by Jody Hedlund
“I am sorry, Lance,” she whispered. “I did not wish to be a burden to you, and now I have only made things worse.”
The regret in her voice stopped my efforts to wipe my hands. I glanced up to see a tear slip down her cheek. Was I making her cry? I loathed myself for the hurt I’d caused her spirit as well as her body. Before I realized what I was doing, I reached for her, swiped the tear from her cheek, and then pulled her into my arms.
“You’re not a burden,” I murmured.
“Even though you are injured, you are stronger than I.” Her statement ended on a sob, which she quickly cut off by pressing her face against my chest.
“Nay.” My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, combing back the strands of her hair that had come loose from her thick plait. “I should be the one apologizing to you. And if I’m angry, it is only at myself for not being more sensitive to your needs.”
She shook her head but didn’t pull away. “You are more than kind to me.”
I smoothed my fingers across her cheek and then the tendrils framing her face, the feel of her skin and hair starting to distract me from the matter at hand. “I don’t know the ways of women,” I admitted softly. “You must tell me when you have needs.”
“But I do not want you to regret marrying me,” she responded.
I leaned back then so I could see into her eyes, those mesmerizing eyes the color of the sweet meadow grass that surrounded us. I cupped her cheeks with both of my hands, surprised by my boldness. When she didn’t resist and peered up at me trustingly, I was emboldened even more. “I will never regret marrying you. I would only regret if I had not kept you by my side where I’d know you are always safe.”
Only at that moment did I realize how close we were, her arms around my waist, our faces mere inches apart.
Her eyes still filled with doubt. “But without me, you would have your freedom.”
“Without you, I’d be desolate.” I meant the words. If I’d left her behind, not only would I have gone crazy worrying about her, but I would have yearned for her companionship, her spark of life, her sweetness and thoughtfulness, and so much more. If I’d ever believed I was complete and my life fulfilled as a king’s guard, I’d been wrong. After meeting a woman like Felicia, I knew now how much I’d been missing.
“Desolate?” She studied my face as though she still couldn’t believe my words.
“Aye,” I whispered. “Very desolate.”
How could I convince her I meant what I said, that I didn’t want to live without her? My gaze dropped to her lips, just inches from mine. Did I dare kiss her? My pulse sped at the prospect. Would a kiss reassure her of my undying affection?
Her lips parted slightly, as though in readiness. And when she released a soft, short breath that seemed to communicate her anticipation, I bent in and touched my mouth to hers. I hesitated, afraid I’d do the wrong thing, perhaps offend her. But her arms tightened around me, and she pressed her lips against mine in a kiss that let me know she welcomed me, that she wouldn’t reject my affection, that perhaps she even shared it.
For an exquisitely sweet moment, our kiss lingered, making me breathless and lightheaded.
At a happy coo from Emmeline next to us, Felicia’s lips curved into a smile against mine. I wasn’t ready for the kiss to end, but she pulled back and released me, giving me little choice but to do the same.
She cuddled Emmeline closer, reclined in the bed of grass, and then smiled up at me. The invitation in her eyes and expression was like the warm summer sunshine pouring over me. A part of me warned that I needed to get up, move away, and keep the boundaries I’d established for our relationship.
But looking down at her and all her glorious beauty, the pull was too strong. I lowered myself into the grass, stretched out beside her, the babe between us. Propped on one elbow, I let myself feast upon her elegant features until finally I met her gaze.
I would not be so bold as to bend over and kiss her again. I’d have to content myself with simply looking.
As though sensing my resolve, she freed one of her hands, circled it behind my neck, and tugged me down.
I didn’t resist. Didn’t want to. Didn’t know why I’d ever wanted to.
I kissed her again, this time for a long, precious moment. Until her lips stilled and I knew she’d fallen asleep.
Chapter
14
Felicia
My lashes fluttered with the first heartbeats of wakefulness. The air was warm and alive with the buzz of cicadas and the fragrant scent of Bridewort. I shifted only to realize that an arm was draped across me—Lance’s arm.
I opened my eyes to the sight of his face near mine, his dark lashes resting on his cheeks, his breath coming in the slow even rhythm of slumber. Emmeline was cocooned between us, sleeping contentedly, her fingers wrapped around one of mine.
I wanted to drop a kiss on her fuzzy dark hair, but I didn’t want to rouse either her or Lance. They were both resting so peacefully that I couldn’t bear to disturb them. And selfishly, I didn’t want Lance to pull his arm away, as I knew he would the moment he awakened.
Had he really kissed me? My attention shifted to his mouth, to his dimpled chin and his strong jaw. A swarm of honeybees set to flight in my stomach at the remembrance of not one kiss, but two. The tenderness of his gaze, the gentleness with which he’d bandaged my feet, the strength of his hold as he’d carried me to this resting spot.
As though sensing my wakefulness and scrutiny, his eyes flew open. I sank into their dark-brown depths, losing myself there. I couldn’t contain the emotion any more than I could contain my thrumming pulse. “I love you,” I whispered.
The moment the words were out, he stiffened and lifted his arm away from me, leaving me feeling suddenly bare and vulnerable. He glanced at a spot above my head, his eyes filling with regret and frustration.
Disappointment settled in, turning the air hot and stale and blocking out everything except the now heavy anxious thud of my heartbeat. The closeness and rapport between us evaporated as though it had never been, and a cool breeze blew in to replace it.
But why? Was it because I’d told him I loved him? It was the truth. I did love him, and I expected—had assumed from his kisses—he felt the same, was putting aside his reservations and finally wanted a true marriage. Though the past days of traveling had been difficult for a pampered woman like me who’d never had to walk more than the smooth passageways of castles, I’d experienced a new contentment with Lance that I’d never before had.
I’d relished the hours of talking and getting to know one another. I’d loved watching him learn to be a father to Emmeline. And I’d coveted every noble gesture he made for me. I’d begun to think God had purposefully placed us together, and that eventually Lance would feel about me the same way I did about him. But he apparently still had no intention of allowing our relationship to develop into anything more than a partnership for Emmeline. We were only together to serve the princess and nothing more.
I lowered my lashes to hide my mortification. How could I have been so wrong?
“I’m sorry, Felicia,” he said hoarsely.
But the distinct sound of voices nearby cut short his apology—an apology I neither wanted nor accepted. With his knife unsheathed and ready, he slowly lifted his head until he could see over the mound of earth. His face darkened, and he ducked back down.
“What is it?” I whispered.
He pressed his finger against his lips. I nodded and shivered despite the summer heat. We waited motionless in the grassy ravine for what seemed an eternity. When the voices were finally gone, Lance crawled to his knees, his keen eyes narrowing upon the surrounding area.
“Who was it?” I asked, sitting up.
“Just some children, likely from nearby Cannock.”
“Do you think they saw us or the mule or goat?”
Lance stood then, sheathed his knife, and studied the meadow and woodland in the distance. “I don’t know what they
saw.” Frustration laced his voice. “I shouldn’t have dozed. I should have moved us to a safer, more private location before . . .”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but I could hear what he’d left unsaid: before we kissed.
“This is my fault,” I started. Normally during the day, we slept in shifts so that one of us could watch Emmeline and remain alert for signs of danger.
He shook his head. “No, it’s mine. I knew better.” I wanted him to look at me and tell me I was worth it, that he loved me, too, regardless of the peril, that we’d weather it together. But his hardened warrior demeanor fell into place. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it happen again.”
My heart squeezed with the pain of his rejection.
“We need to go now,” he said. “Just in case the children saw us.”
When he stooped to pick Emmeline and me up, I resisted with a push against his chest. “Do not touch me.”
He quickly pulled back, hurt flitting through his eyes. But I was too hurt myself to acknowledge it. Instead, I situated Emmeline in the sling before fastening my shoes. My blistered feet ached at the confinement, but the salve and bandages had eased my discomfort.
I followed him to an area nearby where the mule and goat had fed to their heart’s content and now rested in the shade. Again, Lance reached for me to lift me onto the mule, but I stepped away from him. “I shall do it myself.”
Shadows darted across his face, but he allowed me to situate myself. Once I was astride, he regarded me with pursed lips, clearly waiting for me to look at him. But I refused to acknowledge him and instead stared straight ahead.
“Felicia,” he finally said, his tone low and raw. “As a warrior, I cannot allow myself to feel for you—”
“Say no more,” I cut him off. “You have made apparent enough the fact that you need no one but yourself.”
He watched me a moment longer, opened his mouth as though to speak again, but closed it and grabbed the animals’ lead ropes. He shouldered our pack of dwindling supplies before moving forward, his strides swift in spite of his cane and injury.
We followed the brook south for the rest of the morning, and Lance was more alert than usual, constantly scanning the area as though he’d expected the children to run back to town and report our presence. After traveling a considerable distance, we found a spot to hide for the remainder of the day before setting off once again at eventide.
The grassy meadows with a few trees gradually changed, growing ever denser until we were surrounded by a display of trees such as I had never before seen. Some were evergreens stretching to touch the sky with their pointed tips. Others were hardwoods of oak, maple, birch, and many I couldn’t name.
Moss climbed up trunks, and pale lichen spread in abandon on branches. Clumps of colorful wildflowers blossomed in grassy spots. As we moved continually inward, the brush of nettles and elders thickened, making the way more difficult and overgrown.
When we halted at dusk to water the mule and goat, I walked a short distance away to a secluded spot beneath the low-hanging branches of a spruce. In this refuge, I sank into the soft scattering of pine needles with Emmeline to change and feed her.
Through the cover of branches, I watched Lance care for the animals, grateful for my position where I could stare at him unabashed without him realizing it. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as though sensing my gaze, but through the thickness of brush and leaves, I knew he couldn’t tell I was staring—at least I prayed so.
No matter how hard I’d tried over the past hours to stay angry with him and to stop caring for him, I could do neither. The painful fact remained: I’d fallen in love with him and could no more stop that love than I could cease breathing.
The love had developed gradually and softly over so many days and through so many conversations, that it had finally come out whether I’d wanted it to or not. Now it would be a constant reminder of how I’d somehow failed to earn his love in return.
Lance stared downriver, cocking his ear and sniffing the air. “Men are coming,” he called to me. “Stay hidden until they pass.”
I scooted farther into the shadows, my chest tightening and a tired, dull ache pounding in my head. “Will you not hide with me?”
“I have nowhere to stow the animals, not with so little time.”
After long minutes during which no one arrived, I started to breathe easier, hoping Lance’s keen senses and intuition were wrong. But soon enough voices drifted our way.
“Good eve,” came a friendly call from two men who rounded a bend in the brook, pulling behind them a cart loaded with wood. They were large, ruddy fellows with axes slung over their shoulders.
Lance stood slowly from where he’d been kneeling in the brook, his face a mask of impassivity. I could see that he was sizing up the newcomers and determining whether the two were friend or foe. “Good eve,” he finally responded with a lowly accent and hunching his shoulders as he did whenever we came upon strangers to make himself less imposing.
After a few minutes of small talk and discovering the two were woodcutters, the taller of the men rubbed his long beard and narrowed his eyes upon Lance. “King Ethelwulf has put a price on the head of any soldier fleeing from King Francis’s army.”
“I am but a simple charcoal burner,” Lance replied quietly. “Such news doesn’t reach me where I live.”
My heart pattered with a new kind of fear. Did these men suspect Lance was a runaway?
“Word has it that anyone who sees a soldier but doesn’t bring him in will lose his working hand.”
Lance didn’t respond.
“I can’t afford to have my hand chopped off.” The tall woodcutter hefted his axe higher onto his shoulder.
“Neither can I,” his companion added.
“I would rather not lose mine either,” Lance said.
The woodcutters exchanged a glance. They didn’t believe a man of Lance’s physique to be anything other than who he was—a king’s guard. Even without his warrior braids and chain mail, his broad shoulders, thick muscles, and air of confidence gave him away.
From the set of Lance’s mouth, he was waging an inner war. In spite of his injured leg, he could easily strike down both woodcutters before they could blink. But he clearly didn’t want to turn upon innocent men.
And yet, what else could he do? He couldn’t allow them to run off and report him.
“Why are you passing through these parts?” one of the woodcutters demanded. “If you’re a charcoal burner, you’d have your cart loaded for market.”
What answer could Lance possibly give? From the way his fist tightened around the hilt of the knife in his belt, I suspected he could think of no ready reply and would fight even though he didn’t want to.
I scrambled across the pine needles and shoved aside the branches of spruce.
Startled gazes swung toward me as I climbed out, stood, and situated Emmeline in my arms. “The babe’s fed, and I’m ready to go.” I attempted to speak with a poor woman’s accent and hoped it was believable.
At my appearance, fear flashed in Lance’s eyes. And anger. He’d warned me not to come out, and I’d disobeyed him. I was putting myself and the princess in danger. But I couldn’t sit by and do nothing to help him.
“I told you to stay out of harm’s way,” he whispered.
“These good men won’t harm us if we speak the truth.” I hefted Emmeline to my shoulder and patted her back.
The men were watching our conversation with wide eyes, obviously not expecting a man they supposed to be a king’s guard to have a wife and babe. I could only pray that after days of travel, the grime and dust masked my nobility.
I sidled next to Lance in a way I hoped suggested intimacy. “We’re traveling home from Stefford, where I recently gave birth with the help of my family and a midwife. With all that has happened in the realm, my husband only wishes to keep me and our new babe safe.”
As though sensing my ploy, Lance wrapped his arm around me protec
tively. “Aye, ’tis so,” he said, the earnestness in his voice convincing even to me. “I have no wish to bring attention to my young family in these dangerous times.”
The two woodcutters nodded, their expressions transforming from mistrust to understanding. “Aye, we know it all too well.”
Lance leaned in and placed a kiss first upon Emmeline’s brow and then upon mine. Even though he was only acting the part of a doting husband, the warmth of it went straight to my heart. “They’re my life.”
Although he spoke to the woodcutters, his eyes sought mine. The sincerity in the depths reached out to soothe the rejection from earlier in the day. He might not allow himself to love me, but he would cherish me. That I knew. But was that enough?
After a few more moments of dialogue, the woodcutters continued on their way wishing the babe and me good health. As soon as they were out of sight, all pretense dropped from Lance’s expression.
“We must make haste. Now.” The urgency in his tone told me we were not out of harm’s way yet. That perhaps we never would be.
My body ached all over. While I’d endured much discomfort in the days of traveling, I sensed this was different, and I didn’t complain when Lance insisted I ride the mule through the night.
Even though I tried to stay awake, exhaustion overtook me so that I slept in fits. During moments of wakefulness, my thoughts returned to the queen and the days I’d spent with her. She’d demonstrated such grace and kindness and peace in the way she lived. I prayed I would be able to model her attributes and train Emmeline in everything she would need to know as a princess.
Raising a princess was a monumental task. Maybe Lance was right. Maybe we needed to focus all our energy and attention on Emmeline. After all, she was our priority.
The queen’s words of wisdom drifted through my consciousness: Oft times we cannot change the entire direction of a route already set in motion. But we can do our small part to shift the path one degree at a time.
