The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (9 page)

For some reason the idea of his bare,
stubbled jaw brushing against her hair tied her insides into knots.
She grasped the front of the saddle and tried to pull herself
forward, to gain even an inch more space between them.

“Stop squirming, Your Highness.” Sir Royce’s
arm tightened around her, tugging her back against him.

Her breath caught in her throat as their
bodies came together. “Princesses do not
squirm
, sirrah,”
she informed him loftily, hoping he could not tell she was
trembling.

“You have done nothing
but
squirm and
wriggle all day, Princess. You are lucky that Anteros has not tried
to throw you from the saddle.”

“Fortunately for me, Anteros seems to have
better manners than his master,” Ciara muttered.

“What?”

“I was just wondering how your destrier came
to have his unusual name,” she lied, seeking a neutral subject.

Sir Royce did not reply. She was not even
certain he was listening to her. His mood had grown more tense and
taciturn with each passing hour.

Reining Anteros to a halt, he paused to
study the horizon behind them—as he had done frequently all day—to
make sure no one was following them.

“He had the name when I bought him,” he said
at last as he urged the stallion into a smooth canter once more. “I
understood it was after some Greek god or other. What makes it
unusual?”

“Anteros was one of the lesser-known deities
in the Greek pantheon, a son of Aphrodite. He was one of the gods
of love. It seems an odd name for a warhorse.”

Sir Royce laughed mockingly. “I apologize
for what I said earlier, Princess. You
do
know about more
than poetry and pretty shoes. You know useless ancient myths as
well.”

“
Useless?”
She wished she could turn
and face him. Since he held her tight, her glare was wasted on the
lovely scenery. “My education has been quite extensive, sirrah.
Mythology happens to be one of my favorite pursuits, but I have
also studied astronomy, philosophy, the sciences, music,
languages—”

“Tell me, Your Highness, how much do you
know about your own country?”

“A great deal. For example, I know that
Châlons has existed peacefully for almost three hundred years, one
of many small kingdoms scattered across the Alps between France and
the Holy Roman Empire—”

“I mean current information. There used to
be a large keep near the town of Aganor, southeast of here. Do you
know how it fared in the war?”

“Nay, I do not.”

“Do you at least know how the
town
fared in the war?”

“Nay,” she repeated, “I do not know.”

He did not speak for a moment, as if he had
been stunned into silence. “How is it possible that a member of the
royal family could know so little about her own realm? Have you
been so busy with your
philosophy
and your
music
that
you have no room in your head for practical matters? Do you not
care—”

“Nay, that is not true at all! It is because
of the war that I am unfamiliar with my realm. I have never even
seen
most of it.”

“You were born and raised in Châlons. You
have lived in this kingdom for nineteen years—”

“Aye, but despite your taunts this morn
about pleasure trips and cruises down the river in the royal barge,
I have experienced neither in my lifetime. Since childhood, I have
lived in the palace, surrounded by courtiers and—”

“Shh.”

“I will not be interrupted, sirrah! Never in
my life have I been so—mmmph.”

“When we are not alone,” he whispered
tightly, one gloved hand clamped over her mouth, “you will at least
refrain from discussing your grand life at the royal palace.” He
nodded toward a muddy pasture on their right where dozens of serfs
were at work. “If you recall, we are trying to keep your identity a
secret.”

When he removed his hand, Ciara lifted
trembling fingers to her lips, so shocked at being thusly …
manhandled
that she could not speak.

The peasants straightened to watch them
pass. Several called out greetings, but Sir Royce remained tense
and nudged Anteros into a gallop.

Even after they had left the serfs far
behind, he did not relax. “How great a risk is there that people
might recognize you?” He tugged the hood of her cloak forward to
better conceal her face.

“None.” She pushed his hand away. “Châlons
has been at war for seven years. As I was
trying
to explain,
I have been cloistered in the palace since the age of twelve for my
own safety. My subjects are no more familiar with my face than I am
with theirs.”

“Good.”

With that terse comment, he fell silent.
Ciara muttered an oath in ancient Greek and gave up trying to hold
a civil conversation with the knave. As they rode on, she sought
distraction in the passing scenery.

Fortunately, there was much to see, all of
it new to her. They traveled through vast, green meadows. Fallow
fields studded with rocks. Tall grasses that flowed like waves in
the wind. Now and then a flock of birds would explode from beneath
Anteros’s hooves to fill the air with color and noise.

In the distance, she could see pine trees
clustered around the hills as if on sentry duty, emerald lances
aimed toward the sky. And icy lakes that flashed like silver coins
in the sunlight.

It touched her deeply, in a way she could
not explain, to finally see for herself the legendary beauty of her
country. This sensation of the horse galloping beneath her, the
wind in her face, the ground flying past felt so fresh, so
free
. Under other circumstances, she might have found it
exciting. Exhilarating.

But she could not forget that every mile
they traveled carried her away from her homeland, toward
Thuringia.

Fighting the wave of sadness that washed
over her, she made a decision: she would
not
allow her
ill-tempered guardian to ruin what could be a pleasant journey.
During the next fortnight—for the first time, and the last—she
was
free.

Free of her crown and her robes and all the
rules that went with them. Free to fulfill her heart’s most secret
dream: to experience
real
life, to be like any other woman.
For the next two weeks, she could steal a brief taste of the world,
the adventures, the fun that had always been forbidden to her.

The plan made her smile, but as the
afternoon wore on, the strain of the past days took its toll, and
her eyes began to drift closed ….

She came awake sometime later to find the
evening sky darkened to violet, the horse’s gait slowed to walk—and
a hard, muscular arm locked around her ribs.

Just beneath her breasts.

She hardly dared inhale. “You may let me go
now,” she said sharply. “I am awake.”

Sir Royce relaxed his hold slightly, just
enough so that his arm now rested around her hips.

She was not sure if that was better or
worse.

“My apologies, Princess,” he said with cool
sarcasm. “But you almost tumbled from the saddle when you fell
asleep. I had to choose between holding your royal person upright
or allowing you to get trampled beneath Anteros’s hooves. And I
would be a rather poor guardian if you ended up crushed into a pulp
on the first day of our journey.”

Ciara winced. Must the man be so vivid in
his descriptions? “I see.”

She knew his real reason had naught to do
with concern for her well-being. He did not want to risk losing the
rich reward she represented.

How had he put it?
Land, a castle, and
coin. That is what I am risking my life for.

“Are you still tired, Princess?”

“I am fine.” She fought a yawn, refusing to
show any weakness, to give him any further reason to taunt her.

“Good. I would prefer to cross the lowlands
before we stop for the night.” With a slight tensing of his
thighs—which she felt along every inch of her own—he nudged Anteros
into a trot. “We should be able to find lodging in Edessa.”

She nodded wearily. She had never been to
Edessa, knew naught of what it might be like. But at this point,
she would not quibble with any place that offered her a hot meal
and a warm bed. Anything softer than a saddle would do. After so
many hours of riding, even with the thick padding of her cloak and
gown, her backside and thighs felt sore, bruised.

And much too sensitive, she thought, scarlet
warmth rising in her face.

The movements Sir Royce used to control and
guide the spirited horse kept making her flinch. Just as every time
he moved one of his hands, her breath caught in her throat.

Thankfully, he seemed oblivious, as he had
all day, to the strange effect his touch and his nearness had on
her. He handled her with no more attention than he had shown her
silk slippers or her mandolin.

If he could endure another hour or two of
riding, she decided stubbornly, so could she. She would not
complain, would not give him any more cause to find fault with
her.

Stifling another yawn, she slid her right
hand from beneath her cloak to rub at her sore left arm. The cut
she had received in the attack a fortnight ago had healed, but the
muscle still ached, especially when the air turned cool in the
evening.

“Is that where you were wounded in the
attack at the palace?” Sir Royce asked.

She felt surprised to hear what sounded like
concern in his voice. “Aye.”

“And it pains you still? I was told it was
but a scratch.”

Ciara’s ire simmered. It had not been
concern she heard in his tone; he had simply found another
opportunity to belittle her. “Being attacked with a blade may be a
common occurrence to you, Sir Royce, but this was the first time I
ever had a weapon aimed in my direction. Most of the knives in my
experience have been associated with supper tables—”

She cut herself off. If she wanted to enjoy
her journey, she could not allow this mercenary to keep provoking
her. She would not respond to his barbs anymore. She would
not
.

“But you are right,” she amended mildly. “It
is but a scratch, Sir Royce.”

“Stop calling me Sir Royce.”

“As you like, milord—”

“I am no one’s lord,” he corrected. “I am
not
Sir
Royce. My name is Saint-Michel. Or Royce. I am just
another commoner to you, Princess.” He added under his breath, “At
least until our journey is done and you are wed and I can claim my
reward.”

Ciara resisted the tart reply that sprang to
mind. He did not have to keep reminding her that he was doing this
out of greed rather than any sense of honor or duty.

Then her brow furrowed in confusion. “But I
seem to recall that you
did
once have a title. And a castle.
Or mayhap I am thinking of someone else?”

“So good to know I left a lasting
impression.”

“I meant no insult. I simply cannot remember
the details.”

“Indeed, Your Highness? All I remember about
you
is that you barely spoke two words to me the entire time
I was in your father’s service. A pity you are no longer so
quiet.”

Ciara held her tongue and glared off into
the horizon, refusing to speak despite her curiosity about his past
and his mysterious disappearance four years ago.

The stallion’s hoofbeats made the only sound
in the gathering darkness as they rode on.

An hour later, she was ready to slide from
the saddle and form a small puddle of exhaustion on the ground. She
very nearly swallowed her royal pride and asked Royce to stop for
the night, but just then, the glint of a church spire appeared in
the distance, poking up above the horizon.

“Edessa,” he announced, a heavy sigh
declaring his own fatigue. “I know of an inn on the south side of
the village. A fairly pleasant little place.”

She was too tired to comment, but the words
a fairly pleasant little place
filled her head with
comforting images of a hot bath, a fluffy, down-filled mattress, a
roaring hearth to chase away the chill. She almost groaned in
longing.

As they neared the town, Royce slowed the
stallion to a walk. His arm slipped from around her waist for a
moment, and she could feel him fumbling with something at the neck
of his tunic. She heard a muted snap, like a leather thong
breaking.

“Here.” He pressed a small object into her
hand. “Put this on.”

Ciara closed her fingers around the object.
Though she could not see in the darkness, she could tell what it
was.

A ring.

“Why?”

“Since we will be sharing a room, we had
best make it look as if we are husband and wife.”

Startled, she whipped her head around—and
collided with his jaw.

He cursed. “Princess, do you think you might
warn me before you try to knock me from the saddle?” He rubbed at
his injured chin.

Dizzying stars swam through her vision. She
did not know if they came from the impact or his unexpected
announcement. “We … we … w-we will be—”

“Sharing a room. Stop stuttering. And do not
look at me that way.” Placing his fingertips atop her head, he
turned her forward again.

Her heart was beating so fast she could not
breathe, and his touch only made matters worse. “B-but …”

“You have naught to fear from me, Your
Highness. You have my word of honor that my behavior will be
perfectly chivalrous.”

“I … y-you—”

“Aye. You. Me. Together. In one room.” He
sounded exasperated. “I explained this morn that you must stay
within reach at all times. That means day and night. I doubt the
rebels will be so polite as to inform us of their plans, and they
could strike after dark as easily as during the day. If they have
half a brain between them, they would prefer the cover of
night.”

The idea of sharing a bedchamber … sharing
it with a man … with
him
… “Could we not pretend to be
brother and sister and take two rooms?”