Watching him do an about-face and stride rapidly back towards the ramshackle dwelling, Eithne was really tempted to let him do it. Her instinct for self-preservation warred with her integrity. She couldn’t just run away from this – from him. Where would she go and, for that matter, how far would she get?
Knowing she would not be able to live with herself, that she would be no better than Clara, Eithne raised the hem of her gown once more. This time, her pace was slow and measured rather than rapid and directionless.
“I knew you’d come to your senses,” Xander said, as he set to work with a spade.
She watched him for a time, wondering why he hadn’t delegated the task to his subordinate. His arms were well-muscled and more than equal to the task. It occurred to her he had probably dug graves before. For fallen comrades, maybe, not little ones.
Yet, as she stood there, judging him without mercy, Eithne reminded herself she knew nothing about this Frankish invader other than that he wanted her in his bed.
The thought filled her with apprehension. Being cast aside afterwards was the least of her worries. She could join an order, like her poor cousin, though probably not one which insisted on obedience. Having struggled with that all her life, it wouldn’t do to let God down.
Her inner panic revolved around the one and only time she’d been kissed in the castle gardens. Lucas had stuck his wet tongue in her mouth and she couldn’t help but think about her brother’s dog, Parsley, who used to jump up at her when she was much younger and lick her face equally as thoroughly. Fortunately, because of the extra chemise beneath her gown, her betrothed was thwarted in his attempt to discover anything meaningful when he groped her.
The whole experience had left her wanting less rather than more and the desire to repeat it, even with another, was lacking in one who could only boast one parent with morals.
She thought about when she’d fallen against Xander, more concerned about not injuring either of them with his blade than being embarrassed by their proximity. Two things about that bothered her. Why hadn’t she wanted to cut him when it would have helped to nullify his threat to her? And where was the revulsion she had expected to feel?
While she loathed him and believed him to be an upstart – surely he was lying about his royal blood? – no lasting sense of shame had ensued from that inappropriate collision.
Eithne knew that was not likely to be the case if – no, when – he took her as his woman.
There was only one deep hole in the ground awaiting the small corpses. Instead of assuming he thought they weren’t worth the effort, she told herself it was fitting that the twins weren’t separated in death.
Something was different about Xander but she struggled to put her finger on it until his henchman emerged from the hut with the bodies. They were wrapped in purple. It touched her that he was prepared to surrender his cloak in that way.
“They look so peaceful,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t cover their faces.”
“That was for your benefit, my lady,” Alain told her in his abrupt fashion. “Got to wrap them properly now or the worms will feast.”
Overcome with emotion, she seemed to recall seeing some wildflowers growing in the vicinity and stumbled away, determined to do her weeping in private.
“Go after her.”
She heard Xander’s command only dimly, dashing at her cheeks and stifling a sob as she wandered blindly in the direction of a noise she recognised. Humming bees favoured flowers, everyone knew that. What to choose?
In the end Eithne plucked some daisies, binding them into a posy with the lilac ribbon which had been threaded through her fair hair. A poem was running through her head, but saying it aloud at the gravesite would only depress her. It was something her father, King Stephen, had read out when they buried his youngest son, Joel. Her little brother had been an infant himself when he passed.
Returning to where the conqueror waited, patiently it had to be said, she threw the small tribute on top of the makeshift yet impressive shroud and lowered her eyes.
“Heavenly Father, receive these your children, Morgan and Maisie Fletcher into your everlasting love. May they never want for anything again. Amen.”
She crossed herself and kissed the crucifix hanging around her neck.
“Short and sweet. Impressive.” The Frank held out a large and dirty hand. “Shall we?”
“Do I have a choice?” she murmured.
“Well, you could try running but you wouldn’t get very far. Alain has all the incentive he needs to re-capture you.”
Eithne stared at him. “You mean, you wouldn’t come after me yourself?”
“Some things are better delegated.”
“You’ve threatened him. Haven’t you?”
That explained a lot. Someone who she considered to be quite a lazy guard, scarcely worthy of the term ‘henchman’, had chased after her as if his life depended upon it.
“Hardly,” he said. “I believe in a system of reward and punishment.” His eyes darkened with what she knew to be carnal desire having seen something similar flare up in Lucas’. Mid-blue was one thing but this hot emerald fire was having a very different effect. Especially when he added, low, “In your case, my sweet, I am looking forward to using both incentives.”
“In your dreams,” she stated, aware that a stray tear was about to fall from her chin.
“Defiance, after all we’ve been through together.”
“Go ahead, taunt me all you like. I’m used to it from Ephron.”
“My methods are going to be far different from those a brother employs to bully his sister.”
“How did you meet?”
“Carousing,” he said. “I first ran into him in a tavern on the coast. When he told me how rich Ormond was in terms of treasure and land, I was tempted to sack it anyway. But I bided my time, learning of a kingdom with just the one surviving male heir and I thought to myself, well Xander, here’s your opportunity to be King once more. Albeit in a different land across the water.”
“You set him up, didn’t you?” she cried. “Ephron’s not the brightest. He’s rotting in a foreign jail and you’ve no intention of getting him out of there, have you?”
“Well, it’s easy to see who has the quick mind between the two of you.” He took the opportunity to stroke her hair, as if he were petting an animal. Eithne slapped his hand away, making him chuckle. “I’ll enjoy taming that fiery temper.”
Her mouth gaped. Nobody had ever accused her of that. This man obviously brought out the worst in her.
“I hate you,” she said.
“Aw, really? When I’m your best option for securing the release of your beloved brother?”
“What?”
“I never said I wouldn’t arrange his rescue. You jumped to that conclusion. Ephron’s freedom is no skin off my nose, Princess. So long as he doesn’t try and usurp me.”
“Ha, that’s rich! He’s Papa’s heir, not you.”
The realisation that her dear father was no more rocked her and she felt like sitting down in the dirt and bawling. Instead, she stared into the open grave just as Mellow began to shovel soil on top of the two dead children.
Whatever else he was, Xander of the Franks was a cold-blooded murderer. Maybe not entirely cold-hearted, she had to concede that. But there was no getting away from the fact that the overthrow he had planned and accomplished had resulted in King Stephen’s early demise.
This would be all the excuse Clara needed to return to the realm with her new lover and try to lord it over everyone. No doubt she would line up several unworthy suitors for her only daughter and force her to endure their tedious company.
Unless …
“Promise me one thing, my lord. Whatever else you do, please do not allow my mother back across the border.”
“Oh yes, about that. I knew there was something else. The Dowager is already here, sweetheart. She’s been vital to the success of my endeavours.”
“And does she know what you have planned for her only daughter?”
“Of course, Princess. Clara was the one who suggested it. How did she phrase it now? ‘Will take her down a peg or two’, or something like that. I forget.”
“You … forget? How could she? More to the point, how could you even contemplate such a thing?”
“Wait, it’s all coming back to me now,” he said. “That’s right, I had a little wager with Ephron.”
Eithne’s head was spinning as she allowed her captor – nay, her new master – to lead her away from the site of the tragedy. She wasn’t sure what to believe or not believe other than that Xander was a blackguard and certainly not to be trusted. As to the part her mother and brother had played in her father’s downfall, not to mention her own, she could only speculate.She could believe such a thing of Clara but not Ephron, mean though he had sometimes been towards her.The day was melding into dusk, but Eithne kept her head down and refused to look at the devastation all around. In her opinion the halter around her neck was unnecessary, but she supposed Xander was making a point. Whether she’d earned such punishment was a matter of opinion – and disagreement – between them.All she’d said was he was an opportunist and a liar. Had she really disrespected him? Someone with his dubious moral code should have taken it as a compliment.Xander picked up the pace seemingly at random, but it wa
Xander came into the room a short time later, looking refreshed and impossibly handsome. She felt like a traitor even thinking like that. He was clean-shaven and she could not help noticing the sharp jawline and mobile mouth below a hawk nose fit for a nobleman. His green eyes were alert, despite his casual demeanour; she judged him anything but relaxed. Presumably the beard and unkempt appearance had been a result of weeks on the road. How active he had been in the assault on the kingdom was anybody’s guess and yet, hadn’t she cleaned the blood off his blade only yesterday? “Sleep well?” he asked, with studied nonchalance. “My daughter is sulking. See if you can bring her round, Xander. I am going for a nap.” He pulled up a stool and perched his large frame upon it with no sign of being hunched. This was a man comfortable in his own skin. “So, you’re refusing to speak, eh? I can assure you that won’t last long. When I’m done with you, Princess, you will be begging me for more.” “
Somewhat naively, Eithne had assumed intimacy only took place at night. Although she had once come across two of the servants lying together in the meadow when she was searching for a suitable spot to sit and read her book. “Are you going to watch me, my lord?” she asked, hoping the answer would be in the negative. “I think I’ve earned the right, don’t you?” he replied, leaning back against the wall as if he had no intention of leaving. “How?” she demanded, arms akimbo. “By treating you gently thus far,” he answered. Those ominous words made her quiver. She could not deny the thought of immersing herself in hot water was tempting but no male had seen her naked since she reached puberty. In fact, she had been given to understand that sometimes husbands on their wedding night saw less of their bride than she was about to reveal to this stranger. At least there wasn’t much to remove. She stepped out of her shoes first, placing them neatly side by side and out of the way before turn
There must have been at least twenty Frankish men waiting in two parallel lines. Eithne bowed her head, unwilling to make eye contact with any of them. Gradually the last vestiges of conversation died away, including the conclusion of what she knew to have been a bawdy joke.Schooling her features to ignorance, she willed herself not to redden if insults of any kind came her way.Xander sauntered along the line, his hand gripping her upper arm.“I asked you to assemble here, men, because I wanted to express my thanks for all your endeavours in what has seemed an interminable campaign. Yes, Beauregard?”“It has been a pleasure, Sire.”Sire?“No need to stand on ceremony. Xander will do. Many a campaign we’ve spent wrapped in our cloaks. Which reminds me.” He glanced at her. “I need to acquire a new one.”“Permission to speak, Xander?”“Go ahead, Drago.”“Will we be staying on here for a while?”“Missing your family? I sympathise, even though I don’t know what that’s like.”There were g
The man presumably named for his home province was of medium height but he had cruel eyes.Eithne folded her arms across her chest and waited.“Are the rotas arranged, Simpkin?”She blinked. That sounded like a local name. Was this man a traitor?“Checked and double checked, Commander.”“And no-one’s giving the mercenaries any lip?”“Nothing they can’t handle. I’m keeping a watching brief myself.” The newcomer passed a hand across his brow. “It was thirsty work in that smithy,” he said.“I can imagine. Take a break, my captain. You’ve earned it.”As the man from Ormond turned to leave, she had to say something. Because she recognised him now as one of her father’s most trusted bodyguards. His treachery she took personally.“Judas!” she spat.Simpkin paid her no more attention than if she were a gnat buzzing beside his ear, though he made the same warding off gesture with a hand which was missing a couple of fingers.Alone with the conqueror once more, she became aware that her heart h
That evening, having eaten very little else herself, Eithne was instructed by her master to serve ale in the Hall. He had hinted at such a thing though she hadn’t believed he was serious. All this after washing several floors until her fingers were raw and numb, her back ached and her knees were sore.Did she believe Xander that he’d purchased the cloak on a whim? There was no telling with him when he was serious and when he wasn’t. Except she did not doubt that he would indeed test her innocence or otherwise that very night.The men were noisy, boisterous and well on their way to becoming drunk. It heartened her to see Beauregard for some reason she could not quite explain. Though she hadn’t particularly looked at most of the others, except for Drago and Guisset, she could tell the mercenaries by their leather jerkins and short cloaks. It was a kind of uniform which set them apart and she was heartened to see them dispersed throughout the long room. In case of trouble?Surely not bec
So much for Xander not being all he seemed. His action was certainly giving the lie to that. Eithne assumed the situation would only become worse when they reached what was now his bedchamber.As he hauled her up the stairs, she became aware she was still carrying the flagon of ale. Maybe she could drink herself into a stupor, and maybe not.“Haven’t I been through enough?” she cried, unable to stay silent any longer.“You have no idea, do you, Princess? Paupers can’t be choosers.”Was that a hint as to his real origins? Eithne wasn’t about to ask him at that point.“You’re hurting me,” she complained.It was true; her scalp felt like it was on fire. Her mind led her to wonder if his head wound had healed. Then she chastised herself for neglecting her own needs. She had angered him without thought and now was about to suffer the consequences.“Get used to it.”His voice was low and tight, his fury about to be unleashed.Eithne wasn’t too proud to beg if it meant avoiding a brutal rape
The lesson didn’t happen. It must have been the horrified look on her face. Who was this man, this usurper who had neglected to install himself in the former King’s chambers?Instead, he lifted her bodily and took her across to the bed.“You’re freezing, little one,” he said. “Let me warm you.” He began to rub her arms and shoulders briskly.“I forgot to look for the necklace,” she murmured. Only when she’d been gazing at the rough flagstones had she recalled its loss.“What is it with you women? Always hankering after a bauble.”“She gave it to me, Clara. Only yesterday. For my birthday. The first gift I’d received from her in years.”Eithne became aware he was shaking her, though not hard. “Is it true? The raid happened on your birthday?”“My eighteenth,” she whispered, sadly. “It should be a time of joy and celebration.”Xander rolled onto his back.“Go,” he said. “Get out, before I change my mind.”“Do you really mean that?”Eithne looked with longing at the supper tray. Was prese