by Jeanne Hardt
“Because there are more important things to say than discussions over what lies beyond this gate. Why must you daydream about that which you cannot have, when I offer you something as real as a gentle touch?”
Though rough and leathered, his fingers glided over hers in a tender caress. More real than she cared to admit. “There is nothing wrong with dreaming. Women often dream of lovely things.”
He chuckled. “And men often dream of lovely women.” His words came out in an unfamiliar blatant tone. Like a deep, rumbling growl.
She pulled her hand to herself and took a step back. “Why do you speak so, Donovan?” She spoke harshly, utterly disappointed in him.
“My words offend you?”
The need to run overwhelmed her. Her stomach flipped, and her throat dried. “It was not the words you spoke, rather the way in which you said them. As though you wish to devour me.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Olivia, you know the depth of my feelings for you. I confess, in my dreams we often share intimate moments. I pray each night they will come true.” He moved closer once again, stifling the air around her. “Shall we always carry on so, or will you have me? If given the chance, I would cherish you eternally and never hurt you. No man would harm the woman he loves.”
Loves?
The word she had been waiting to hear. So why did it frighten her?
She clutched her hand to her bosom and tried to regain her composure. “But . . . I . . .”
“Shh . . .” He pressed a single finger to her lips. “Do not speak.”
Their bodies nearly touched. A mere inch separated them, and heat rose between them. He brushed his mouth over her cheek, then placed a soft kiss close to her ear. “In time,” he whispered, “you will return my affection. We cannot deny our love much longer.”
Expecting his lips to meet hers, Olivia closed her eyes. She nearly fell to her knees when he walked away.
A strange loneliness set in. She touched her cheek, recalling the warmth of his breath. One moment, she had been offended by him, but in an instant, everything changed.
Thoughts of the wall, the bridge, and the forest, drifted from her mind. She floated like a leaf in the wind across the field to the castle. Her need for solitude returned. She wanted to replay every word from Donovan.
She had assumed for quite a while that he desired her.
No doubt remained.
* * *
The sun glistened through Olivia’s drapery, and a soft breeze fluttered the sheer canopy surrounding her bed. Sleep had come the previous night with difficulty, and the warmth of her blankets begged her to stay.
Her grumbling stomach won the battle with the bed.
She shuddered, recalling a flash of a nightmare. Of course, it had not been real. Regardless, it hung about her as genuine as the air she breathed.
Donovan, dressed in black, holding a blade to her throat.
She rubbed the spot on her neck and swallowed hard. Why had it seemed so real?
“Stop being childish,” she scolded herself, then quickly dressed and made her way to the dining hall.
There were no commoners present at this time of day, only the cooks who brought her oats with honey. One of the baker’s pastries appealed to her more at the moment. Perhaps she needed to pay him a visit.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her mother, with her ever-present ladies following. Olivia prepared for a scolding of another kind.
“Having breakfast rather late, are you not, my dear?” Her mother hovered above her, peering down her nose.
Her words sounded more concerned than harsh.
Olivia lowered her gaze. “Sleep eluded me last night.”
Her mother gestured to the chair beside her, and one of her ladies pulled it out and helped her sit. She placed her hand to Olivia’s forehead. “You do not look well, but have no fever. Is it your time?”
“No, Mother. I assure you, I am fine.”
“I am not so certain.” Again, she pressed her hand to Olivia’s brow. “Hmm. Eat your oats, then get some sun. You are dreadfully pale.”
“I swear to you I am simply tired. However, I shall do as you ask. After I eat, I shall take a walk.” She scooped a glob of cereal and let it drop back into her bowl. “There is little else to do in Padrida,” she mumbled.
She had intended to leave her final words as thoughts alone and quickly covered her mouth. Weariness had made her careless.
Her mother thrummed her fingers on the table and grunted. “Take a husband and have a family. That will give you plenty to do.” She stood. “I love you, Olivia. I may speak harsher than your father, but I know how it feels being alone and needing a man. A good husband will alleviate your troubles, and boredom will be a word soon forgotten.”
Olivia rose from her chair and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, too. Perhaps by the crossing celebration, my decision will be made.”
“Nothing would please me more.” She smiled, cupped Olivia’s cheek, then softly patted it.
With a nod to her ladies, her mother led them from the dining hall as quickly as they had arrived.
Likely, her mother would return to her room and sew. Sometimes, she stitched all day and even after nightfall, she would sew by candlelight.
Was that all Olivia had to look forward to?
“I do not even like to sew,” she grumbled.
She had a much better idea.
Her appetite had vanished. She hastened down the hallway to the weapons storage.
Gerard, the sentry, stepped aside and allowed her to enter. No questions asked. Being a princess had its advantages.
A bow and quiver of arrows would satisfy her need for entertainment. Her father had taught her to shoot, but she needed more practice. Fortunately, her mother was none-the-wiser, and Olivia intended to keep it that way. She saw nothing wrong with gaining the skills of the bow, even if her mother scolded her for being unladylike.
As she exited the small chamber with the weapon, she touched a finger to her lips. Gerard grinned and nodded, affirming his loyalty and his amusement. Someday, he would guard her. If he kept quiet, he would prove his worthiness.
Truthfully, he was one of her favorites. Unlike the other guards, Gerard was small in stature and his hair already held bits of gray. He wore it much too long in the front and frequently pushed it out of his eyes. She found him charming.
She donned a long cloak and tucked the bow and arrows beneath it. Once out of the castle, she headed toward the woods.
She passed a group of children in the courtyard, learning the art of weaving baskets. Their laughter stopped long enough for them to bow and curtsy, then once she passed, it returned. The joyful sound floated through the air.
Having her own child appealed to her. Perhaps she could appease her mother by birthing the son she never had.
As she winded down the long path to the woods, she breathed in the aroma of honeysuckles. Large bees buzzed in and out of the orange blossoms. There had been no rain in some time, but everything looked green and alive. Lush and beautiful.
The far-off sound of the rushing river replaced all others. The river she despised for separating them from the rest of the world. It encircled Padrida and carved the enormous gorge after centuries of flow.
Even with so many inhabitants, she still managed to find places to hide. Something necessary for bow practice.
In the thickest part of the forest, she used a charred piece of wood to draw a target on one of the trees. After counting twenty paces back, she drew the bow and let the arrow fly.
“Ugh!” She stomped her foot and tightened her hands into fists. “I cannot even hit a tree!”
She trudged to the pine and beyond it, searching for the arrow.
“Is this what you seek?” Donovan wiggled it in the air.
“How did you . . .?” She eyed him quizzically.
Grinning, he brought his other hand from behind his back and produced a large red rose. “I imagine you
prefer this?”
Never had he been so handsome, dressed in a white cotton tunic and tan trousers. The sun glistened in his dark hair, and his dimpled smile tumbled her insides. She took the rose, no longer concerned about the arrow. “Thank you.”
He bowed low. “A lovely flower for a beautiful woman.” When he stood upright, his eyes gleamed. “What about my proper thank you?”
Heart thumping, she pulled her shoulders back and lessened the space between them. “A kiss on the cheek is all you shall have, for I am a—”
He held her face with one hand and pushed out her lips. “Lady. Yes, I know. And one who has become a stunning woman.”
His mouth covered hers. Passion overcame her, and she intensified their kiss. A kiss she had dreamed of.
Her heart beat out of her chest. She swooned and fell into his strong arms.
He encircled her, and held her against him, then took a large breath and gently pushed her away. “Was I too bold?”
“Yes. I mean—no. It surprised me, but I take no offense.” She licked her lips and tried to still her heart.
A rustling of leaves turned her head.
If someone had seen them . . .
Donovan tenderly touched her cheek and made her look at him again. “It brings me great relief that you do not find me offensive. Yet, I should not have taken advantage. I shall leave you to your archery.” He deepened his gaze. “You have pierced my heart already.”
“You choose to leave me now?”
He chuckled. “It is often you who runs away. I followed you here, wanting to be certain you were not disturbed. Yet I fear I must leave you for sparring practice. If I ever hope to live in the castle, I need to prove my skill, or capture your heart permanently. And because I know women have a tendency to change their minds, I must rely on my swordsmanship.”
He bowed low, then ran away.
Though weak-kneed, she stood firm and followed his form with her eyes as he wove through the trees. Strangely, she could have sworn another figure joined him.
Odd . . .
Donovan had dropped her arrow when he had steadied her in his arms, so she bent down and picked it up. Her heart continued to flutter. Determination to practice what she had come for pushed her on.
Thoughts of kisses would have to wait.
Perhaps now, her dreams would capture this memory and erase the image of the ominous man in black.
Chapter 4
Sebastian patted Golda’s side, then dug his heels into her ribs. “Hy-ah!”
The golden mare tossed her head and bolted, seemingly as restless as he.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Jonah yelled from some distance behind him, riding atop Cinnamon, another strong and able mare.
Sebastian looked over his shoulder and laughed. Jonah’s wide eyes kept getting smacked by his blond curls that bounced in rhythm with his mare’s stride. He clung to Cinnamon’s reins and tried to keep pace, his riding cloak fluttering in the wind.
Sebastian grinned. “I thought you enjoyed a good ride!”
Jonah rapidly shook his head. “Not this kind. Can we not go a bit slower, Your Highness?”
The time had come to set things proper. Sebastian pulled on his reins and slowed his mare, but kept her moving at a trot until Jonah caught up to him. “Better?”
“Much.” At the slower pace, Jonah managed to keep the horses in step with each other.
“I must ask something of you while we are away from Basilia.” Sebastian cut his eyes toward him. “Address me by name. Here I am your friend. Not a prince. Agreed?”
Jonah smiled and nodded, sitting much taller in his saddle.
“Good.” Sebastian faced forward and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with fresh, sweet air. He had not felt so alive in a great while—free and full of unexplained energy.
The journey to Black Wood would take two full days, and the clear sky and warm air could not have been more suitable for riding. Green meadows dotted with yellow and orange wildflowers rolled out before them.
After several hours, Sebastian pointed out a pond to his left. Their hardworking horses needed water and a brief rest.
It appeared Jonah did as well. He hopped off his horse and raced to the pond, then dropped to his knees and splashed water in his face. “I am overheated.” He cupped his hands, dipped them in the water, and poured it onto his head. “I believe I over-dressed.”
“You should place your cloak in your saddle bag. I doubt you will need it.”
Jonah untied the knot at his neck. “Once we arrive at the forest, I shall require it. From what I understand, the thick trees allow little warmth to reach the ground.” He frowned, and his shoulders slumped. “Must we go there?”
“Why do you question it?” Sebastian dismounted, knelt down, and scooped water into his hand for a drink.
“Do you crave horror?” Jonah stuffed his cloak into the saddle bag.
Sebastian would not even consider changing his plans. Somehow, he had to put his friend at ease. “Horror? Why make such assumptions? You simply fear the unknown. You could very well find something pleasing in the forest.”
Jonah removed a cloth bag from his pack and jerked his head toward a patch of thick grass. “We should eat a bite or two before we go on. I have bread and cheese.”
Sebastian had no need to argue. His stomach rumbled.
They sat, and Jonah handed a portion to Sebastian, then nibbled on a bit of his own cheese. “If Black Wood was pleasant, the stories of old would be happy tales children sing and frolic to. I have not heard any such tale, and neither have you.”
Sebastian quickly ate his portion. He leaned comfortably against his elbows and gazed at the bluer than blue sky.
So beautiful . . .
He would not allow Jonah to dampen his spirit. Sebastian had never feared much of anything. Except perhaps the idea of being wed to a woman he found undesirable. It would be his duty, but one he would reluctantly fulfill.
If only Angeline were more like his mother, or even his sisters for that matter. All were fair skinned, golden-haired, and lovely. Most importantly, they possessed intelligence and sensibility.
Jonah cleared his throat. “I can tell your thoughts are elsewhere. What are you thinking about?”
“If you must know . . . Women.”
Jonah sat completely upright, pulled his knees to his chest, and grinned. “My favorite subject.”
“Yes, I am well aware.”
“Your Highness?”
“Sebastian.”
“Forgive me. Sebastian. It feels strange saying your name, but I will comply.” He scratched his head and nervously peered about. “Regarding women.”
Sebastian lay back on the soft grass and laced his hands behind his head. “Yes?”
“If I were knighted, is it not true I could wed a princess? One who had no throne?”
“Yes. Although there is a scarcity of princesses, there are more in the realm than thrones to be had. My sisters account for most of them, and they must marry a lord or a knight.” He rolled sideways to look at his friend. “Have you a princess in mind? Surely not one from Issa?”
Jonah chuckled awkwardly, gazed skyward and mindlessly plucked at the grass, then once again cleared his throat. “Your sister. Allana.”
“Allana?” Sebastian jumped to his feet. “She is but thirteen!” He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Jonah’s throat. “Have you touched her?”
“Heavens, no!” Jonah inched away from the blade. He scrambled to his feet and faced him. “I would never . . .”
Sebastian kept his sword raised and carefully studied his friend. He had always been trustworthy, so why question his loyalty now?
The air hung heavy between them. Aside from sparring, he had never drawn on Jonah.
With a huff, Sebastian returned his sword to its place and took a step back. “Tell me why someone so young holds your interest.”
Jonah briefly shut his eyes and let out a long breath. “All five of your
sisters are remarkable, but Estelle and Becca are spoken for. Delana and Catrice are much too young, yet Allana will soon be of a marrying age. My hope is that by the time she reaches her seventeenth year, I might be knighted. Besides, I believe she likes me. I made her laugh once. Or maybe even twice.”
“You have?” Again, Sebastian eyed him, then crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “All young girls laugh. Some more than others.”
“Please, Sebastian. You readily call me friend. Can you not think of me as a brother?”
Brother . . .
The thought made him smile. All his life he had wished for one, but his mother bore him five sisters, making the pressure of becoming king even greater. By Basilian law, a male heir had to take the throne. If Sebastian died or became unable to ascend to the position, his cousin would become king, and his mother would be devastated.
He placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Yes, I could call you brother. I should not be so critical. You simply caught me off guard. Your usual tales of women involve acts which I do not care to consider my sisters a part of. Could you be true to her?”
“On my honor. And to prove myself, I vow I shall not touch another woman until my wedding day.”
Sebastian chuckled. “It is unwise to make promises you cannot keep.”
“If a vow will render me Allana, I shall hold true to my word.”
“Very well. However, you may regret it. Four years might come to feel like a lifetime.”
Jonah frowned, but nodded. “I will not change my mind.”
Sebastian patted his back. “Do not speak of this again. If word comes to my father, he might have you hung for your thoughts alone.”
“It will remain between us. And from here on, I shall strive harder to show my worthiness for knighthood.”
Sebastian fit his foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over Golda. “We should ride.”
“Yes, sire. Sebastian.” Jonah clumsily mounted Cinnamon.
If he truly wanted to become a knight, he would have to improve his horsemanship. Sebastian decided to test Jonah’s eagerness and pushed Golda into a gallop. Being well-rested, she moved swifter than before.
Jonah rendered no complaints and surprisingly managed to keep pace.
