The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (23 page)

She shuddered, no longer finding warmth
within the fur’s soft folds. “I do not understand how the rebels
could have found us so easily.” Her voice was a thready whisper.
“We have been traveling only a handful of days.”

He rose with another blade in his hand, this
one a short-sword, and carried it over to the fire to examine it
more closely. “Either they have been following us undetected, or
someone told them where to find us.”

Ciara regarded him with wide eyes. Neither
possibility was pleasant. “But you have been most careful to make
sure we were
not
being followed. And who could have told
them where to find us? Unless …”

He glanced at her. “What, Ciara?”

She almost could not voice the thought, had
to force herself to say it aloud. “What if Sir Bayard is not so
good a friend as you believe?”

Royce’s eyes darkened. He straightened to
his full height, shaking his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “Nay, I
will not believe that.”

Ciara did not wish to believe it either, but
Royce’s troubled expression told her he had suspicions as well. “It
is the only explanation that makes sense. Who else—”

“Bayard would not have tried to kill
us.”

“I do not mean to say that he would. But if
he gave information to the rebels, did not know what they
intended—”

“What information would he give them? And
why? Bayard had no idea of your true identity.”

“But who else could have given us away?” she
asked desperately. “
No one
knows of my true identity. No one
knows of our plan or the route we decided to travel, except you and
me and my father. Every other person in Châlons believes I am
traveling in the wedding procession—”

She paused as a new and even more
distressing possibility flitted through her mind.

It seemed the same idea had just occurred to
Royce. “Except for the one person who
knows
you are not in
the procession,” he finished for her. “The woman who took your
place. The decoy.”

“Miriam,” Ciara whispered, already shaking
her head in denial. “Nay, she is completely loyal to me. And she
was so brave when she volunteered to take my place in the
procession—”

“Volunteered?” Royce echoed darkly.

Ciara could not seem to catch her breath.
Suddenly the fact that Miriam had stepped forward so quickly took
on a different, more ominous meaning. And then another memory
struck. “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered. “That night in the solar,
the night I was attacked … Miriam was with me. She spoke of the
rebels. Tried to coax me into running away. The man who injured me
came in right after she left—”

“As if he had been signaled,” Royce
concluded. “Told that your maidservant had failed to persuade you
to abandon your betrothal. Told that you were now alone.”

Ciara dropped her gaze, the thought of such
a betrayal almost too much to bear. “But for so many years Miriam
has been … she was always …”

The closest I had to a friend.

Tears stung her eyes as she looked up at
Royce. “I cannot believe she would be in league with traitors who
wish to kill me.”

His expression softened. “We may be wrong,
milady. It could all be—”

“Coincidence?” she choked out. “Just as it
was a coincidence that we were in the pass when the avalanche
started? Nay, it all makes sense.” Her throat tightened as the
pieces fit together logically. “The rebels were able to locate us
so quickly because they never
were
chasing the wedding
procession in the first place. They
knew
I was not there …
because she told them.”

Awash in anguish, she fell silent.

“We cannot be certain, Princess,” Royce said
after a moment. “All we know is that either my friend or yours may
be working with those who are trying to kill us.” He started to
walk back toward her. “And we do not know which one it is.”

“But it would seem that one of us has been
betrayed by someone we trusted,” Ciara agreed in a pained
whisper.

Royce sighed, sounding weary. “We will have
to worry about bringing the traitor to justice later. For the
moment, we have our hands full staying alive.” Still carrying the
short-sword, he returned to the array of goods he had deposited by
the door. “There is no way to know how many men are looking for us.
And they could already be searching the towns.”

Trembling again, Ciara clutched the fur
closer around her. “Royce, what are we going to do?”

“We do not have many choices, milady. Our
pursuers have some idea where we might be, they know where we are
going, and they also know what we both look like. They only saw us
from afar, but it was close enough. The one advantage we had was
surprise—and we have lost that.”

If he was saying this to frighten her, he
was succeeding.

He looked over at her, his mouth a harsh
line, his eyes stormy. “I will take no more chances with your life,
Ciara. Thuringia is only a few days distant, but the rebels will be
expecting us to run straight for the border as fast as possible.
They will be on the alert, searching all the trails and passes. I
think it would be best to remain hidden for a time.”

Ciara nodded gratefully in agreement. Rest
and sleep sounded far more appealing at the moment than another
trek through the snow. “I do not think I could travel another step
if I had to.”

“Then we will stay here for two days, mayhap
three, and hope that the search will pass us by.” He moved closer,
reaching down to tilt her head up, barely touching her chin with
his fingertips. “I have made too many mistakes, Ciara. I will not
make any more.”

“I trust you, Royce.”

Her words made a muscle flex in his tanned,
stubbled cheek. Withdrawing his hand, he turned away to finish
sorting through the bundles of goods.

She watched him in silence for a moment. “I
hope Hera will be all right. They would not hurt her, would
they?”

“The rebels would have naught to gain by
harming a defenseless puppy, milady. They no doubt confiscated our
things—including our animals—in the hope of finding some clue to
our whereabouts.”

She sighed, trying to feel reassured. “It
would seem only one good thing has come from our adventures this
day.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“The effects of the cassis I drank have worn
off,” she said with forced cheerfulness.

She did not succeed in wringing so much as a
smile from him.

Giving up her attempt to lighten the mood,
she studied the items at his feet. In addition to the two swords,
he had peasant garments made of rough homespun—tunics, leggings—and
a pair of boots. “Where did you get all that?”

“In the stables. I helped myself to a few
necessities.”

“You
stole
them?”

“Milady, the shops are not open at this
hour,” he said dryly. “And when we leave here, I thought it would
be best if we go in disguise. We might attract a bit of attention
dressed as we are, at least by daylight.” He indicated her ruined
gown and his own tattered, bloodied tunic. “I left the stable boys
a few coins in payment.”

Picking up two of his “acquisitions”—a cake
of soap and some lengths of clean linen—he crossed to the table in
the far corner, which held a wooden ewer and washbasin. He poured
water into the bowl, then motioned for her to join him. “Let me see
your hands, Ciara.”

She rose, still holding the fur close as she
walked over to him, her bare feet tickled by the rushes. “I think
you should see to your own injuries first,” she protested. The
condition of his clothes told her that he had been hurt far worse
than she in the avalanche. The thought made her heart ache.

He glanced down at her with a strange
expression. “
I
am supposed to be taking care of
you
,
milady. And I have done a damnably poor job of it today.”

Ciara tried to puzzle out the emotion in his
midnight eyes, seeing warmth and concern there, and …

He dropped his gaze before she could make
sense of the rest.

She had the distinct impression he was
purposely trying to conceal his feelings from her.

She did not understand, knew only that the
emotion she had glimpsed brought a flutter to her stomach, like a
warm, flickering candle flame inside her.

“I suffered only a few scratches, Your
Highness,” he said briskly. “I can tend to them later.” Gently
taking one of her hands, he turned it palm upward.

And grated out an oath. “I am sorry,
Princess,” he whispered, frowning down at her raw skin.

“Do not apologize. You saved my life today,
Royce. I am grateful.” She realized that sounded too formal, that
it did not begin to describe the feelings in her heart. “I should
have told you earlier, should have told you that I—”

“There is no need to tell me anything,” he
said flatly. “And pray do not thank me. I almost got you killed
today.” Dampening a piece of linen, he began to cleanse her hand
with a tenderness that belied his cool words.

“You did not almost get me killed,” she
insisted, struggling to keep her voice low, “You saved me. When I
was trapped on the cliff, if it had not been for you—”

“If it had not been for me, you would not
have been there in the first place,” he said in a harsh whisper,
the anger obviously directed at himself. “I should never have
stopped in the middle of that pass. I should have been thinking of
my
duty
, not my—”

He left the sentence unfinished. And
completed his work in silence, bandaging both her hands with fresh
lengths of cloth.

When he turned aside, his tone was once
again mild. “I am finished with you, Princess.”

Despite the softness of his voice, Ciara
stepped back as if he had pushed her away. She told herself he was
referring to her injured hands, but could not help wondering if his
words held a different meaning.

She could not explain the hurt that twisted
through her, but she kept it from her voice. “Then allow me to help
you. The cuts on your back—”

“I can manage alone. I have done so
before.”

“But you do not have to manage alone,” she
pointed out.

He faced the corner in stony silence for a
long moment. Then he reached for the hem of his tunic and yanked
the garment off over his head.

For a breathless instant, Ciara could not
move or speak or take her eyes from him. She had seen men dressed
only in leggings before—peasants, squires at practice in the
bailey, stonecutters—but always from a distance. Never had she been
this close to a man so … so …

Magnificent. The low firelight gleamed on
his bare back, on the hard planes and corded muscles that flexed as
he tossed the tunic aside and lowered his arms. He looked as if he
had been sculpted from warm, dark stone. His many scars and cuts
and bruises made her want to reach out, ease his pain.

Then he turned to face her, and she could
not hold his gaze. But glancing down only made heat rise in her
cheeks, for she could not keep from staring at his broad chest and
thick-hewn arms, at the mat of black hair that covered his tanned
skin, the way it narrowed over his ribs to vanish at the waist of
his leggings….

Before she could recover her senses, someone
knocked at the door. She almost jumped out of her skin.

“Nay, “ Royce whispered. “That should be the
innkeeper. Back under the bed. And do not make a sound.”

She scrambled into her hiding place, as
quickly and quietly as possible, her heart hammering.

Royce dropped the sheet in place to conceal
her completely. Holding her breath, she heard him cross to the
door, unlock it, open it …

“Good eventide to you, good sir,” an
unfamiliar, jovial male voice said. “We have the items you
requested.”

Ciara smelled the tantalizing aroma of roast
meat and hot bread, heard the rattle of spoons and wooden
trenchers. Prayed that her stomach would not growl.

She also heard the sound of some large
object being brought—rolled—in. Something so heavy it crunched the
rushes on the floor. This was followed by the splashing of a great
deal of liquid.

What on earth were they having for
supper?

A few minutes later, the innkeeper bade
Royce a pleasant stay, and she heard the door being closed and
locked once more.

“You can come out now, Ciara.”

She slid from beneath the bed—and had to
bite back an exclamation of surprise and delight.

It was a wooden tub full of water. Hot,
steaming water.

Smiling, she lifted her gaze to Royce’s as
she got to her feet. In the middle of all this madness, he had
found a way to provide her with a hot bath.

He remained standing by the door, his chest
still bare, his eyes piercing hers. “You were so cold earlier that
I feared you might … I did not want you to catch your death, so I
decided to …”

His strained expression made her smile
waver, brought that strange, hot flutter back to her stomach.

She glanced from his face to the bolted door
to the barred window and back again, realizing that they were
locked in. Together.

That they would be spending the next several
days alone in this small chamber.

With naught to occupy their attention but
each other.

H
e swore he could
hear each drop of water as it glided down her body.

Seated on a stool in front of the hearth,
his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, Royce kept his back to Ciara
and his gaze on the untouched trencher of food in his hands. And
fought a desperate battle to ignore the liquid, sensual sounds just
a few paces behind him.

He
should
have told the innkeeper and
his assistants to take the hot bath away. The fire and the fur had
clearly been enough to revive Ciara. She was in no danger.

But after all she had endured this day, he
had found himself unable to deny her a few moments’…