The Commander's Desire (2 page)

She moved slowly toward him, mindful of the
lances above her. Her neck itched. If only they knew of her
treason, surely they would wield them upon her.

The Prince’s straight black hair reached his
chin, and he was smooth shaven. She saw more as she neared him. He
possessed a thin face, aquiline nose, and a self-indulgent set to
thin, cruel lips. His eyes were as black as coal, and opaque. An
involuntary shiver rippled through Elwytha. She stopped ten paces
distant and knelt to the floor.

“
My lord,” she said, in her
best obsequious voice. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with
me.”

“
Your forces surrender?” His
voice sounded too smooth, as though falsely polite, and her flesh
crept.

“
Not surrender. My brother
wishes peace. He writes of it in the parchment I carry.”

“
Peace.” The single word
sounded contemptuous. “Rise. Bring it hence.”

She was surprised. He would allow her to
approach him? Was he a fool? She could easily kill him. Of course,
she would forfeit her life, and thankfully her brother had not sent
her on a martyr’s mission. She arose.

The Prince said, “My Commander will escort
you.”

Elwytha’s breath caught. Alarm pierced her,
mixed with hatred—and fear. The Commander. The monster who had
murdered King Thor. The man she was ordered to kill.

A man appeared behind the ranks of soldiers
that stretched to the Prince. Elwytha’s courage faltered as he
descended the steps toward her.

He was huge. In a quick, observant warrior’s
glance, she took in the essentials. Dark stubble prickled up from
his shaven head, and his pugilistic face was shaved clean. Half of
his nose was pushed to his right, as if broken and never reset. A
scar puckered down through his right brow to his eye, which seemed
to make him squint. He had a thick neck and bulky, muscular
shoulders covered in a short-sleeved, dark leather jerkin. Beneath
this was a long-sleeved, brown woolen tunic. Cloth trousers of the
same color encased legs the size of tree trunks.

Elwytha involuntarily gulped with fear. She
would be lucky to match his shoulder height. And she was to kill
him?

He stopped before her and inclined his head.
“Princess.” His voice was uncommonly deep.

Elwytha snatched back her courage, reminding
herself that she was a warrior, trained to kill men. All men.
Including this one. She inclined her head. “Commander,” she said
with fake sweetness.

“
Follow me,” he
rumbled.

“
Of course.” Perfect. If
only she could kill him now! How swiftly she would unsheathe her
dagger and plunge it through the monster’s back, as he had done to
her beloved brother. Hatred shivered through her, and she clenched
her fists, willfully controlling herself.

Three steps from the Prince, the Commander
stopped, and so did she. He turned and held out a huge hand. “The
scroll.” He spoke with a courtesy that belied his rough
appearance.

Elwytha could not look him in the face, for
fear her eyes would betray her fury and hatred. Pretending
submissiveness, she bowed her head and relinquished the scroll. The
giant moved to the side, so she had a full view of the Prince as he
unrolled the document. He read quickly, and the beginnings of a
smile twisted his mouth as he reached the end.

“
Well,” he said. “A fine
prize your brother offers me.”

Elwytha lifted her chin in an effort to
appear regal, and not as merchandise about to be bartered for
peace. The Prince’s eyes drifted down her form, which made her want
to shrink in revulsion. With an amused smile, his eyes returned to
her face.

“
Unfortunately,” he said. “I
have no wish for a bride.”

Her spirits plummeted. Now what would she do?
She should have killed the Goliath when she’d had the chance.

“
How disappointed you look.”
He chuckled. “I am flattered you desire me so
intensely.”

Elwytha swallowed back repelled words of
denial, and said instead, “Shall I tell my brother you do not wish
peace?”

“
Nay.” He slapped the
document into the hand of his Commander. “I will agree to a
marriage of peace. What think you, Commander?”

Confused, she looked from one to the other.
“You do not want me for a bride. Therefore, you do not wish peace,”
she reminded him.

The Prince watched the Commander, who had
finished reading the document. She was faintly surprised the
hulking giant could read. The Commander imperceptibly nodded to the
Prince.

“
Good,” the Prince said. “It
is agreed.”

“
What is agreed?” She
frowned with wary suspicion, disliking the silence. Disliking the
silent communication between her two enemies.

“
Your brother’s marriage of
peace has been accepted. I will agree to peace with him if you,
Princess, will agree to marry a man of my choosing in my
stead.”

Her frown deepened. “How can that be peace
between your crown and ours?”

“
I will sign your brother’s
peace agreement at the marriage supper in two weeks. Peace is
peace, is it not, Princess?”

Elwytha drew a deep breath, uncomfortable
with the Prince’s trickery. And then she remembered it was a
trick—all of it. The marriage would never happen. Peace agreements
would never be signed. What did she care if the Prince chose her
future fake husband? The wedding would never happen.

She lifted her chin. “Very well. I accept, in
the best interests of both of our peoples.”

“
Good.” The Prince smiled,
and stroked his chin with one finger. “You are a fine specimen. And
my Commander agrees you will satisfy him as a wife.”

Her heart faltered. “What?” she sputtered. A
sudden roaring filled her ears. No matter if it was all a lie—she
could not countenance even a fake betrothal to that monster! The
man who had filthily murdered her brother.

“
Never,” she breathed.
“
Never!
”

“
No, Princess?” The Prince’s
eyes narrowed. “You do not want peace?”

“
I wish peace, but not to
that monst…”

“
Monster,” the Prince
finished. “Do you hear that, Commander? She thinks you are a
monster.”

The bulky shoulders tightened, but he did not
answer. He did not look at her.

Elwytha heaved a breath and dropped a brief,
disrespectful curtsy to the Prince. “I will tell Richard that peace
has been rejected.” She spun on her heel and marched back the way
she had come.

“
Halt,” the Prince said.
Instantly, lances clicked down, barring her passage to the
door.

Reluctantly, she turned. “What have we left
to discuss, Prince?”

“
You have displeased me. And
if you return empty-handed, you will displease your brother. I have
heard he can be most cruel to those who disappoint him.”

Elwytha had heard those rumors. “I am his
sister.”

“
And a threat to his crown.
Perhaps you should take this opportunity before he kills you.” The
Prince chewed on a nail, the picture of casual
relaxation.

Fear fluttered in Elwytha’s heart, and she
hated it. How dare that man place fear in her mind for her own
brother? But a better question might be; why was she listening to
him? Was it because she knew, deep in her heart, that the Prince
might be right? She had heard many stories of men mysteriously
killed because they had displeased or failed Richard in some way.
And if she resisted peace—a fake peace at that—wouldn’t that anger
her brother? His plan would fail. A plan never designed to
relinquish her to their enemy at all.

She took a deep breath. “My brother would
never harm me. But I…I…”

“
You wish to reconsider,”
the Prince said with a thin smile.

The giant turned to look at her, and she
swallowed back a horrified wave of fear and revulsion. The
Commander would not harm her. He would not touch her. She would
make sure of it. If he tried, she would kill him early—no matter if
that disrupted her brother’s plans.

“
Very well,” she said, in a
scratchy voice she barely recognized as her own. “I accept your
proposal, Prince.”

“
You mean you accept the
Commander’s proposal.” The Prince nodded to his first-in-command.
“Claim your bride. You have well earned her.”

Unsmilingly, the Commander strode toward her.
When he reached for her arm, she jerked it close to her side. “No
touching until our wedding.” To the Prince, she said, “I must
summon my maid and my trunks.”

“
No maid,” the Prince said.
“One of ours will serve you. If you are literate, write a letter
now to your brother, agreeing to our peace proposal. Then my guard
will deliver it and retrieve your trunks for you.” He did not wait
for her to agree. “Garroway, lead the Princess to the
parchments.”

Eyes narrowed in displeasure, and heart
filled with a small amount of panic, Elwytha followed the page to a
low table. There, she quickly wrote her missive. The Commander
lurked at her side, a frightening, hulking presence. He took the
note from her when she had finished, and read it. Then he handed it
to the Prince. The Prince nodded and then sealed it with wax and
the imprint of his signet ring. “Garroway, deliver it to her guard,
waiting on the edge of the wood.”

“
Very good, sir.” The page
bowed, and hastily disappeared with his missive.

“
As for you, Princess, I
leave you in the Commander’s capable care. You are dismissed.” With
a flick of his hand, he averted his eyes, as if she no longer
existed.

“
Follow me,” the giant said,
and with stiff, reluctant steps Elwytha followed. Her fingers
itched for the dagger strapped to her thigh. She longed to fell him
now, before being forced to go anywhere alone with him. Who knew
what unspeakable horrors he would force upon her? She swallowed
back fear.

“
I require a maid. Now,” she
informed Goliath’s back.

“
You shall have one,” the
quiet voice rumbled, but with no inflection of emotion. A shiver of
unease rippled through her, but she forbore to ignore
it.

He led her through many halls, but Elwytha
kept track of each turn, each staircase; plotting her escape with
every step. Finally, he opened a thick wooden door leading to a
lavishly decorated room. Animal skin rugs lay scattered over the
flagged stone floor, and tapestries hung on the walls. Overhead,
heavy wooden beams supported a huge candelabra, unlit now, for
light poured in through two slitted windows. But what sort of a
room was it? Then she spied a chair and table, and beyond them, in
the far corner, a large partition.

“
You will wish to refresh
yourself after your travels,” he told her. “Disrobe and bathe
behind the partition. A maid will attend you.”

Elwytha possessed neither the wish nor the
intention to disrobe and bathe. And a maid could only attest to
this mutiny. “I can bathe without a maid,” she said, and waited for
him to leave.

“
I will remain, to ensure
you don’t try to escape,” he said, and folded his arms across his
massive chest.

“
How little trust you place
in your future bride,” she said, and then unwisely dared to accuse,
“I suspect instead you wish to dishonorably inspect your pound of
flesh before our marriage nuptials.”

He frowned, which distorted his ugly mug into
frightening creases. “I wish to inspect your clothes. If you wish
no maid, disrobe and throw your clothing over the partition.”

Matters were going from bad to worse. Elwytha
flushed with horrified mortification, and also with unreasoning
anger at Richard for placing her in this position. Why couldn’t she
finish the monster now and escape out the window? How simple it
would be! But no. Anger pushed rash words past her lips. “Perhaps
you would like to search me, as well?”

His gaze ran down her form. “All in good
time,” he said.

Alarm shot through her. With all of her
heart, she longed for her own maid—for a friend she could trust in
this lair of the enemy. But it was not to be. Elwytha struggled to
think logically, like the trained warrior she was. She could not
allow one of the Prince’s maids to come—at least not yet—or her
daggers would quickly become obvious when she took off her clothes.
At the same time, she felt vulnerable—not to mention the
inappropriateness of the situation—to be alone in a room with a
man. And not just any man. A dishonorable, murdering heathen, which
likely explained his illiteracy concerning social graces.

“
Stay near the door and I
will comply,” she agreed, but with acute trepidation.

He said nothing, and after she slipped behind
the partition, she peeked to make sure he stayed far from her. The
dark-clad giant remained near the door, arms crossed, one eye
squinting beneath his scar.

Only the kind hand of fate had saved his eye,
she realized now. Too bad. If it hadn’t, perhaps Thor would be
alive today.

Swiftly, she disrobed and flung her long gown
and white linen shift over the partition. Afraid he might decide to
leer at her after all, she unstrapped her three flat daggers and
hid them beneath the edge of a rug, which lay near the wall. No one
would notice them there now, or perhaps ever.

A rustling sound came from the other side of
the partition, and she quickly slipped into the large, steaming
tub. Sweet smelling bubbles floated across her shoulders, covering
her entirely from any leering gaze. “Satisfied?” she called out.
She smiled to herself. How simple it had been to hide her weapons.
And after he returned her clothes, how easy it would be to strap
them back on her person.