by Sandra Jones
She would have to make inquiries later.
“Your name will be Yorath. You were shot fighting the Normans.”
He didn’t agree or disagree.
She added a serious note to her voice. “If you attempt to ask for help from the monks, Sayer and I will be forced to remove you from here, and they are…unarmed.”
“You would shed their blood? I think not, Eleri. You’re not cruel.” He smiled. “Still, I’ll pretend as you wish. ’Twill be a pleasure watching you handle yourself amongst other foreigners. No matter how uncomfortable you might find the clothes you’re wearing now, you look more presentable. Almost like a woman.”
She frowned, but refused to take his bait. “Unlike your army, these monks are here by invitation under a charter of good terms. They’re not invaders. And they’re certainly not trying to subdue my countrymen by killing our husbands and marrying our widows.”
She dismounted and straightened her clothing as Abbot Gerald strolled across the lawn toward her with Sayer at his elbow.
Warren leaned down and captured her shoulder beneath his gloved hand. Startled by his sudden touch and the current of warmth his strength sent coursing through her, she glanced up with a gasp.
He whispered, “That’s not my intention either. I’m not your enemy, Eleri.”
Releasing her, he swung down from Bane in one graceful swoop, while Abbot Gerald extended a hand to her. The priest’s eyes widened a fraction upon seeing the tall, unfamiliar Deheubarth warrior close behind her, but he quickly recovered, welcoming her with a practiced expression.
The travelers were ushered into the courtyard where monks took the horses to be fed and watered. Then the party was divided. Warren was taken to his berth in the stables—far from the skittish monks—while she and Sayer were told to follow Brother Allard to sleeping accommodations in the cells before supper later that evening.
Unease filled her at leaving Warren. These were his people, and he could still ask for their help. If not in protection, perhaps in aiding his escape. It would only take one monk to lead him to the Norman castle he sought.
But Warren had shown he wasn’t willing to go there without her. He’d been ordered by his ruler to marry her. Stupid, arrogant king! And if he returned empty-handed, without his men, he would be humiliated.
So he stayed for her.
But what did he hope to accomplish? Surely he didn’t expect she would swoon at his touch and accept his marriage troth.
Not her enemy? Nay, but she still felt unsettled in his company.
At last, left alone by the monks as she and Sayer stood outside the wooden doors of their rooms, Eleri dropped her cloak’s hood back from her hair.
“What news did the abbot share with you?”
He sighed, rolling his big shoulders. “We’ll be safe here. Abbot Gerald said Lord Vaughn and his men arrived before us, but they left. If the gods favor us, they’ll not realize we’re riding behind them.”
“How long can we stay? Nest needs at least six days to return from Dinefwr with news.”
“We’re allowed to stay a fortnight, but the Templar, er, Yorath, must keep to himself in the stables, and,” he hung his head, mumbling, “the monks will bring food and ale to your room, as well. You’re not welcome in the great hall.”
Their religion left no room for superstition and the otherworldly magic of Mother Earth, while Eleri lived as her father did—with one foot in each, respecting both Christian and pagan beliefs.
She pinched her lips together, feeling bitter but not surprised. “’Twill be a relief to not endure their stares.”
Two days passed with no news, until any diversion became welcome for Eleri. On the night of the second day, she awoke to the sound of male voices speaking in tones so soft they were nearly carried away by the north wind outside her tiny chamber. Verily, the white monks. Once during the time of their stay, she’d left her cell to walk to the courtyard for a few moments of sunshine, but the sight of the brothers’ scowls of disapproval had her returning to her room, furious and insulted. So she’d tolerated the chilly room with its poorly constructed walls and the cold that seeped in to stir around her bed while she tried and failed miserably to sleep without wondering about her captive.
Left alone in the stables, would Warren be able to keep his promise to not utter a word? Or would he break like a coward and beg the abbot’s help to return him to his people?
Sayer, being the good friend he was, had visited each day, but each night he chugged down the abbey’s ale and then slept next door like a log. He wouldn’t be awake at this late hour, nor would he hear the murmurs of the soft-spoken monks.
She pulled her wool cover from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders to go and see what the commotion was about.
Upon her approach, a pair of priests seated on a stone bench ended their conversation, a swirl of Norman words. Wide-eyed, they sprang to their feet.
“Forgive us, Princess. We didn’t mean to wake you,” the taller monk said quickly in her tongue.
“Aye.” The other priest’s head bobbed, as he stared at the ground. “Our apologies. We were just returning from matins.”
She forgave them, and no sooner had the words left her mouth, the pair scattered in opposite directions, leaving her alone in the darkened yard.
Eleri sighed and dropped to the vacant bench. Sadly, even conversing with the dour monks would’ve been preferable to spending another evening alone. Now the long open walkway was completely empty. She braced her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hand. Usually she spent her sleepless hours waiting on the watery spirits to name the dying, but she could not commune with the cyhyraeth without the monks knowing.
“What did the priests say to you just now?”
Her stomach flipped, hearing Warren’s low, silky voice whispering in the darkness. She turned in his direction, but saw nothing in the shadows. How long had he been standing there watching the priests…or her door? “Nothing. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Why? What’s wrong with the mute venturing out at night?” He sauntered into the moonlight and sat beside her.
Her side tingled from the warmth of his presence. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Shhh. They might hear. Besides, they’re very intimidated by your presence.”
“And yours, ’twould seem. I think they would’ve jumped out of their robes if you’d threatened them.” He leaned closer until his arm brushed hers, and gave her a half-smile. “Your herbs are like a plague on my skin. I scrubbed half the afternoon, and the smell is still there. But…they’re all abed now. It’s just us. Would you like to know what these two were saying before you came outside?”
She felt her face blanch. “Eavesdropping, my lord? Go on, what did they say?”
“Apparently they believe your pagan soul is lost to the devil and that you speak to the dead.” His voice held no humor or sarcasm, only contemplation—almost reverence. He took her hand and folded his around it. His warmth spread through her—a most comforting sensation, but he stared distractedly at his knees. “Of course I didn’t believe them, but there are those who would appreciate that ability. Myself included. To be able to speak to the departed one last time…”
Regret filled his voice. She squeezed his hand, and his gaze lifted to hers. “’Tis more a curse than a gift.”
Astonishingly, he didn’t argue against her ability. Instead, he drew her hand to his mouth and warmed her frigid fingers with his breath. “You know, I do regret that I didn’t learn your language, Eleri.”
“Why? Do you feel left out of my conversations with Sayer?”
He looked up, staring at her for a long moment. “Nay. If I’d understood Welsh, I would’ve known the words the traitor had used when we arrived, misinforming your people that we were there to do you harm.” He then bent to her ear and whispered, “Do you t
hink if I were Welsh, you would agree to marry me?”
She smiled, glad to be done talking about the dead. “Nay. My father only gave me to Owain because he was prince of the territory he wished to control. When you meet Father you’ll understand. He’s a very proud ruler but fair. The Aberffraw family is descended from Rhodri the Great, so I’m expected to marry royalty.”
A wolfish grin spread on his face. “Ah. Tres bien.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Would it help my offer of an alliance between us if I told you my father was a king?”
Eleri reeled back, tugging her hand free to cradle against her chest. “You jest, Norman, but ’tis no joke. All of my sisters were wed to princes. I was the last to wed, waiting whilst my father searched for the best match. I could’ve died a maiden.”
His eyes searched hers for a long moment, leaving her to wonder at his thoughts. She wished she’d kept her candor to herself. Speaking of matters of the bedchamber with such an experienced man made her hot with embarrassment.
“I wish I were jesting.” He sighed after a length. “There were several of us born to different royal mistresses. Mine, Gieva de Tracy, bore Henry two children, including myself. My father acknowledged my little sister’s birthright, but died before acknowledging me. Though after everything…I am for certes he never would’ve claimed me as his son if he’d lived to be a hundred.” He shrugged.
There was nothing but honesty in his words and his resigned demeanor.
Her breath rushed out as horror washed over her. “Oh Goddess! I’ve kidnapped a king’s son!”
“A bastard son,” he said lightheartedly. “And now another king, my cousin, sits upon my father’s throne, so you see I have royal blood, but again naught else to recommend me, except…that which I’ve fought for.”
He leaned back and the shadows hid his face. Eleri longed to see him better, to search his expression at the moment. She recalled his body: the scars, dark skin, muscles and calluses of a knight—aye, he’d fought hard.
“I’m sorry, Warren,” she whispered.
Sorry his father had passed away so recently, leaving him without making peace…sorry she’d treated him as a marauding villain, and…
Sorry they’d started as enemies.
She winced as another thought struck her. “So this is why you have assassins trying to kill you?”
“Perhaps.” His voice was clipped. “There are some who hate me for other reasons.”
Her gut squeezed. She couldn’t change her course of action—not when Lew’s life hung in the balance—but she couldn’t make herself hate Warren, either.
Beyond caring if any priests were watching, she followed her instincts, letting go of her blanket to cup his face in her hands. The rough texture of his skin against her palms felt masculine and earthy. Natural. His fascinating eyes widened with surprise, then his gaze lowered to her lips as the sadness he’d shared dissolved into the same hunger she felt.
Desire surged within Eleri. Unable to stop herself, she brought her mouth to his.
His hands slid into her hair, holding her as he returned her kiss. She wouldn’t have ended it, though. Not when his touch brought such relief to her. His lips brushed over the corners of her mouth, the tip of his tongue slowly following the curve of her lower lip before she opened to him. His fingers caressed the back of her neck, sliding up and down, awakening her senses to the pure pleasure of his coarse skin against hers. She suckled his tongue, and he groaned.
His hands floated down her body before fisting in the front of her thin chemise.
Oh, Goddess! She’d come outside dressed in her sleeping garment.
Panicking, she reached for the blanket, but Warren’s fingers captured her breast and fondled her flesh. “We’re alone,” he murmured.
Her body tingled with wicked pleasure, her fear seeping away into the night.
He lifted his head and kissed her cheek then beneath her ear and along her jaw. He grabbed her waist and urged her closer, angling his head to nibble her neck. As he descended her collarbone and dropped a trail of warm kisses along the edge of her bodice, she arched her back, giving him complete permission.
His hand slid around her thigh and pulled her legs across his lap. Then, with his arms wrapped securely around her, he lowered his mouth to her breast and took her nipple through the fabric of her gown. Heat fanned through her.
She gripped his solid shoulder in one hand and sank her other hand into his hair, holding him to her breast. “Warren—”
He lifted his head, cradling her damp bosom in his hand. His thumb stroked across her hardened nipple, sending darts of delight through her as he regarded her. “Mmm…I like the sound of my name on your lips. I would like it even better if we didn’t have to whisper. Come with me.” He set her on her feet, rising as he steadied her against his chest.
Her knees wobbled, and she was thankful for his arms around her. He took her hand to lead her toward the stables.
“No.” She pulled against him, unwilling to end things, but also not wanting to risk discovery. Mayhap just this once they could act not as enemies, but as equals. Tomorrow would probably find her nursing regrets, but tonight—just this once—she would take what she wanted. “Not the barn. In here.”
He glanced over the top of her head at her door and smiled.
Chapter Eight
Warren’s heart was pounding like a green youth’s by the time he shut the door and Eleri lit a sconce in the wall, illuminating her bedchamber. She held her blanket in front of her chemise as she backed away from him, moving toward the bed. Her eyes were rounded, her lips cherry red from their kisses.
He needed time to calm his racing pulse and allow her to do the same if he was going to make love to her without acting like some berserker gone too long at sea. She deserved better.
She was a princess, so she needed the gentle hands of a prince.
He scanned the room. There were no other furnishings, only the bed, narrow yet serviceable for their purposes, covered in furs and blankets befitting a royal visitor of the abbey. The walls, however, needed patching. The firelight danced from the night breeze leaking through.
No wonder her fingers were so cold.
He frowned as an angry vein kicked in his neck.
“The room is not to your liking, my lord?”
His gaze swept back to her. Still clinging to her blanket, she regarded him with a regal tilt of her chin.
He smiled. “Better than sleeping on the ground and in the trees. I’ll warrant ’tis not the accommodations either of us prefers, but we’ll make the most of it, oui?”
She nodded with a faint smile.
So beautiful. He pushed his hair from his forehead to keep from reaching for her.
Why was this so difficult?
If he waited too long she might change her mind. At any moment she might recall the evils his countrymen had caused her people and send him away with a boot to the backside. There was no time to waste if he wanted to woo her.
Pouncing on her isn’t the answer either.
He cleared his throat, though he was far from parched—fairly salivating, actually, for another taste of Eleri. “Did, um…the brothers leave you aught to drink?”
“Aye.” She went to a tray left in the corner of the room and retrieved a cup, which she filled and brought back.
He took the vessel and his unsteady fingers brushed hers in the exchange.
Eleri looked away, causing the single plait of her hair to fall over her shoulder.
He tossed back the mead, barely allowing the sweet taste of honey to linger on his tongue. He had other cravings to satisfy.
“Delicious. Merci.” He returned the empty cup to her. She replaced the vessel in the corner, and he found his words. “I liked your hair down, the way it was when we arrived here. Would you—”
Her fingers
unwound the braid before he could finish his request. There was something artless in her movements, a lack of confidence—the only uncertainty he’d witnessed from her—and it pulled at him like a siren’s song.
His feet led him closer until he stood less than an arm’s length away from her. He reached tentatively for her hair, finishing the work for her. His fingers slid through the unraveled, silken waves, and he held them in the firelight, watching the shimmering color that rivaled the flame.
Red gold against silver skin. Everything about her radiated like the moon and the sun. A treasure to plunder.
Only this treasure would hopefully soon belong to him. A prize that none could match or better—not even his royal kin.
Excitement fueled his ardor. He unfastened his belt, and it fell to the floor along with his sword, making a loud twang. Eleri jumped, and he cursed himself beneath his breath for being a fool again.
“Forgive me for my eagerness. Since I set eyes on you, I’ve wanted this moment.” He took her by the shoulders and caressed the elegant curve of her arm muscles beneath his thumbs. An archer, she had the limbs of Diana, he reminded himself, sending more blood to his already painful member.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he was nearly lost. “I should be honest, my lord. I may be a widow, but I’m not very familiar…that is to say, I’m not as practiced as you might—”
“Shhh.” He put a finger to her mouth when her gaze avoided his. He smiled. “I suspect I’ll enjoy creating new experiences with you. Let’s leave the past outside your door. In here, there’s only you and me, n’est-ce pas?”
She nodded, lifting her chin a notch higher as she met his gaze. His chest tightened with respect.
Mayhap Stephen had thought he’d been playing a terrible trick on his cousin and rival for the throne by sending him here to claim his so-called willing bride, but in fact, there was surely no other woman who could arouse Warren with such fervor as the fiery shield maiden.
“Put down your blanket, Eleri, and remove your clothing,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. “I want to see you.”
