The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch by Shelly Thacker Page B

upon, but a look of
genuine warmth and concern.
    “And what is your name?” she asked
gently.
    “I am Warran.” He pointed toward his
sibling. “This is my sister, Vallis. You are a pretty lady.”
    “Thank you. What a chivalrous young
gentleman you are to say so.”
    “Vallis says people are afraid of me now.
But you are not afraid, are you?” he asked in wonderment.
    “Nay, Warran. I have always believed that
what a person is like on the inside is what is truly important.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some people can appear
handsome, but on the inside they are quite mean and black of
heart.”
    Royce might have replied to that last
comment, but he could not stop staring in amazement as she
conversed with the young boy. Gone was the regal, remote princess
who had held herself so straight and proud in the saddle, who
flinched away from his every touch. This Ciara was relaxed,
caring.
    Warm
.
    The grandfather, Nevin, accepted a bowl of
soup from his wife and reached for the bread. “And where do you
come from, sir?” Frowning at the ravaged loaf, he picked up the
knife and cut a slice from the opposite end.
    Royce reminded himself of the story he had
settled on earlier. Being secretive and mysterious would only raise
suspicions. “France,” he said easily. “I am a trader, come to buy
garnets.”
    He still could not tear his gaze from Ciara,
who was now doing—of all things—a magic trick for the child.
Reaching behind Warran’s ear, she produced a silver coin.
    “How did this come to be there?” she asked
with a smile. Placing the coin in her other hand, she closed her
fingers around it, holding out her fist toward the boy. “Can you
make it disappear again, Warran? Wave your hand over mine three
times and say ‘Be gone!’ ”
    The boy complied enthusiastically. “Be
gone!”
    Ciara opened her fist—which was now empty.
“Behold!”
    Warran laughed with delight.
    Royce blinked at her in disbelief and
realized Nevin was still speaking to him. “I am sorry, sir. You
were saying?”
    “I said it will be a difficult task to find
any garnets.” The white-haired man handed some mutton to the little
girl who sat next to him. “I fear that Prince Daemon’s men left
little of value behind when they passed this way.”
    “May his soul rot in hell,” his wife
whispered fiercely.
    Ciara glanced at the woman beside her with a
look of surprise, “Prince Daemon’s men were here? In the
lowlands?”
    “Aye,” Nevin answered. “The brutes sacked
every town. Edessa is the only one that escaped unscathed. After
hearing of what took place to the east, the villagers here
surrendered without lifting a blade.”
    “What happened in the east?” Royce asked,
fearing he already knew the answer.
    “A carnage that Satan himself could not
match,” Oriel told him, her wrinkled face quivering as her voice
grew forceful. “The Thuringians burned and pillaged every castle
and cottage. They rode through the streets cutting down people like
blades of grass. Noble or peasant, armed or helpless, it mattered
not.”
    “We are from Vasau,” Nevin explained, “where
some of the worst fighting took place. Only the church was left
untouched. Daemon instructed his men to spare no one—”
    “Please, grandfather.” The little girl
stopped him, clutching his arm. “Do not speak of the bad man
anymore.”
    The elderly man’s face gentled as he looked
down at her. “I am sorry, my sweet.”
    Oriel looked over at the boy, her voice a
fragile whisper. “Their parents—our son and his wife—were killed
when the Thuringians sacked our town.”
    “My brother died, too,” Warran said softly.
“I tried to pull him from the flames, but I …”
    Ciara reached down to cover the boy’s small,
scarred hand with her own. “I am sorry, Warran,” she said softly.
“I also lost my brother in the war.”
    Royce felt something in the center of his
body clench tight. Her expression held both deep sadness and
genuine