, his physical presence too big for the chamber. Icy air rolled off him, the pungent smell of the stables. His cheeks were dusted with red. Her body cleaved towards him, towards his beauty, his strength. She wanted to go to him, wrap him in her arms and never let him go. Instead, she faltered in the doorway, battling the weak resistance that sliced through her, shards of pain.
With a faint groan of effort, the manservant rose from the hearth and came towards her. ‘How is the mistress?’
‘Fine. She’s exhausted. Sleeping. The boy—’ Eva stuttered to a halt, thinking of the red-headed child who looked so much like Bruin, absorbed in his wooden animals upstairs. ‘The boy doesn’t know yet. Is Lord Steffen—?’
‘We’ve moved his body,’ Bruin said gruffly. His eyes sketched her wan face, molten silver. ‘We carried him to the chapel; some women from the village are with him. Laying him out. They will keep vigil.’ He threw the last piece of bread back on the table, his midnight gaze fastening to hers. His head moved down, an acknowledgement. ‘Thank you for helping her, for staying with her. It was kind of you.’
Eva shrugged aside his compliment. ‘She is distraught.’
‘Understandably.’ His response was cropped, stripped of emotion. ‘Will you be all right here? I must see to the horses.’
‘Bruin—please, wait.’ An enormous lump grew in her throat, filling the gap where her breath should be. Dryness scraped her larynx; she swallowed rapidly. ‘Before you go—Sophie wants to see you.’ She strove to keep the wobble from tearing up her voice. Fumbling blindly for the door frame, she grasped at the solid wood, steadying herself. Do not cry, she told herself sternly. Do not cry.
A dark shadow crossed his face. ‘I will see to the horses first.’ Turning abruptly on his heel, he marched out of the kitchens, ducking his brindled head beneath the low wooden lintel, before Eva could think of anything further to say.
She gaped after him, surprised. His behaviour made no sense: why would he not want to go and see Sophie immediately? The horses could have waited. Hope burst, a hesitant, flickering flame, in a secret spot close to her heart, but she clamped down on it rapidly, extinguishing the sentiment. Her heart had lied to her before; she could not trust her instinct. Stop reading hope into actions that meant nothing. Stop trying to make him love you, for it will never happen with that woman lying on the bed upstairs. Levering herself away from the door, she took several unsteady steps into the kitchen, forcing herself to shake off the desolation that cloaked her shoulders. Plastering a bright, false smile across her face, she turned towards the manservant. ‘Simon, we must make some food for everyone. Can you show me what provisions you have?’
* * *
With a fearsome-looking kitchen knife, Eva chopped up some old onions on a wooden board and threw them into a cooking pot suspended over the fire. She added a few handfuls of oats and some diced pieces of heavily salted bacon that she had found in a sealed pot. It wasn’t the food of kings, but the oats were plentiful and would fill hungry bellies. The bacon would add flavour to the bland-tasting gruel, together with some dusty sage leaves discovered at the back of a pantry shelf.
‘Smells good,’ Simon said, coming in with another armful of logs and stacking them neatly on to the pile in the corner of the room. Flakes of snow glistened on his tunic, melting quickly to dark spots against the fawn-coloured fabric. Eva pushed back her hair from her eyes, her face damp, flushed red from the steam. She stirred the mixture with a long-handled wooden spoon, frowning. Bruin had been ages. Sophie would be waiting for him upstairs, anxious to talk to him.
‘Did you see Lord Bruin when you were out collecting the wood?’
‘No.’ The manservant tilted his head to one side, considering. ‘I suppose he could have gone to talk to the soldiers in the gatehouse, tried to find out what happened to Lord Steffen.’
‘Maybe.’ Eva stared down into the simmering pottage. Flakes of sage rose to the surface of the bubbling liquid. Extracting the spoon, she laid it down on the table. ‘Could you find bowls and take some of this up to Lady Sophie and her child? The nursemaid, too, please.’ She pressed her hands down the front of her skirts. ‘I will go and find him.’
* * *
Outside, the temperature had risen by a few notches. A blanket of cloud had moved across the sky, obscuring the moon and stars, and it was snowing again, large lazy flakes spinning across the bailey. Her eyes flew to the spot where Steffen had been slain, the cobbles stained dark with his blood. So much had happened in such a short time, her mind could scarce comprehend the speed of events. Last night, she had given her body to Bruin, roped safely in his muscular arms, foolishly believing that whatever happened, she would be able to cope with the consequences of such a foolhardy action. Now, as she stumbled towards the stables through the snow, she was not so sure.
The stables were empty. A rush torch, slung into an iron bracket, burned by the wide-arched doorway, spitting occasionally as wayward snowflakes blew in and touched the flames. Bruin’s destrier was there, tethered loosely in his stall, dragging out hay from the manger with its big teeth, chomping contentedly. Her palfrey stood in the stall alongside, turning her head and nickering quietly as Eva appeared. The saddles and bridles had been removed and hung over the wooden gates of the empty stalls. So, Bruin had dealt with the horses. Where could he have gone?
Placing her hands on the edge of the stall, Eva bent her head, stretching her arms to their full length. Her neck muscles knotted painfully, tense and strained. Her head pounded, an incessant ache scything across her forehead. Releasing her hands, she balanced her elbows on the gate, pushing her face into her hands. Her eyelashes rasped gently against the creases in her palms; the sound like a spider’s touch. What was she doing here? Her heart was almost broken, finished. Why witness Bruin heading up to see Sophie, or risk seeing them together? He might even be up in her chamber at this very moment. It would be better to go now.
Tears marring her vision, she blundered towards the hanging bridles, unlooping the leather straps, the jangling fastenings, from the iron hook. Letting herself into the stall, she squeezed along her palfrey’s flank, standing on tiptoe to place the bridle around the animal’s head. The smell of horses filled the air, pungent, earthy. Her fingers fumbled with the stiff, awkward buckles and she frowned, a crease appearing between her finely drawn eyebrows as she concentrated on securing them. The horse whinnied, nibbling companionably at Eva’s flapping sleeves. She had forgotten to button them again when she had left the kitchens. It didn’t matter now. Nothing really mattered any more.
Her saddle was slung over the wall dividing the stalls; shoving her hands beneath the unwieldy leather, she hauled it down against her chest. Staggering beneath the unexpected weight, she balanced herself quickly so as not to drop it. Tears ran down her cheeks, dropping from her chin, liquid crystals falling in the jittery light of the torch.
‘Going somewhere?’
Eva gasped, eyes widening in surprise. A debilitating weakness ripped at the strength in her knees. Bruin stood beneath the stone arch, his massive frame silhouetted by the blustery snow. Flakes covered his bronze hair, diamond flecks brushing down over his chainmail sleeves, settling on the red wool of his surcoat.
She hugged the saddle to her chest, shielding herself ag
ainst his intrusion, the huge weight dragging against her forearms and shoulders, yanking at the muscles and making them sore. She squinted up at him. Pain thumped across her forehead. ‘I thought it would be best.’ A rawness invaded her speech.
‘Why?’ he said lightly, coming forward, lifting the saddle easily from her grasp, slinging it back over the wall. His eyes, silver-bright, drilled into her.
Desire stabbed through her. Would this torment never end? Dropping her eyes, she toed at the greasy cobbles. Her hem was wet, stained with spots of mud, errant bits of straw, her leather boots filthy from riding. The miles of countryside she had covered with Bruin. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ The words clogged her larynx. The cobbled floor blurred before her vision.
‘Not to me.’ Bruin took a step closer, snaring her rose-scented fragrance. His heart contracted in memory: the gossamer patina of her skin sealed against him, the sleekness of her flank. His knee knocked against hers; the folds of her gown whispered in response.
Eva raised her sodden, tear-stained face. ‘Sophie wants to see you, Bruin. You must go to her.’ She folded her shaking arms, pleating the blue fabric across her chest.
Ignoring her words, his hand cradled her chin, big thumb sketching across the tears on her cheek. ‘Why are you crying?’ His husky voice enveloped her, sensual, concerned.
‘I’m not. The cold air makes my eyes water.’ Her pathetic excuse hung between them, as desolation rocked her voice. ‘Go to Sophie,’ she urged again, her voice rising. ‘She’s upset, she wants to see you!’
She wants you.
The thought pierced her brain like shards of glass. The harsh reality of her situation burst through her, making her sag back against the stall. Why did he not go now, away from her, and run to Sophie? ‘Please go, Bruin.’ Before I make a complete and utter fool of myself. Wrenching from his touch, she turned her back on him, a gust of fresh tears welling in her chest, a great shuddering block of despair. Pressing her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes, waiting for him to walk away.
Frowning at the defeated tilt of her head, Bruin settled his hands on her shoulders. ‘Why are you so upset?’ His voice resonated through the hushed stables, the occasional nicker of the horses. The rustle of straw. He thought he knew the reason why. Happiness, a chink of sunshine, cracked the mantle of his consciousness. Could it be true? He wanted to hear her say the words. He wanted to be certain.
Eva whirled around, dislodging his light hold, crying openly now. Her long eyelashes sparkled with tears. ‘Oh, my God, Bruin, don’t you see?’ She drove her hands against her cheeks, covering her eyes; tears slipped over her knuckles, dripping off her wrists. ‘I hate that woman lying up there.,’ She jabbed up at the castle windows, her arms flinging out jerkily. ‘I hate what she has done to you! She doesn’t deserve you, yet she holds your heart! She has always held your heart, even when you thought she was dead! And now you have discovered her alive again, well, it’s obvious what’s going to happen!’ A wildness tore at her voice as it gained momentum, raw and wretched. ‘Let me go, please, for I can’t bear to see the two of you together! My heart can’t take it any more!’ She turned away, stunned by the truth of her unguarded outburst, waiting for the look of scorn to cross his face, the disapproval.
It never came.
‘Oh, my God,’ he whispered. Joy burst in his chest, a shower of blazing stars. Catching her wrists, he levelled his gaze with hers, jewel-bright. ‘Eva—’
She shrank away from him, shoulders wilting with defeat. The burst of anger, the wild speech had been replaced by shame. Humiliation pulsed through her. ‘Let me go now, Bruin.’
‘I will do no such thing,’ he murmured. ‘I will never let you go again.’
Caught up in her own mortification, Eva failed to hear him. ‘I can’t stay,’ she pleaded with him. ‘You will marry her and take on the child, and—and—’ Her chest closed up around her fragile speech; she squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at his face.
‘No, Eva, you are wrong,’ he said resolutely. ‘I am not going to marry her. Another woman holds my heart and has done from the first day I met her.’
Her head spun on a wave of dizziness, heart teetering with uncertainty. As if she walked on quicksand, every step beset with danger. She clung to his fingers, the ridged sinews on the back of his hand prominent in the shadowy light. ‘I—I’m not sure I understand…’ Her voice drifted to a miserable whisper. ‘Who—? Where is this woman?’
‘Standing right in front of me.’
The deep, resonant pitch of his voice sank slowly down into the whirling chaos of her brain. ‘Standing—?’ she repeated, stupidly. She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly.
‘It’s you, Eva. For God’s sake, I love you!’ Gripping her elbows, he steadied her, a huge grin splitting his lean, sculptured features. ‘Do you hear me?’ He leaned against her, chest pressing against her breasts, his mouth touching her ear. ‘I love you.’
He loved her. She closed her eyes, inhaling his musky, masculine fragrance. The smell of him. Rough stubble pricked her cheek. ‘I can’t believe—I can’t believe what you’re saying.’ Astonishment burst through her, spinning out like hot rays of sunshine, melting through the layers of sadness besieging her heart.
‘Believe it, Eva, for it is the truth. I love you.’ His voice rumbled out, gruff and confident. ‘When I first saw you, cowering in the snowstorm, your foot caught in that godawful trap—I knew it then, but I refused to admit it. My heart was numb, destroyed, churned up by the thought that I had driven Sophie to kill herself, but after I met you, Eva, all that began to change. You have changed me. And you have my heart, my love, you have all of me, all that I am able to give you.’
Her hands crept up to his shoulders. ‘I thought you hated me,’ she whispered. ‘An annoying encumbrance, holding you back. I thought you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.’
His eyes shone over her, triumphant. ‘Never. I have been so foolish. Stupid.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t—’ she began to protest.
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t you dare absolve me, Eva. Not after I have dragged you over half the countryside, ridden until you were half-dead in the saddle. I took your precious innocence…’ He hesitated, eyes snaring hers, and she blushed at the memory. He sighed, ruefully. ‘I have treated you abysmally and for that I am sorry.’
‘I wanted to be with you,’ she responded shyly. Her fingers twisted his hair at the base of his neck, the silky fronds tickling her wrists. ‘It’s all I have ever wanted. I love you, Bruin, with all my heart.’
He groaned at her simple admission, sliding his muscular arms around her, drawing her slight frame against his. His heart thudded against hers. He tilted his head, metallic eyes shimmering with unspoken promise, of a future bound with love and happiness, sealing his mouth to hers in a kiss that would bind them together, for ever.
EPILOGUE
Outside the great hall at Striguil, the snow continued to fall; flakes brushed the windows, drifting down like miniature puffs of cloud. The diamond-shaped glass panes rippled and shone in the light from the hall, hundreds of candles blazing out from wall niches and wrought-iron candlesticks. Inside, the glorious scent of winter-sweet filled the air; trailing garlands adorned window ledges and arches, the glossy evergreen leaves studded with tiny white flowers whose exquisite fragrance belied their size. An enormous fire crackled in the stone hearth, warming the crowds of people. Musicians, red-faced, fuelled by potent honey mead, played lively dance tunes on the fiddle and drum. The trestle tables had been pushed back; couples danced and laughed as they joined hands across the flagstone floor.
‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’ Eva turned to Bruin, heart overflowing with love for the man sitting at her side. Her wedding gown, heavy cream silk, glimmered in the candlelight. Pearls, sewn into the shape of flowers, de
corated the curving neckline. Each pearl glowed with a lustrous patina, matching the beauty of Eva’s skin. Beneath her diaphanous veil, her ebony hair was loose, the shining tresses coiling down, pooling into her lap. Splaying her hand out across the pristine tablecloth, she stared hard at the gold band on her ring finger.
Following her frowning scrutiny, Bruin laughed. ‘It is all real, you know.’ His arm rested against her back; now, he squeezed her close, pulling her shoulder into the muscled hardness of his chest. ‘Even the ring.’ His brilliant eyes roamed over her, hot, possessive.
‘I know.’ Her cheek rubbed his shoulder. ‘But I still can’t shake the feeling that everything today has been like a dream. A wonderful, delicious dream.’ Her gaze drifted over the thronging crowds, watching as the manservant from Deorham, Simon, steered Lady Sophie across the flagstones, a confident arm around her neat waist. Eva nodded in their direction. ‘And that is certainly something I never thought to see.’
‘You mean Simon de Chisholm? I have the impression he has always looked after Sophie,’ Bruin replied. ‘He told me that he watched out for her well-being where my brother was concerned. Sophie is happy now and so is young Arwin.’ He searched for his small, bronze-haired nephew and found him running the length of the hall, giggling loudly, pursued by all three of Lady Katherine’s children.
‘And Katherine is content,’ Eva added, her gaze alighting on the statuesque frame of her friend dancing with a dark-haired man. ‘Her new husband is not the ogre we all imagined him to be. And he’s fond of the children, as well.’
Bruin’s hand covered hers, squeezing her fingers. ‘And Striguil is yours again,’ he murmured. Carved bone buttons secured his shirt sleeves around his wrists; his wedding tunic was of dark blue wool, moulded to his large frame, a leather belt pulling in the fabric about his slim hips. His bronze hair was tousled, loose strands brushing down across his forehead.
‘And yours, too.’ Tilting her chin up, she brushed her lips across the side of his mouth, a fleeting, sensual touch. His irises widened, black and knowing, flooding the silver of his eyes; the promise of the night captured in a single glance. A roar of appreciation rose from the dancing crowds, smiles flicking from bobbing heads towards the handsome couple. A blush stole across Eva’s cheeks.
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 46
