The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch by Shelly Thacker

or robes, she
was every inch a princess.
    He would have to mention that to her. Later.
He did not trust himself to discuss the way she moved at the
moment. Fortunately, they had the keeping-room to themselves.
    “Had you taken much longer,” he said,
picking up his spoon, “I would have eaten all this myself.”
    “It looks as though you have hardly touched
your food.”
    “I was waiting for you.” Another lie. He
refused to feel a whit of guilt.
    She came to stand on the opposite side of
the long trestle table, looking at the bench he was sitting on,
which was closer to the hearth.
    He paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth,
wondering whether she would sit beside him. Praying she would not.
He had endured enough torment for one day.
    After a moment, she sat down where she was,
arranging herself elegantly on the bench across from him.
    He gulped down the hot broth, not caring
that it seared his throat. It could not match the heat that burned
lower in his body.
    Especially when her scent drifted across the
table to tease his senses. She must have refreshed her perfume.
God’s teeth, had he known she carried a vial of the stuff in her
belongings, he would have tossed it into the snow with her books
and her hats. ‘Twas more dangerous than a rebel blade, that
fragrance.
    It could make him lose his head.
    “What is this?” Ciara bent over the bowl
that the innkeeper had left on her side of the table.
    “Barley soup,” he informed her between
mouthfuls, trying to keep his gaze and his thoughts on the food.
“It may not be roast pheasant served on golden plates, but you will
find it filling.”
    She sniffed at the broth while the innkeeper
came in carrying a flask and a tray.
    “Good eventide, madame.” He poured wine into
her goblet. “Do you find your chamber to your liking?”
    “Aye.” She bestowed one of those courtly
smiles upon him. “It will do quite well.”
    “And what of the meal?”
    “The food looks most tempting,” she said
cheerfully.
    “My thanks, madame.” He set a platter of
dried mutton between them and headed back to the kitchen. “Call for
me if I can be of further service.”
    “Thank you, good sir.”
    Royce observed her over the rim of his
goblet. “So you can be courteous to the common folk,” he
murmured, “provided they are waiting on you.”
    “Most people are deserving of courtesy.” She
daintily picked up one of the shriveled bits of meat from the tray
and took a cautious nibble. “Only a rare Mongol beast here and
there is not.”
    “You must forgive my surprise. It is merely
that the innkeeper managed to bring out a Ciara l have not yet
seen. Kind, sweet-tempered—”
    “Could you mayhap find some way to entertain
yourself that does not involve provoking me?” Setting the mutton
aside, she lifted a spoonful of broth. “I would greatly appreciate
it if you would allow me to eat in peace.”
    “My apologies, madame . I shall take
the innkeeper as an example and try to remember my place .”
    She let that remark pass without comment,
without reaction. Pursing her lips, she blew on the soup.
    Which was a far better revenge than any
caustic retort she could have uttered. Royce felt a shudder pass
through his body, as if her breath had touched his skin.
    He could not tear his gaze away from her
mouth. Time seemed to slow as he watched those lips parting to
taste the steaming liquid … her tongue, small and pink and
satiny, rising to cradle the hot spoon so tentatively. Something
deep inside him wrenched painfully tight.
    He must have made some sound, because she
glanced up at him after she had swallowed. “Are you certain you are
well?”
    “I am fine.” He reached for the bread and
ripped out a large chunk, using his bare hands instead of the knife
that had been provided.
    She observed his violence against the
innocent loaf with a perplexed look. “Must you always be such
pleasant company, even at mealtime?”
    “If I were you, milady,” he warned, chomping
down