The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (35 page)

While his people had been forced to resort
to poaching to feed their starving families.

Ciara choked down her anger and focused her
attention on her task. She had to help the rebels find Prince
Mathias. Everything depended on that.

Including her own plan.

The one she had devised late last night
while unable to sleep.

‘Twas as simple as it was outrageous, an
idea based on emotion rather than cool reason. Her father would not
like it. Royce might not even like it.

But she rather thought that Prince Mathias
would agree.

That hope made her heart flutter as she
opened one of the trunks, glancing at the door before examining the
contents. Inside, she found blank sheaves of parchment, quill pens,
horn inkwells. Checking another, she discovered silver chalices and
drinking flasks. Other trunks overflowed with coins, embroidered
silk gloves, jeweled daggers.

As she closed the last one, she sighed in
frustration. There was naught here other than the riches one would
expect to see in a greedy prince’s private chamber. She was not
even sure what she had hoped to find. Daemon had not attained his
current power by being careless. He would hardly leave a map lying
about, with a large X showing where his brother was being held. Or
a key on a tasseled cord that would unlock Mathias’s prison
door.

But there must be
something
she could
discover. Some bit of information. Some clue that would reveal
where Mathias was. If she could do anything to make Royce’s journey
into the Ruadhan Mountains any less dangerous, she had to try.

With another quick glance at the door, she
continued her search, crossing to the long chest between the
windows. Here, too, she found more luxuries: the polished great
helms and matching gauntlets, glass goblets, a reliquary box, gold
candlesticks ….

Pausing, she returned her gaze to the silver
box, remembering what the rebels had said about Daemon’s fear of
God’s wrath. Many wealthy nobles owned a reliquary, a small casket
used to hold some priceless religious artifact believed to perform
miracles, like a splinter from the True Cross, or the bones of a
saint, or a strand of the Virgin’s hair.

Curious to see what Daemon thought might be
powerful enough to save him from the flames of Hell, she lifted the
lid.

Inside, on a lining of red silk, lay a small
black cross on a velvet cord.

Her brow furrowed, she picked it up. The
necklace was lovely, but it did not appear particularly old, or
even costly. She lifted it by the cord, letting it dangle in the
light that streamed through the windows. The cross was not made of
onyx, as she had guessed, but of a strange black stone with
sparkling facets that glittered almost like glass in the sun. She
could never remember seeing the like.

“What a pleasure to find you here,
Princess.”

Startled, she whirled, her heart thundering.
“Your Highness!”

Daemon stood at the door, flanked by a pair
of servants.

When he saw the open reliquary box and the
necklace hanging from her fingers, his courtly smile vanished. “I
had intended to change into more formal attire before going to see
you,” he said coolly, his voice revealing none of the displeasure
in his expression. “But here you are. How kind of you to save me
the trouble.” He waved away the servants who had accompanied him
inside.

They left with alacrity, closing the door
behind them.

Ciara felt the thud echo through the
chamber, heard her heart make the same sound.

Knew she could not hope to hide what she had
been doing. “I was just admiring—”

“Something that means a great deal to me.”
He stalked across the room and took it from her hand. “It was a
gift sent by my brother, from Rome. In the future, Princess, you
will refrain from touching my things.”

“I am sorry. I meant no offense.”
But if
the rebels were correct, Mathias had never been in Rome.
“It is
a most beautiful and unusual stone. What is it called?”

Turning his back on her, he replaced the
necklace in the reliquary box and closed the lid. “It has some
Latin name I cannot recall. They are masters at glasswork, the
Italians.” With a flick of his hand, he indicated the sparkling
goblets arrayed atop the chest as he turned. “My brother knows how
much I admire their art.”

When Daemon’s pale gray eyes fastened on
her, Ciara felt icy fear stab through her. She suddenly wanted to
run, had to steel herself against the impulse. In the forest
yesterday, she had thought the prince most unlike a warrior—but
now, standing face-to-face with him on level ground, she realized
he towered over her.

His black garments only added to the effect.
This close to him, she also noticed the gray in his hair and deep
lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘Twas a harsh, cruel face. The
face of a man who had spent a great deal of time in worry. Despite
all his riches, all his power, he evidently knew no peace.

She wondered if that was what made him so
brutal.

“Now, then.” He smiled, but instead of
softening his features, it only added a sharpness that reminded her
of the white wolves common in the mountains. “It is time we got
better acquainted, is it not?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

When he took her elbow, she forced herself
not to flinch from his touch. He led her away from the windows.
“Tell me how you like your new home thus far.” He swept an arm
around the ornate room. “Does my bedchamber meet with your
approval?”

“It is most—”
Revolting.
“—pleasant,
Your Highness.”

“I am glad you find it so.” Stopping a few
paces from the bed, he raised his hand to toy with the chain that
held her ermine-lined robe in place. “Once we are married, you will
be spending a great deal of time here. In my bed.”

Ciara felt as if a lead weight had just
dropped through the pit of her stomach. She did not know if she
should express her shock at his comment. She dared not slap
him.

His smile widened as he looked down at her,
clearly aware he was making her uncomfortable—and enjoying her
distress.

She felt suddenly, horribly aware of the
fact that they were alone together—and she doubted his servants
would come to her aid if they heard any suspicious noises from this
room.

Even a scream.

But nay, surely he would not …

As if reading her thoughts, he pushed both
sides of her robe from her shoulders, the casual way he handled her
making his intention clear.

He wanted her to know that he owned her, the
same way he owned the candlesticks and the tapestries and
everything else in this room, in his country.
And in
hers
.

His gaze traveled over her body and settled
on her breasts. “These garments are much more becoming than the
rags you wore yesterday when first we met.”

As she stood there, unable to speak, a now
familiar instinct broke through the fear and disgust that held her
frozen.

Elbow and heel, elbow and
heel
—

She cut the impulse short, tried instead to
change the direction of his thoughts. “Your Highness, I was
wondering—”

“Have you always worn your hair so short?”
He caught the end of her braid in one hand, rubbing it between his
fingers.

“Nay, Your Highness” She resisted the urge
to jerk away from his grasp, forced herself to remain still. “My
long hair became troublesome while traveling.”
That was
certainly true
.
“I thought it best to trim it. It will
grow back anon.”

“I see.” He released her braid, only to
trace his fingers along her shoulder. “It was brave of you,
Princess, to undertake such an arduous journey … especially with
no servants to attend you. Only Ferrano.” His fingers reached her
throat, slid back to the nape of her neck. “I am told that he left
the palace last night and has not been seen since.”

“Aye, the servants mentioned it to me this
morn.”

“Do not be concerned, Princess. I assured
you of his safety, and I promise he will be found. I have men out
looking for him even now.”

He is alive, you lying, murdering
bastard
.
She kept her voice cool, disinterested. “I am
certain he will turn up anon.”

Daemon’s thumb moved to the front of her
throat, his hand neatly encircling her neck. “Tell me, did you have
reason to regret traveling alone with Ferrano?”

She blinked, fought the icy nervousness that
rained through her. “I do not understand.”

“Princess … “ His voice turned silky and
his fingers tightened, just enough to indent her skin.

Ciara stiffened, resisted a spark of
panic.

“I beg of you,” he murmured, “do not pretend
ignorance. I want to know whether you lost aught more than your
hair.” He leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. “I would
know whether that ill-mannered knave dared tamper with
my
royal goods.” His upper lip curled in that disdainful sneer.

She could not catch her breath. “You may be
at ease, Your Highness. I am a maiden still.”

“Are you, my lovely betrothed?” He did not
relax his grip and did not appear convinced. “The guards who first
came upon you in the forest yesterday told me that you and Ferrano
appeared quite … close before they called out to you. And I well
remember the baron from four years ago—as a hot-tempered sort not
given to following rules.”

She glared at him. “Baron Ferrano’s behavior
was completely honorable.”

His fingers only tightened. “If you are
lying to me … “

“It is the truth! You have my word.”

That made him laugh. “The word of a woman is
worth less than the empty purse of a peasant.” Straightening, he
released his hold on her. “Before I make you my bride, I would have
better proof. I will send my royal physician to examine you.”

Ciara stepped back from him, eyes wide with
outrage, stomach churning with nausea. “There is no need. I have
told you—”

“Have you something to hide, milady?”

“Nay!”

“Then my physician will visit you this
afternoon. My heirs will one day rule, Princess, and I would be
assured that they are indeed
my
heirs.”

Ciara bit her tongue to hold in an oath,
more angry than afraid. She knew she was telling him the truth.

She also had no intention of being around
long enough to marry him, much less bear his children.

“Very well,” she said flatly, seeing no way
to avoid his order. She did not wish to make him any more
suspicious of her than he already was.

Not when she had important work to do.

“Excellent.” He smiled at her again. “I am
glad we understand one another. Once I am assured that I have not
been made a cuckold before our vows have even been spoken, all will
be well.” He turned away, changing the subject as casually as if
they had been discussing the weather. “Have my retainers been
treating you well?”

Ciara longed to turn on her heel and stalk
out. “Indeed, Your Highness. Everyone has been most kind.”

“If there is aught you have need of, simply
ask and it shall be provided.”

How about a map showing where you have
your brother imprisoned?
She watched as he opened a cabinet
built into one wall and took out a flask, pouring himself a
drink.

Mustering her courage, she eased into the
subject she needed to discuss. “Actually, Your Highness, I was
curious to know when I might be introduced to the rest of your
family.”

“My father the king is still indisposed. He
has been ill for many years, and is almost bedridden now.”

“I am sorry to hear of it,” she said with
genuine feeling. It was well known that King Stefan, a good man
much loved by his people, had been afflicted in his later years
with a terrible malady that slowly robbed him of his reason,
rendering him unfit to rule.

Daemon waved a dismissive hand, lifting the
goblet he held to admire its jeweled surface. “The royal physicians
keep him comfortable. He no longer even recognizes me.”

Ciara might have felt sorry for
Daemon—except that his father’s condition did not seem to bother
him at all.

She suddenly wondered what could have
happened to this prince to make him what he was. He had started
life with every advantage, including a loving family—only to turn
into a cruel tyrant who would kill heedlessly, tax his people to
the point of starvation, and hire the most vicious mercenaries to
make war on a former ally.

But she kept those questions to herself,
turning away, pretending interest in a nearby tapestry.

“And what of Prince Mathias?” she asked
lightly. “Everyone speaks so highly of your brother. Will he be
returning to attend the wedding?”

“My brother”—Daemon took a long swallow from
his cup—“has long preferred solitude, prayer, and reflection to
life at court. That is why he refused the throne in my favor when
our father first became ill seven years ago.”

“But surely he will return home for your
wedding.” She glanced over her shoulder, secretly watching for his
reaction.

The smallest hint of a smile curved Daemon’s
lips. “Nay, I do not think so.”

Her heart beat faster as she tried to
interpret that look. “But he is your only brother. Would you not
send a—”

“Mathias is an odd man with odd ways,
Princess. I assure you he would have no interest in our wedding.
None at all.” He changed the subject once again, setting his goblet
aside. “I grow weary of this tiresome discussion. The only family I
am interested in is the one I will create with you, my sweet
bride.”

She turned to face him, holding her ground
as he moved closer.

His gaze passed over her in that cold leer
again, and his voice dropped to a low, lustful tone. “You look well
able to bear me sons.”