The Commander's Desire (36 page)

“
Did she also say she
believes me innocent of treachery?” Again, desperately, she
appealed to him.

The wintry eyes turned to flint, and Elwytha
quailed inside. He said, “I spared your life. Test me no
further.”

“
Commander, I have not lied
to you,” she cried out, unable to keep silent for another moment.
“Please, I did not betray…”

“
Nay,” he roared. “Speak to
me no further!” He snapped the reins and the black charged
ahead.

He would not hear her words. It was time for
her to accept this. No peace would exist between them ever
again.

She watched him gallop ahead, and her heart
bled out hope. Without him, home held no cheer. Her life would be
as drab and gray as imprisonment in a dungeon.

* * * * *

Castle Iolaire, two weeks later

The Commander lifted a blade and ran it down
his cheek. The Prince had asked how long he would delay the
inevitable. He had no answer. Not yet.

Warm water dripped down his smooth shaven
neck. He barely recognized the man staring at him in the metal
mirror. He lowered the blade and wiped his face with the rough
cloth.

It was his hair. He still wasn’t used to it.
He fingered the black strands. Longer than two inches now. Part of
him itched to shave it off, too.

But it pleased her. So he would continue to
let it grow…to torture himself still further.

The Commander had hoped the pain would abate
as time went by. It hadn’t. So far, it had only intensified, eating
at his heart, his mind, his soul. He loved her. Her betrayal had
slain him, and he felt half a man. When would the pain end?

He wished for her, even now, God help
him.

Escorting her to the palace had almost
unmanned him. Her sickness made him wish to gather her in his arms
and forgive her, protect her, care for her. And he’d wanted to
believe her pleas of entreaty. To believe her innocent of
treachery.

He was a
fool.
He clenched his fist. A weak
fool. His weakness for her could only be his undoing.

Yet again, the Commander wished for a battle
to fight. Taking over her castle had been far too easy. He could
find no release for the anguish tormenting his soul—only vicious
sword fights with his best swordsmen, who were all too easily
defeated.

He ran his hand through his hair again and
turned away from the foggy mirror. Would that this mantle would
fall from him.

He could not see her. Not yet. But the
inevitable would not be denied forever.

* * * * *

Castle Cor na Gaeth

Elwytha had been home for three weeks now.
Today she would clear Richard’s personal items from the King’s
chamber. She had no idea when the new ruler would arrive, but no
doubt the new king would wish to claim the room for his own.

Pain still simmered, deep in her soul, like a
wound that would not heal. She missed the Commander desperately.
But at least now—in her mind—she accepted her fate. Her heart
resisted this unpalatable truth.

He had allowed her to live. For this, she
would be grateful. But she would spend the rest of her days alone.
She knew this, too. No other man could ever take his place in her
heart. She would love him forever.

Reluctantly, she entered the King’s chamber.
Already Richard’s clothes had been removed, and the linens changed.
She needed only go through his desk. She carried a large bag to put
all the papers in. Richard had written prolifically. He wrote
missives to other rulers and kept all of their correspondence, and
he wrote piles of other things, too…lists, battle plans. Elwytha
swept them all into her bag. She opened the drawer to his desk and
discovered a bound book. A rare commodity. For what had her brother
used it? She fingered the leather cover.

It felt strange to be in his room, going
through his private items. Richard had been an intensely private
man. But now he was dead. His wrath would fall on her no longer.
She opened the bound book.

A quick flip through proved that each page
was dated. She read the first entry, and was shocked. The page
detailed Richard’s thoughts, and what he’d done that day. The bound
volume was half full.

Overcome by a guilty fascination, Elwytha
read the next page, and the next. Nausea told her it was time for
the next meal, but she nibbled the cracker she always carried with
her now, and read on. Soon she would need to speak to a doctor
about her illness. But not yet. It wasn’t as bad as it had been in
the beginning. Perhaps she healed, even now.

The sun lowered in the sky, darkening the
chamber. She lit the fire and sat beside it, reading on. She had
already learned much about Richard that she’d never known before.
His paranoia, for one. He’d wondered, even before Thor died, if
Elwytha would kill him if he ever gained the throne. Next, his
fears turned to Thor. Would Thor kill him to protect his
throne?

She also learned of his desperate lust for
power, and his secret dreams of being king. He wrote detailed plans
of what he would accomplish as monarch; primarily to tax more and
obtain more luxury items. She checked the dates. It neared Thor’s
date of death.

She turned the page and read,

Lance will kill Thor with the sword I found
in battle. The Commander’s sword. How perfect. Now he will be
blamed for Thor’s death. What a pretty find, that day on the
battlefield. The fates must be looking upon me. They must wish me
to be ruler.

Horrified, Elwytha felt a surge of nausea.
She gulped it back. Richard had plotted Thor’s death and framed the
Commander, even from that early day. She skimmed on, reading of
Thor’s death, and Richard’s elation. Not a scrap of remorse for the
horrific deed he had ordered could be found.

She drew a shuddering breath. What a waste.
Thor’s life had ended for no reason. He had been murdered only to
satisfy Richard’s greed for power and wealth. And Richard’s twisted
reasoning throughout vindicated it by stating again and again his
suspicions that Thor had meant to kill him.

Of course he had not. Had Richard begun to
lose his mind?

Elwytha flipped ahead to when Richard had
sent her to the Prince’s palace with the fake peace. Yes, here it
was. Her nausea intensified as she read it.

The perfect plan. The Commander is framed
for Thor’s murder. Elwytha will happily avenge her favorite
brother. And when he is dead, the Prince will win no more
victories. With that monster dead, his forces will fall to my
hands…and Elwytha will pay for his murder.

Elwytha. My only remaining sibling. For pure
sentiment’s sake, I feel saddened. Would that they’d kill her, for
I have not the heart to do it. A true warrior. And the last threat
to my throne.

Sickened betrayal twisted through Elwytha,
although Richard’s words were no surprise. She had suspected the
truth long weeks ago. But to have them confirmed in ink on
parchment. From Richard’s own pen!

Pain billowed through her.

Richard had meant for her to kill the
Commander, and be slain herself, so Richard wouldn’t have to do it.
That’s why he had come late to the palace. He had thought she would
murder the Commander before her wedding; sure she would be too
repelled to wed the ‘monster.’ Yet she hadn’t. Richard had been
incensed, she remembered. If she hadn’t promised to kill the
Commander that night, he would have killed her in his guest
quarters.

Treachery. Betrayal. Murder. A path of blood
from her castle to the Prince’s. Only the Commander’s mercy had
spared her life.

Could healing ever be possible between their
two lands? Or for her heart?

* * * * *

Castle Iolaire, six weeks later

“
Why do you continue to
delay your departure?” the Prince inquired, relaxed on his chair in
his study.

The Commander restlessly paced the room. No
matter what he did, however, he could not escape the pain that
still ate at his soul. He chose not to answer the Prince.

The Prince said, “You did not allow Elwytha
to play her hand fully.”

The Commander frowned in surprise. “You would
speak for her?”

The monarch sat silently for a moment. “I
spoke to her while you fought. I can discern a lie. I looked, but
saw none in her testimonies.”

The Commander felt further surprise, but
growled, “I cannot trust her. She held my blade in her hand. I
heard her swear to her brother that she’d kill me.”

“
True.” The Prince nodded,
and said after a moment, “I will speak no more. Except it pains me
to see you wretched, as you are.”

The Commander turned away. Cravenly, he
wished to believe his friend’s words. He wanted to believe
Elwytha’s innocence. But at the cost of all reason? He knew well
enough that he could not think clearly where she was concerned. He
turned back and asked, “Have you proof of her innocence?”

“
No. But she did warn Henry
to watch Richard that night.” The Prince watched the effect of his
words on the Commander, who felt hope. “Have you spoken to her
about that night?”

“
No,” he admitted. He was
afraid to. Afraid his foolish heart would too readily believe
whatever she told him. He wished to find hope in his discerning
friend’s words. Seldom, he knew, did the Prince ever affirm a hint
of faith in another. “You trust her, then?”

The Prince gave a cynical smile. “I trust no
woman. And she is not completely innocent. She admits as much.
However, a little truth may lie in her story. It is up to you to
discover how much.”

The Commander felt apprehensive. He would see
Elwytha soon. This he knew. He dreaded it and he longed for it, but
he could avoid it no longer. Soon, he would find the answers his
heart feared…and demanded.

Perhaps hope was possible. Perhaps not. He
would tread carefully.

The Commander drew a fortifying breath and
turned for the door. “Thank you, old friend.”

“
Godspeed,
brother.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Castle Cor na Gaeth

January 716 A.D.

The day she had long
dreaded
had arrived. Elwytha rested her
palms upon the rough stone parapets of the tower. The wind sang
through her hair, mixing with the thunder of horses hooves
galloping across the grassy hills.

It wasn’t the only change in the air. King
Osred of Northumbria was dead; murdered by Coenred, the new King,
whispered the rumors. What would happen to Cor na Gaeth now? Would
the brutal new ruler be satisfied with token tributes? Perhaps it
would take months to sort out. And right now she must face a new
King of her own.

The new ruler approached. The castle and its
lands would no longer belong to Elwytha or her clan. She had had
three long months while preparing the castle for the enemy king to
accept this unpalatable truth. She could swallow it no easier now
than before.

Who had the Prince sent to rule
over her people, Elwytha wondered for the millionth time. She knew
he had no brothers or sisters. Perhaps a cousin or an
uncle.

Which of the riders was he?

Her eyes strained as the horses galloped
nearer, and then one large warrior vaulted off his horse and strode
toward the castle drawbridge. Instinctively, she knew this was he.
He held himself with confidence. He also wore a King’s full warrior
armor, and even from this distance she could see that he was huge
and fearsome, with flowing black hair…

Elwytha gasped. He looked the image of the
portrait the Prince had shown her. Of his father, the King.

She strained for more
details of the man. From his profile, all she could make out were a
straight dark brow and a straight, strong nose. All a mirror image
of the dead king. In fact, if Elwytha wasn’t certain he was dead,
she would think it was he—only he would be much older than this
man. This powerful, intimidating visage possessed the full strength
and vigor of prime manhood. He was the new king of
her
palace. Verily, he
must be a cousin, or a close relation of the Prince.

Elwytha looked for the Commander, but did not
see him. Disappointment sickened her, foolish as that was. She had
longed to be the one to tell him.… Soon she would not be able to
hide the babe growing in her womb. He would learn of it. Would he
come then? Or would he leave her to raise the child alone? At least
the babe would not be a bastard. The Commander remained her
husband. For now. She twisted the ring on her finger. Though she
knew her marriage was dead, she could not bear to take it off.

Despair again bit through her heart, and
tears threatened to flow. They came much too easily these days. She
could not blame it just on her pregnancy. She missed her husband.
She longed for him, foolish and hopeless as that was. It cut like a
sword through her heart to know he would hate her forever. That he
wanted nothing to do with her, ever again.

No time to think on that now. The drawbridge
lowered. She had to welcome and pledge servitude to the new king.
Would he throw her out of the palace? Or would he allow her a small
corner to live out her days, alone? Perhaps she would be expected
to become a maid.

Elwytha adjusted the ample, flowing lines of
her royal blue dress and slowly descended the steps. By now the
King would be stepping onto the drawbridge.

She reached the bottom
step.
Now he would reach the front
gate.

With slow, measured steps,
she crossed the great hall to the front door.
Now he would be striding across the grassy courtyard, ready to
vanquish her palace and claim her throne.