The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch

by Shelly Thacker

  She spun, gasping.

  It was Royce who stepped inside. Bolting the door behind him, he set aside the armful of items he carried and strode forward to meet her even as she rushed toward him.

  She melted into his embrace, a sob escaping her throat, the fur sliding from her shoulders.

  “Shh.” He held her close, his hand moving up and down her back, his voice a scant whisper. “I am sorry I had to leave you for a moment, Ciara. I chose an empty chamber and hid you here while I went to pay the innkeeper. I did not want anyone to see you.” He led her over to the window, reached out to close the shutter she had opened, and dropped the bar into place to lock it. “It is better that they think I am traveling alone, in case anyone should come asking questions.”

  She nodded, clinging to his tunic, burying her face against his shoulder, her heart pounding at the thought of the danger they were in. “Royce, where are—”

  “Shh.” He tilted her head up, touched a finger to her lips. “We must be careful to keep our voices low.”

  She shifted to a barely audible whisper. “Where are we?”

  “In Gavena. At an inn on the outskirts of the town marketplace.” Releasing her, he bent down to pick up the fur and wrap it around her. “Gavena is one of three large towns in this part of the mountains. We have lost our pursuers for now. And they will not find us easily.”

  Ciara did not think that particularly reassuring.

  She did not want the rebels to find them at all.

  Shivering, clutching the fur with both hands, she followed him as he turned to walk back to the pile of goods he had brought in. “But who were those men chasing us?” she whispered. “How can you be sure they were rebels? Could they not have been”— she searched for an innocent explanation—”concerned fellow travelers who saw our distress and were coming to help us?”

  “Mayhap, milady.” He crouched over a long object concealed in a length of homespun cloth and began unwrapping it. “Mayhap it was merely an early spring thaw that started the avalanche. And a coincidence that we were right in the middle of the pass when it started.”

  She gulped, noticing that the object he was unwrapping was a sword. He did not look or sound as if he believed a word he was saying. “You think those men caused the avalanche.”

  He lifted the sword by the hilt, testing its edge with his thumb, hesitating. “Aye,” he said at last. “Ciara, I saw something—someone—on the peak above us, just before it began. When you and I were …”

  He paused again, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Setting the blade aside, he picked up another of the bundles. “But it could have been a coincidence. There is no way to be certain.”

  “Or it could have been another assassination attempt.” She sank down on a nearby stool, feeling as if her legs would no longer support her. “An avalanche would have been a perfect way to kill me—to kill us both. Without leaving a trace.”

  Over his shoulder, he met her gaze. “Aye, milady,” he said softly, a muscle tightening in his jaw, the expression in his dark eyes grim. “And the rebels have proven before that they are clever. I will not underestimate them again.” He turned away, adding under his breath, “I have made too many mistakes already.”

  Ciara barely heard him, distracted by the cold knot of dread that had settled in her stomach. Over the last few days, she had given little thought to those who meant to harm her, had been too swept up in the new places and people and experiences she had encountered on their journey, the new feelings she had enjoyed.

  Only now did she understand the peril of their situation. They were being hunted by men who were intelligent, ruthless … and mayhap as knowledgeable of these mountains as Royce was.

  She shuddered, no longer finding warmth within the fur’s soft folds. “I do not understand how the rebels could have found us so easily.” Her voice was a thready whisper. “We have been traveling only a handful of days.”

  He rose with another blade in his hand, this one a short-sword, and carried it over to the fire to examine it more closely. “Either they have been following us undetected, or someone told them where to find us.”

  Ciara regarded him with wide eyes. Neither possibility was pleasant. “But you have been most careful to make sure we were not being followed. And who could have told them where to find us? Unless …”

  He glanced at her. “What, Ciara?”

  She almost could not voice the thought, had to force herself to say it aloud. “What if Sir Bayard is not so good a friend as you believe?”

  Royce’s eyes darkened. He straightened to his full height, shaking his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “Nay, I will not believe that.”

  Ciara did not wish to believe it either, but Royce’s troubled expression told her he had suspicions as well. “It is the only explanation that makes sense. Who else—”

  “Bayard would not have tried to kill us.”

  “I do not mean to say that he would. But if he gave information to the rebels, did not know what they intended—”

  “What information would he give them? And why? Bayard had no idea of your true identity.”

  “But who else could have given us away?” she asked desperately. “No one knows of my true identity. No one knows of our plan or the route we decided to travel, except you and me and my father. Every other person in Châlons believes I am traveling in the wedding procession—”

  She paused as a new and even more distressing possibility flitted through her mind.

  It seemed the same idea had just occurred to Royce. “Except for the one person who knows you are not in the procession,” he finished for her. “The woman who took your place. The decoy.”

  “Miriam,” Ciara whispered, already shaking her head in denial. “Nay, she is completely loyal to me. And she was so brave when she volunteered to take my place in the procession—”

  “Volunteered?” Royce echoed darkly.

  Ciara could not seem to catch her breath. Suddenly the fact that Miriam had stepped forward so quickly took on a different, more ominous meaning. And then another memory struck. “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered. “That night in the solar, the night I was attacked … Miriam was with me. She spoke of the rebels. Tried to coax me into running away. The man who injured me came in right after she left—”

  “As if he had been signaled,” Royce concluded. “Told that your maidservant had failed to persuade you to abandon your betrothal. Told that you were now alone.”

  Ciara dropped her gaze, the thought of such a betrayal almost too much to bear. “But for so many years Miriam has been … she was always …”

  The closest I had to a friend.

  Tears stung her eyes as she looked up at Royce. “I cannot believe she would be in league with traitors who wish to kill me.”

  His expression softened. “We may be wrong, milady. It could all be—”

  “Coincidence?” she choked out. “Just as it was a coincidence that we were in the pass when the avalanche started? Nay, it all makes sense.” Her throat tightened as the pieces fit together logically. “The rebels were able to locate us so quickly because they never were chasing the wedding procession in the first place. They knew I was not there … because she told them.”

  Awash in anguish, she fell silent.

  “We cannot be certain, Princess,” Royce said after a moment. “All we know is that either my friend or yours may be working with those who are trying to kill us.” He started to walk back toward her. “And we do not know which one it is.”

  “But it would seem that one of us has been betrayed by someone we trusted,” Ciara agreed in a pained whisper.

  Royce sighed, sounding weary. “We will have to worry about bringing the traitor to justice later. For the moment, we have our hands full staying alive.” Still carrying the short-sword, he returned to the array of goods he had deposited by the door. “There is no way to know how many men are looking for us. And they could already be searching the towns.”

  Trembl
ing again, Ciara clutched the fur closer around her. “Royce, what are we going to do?”

  “We do not have many choices, milady. Our pursuers have some idea where we might be, they know where we are going, and they also know what we both look like. They only saw us from afar, but it was close enough. The one advantage we had was surprise—and we have lost that.”

  If he was saying this to frighten her, he was succeeding.

  He looked over at her, his mouth a harsh line, his eyes stormy. “I will take no more chances with your life, Ciara. Thuringia is only a few days distant, but the rebels will be expecting us to run straight for the border as fast as possible. They will be on the alert, searching all the trails and passes. I think it would be best to remain hidden for a time.”

  Ciara nodded gratefully in agreement. Rest and sleep sounded far more appealing at the moment than another trek through the snow. “I do not think I could travel another step if I had to.”

  “Then we will stay here for two days, mayhap three, and hope that the search will pass us by.” He moved closer, reaching down to tilt her head up, barely touching her chin with his fingertips. “I have made too many mistakes, Ciara. I will not make any more.”

  “I trust you, Royce.”

  Her words made a muscle flex in his tanned, stubbled cheek. Withdrawing his hand, he turned away to finish sorting through the bundles of goods.

  She watched him in silence for a moment. “I hope Hera will be all right. They would not hurt her, would they?”

  “The rebels would have naught to gain by harming a defenseless puppy, milady. They no doubt confiscated our things—including our animals—in the hope of finding some clue to our whereabouts.”

  She sighed, trying to feel reassured. “It would seem only one good thing has come from our adventures this day.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “The effects of the cassis I drank have worn off,” she said with forced cheerfulness.

  She did not succeed in wringing so much as a smile from him.

  Giving up her attempt to lighten the mood, she studied the items at his feet. In addition to the two swords, he had peasant garments made of rough homespun—tunics, leggings—and a pair of boots. “Where did you get all that?”

  “In the stables. I helped myself to a few necessities.”

  “You stole them?”

  “Milady, the shops are not open at this hour,” he said dryly. “And when we leave here, I thought it would be best if we go in disguise. We might attract a bit of attention dressed as we are, at least by daylight.” He indicated her ruined gown and his own tattered, bloodied tunic. “I left the stable boys a few coins in payment.”

  Picking up two of his “acquisitions”—a cake of soap and some lengths of clean linen—he crossed to the table in the far corner, which held a wooden ewer and washbasin. He poured water into the bowl, then motioned for her to join him. “Let me see your hands, Ciara.”

  She rose, still holding the fur close as she walked over to him, her bare feet tickled by the rushes. “I think you should see to your own injuries first,” she protested. The condition of his clothes told her that he had been hurt far worse than she in the avalanche. The thought made her heart ache.

  He glanced down at her with a strange expression. “I am supposed to be taking care of you, milady. And I have done a damnably poor job of it today.”

  Ciara tried to puzzle out the emotion in his midnight eyes, seeing warmth and concern there, and …

  He dropped his gaze before she could make sense of the rest.

  She had the distinct impression he was purposely trying to conceal his feelings from her.

  She did not understand, knew only that the emotion she had glimpsed brought a flutter to her stomach, like a warm, flickering candle flame inside her.

  “I suffered only a few scratches, Your Highness,” he said briskly. “I can tend to them later.” Gently taking one of her hands, he turned it palm upward.

  And grated out an oath. “I am sorry, Princess,” he whispered, frowning down at her raw skin.

  “Do not apologize. You saved my life today, Royce. I am grateful.” She realized that sounded too formal, that it did not begin to describe the feelings in her heart. “I should have told you earlier, should have told you that I—”

  “There is no need to tell me anything,” he said flatly. “And pray do not thank me. I almost got you killed today.” Dampening a piece of linen, he began to cleanse her hand with a tenderness that belied his cool words.

  “You did not almost get me killed,” she insisted, struggling to keep her voice low, “You saved me. When I was trapped on the cliff, if it had not been for you—”

  “If it had not been for me, you would not have been there in the first place,” he said in a harsh whisper, the anger obviously directed at himself. “I should never have stopped in the middle of that pass. I should have been thinking of my duty, not my—”

  He left the sentence unfinished. And completed his work in silence, bandaging both her hands with fresh lengths of cloth.

  When he turned aside, his tone was once again mild. “I am finished with you, Princess.”

  Despite the softness of his voice, Ciara stepped back as if he had pushed her away. She told herself he was referring to her injured hands, but could not help wondering if his words held a different meaning.

  She could not explain the hurt that twisted through her, but she kept it from her voice. “Then allow me to help you. The cuts on your back—”

  “I can manage alone. I have done so before.”

  “But you do not have to manage alone,” she pointed out.

  He faced the corner in stony silence for a long moment. Then he reached for the hem of his tunic and yanked the garment off over his head.

  For a breathless instant, Ciara could not move or speak or take her eyes from him. She had seen men dressed only in leggings before—peasants, squires at practice in the bailey, stonecutters—but always from a distance. Never had she been this close to a man so … so …

  Magnificent. The low firelight gleamed on his bare back, on the hard planes and corded muscles that flexed as he tossed the tunic aside and lowered his arms. He looked as if he had been sculpted from warm, dark stone. His many scars and cuts and bruises made her want to reach out, ease his pain.

  Then he turned to face her, and she could not hold his gaze. But glancing down only made heat rise in her cheeks, for she could not keep from staring at his broad chest and thick-hewn arms, at the mat of black hair that covered his tanned skin, the way it narrowed over his ribs to vanish at the waist of his leggings….

  Before she could recover her senses, someone knocked at the door. She almost jumped out of her skin.

  “Nay, “ Royce whispered. “That should be the innkeeper. Back under the bed. And do not make a sound.”

  She scrambled into her hiding place, as quickly and quietly as possible, her heart hammering.

  Royce dropped the sheet in place to conceal her completely. Holding her breath, she heard him cross to the door, unlock it, open it …

  “Good eventide to you, good sir,” an unfamiliar, jovial male voice said. “We have the items you requested.”

  Ciara smelled the tantalizing aroma of roast meat and hot bread, heard the rattle of spoons and wooden trenchers. Prayed that her stomach would not growl.

  She also heard the sound of some large object being brought—rolled—in. Something so heavy it crunched the rushes on the floor. This was followed by the splashing of a great deal of liquid.

  What on earth were they having for supper?

  A few minutes later, the innkeeper bade Royce a pleasant stay, and she heard the door being closed and locked once more.

  “You can come out now, Ciara.”

  She slid from beneath the bed—and had to bite back an exclamation of surprise and delight.

  It was a wooden tub full of water. Hot, steaming water.

  Smiling, she lifted her gaze to Royce
’s as she got to her feet. In the middle of all this madness, he had found a way to provide her with a hot bath.

  He remained standing by the door, his chest still bare, his eyes piercing hers. “You were so cold earlier that I feared you might … I did not want you to catch your death, so I decided to …”

  His strained expression made her smile waver, brought that strange, hot flutter back to her stomach.

  She glanced from his face to the bolted door to the barred window and back again, realizing that they were locked in. Together.

  That they would be spending the next several days alone in this small chamber.

  With naught to occupy their attention but each other.

  Chapter 12

  He swore he could hear each drop of water as it glided down her body.

  Seated on a stool in front of the hearth, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, Royce kept his back to Ciara and his gaze on the untouched trencher of food in his hands. And fought a desperate battle to ignore the liquid, sensual sounds just a few paces behind him.

  He should have told the innkeeper and his assistants to take the hot bath away. The fire and the fur had clearly been enough to revive Ciara. She was in no danger.

  But after all she had endured this day, he had found himself unable to deny her a few moments’…

  Pleasure.

  The word made his entire body go taut with strain. He realized he was sweating. The chamber that had seemed so cold just minutes ago now felt much too hot. Sultry. Confining.

  Every splash of warm water caressing her naked skin made his heart beat harder. Each barely audible sigh that escaped her lips made his blood pound through his veins. He could not even draw a complete breath, longed to get up and pace—but that would mean turning around.

  And seeing what he was hearing.

  He grabbed a haunch of roast meat from his trencher and sank his teeth into it, struggling to remember that a great many lives depended on him doing what was right and honorable.

  Including his own.

  Wolfing down his meal, he resisted the urge to steal a glance over his shoulder … and tried to keep his mind off the large, soft bed in the corner.