Outside he unhitched his mount and strolled to the barn and he decided to have a serious one sided discussion with his horse.
“This should be an interesting night, King.” He whistled softly stroking the animal, his mind on the beautiful maiden inside the Inn. “I’ll be spending the night with my princess, old boy.” The horse’s ears perked up as if he had been offended by his master’s description of him. He snorted and then nudged Albert making him laugh. “Is that some sort of warning, or are ye jealous, boy, eh? Or are ye giving me advice, ye who has sired many colts.” He patted the course flank and shook his head. He then tied a feed bag onto King’s head. “That should keep ye quiet for a spell,” he laughed and left with the promise to return on the morrow.
Walking back to the Inn, Albert was glad that no one knew him in this little town because he hated the attention. Being a prince had some disadvantages as well as advantages. He could abide with all the pampering at his own castle but when traveling he liked to keep a low profile. Traveling alone angered his manservant, Walter, but he was an excellent swordsman and was capable of taking care of himself. As he ascended the wooden staircase Clive asked if he and the young lady would like to sup with the other quests at seven. He accepted then took the steps two at a time, anxious to see Zoë. Opening the door without knocking was not something he considered since they were sharing the room and she gave him the impression earlier that she wouldn’t have any objections. But the sight of the raven haired beauty relaxing in the tub made him come to a quick halt. There she lay with her eyes closed giving him the opportunity to study her. Soapy water covered her nude body but the rise and fall of her glistening breasts took his breath away. As much as he wanted to ravish her, he knew he had to wait, she was still virginal. Or was she? He must have made a throaty groan because her eyes snapped open.
“Oh,” she gasped and covered her breasts with her arms.
Although Albert would like nothing better than to join her, he quickly gave her his back hoping she hadn’t noticed the change in his body. Clearing his throat he forced himself to steady his voice but it came out rasped just the same. “Err, um… be ready by seven, we will sup downstairs with the other guests.” He left. No, more to the point, he ran out! He needed a mug of ale, maybe two not understanding what had come over him. He knew the female’s body, he bedded many a maidens, and so what made him act like a lackwit?
Zoë giggled. Nice work, you got him stirred up. It was a boost for her ego and she was well pleased since she had never affected a man like that before. She was by no means ashamed or embarrassed by her nudity, but she knew she had better pull back a little and act somewhat coy, not wanting to scare him off altogether. She recalled how he looked when she was not disturbed by their sharing a room.
And then she frowned because she hated the idea of putting on that “darling little dress,” the one she had awakened in, in this…? This what? Dream? Coma? She pinched herself and it hurt. That didn’t sit well with her, since dreams do not hurt, but she had no idea about comas. What was she to believe?
Had she traveled back in time to waken in this body? Looking into the mirror she saw that she looked like herself; she was definitely Zoë White. Ohmahgaud, this was so ironic, she thought, almost laughable but the face staring back was not laughing. And what if she had died and her soul drifted through some sort of a crack in time. Was that possible? Maybe; but why had she claimed the body of a story book character? It was all too preposterous! Ridiculous! She let out a long, weary sigh and decided, what was the use of trying to figure it out? Go with the flow, she told herself or she’d only be driving herself crazy, even more that she already felt.
But then only dead fish go with the flow, her conscience egged.
Good grief, she can’t be dead!
She had no more time to ponder over her dilemma anyway, a delicious aroma wafted up to her room from below. Assuming that supper was waiting for her, she put on the dress, took one last look into the mirror and made a face. She then discovered that it was impossible to button up the back. Now she understood the reasoning for women having maids. Twisting her arm like a pretzel, she grumbled nearly yanking it out of the socket just to get the last few buttons. When the light tap on the door made her jump, Zoë headed for the oak barrier making a mental note to ask Olive if she had another dress she could wear. Maybe, one that’s more mature, besides this one needing cleaning.
Albert overheard the young woman grumbling before he knocked. He assumed that she was definitely upset over something and a few unladylike words made his ears burn. Hell’s bells, that one needed a good scolding, never had he heard such language coming from such a sweet looking mouth. He certainly had his job cut out for him and he better make sure she acted like a lady before he brought her home. There was no doubt that Walter would have his ass.
The door opened and he asked, “Are ye all right, my lady? Is there aught I can do for ye?” He almost bit his tongue at that comment seeing her partly dressed.
Zoë smiled sweetly. “Oh, yes, please come in and help me with my dress. Do you mind?” She threw out the request as a challenge and then gave him her back.
Albert swallowed hard and clenched his teeth a bit when she presented him with a view of her creamy flesh. A few buttons were closed but they were not in the right button hole.
“Sorry to be such a bother,” she glanced back and spoke in a low, sexy voice. She knew she was laying it on thick, too thick, but she couldn’t resist when she heard him murmur something under his breath. Ah, she was a tease but it was something she needed to do to lighten the situation, for her anyway. Even though he and his kind were chauvinistic in these times, he was a delight.
Zoë quickly lost her flirtatious moment when she felt his hot breath on her neck, causing her own breath to catch in the back of her throat. She felt her face heat and it surprised her that she blushed, since it was a condition that hardly ever happened to her. And to add to her unexplainable discomfort, his warm fingers rubbed on her backbone as button by button was fastened. Her skin burned and tingled with each touch giving her goose bumps. He had turned the tables on her and she didn’t like it one bit. Now that her joking mood was deflated, she felt quite uncomfortable and apprehensive.
Gaud, why was he taking so long to do a few buttons?
Minute by minute Zoë was finding it harder to breath and when the prince finally finished she swallowed and plastered a weak smile on her face before turning. She prayed that he didn’t notice her quivering legs. Thankfully, he put out his arm for her to take and she was grateful for that small gesture because it helped her steady her nerves and walk evenly, not to trip over her two left feet.
Albert was none the less affected by the task at hand and he was so tempted to undo what he had just done and slip off the dress. He had made the mistake of rubbing his knuckles softly against her bare flesh, slowly savoring the silken texture of her skin. Understandably, he was in terrible discomfort, and not having made love in a while, Albert wasn’t sure he would be able to sit at the table to sup. His hunger for food was nil, it was another hunger that he wanted to quench. But alas, he had promised himself to wait, and now he wanted to kick himself in the ass for being such a total ass. When had he become such a moral knight? A pox on his conscience!
“Are ye feeling rested after yer bath?” he asked for the lack of anything else to say being that the lump in his throat refused to budge even after he cleared it roughly.
“Ah, yes, thank you, your highness,” she answered companionably. “The bath was quite refreshing.”
Their eyes locked.
His gaze was riveted to her sensuous mouth.
His mouth came closer. Her eyes closed.
She was ready; but was she willing?
His hot breath was on her face.
So close; so close….
Chapter Seven
Knock, knock!
Zoë’s eyelids flew open. Was that disappointment she saw in the prince’s eyes before she tu
rned? Certainly, he had seen it mirrored in her own because there was no denying she was let down. Timing is everything in life…even in dreams, she frowned.
“Food is being served,” called the innkeeper through the door.
There was no mistaking the frustration in the prince’s voice when he called back that they were coming. He bent mockingly at the waist and said, “Shall we join the others.” It was not a question but more of a soft demand. She nodded and proceeded to exit the room, trying not to stumble on her weak legs.
Down stairs the other guests we seated talking lively with one another. Olivia introduced everyone as Zoë and Albert seated their self. As she smiled at the others her stomach reacted to the wonderful smells coming from the meal that was being served. She was famished and her mouth watered when Clive brought in the baked ham. To her right sat a very thin man who handed her the carrots along with a pleasant smile. She accepted gracefully and scooped them into her trencher. Boiled potatoes were next, then the ham and raisin gravy.
It was a simple meal and she never enjoyed food as much as she did that night, especially after eating creatures of the wild. After the meal Zoë asked Olive where she could purchase clothes, hoping the woman got the hint that she needed a new dress. She had no money and even if she did her currency wouldn’t be accepted.
“Is there a store near by?” she inquired.
Olive frowned and shook her head. “The dressmaker does nae take fittings on the Sabbath but I can show ye her shop on the morrow. She has a beautiful selection of materials in her establishment, but, ’twill take a few days before she can sew one up for ye.”
Zoë had forgotten that ready-made dresses were not the norm in this era. “Oh, drat,” she groused. “I need a dress; actually I can use a new pair of pants.”
Olive frowned and Zoë heard the prince make some sort of sound behind her back. She dared not look but she could just imagine the expression on his countenance, and she was tempted to snort but refrained. Ah, but wouldn’t that put a dent in the prince’s armor if she were to wear tight jeans. She didn’t even try to hide the devilish smile when she said:
“Yes, pants, britches, I think they are called.” She pulled in her brows in thought; maybe not. “Whatever,” she waved her reply in the air and was sure that the woman got the jest of her meaning when she noticed the twinkle in Olive’s eyes. And then she was pulled aside and the woman looked about to make sure she was not overheard.
“Methinks my son ’tis about ye size, my lady, and I see nay reason why ye cannae wear them since ye are traveling. I was once a young girl who wore hose when I went out to hunt with my brothers.” She giggled. “In fact, my Clive was totally shocked when he had grabbed me thinking I was a lad.”
Zoë laughed thinking that she liked this other woman very much. How refreshing it was to meet a liberated female in these times. It occurred to her that she had no idea what century this was. It was then that she also realized that the prince had left her side and she was grateful for that so she decided to ask, “What year is it?”
Olive gave her an incredulous look as if she had gown horns but the woman did not ask.
“’Tis 1609 AD, my lady.”
“Jee’zes! Ohmygaud!” she blurted out.
“’Tis something amiss?” Olive asked and pattered her arm, concerned.
Sheesh, something was definitely wrong! “Err… oh, nothing,” she lied. “I accept your son’s clothes if you are still offering,” her voice grainy.
Olive nodded “My Irving can spare a pair and a shirt. I’ll set them on the chair in ye room, my lady.”
“Thank you. And please dispose of this dress,” she pointed to the bodice.
“Aye,” Olive nodded. “Perhaps, I shall wash it and give it to my niece, for ’tis quite lovely and different.”
Fine with me. One girl’s hand me downs is another’s treasure.
Zoë saw the prince sitting in the corner with two men, each smoking a pipe. She decided to go ahead and retire for she suddenly felt very tired. When she reached the second landing as she neared the door a hand grabbed her and she found herself incased in a stranger’s arms. She wondered where he had come from since he was not at the dinner table but then she smelled his sour breath and knew he had drank his supper. He began slobbering soggy kisses over her neck. Not wanting to cause a commotion by yelling out, she eased her way down to her door and opened it.
Taken by surprise, the drunken fool stumbled into the room. Blinking at the surrounding, he grinned like a baboon and she assumed that he thought that he had found a willing wench. The sloshed idiot had no idea what kind of a female he was taking on, but he would soon discover that Zoë was no weak maiden.
When he reached for her, she leaned her right shoulder into his fat beer belly and flipped him over; having all male cousins had it advantages. He landed with an oaf, and she immediately kneed him in the groin making him yelp in pain. Seeing his face turn beat red, either from the discomfort or the embarrassment, she didn’t care, she quickly pulled at his shirt, dragging him to his unsteady feet. Clutching his injured pride, she opened the door and tossed him out on his sorry, fat ass!
She watched him stagger down the hall knowing he would not tell anyone that a mere woman nearly made him a eunuch. Shutting the door, she wondered if she should have yelled, feigning to be a maiden in distress and have her gallant prince save her. Ha! This might be a fairytale coma, but she wasn’t going to submit and pretend that she couldn’t take care of herself. Besides, she didn’t want to be any more beholding to the egotistical man.
Standing in the middle of the room, she tapped her chin realizing that there was a need to empty her bladder. There was no sense in asking for the bathroom or outhouse, neither were around then. Sighing she knew just where to look. Sure enough she pulled out a ceramic bowl and proceeded to pee, grumbling all the time that she’d never complain about anything again when she’d awaken from this. Zoë then opened the shutter and looked below to make sure no one was about and tossed the contents out the window. With the thought of someone being drenched by her urine made her giggle. But of course it wasn’t a laughing matter, especially if she was on the receiving end of the contents. Ugh! What unsanitary conditions people had to live with?
After she disrobed, she climbed into the bed feeling that she had first dibs. Stretching, she yawned thinking it wasn’t the best bed she had ever slept in but it was far better than the ground, but barely. She still ached where the pebble bruised her back.
Zoë had just fallen to sleep when she heard the door creak open. She was sleeping in the same outfit she had been for most of her life, her birthday suit. Would he climb in to the bed with her? Feigning sleep, apprehension knotted her stomach as silence stretched. What was he doing? And then she heard him shuffling around in the dark. She assumed that he would light a candle but it remained pitch black. She was becoming somewhat unglued, fearing that he would spring on her unexpectedly, or maybe she was expecting him to pounce, whatever. She certainly wouldn’t object to his jumping her bones, but it still unnerved her not knowing where he was and what he was up to.
Heart thumping in her chest and her breath laboring to keep her breathing quiet, she waited. And waited. The song, Anticipation, played in her head. What was he doing?
Then she heard him. To her chagrin, he was peeing in the pot. Thank goodness she had thrown out her urine, for the thought of their pee mixing made her experience mortification. And you’d think for being a modern girl, she’d be, ok with that.
As the moon let in enough light to see him, she quickly pulled the covers over her head. You’ve seen naked men before! What are you afraid of? the little voice in her head asked. Groaning inwardly, she had no answer for herself.
Click! Cool air wafted in. Splash! He also emptied the pot out the window. At least she was on the right track. Sheesh, pity the fool that was walking under a window she thought again.
What was he doing now? Thump, thump! Boots? Stillness.
&nb
sp; She peeked and swallowed hard. The moon had taken that moment to case it full light on him. She watched the muscular shadow finish undressing. Did he hear her sharp intake of her breath? Did he know that she was gaping, unable to take her gaze from his body? He was damn brazen, standing there in all his glory, like a bronzed god, stretching, exposing every beautiful inch of his form. Golden curls covered his hard chest and he scratched a muscular peck. Oh, Lord! Heat like she had ever known traveled the length of her body. He may be only a prince, but he owned a package that would made him a king in any girl’s eyes.
Turning, Albert gave her a view of his tight buttocks and her heart skipped a beat. Dear Lord, was he tormenting her? Come to bed, she desperately wanted to scream at him but her words got lost somewhere. What was wrong with her? She was no naive school girl. Crap!
To her disappointment, he lay before the hearth but not before adding wood to the smoldering embers. She sighed thinking that the embers were not the only thing in the room that was smoldering; Zoë was ablaze with desire. When she heard his shallow breathing, she got up and placed a blanket over his beautiful body. Returning to bed she prayed that she would have another day with her Prince Charming.
Chapter Eight
Zoë awoke to find that the prince had dressed and gone. She groaned aloud hating the fact that she missed the opportunity for once again having the pleasure of the sight of his naked, splendid body in the morning light. Oh well, spilled milk and all, she mused and told herself to get her sorry ass out of bed. Stretching, she rubbed her aching back and rotated her shoulders trying to release the tension in them. She wasn’t the, Princess and the Pea, but that mattress had a lot to be desired.
Draped over a chair were the clothes Olive had promised. Sheesh, she must have been dead to the world not to have heard anything. Normally, she was a light sleeper. Murphy’s Law, she figured; nothing goes right! She frowned at the bloomers and decided to go commando, although the britches were a bit scratchy without the luxury of panties. Since she wasn’t over-endowed, going braless was a treat and she found the linen shirt comfortable against her bare skin.
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