His Captive Princess by Sandra Jones Page A

discovery. Mayhap just this once they could act not as enemies, but as equals. Tomorrow would probably find her nursing regrets, but tonight—just this once—she would take what she wanted. “Not the barn. In here.”
    He glanced over the top of her head at her door and smiled.

Chapter Eight
    Warren’s heart was pounding like a green youth’s by the time he shut the door and Eleri lit a sconce in the wall, illuminating her bedchamber. She held her blanket in front of her chemise as she backed away from him, moving toward the bed. Her eyes were rounded, her lips cherry red from their kisses.
    He needed time to calm his racing pulse and allow her to do the same if he was going to make love to her without acting like some berserker gone too long at sea. She deserved better.
    She was a princess, so she needed the gentle hands of a prince.
    He scanned the room. There were no other furnishings, only the bed, narrow yet serviceable for their purposes, covered in furs and blankets befitting a royal visitor of the abbey. The walls, however, needed patching. The firelight danced from the night breeze leaking through.
    No wonder her fingers were so cold.
    He frowned as an angry vein kicked in his neck.
    “The room is not to your liking, my lord?”
    His gaze swept back to her. Still clinging to her blanket, she regarded him with a regal tilt of her chin.
    He smiled. “Better than sleeping on the ground and in the trees. I’ll warrant ’tis not the accommodations either of us prefers, but we’ll make the most of it, oui ?”
    She nodded with a faint smile.
    So beautiful. He pushed his hair from his forehead to keep from reaching for her.
    Why was this so difficult?
    If he waited too long she might change her mind. At any moment she might recall the evils his countrymen had caused her people and send him away with a boot to the backside. There was no time to waste if he wanted to woo her.
    Pouncing on her isn’t the answer either.
    He cleared his throat, though he was far from parched—fairly salivating, actually, for another taste of Eleri. “Did, um…the brothers leave you aught to drink?”
    “Aye.” She went to a tray left in the corner of the room and retrieved a cup, which she filled and brought back.
    He took the vessel and his unsteady fingers brushed hers in the exchange.
    Eleri looked away, causing the single plait of her hair to fall over her shoulder.
    He tossed back the mead, barely allowing the sweet taste of honey to linger on his tongue. He had other cravings to satisfy.
    “Delicious. Merci .” He returned the empty cup to her. She replaced the vessel in the corner, and he found his words. “I liked your hair down, the way it was when we arrived here. Would you—”
    Her fingers unwound the braid before he could finish his request. There was something artless in her movements, a lack of confidence—the only uncertainty he’d witnessed from her—and it pulled at him like a siren’s song.
    His feet led him closer until he stood less than an arm’s length away from her. He reached tentatively for her hair, finishing the work for her. His fingers slid through the unraveled, silken waves, and he held them in the firelight, watching the shimmering color that rivaled the flame.
    Red gold against silver skin. Everything about her radiated like the moon and the sun. A treasure to plunder.
    Only this treasure would hopefully soon belong to him. A prize that none could match or better—not even his royal kin.
    Excitement fueled his ardor. He unfastened his belt, and it fell to the floor along with his sword, making a loud twang. Eleri jumped, and he cursed himself beneath his breath for being a fool again.
    “Forgive me for my eagerness. Since I set eyes on you, I’ve wanted this moment.” He took her by the shoulders and caressed the elegant curve of her arm muscles beneath his thumbs. An archer, she had the limbs of Diana, he reminded himself, sending more blood to his already painful member.
    Her