Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (7 page)

They resumed their discussion about the dilemma of what to do with their young guest in another tent hastily prepared for their use.

One of the Caleinian noblemen gave his opinion of Elena’s circumstances in scathing tones. “She must have been kidnapped in her sleep from the castle.  I do not hesitate to lay the dastardly deed at Baron Raulf’s door.  It is obvious he means to force the lady into a hasty marriage to ensure he will ascend to the throne upon the death of the king.” 

“But why force matters?  The king is near death, is he not?”  Michel countered.

“Yes, or so it is rumored in the city.  But there are others besides Raulf who will contend for the throne.  If Lady Elena preferred one of the other challengers as her husband it would present a big obstacle to Raulf’s plans for a seamless coup.”

“The girl is too young to wed.”  Michel was adamant in his conviction.  Why he doubted Elena was even his sister Rhiann’s age, and she was barely six and ten when she was forced to wed the new lord of their father’s estates.

“Under normal circumstances that is true, but the circumstances are hardly normal, and the child is close enough to maturity that there is every expectation she will wed the future king, sooner rather than later.”

“As long as the king lives, she cannot be legally wed without his consent,” Michel persisted.

“True enough, but once the deed is done and the marriage consummated who is going to contest its legality?”

Michel shoved a frustrated hand through his shoulder length hair.  “So what do you suggest we do with her?”

A week following their guest’s arrival Michel rose before dawn and sought the privacy of a nearby stream to bathe.  He was not eager to rise at such an hour, particularly when he would spend the remainder of the day cooling his heels while he waited word of the king’s death.  It was not his original plan to skulk around the outskirts of his grandfather’s kingdom in such a ridiculous manner.  He had assumed he and his army of skilled soldiers would storm down on the city’s unsuspecting defenders as soon as they were within reach of the city, but all of his half-formulated plans changed when he met King Barnabas. 

His honor now prevented him from taking his birthright from the man who had watched over it in his stead in the guise of his faithful steward.  No, he would not have the king’s final hours disturbed by the heinous cries of war and worry over his people’s welfare.

As he passed through the entrance of his tent, Michel noted most of his men still slept around the now slumbering fires.  He nodded in the direction of the guards posted nearby, and followed the path towards the stream from which he and his companions and horses drew their fresh water each day.  His men were not obliged to rise at such an early hour because they did not share in Michel’s burden.

Since Elena’s arrival at their camp, Michel had acquired a second shadow from the moment of his rising until he sought the privacy of his tent in the late evening hours.  The maid followed him around wherever he went.  Even when he was out of her sight, she seemed to have a sixth sense as to his movements.  She sat nearby as silent as the shadow she brought to mind when he trained with his men. When he rode off towards the city to take the measure of its defenses, she followed in his wake, her watchful eyes always on his face.  Such was her devotion to him it had become a source of amusement to his men. Even Amele wondered at his patience with the king’s young niece.

For his part, Michel took her silent presence in stride.  From the time he was a boy, he was used to having his twin trailing after him, pestering him with questions or giving him the benefit of one of her outrageous opinions.  He found Elena’s silent company a pleasant contrast to Melissa’s constant boasts and competitive nature, but he drew the line at having her tagging along when he bathed.  Amele jokingly suggested he allow her to accompany him on one of his early morning excursions.  Their young guest would likely be so shocked by the view afforded her she would scurry back to her solitary tent and think twice before pestering him again.  Michel had laughed at Amele’s cajolery but merely shook his head denying his helpful suggestion and continued with his very early morning trips to the stream.

Upon reaching the water, Michel shed his clothes and stepped into the icy stream, accepting the resulting discomfort as just one more test of his will. He ducked his head beneath the surface and scrubbed his shoulder length hair and bearded face.  He ran his fingers across it and decided he would not be sorry to rid himself of the thick growth of facial hair, but for now he would leave it unshaven.  He had more pressing matters on his mind than the scruffiness of his beard.

He dipped his head again and then irritated to find the thin silver chain he wore around his neck tangled in his hair, he pulled on the chain to free it. The stone seemed intent on making its presence known to him at every possible moment.  Michel wasn’t certain how he could forget it, as he’d been forced to free both his hair and his beard from the chain’s restraint innumerable times since becoming the stone’s reluctant guardian. 

A muttered curse escaped his lips as the thin silver strand only entwined itself more fully in his wet hair the more he attempted to free it.  Fresh annoyance lent added strength to his impatient yank on the restraining chain. His frustration quickly dissolved into stunned horror as Michel watched the source of his irritation fly high into the air and land with a loud plop in the rushing stream a dozen yards or more from where he stood shivering in the icy water. 

Michel cursed louder at this latest disaster and set off in desperate pursuit of the stone he’d moments earlier been doing his best to free himself from.  It wasn’t a particular fondness for the ancient amulet that sent him racing down the stream. It was the realization his twin would cut off his own male jewels with the dagger he made a gift to her of if he lost her precious inheritance.  He didn’t even want to conjure his grandmother’s reaction when he revealed to her he had managed to lose an heirloom of her house that had been in her family for over a thousand years.

In the shadows beneath the thick branches lining the path to the stream, Elena watched with wide eyes as her rescuer set off with a resounding splash after the strange, blue stone he wore around his neck.  Her lips twitched as she witnessed his mad dash down the stream in a race against the swift current carrying his prize away faster than he could keep up with. A giggle emerged at the memory of his panicked expression when the stone had flown high into the air and then entered the water.  She wondered if the stone was a keepsake given him by a lady admirer.  If so, she was glad of its loss. 

Her eyes went dreamy as she indulged in her pleasant fantasies.  If Prince Michel was to be the new king, then he was supposed to marry her, not whoever made a gift to him of the stone. She found the prospect much more to her liking than that of becoming Baron’s Raulf’s reluctant bride.  She’d made a point to keep an eye on her future husband so he didn’t disappear as suddenly and unexpectedly as he entered her life.  If he decided he didn’t care to be king, and who could really blame him given the curse accompanying such a life, she was determined on one thing.  Prince Michel saved her when he rescued her from her kidnappers.  Her life belonged to him now.  She was never going back to the city, at least not without him. 

Elena turned away from her hiding place and set off in the direction of the camp.  Prince Michel might not know it yet, but his former life was slipping away as surely as the odd stone he wore on a woman’s slender chain around his neck.  Whoever had given him the token was part of his past and no longer had any place in his present.  No, as far as Elena was concerned, she was the young prince’s present…and his future.

She blushed at the memory of what that future might hold for her.  She had never seen a naked man before and she barely managed to swallow her surprised gasp where she hid in the thick growth of trees along the river bank when the prince removed his clothes and the new sun streaked over his naked form as he slid into the icy water. His unscarred, bronze skin stretched tight across his broad shoulders and framed the thick rope of muscles in his arms and chest.  His thighs and legs were equally muscular and even his backside was the same bronze color as the rest of him. 

Her face had heated up to a fiery blush, and her breath caught in her throat when he shifted his position and stepped sideways into the rushing stream.  For a brief moment she caught sight of his stirring manhood resting between his thighs. She was not so innocent she was unaware of how a man mated with a woman. The prospect of such a joining filled her with terror when she thought of Baron Raulf thrusting his manhood into her untried flesh, but she could not summon any of her previous horror at the thought of sharing such intimacies with Prince Michel.  No, far from fear, she felt a strange thrill of anticipation coursing through her, leaving her breathless when she dreamt about the young prince’s rough hands on her.

After long hours spent searching for his sister’s lost inheritance, Michel returned to camp wet, bedraggled and in a foul mood. He’d chased the damn stone a mile down the stream before he admitted it was gone, likely forever.  His mind boggled at the thought of its loss.  He was not a particularly superstitious man but the loss of the Salusian stone at this critical juncture of his long quest could hardly be taken as a fortuitous sign by even the most optimistic of souls.  He passed by his men standing around the morning fires and couldn’t blame them for their amusement they hastily hid at his condition.

Amele left him to his temper long enough for Michel to change into dry clothes and then begged entrance to his tent with a tray of food to break his fast.  Michel had instructed the older man to leave such menial tasks to his young squire, but Amele simply ignored his numerous requests and continued to serve him as if he was already sitting on his homeland’s ancient throne.

Michel gratefully accepted the tray from his hands then motioned for Amele to sit and join him on the cushions in the center of the tent while he ate.  Michel didn’t volunteer the information that he’d lost the stone, understanding Amele would feel its loss almost as much as he did, but for different reasons.  While Michel’s regret centered on the prospect of having to confide his carelessness to his sister and grandmother, Amele was fully convinced of the legends surrounding the stone’s mysterious power. He could not comprehend why his grandmother’s fierce protector could be persuaded by such foolishness, but he was soon forced to admit his own foreboding over the heirloom’s loss was not completely without merit.

“The king is dead,” Amele announced into the silence.

“What?  Are you certain?”  Even though he’d been expecting the news for several days now, Michel was shocked by his friend’s blunt announcement.

“Yes, the bells tolled at dawn and his colors have been removed from the castle’s parapets.”

“Your countrymen don’t waste any time, do they?” Michel remarked drily.

“Our countrymen,” Amele corrected sharply.

Michel’s quick grin flashed, and then he sighed at the thought of Elena’s grief at the news of her uncle’s death.  He regretted the illness that struck down King Barnabas in his prime and decided they would allow the city its grief before setting their plans in motion. 

“We will wait until after the king has been laid to rest before proceeding with our plans,” Michel announced and then at Amele’s surprised, admiring nod of agreement, Michel added, “Where’s Elena?”

“Still in her tent, I believe.”

“Has she been told?”

“No. I thought you would like to be the one to inform her of her uncle’s death.”

“It is not a duty I relish, but yes, I think the news should come from me.”

Since she was never far from his side it took Michel only a few moments to locate Elena, where she sat waiting for him near the entrance to his tent.  She looked up surprised when he stopped in front of her.

“Come walk with me,” he invited and assisted her to her feet.

Fear immediately entered her eyes at his unusual demand.  She gripped his hand in an effort to get him to slow down and looked up at him wide-eyed.  “Is something wrong?  Are you going to send me back?”

Michel slowed his pace and stared down at her upturned face.  “No, I’m not going to send you back.  You may stop asking me if that is my intent whenever I seek you out.”

“Then why did you want me to walk with you?  And you never seek me out,” she tacked on, disputing his assertion.

He waited to reply to her query until they passed through the shadow of the surrounding trees in order to provide her a measure of privacy for her grief at the news he was to deliver. He stopped just inside the tree line and turned to face her, his hands reaching out to grip her shoulders, “I’m sorry Elena, but your uncle died last night.”

Puzzled by her lack of reaction, Michel wondered if perhaps she hadn’t heard him.  The maid had an annoying habit of day-dreaming in his presence so he was often forced to repeat his remarks to her.  He was loath to be forced to repeat the news he’d just delivered, however.  “Elena?”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Uncle Barnabas is dead,” she repeated dutifully.

“Yes.”

“What will happen to me now?” she asked dazed, unaware seemingly of the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sighing at her obvious distress, Michel pulled her into the comfort of his arms.  She burrowed close against his chest and wrapped her slender arms around his waist and gave into the sobs that shook her slight frame. Long minutes later, after the storm had passed he continued to stroke her silky hair in a gesture of comfort and reassurance while she rested her cheek against his chest and drew deep, broken breaths, with the occasional hiccup thrown in.

“Will I be allowed to offer my farewell to my uncle?” she asked softly.

“Yes, I will arrange for you to attend the funeral,” he promised her.

“Will you come with me?” she asked, still avoiding meeting his glance by keeping her cheek resting against his chest.

“Yes.”

Her voice dipped lower until it was only a hushed whisper that escaped her lips when she asked him fearfully, “Are you going to let him keep me?”

Michel was forced to bend his head in order to hear her.  “No, I’m not going to let the baron keep you.  Your uncle placed you in my care upon his death.  You are my responsibility now.  I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She lifted her head to meet his glance, her eyes probing his to discern the truth of his words, and whether or not she could rely on his promise.  “If you leave here, will you take me with you?”

“You would leave your home?” he asked surprised.

“Yes, you are my home now.  I do not wish to stay where you are not.”

Michel was stunned by Elena’s solemn declaration.  She was too young of course to know of what she spoke.  She was still a child whose only family had just died leaving her completely alone in the world.  It was perfectly natural for her to want to cling to him.  She’d grown accustomed to him in the time they’d spent together but when her grief passed he was quite certain she would think differently about things.  He had no home.  He’d spent his life traveling from one place to another, his restless spirit never finding ease in any single place. Whether Calei would prove anymore of a home to him than his Saxon father’s magnificent estate he could not be certain.

“My life is not a gentle one, Elena, nor one you would find to your liking.” He thought it only fair to warn her.  He knew she was attracted to him and that she considered herself half-betrothed to him. The fact he rescued her from the grip of evil men and had kept her safe and warm and well-fed in the interim no doubt clouded her innocent feelings towards him.  She was too young to distinguish her feelings of gratitude from those of the love a woman feels for a man. Surely there was a nobleman’s son in Calei she would find an acceptable husband when the time came.  Until then he would continue to keep her safe from the Raulfs of the world. At the very least, he owed her uncle that much.

“I am not a child,” As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Elena repeated her earlier fierce declaration.  Drawn from his distracted musings, Michel’s lips curved in an amused smile.

“As you wish,” he echoed his own answer from their earlier exchange, and his grin widened at Elena’s obvious frustration at his mocking dismissal of her claim. As much to silence the budding argument he could see brewing in her expressive eyes as to appease her, he bent his head to lightly brush his lips across hers.  When she made no move to evade him, but simply stood close within the circle of his arms, her lovely face upraised and her serious glance clinging to his, Michel contrarily elected to accept the challenge she threw at him.  His hold tightened around her and he folded her soft womanly form closer against his chest, dipping his head to breath in her feminine scent until his senses were swimming in it.

Cursing himself for his stupidity in starting something he was in no position to finish, he rebuked his body’s ready response to the maid’s alluring femininity.  This was hardly the time for him to allow his masculine lust to direct his course. For a moment his will tried to force his passion into compliance, but for once his body was successfully resisting his will’s restraint. The maid declared she was not a child. 

Perhaps it was time to put her claim to the test. He had done his best to ignore the brewing attraction between them.  He had acted the part of an honorable guardian around his young ward, but how was he supposed to continue to ignore Elena when she followed him around twenty four hours a day, with those serious eyes of hers following his every move, and regarding him as if he was the center of her young life?

Michel took his time, giving Elena every opportunity to back away from the consequences of the gauntlet she threw at his feet. When he bent his head to claim her lips in a kiss far different than the innocent exchange they previously shared, she didn’t back away, though he was quite certain she read his intent in his eyes.  If anything, she leaned closer into his embrace until her soft breasts were pressed against him, arousing his manly passions to an even greater degree as he was uncomfortably reminded of his long abstinence.

The maid he held was the innocent.  He was the experienced one, but afterwards when he thought back on their first taste of shared passion, he would swear he had been the one who was seduced by her alluring femininity and not the other way around.  It should have been Elena’s thoughts that swam with the heady promise of newly ignited desire.  It should have been Elena who lost all sense of where they stood just inside the line of trees shielding them from the curious eyes of his men. 

But it was he who stumbled beneath her intoxicating mixture of innocence and allure.  He who grew so disoriented by the taste of her, by the eagerness with which she offered herself to him, that he temporarily lost the will to maintain a safe distance between curiosity and true passion.  For a moment, Michel allowed himself to surrender to the lust she roused in him. 

He ravaged her soft lips, taking what she so willingly tendered, unaware in her innocence of the jeopardy she courted. Unable to resist such rich offering after long months of fasting, Michel drew her ever closer against his hard frame until he knew she must be aware of his straining manhood perched at the entrance of her woman’s heat, with only a few layers of thin cloth and his quickly faltering control shielding her virginity from him.

Finally, after being forced to wage a fierce battle to regain his control, Michel drew back, framing Elena’s flushed face with his hands.  Slowly she lifted heavy lids over glazed, languorous eyes. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, turning her face in his hands until her lips brushed his calloused palm, and her tongue trailed over his hard flesh.

He should set her apart from him, Michel reasoned, even as his body urged him on, advocating for him to take what the maid was so innocently offering him. His mind pushed back against his body’s urging. He could not allow his thoughts to become clouded by passion.  He had a war to fight, a throne to win. How had the very near child he held managed to do to him what no other woman before her ever had…to lure him to the brink of temptation, to turn his back on his hard-won control over his passions?  And she a young innocent with no comprehension of the danger she courted.

As if sensing the silent conflict raging within him, Elena took matters into her own hands.  She brushed aside the constraint of his hands on her face that held her apart from him and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, drawing him back down to her, parting her lips as theirs met to trace his bottom lip with her tongue as he taught her.  When he drew in a sharp breath at her boldness, her tongue slipped inside his mouth, to taste, to tantalize, to duel with his, and he was lost. Michel tugged Elena’s clinging form deeper into the forest, all the while his lips clung to hers, their tongues dueling, mating, until on a sigh of surrender, she leaned her head back and let him simply take whatever he sought from her.

He knew he should be mindful of her innocence.  He should draw back, set his young ward away from his embrace, but he was a man who’d been constantly surrounded by her femininity in almost every waking moment since he freed her from that ridiculous sack.  She’d followed him around with those dusky, doe’s eyes always on him, wondering, curious, needy, eager for his attention, desperate for his strength to shield from the evils besetting her.  He thought he was immune to her constant, silent presence, but at night his dreams betrayed him.  More than once he’d woken in his tent fully aroused, with her name on his lips, and the memory of her eyes on him, the invitation he read in hers not solely a product of dreams fueled by manly fantasies.

She’d seduced him in her innocence until she somehow managed to take up residence in his heart without him even being aware of his defenses being penetrated.  Discovering he was not as immune to her feminine appeal as he previously convinced himself he was, did not sit well with him. He was angry enough by the ease with which she ingratiated herself into his life, without any encouragement on his part, to take his frustration out on her now.

So against his rational urging to the contrary, he allowed himself to feast on her young flesh, intent on sating himself, resolved to satisfy his curiosity and then free himself from her shimmering magic she wove so skillfully around him.  His lips trailed over her soft skin, across her closed eyes, along the line of her fragile jaw, down the long column of her throat, tasting, arousing, both the seducer and the seduced.  When his hand reached up to cup her soft breast through her thin gown, he gloried in the telling moan that escaped her parted lips.  His thumb brushed across Elena’s erect nipple and she moaned again, staring up at him with heavy, dazed eyes.