who with their expert
ways and comely faces had set his mind to reeling and his tongue ready to
recount any number of love words but only for the time, because once his body
was sated, cold reality crept abed. He’d never spoken the words. Never would.
All it ever took to set his mind straight was to remember another woman who
might have destroyed so much in his life. Deceit and treachery was the way with
them all.
By damn! he cursed himself. He didn’t care!
So why was it he came running to her side at
hearing her cries each night? Nei, why did he wait to hear them so that he
could come?
And he did, Loki take him! He shook his head in
self-disgust, maddened by his conflicting emotions. Resisting the urge to rip
down the tarpaulin where he stood, he turned to face her. “By the jaws of
Fenri, wench, I care not what you do!” he exploded suddenly. “Go back to
sleep—and next time, be certain to smother your cries lest you rouse my
men! I won’t bother to answer them—ungrateful, aggravating, witch!”
Blaspheming himself next, he thrust aside the tent
flap and ducked out into the night.
Witch.
The sound of that single word kindled terror in
Elienor’s heart, as it never failed to.
She dared not sleep again. Dared not dream.
Closing her eyes, she prayed for morning.
CHAPTER
12
Take care what
you pray for.
Recalling
Sister Heloise’s words, Elienor grimaced for the first bright rays of morning
had come too early, with no regard for her body’s fatigue. Yet despite her
weariness—or mayhap because of it—she felt restless.
She sat
abruptly, glaring at the tent opening, hugging her knees, thinking that more
than likely it was he that made her feel so cross. How dare he accuse her of
wallowing in self-pity! Especially when she had every cause to do so!
She
shivered suddenly, rubbing her arms beneath the blanket, remembering against
her will the incredible warmth of his lips.
Don’t
think of that, she scolded herself.
How
could she have felt sympathy for the beast? Amazingly, she had—for the
babe he’d once been, and for his mother—and along with it, she’d
experienced such an incredible urge to comfort—a ridiculous notion, for
he’d seemed not at all affected by his past. His face had remained an
impervious mask, and if anything he’d seemed vexed with her for questioning his
murderous father.
Listening
to the sounds of the crew rousing outside, she wished them all to
perdition—their arrogant leader most especially!
She
stood, shaking off the blanket in the heat of her ire, and began to pace the
confines of the narrow tent, stopping to listen to the ghoulish groans of the
mast. She pounded the wooden pillar soundly with her fist, wanting it to cease
once and for all.
She
couldn’t bear this much longer!
And she
most certainly was not a witch!
What of
the dream? a little voice asked.
Elienor
snorted inelegantly. “What dream?” she countered stubbornly.
Ah, Elienor, you
forget so easily—any one of many—last night when he held you...
“’Tis
naught but coincidence,” Elienor said petulantly, refusing to acknowledge the
other accusation—that she’d allowed him to hold her—regardless that
it was merely a dream. Mother Heloise said it was so.
And you believe
it still? Can you be so blind? Open your eyes at last, bien-aimee.
A
shiver passed down her spine. “Beloved?” Something about the way the endearment
came to her, the way it sounded so clearly in her head, suddenly discomfited
her. It brought back memories of her mother’s soft gentle voice. She swallowed,
glancing about warily.
I have been with
you always, bien-aimee. You must heed the warnings.
Elienor’s
heart raced and a chill passed through her, sending gooseflesh racing down her
arms.
“Mother!”
she said, whirling suddenly, searching for the face that went with the imagined
voice, and shook her head.
Heed them,
Elienor.
Again
she spun about, spying nothing
ways and comely faces had set his mind to reeling and his tongue ready to
recount any number of love words but only for the time, because once his body
was sated, cold reality crept abed. He’d never spoken the words. Never would.
All it ever took to set his mind straight was to remember another woman who
might have destroyed so much in his life. Deceit and treachery was the way with
them all.
By damn! he cursed himself. He didn’t care!
So why was it he came running to her side at
hearing her cries each night? Nei, why did he wait to hear them so that he
could come?
And he did, Loki take him! He shook his head in
self-disgust, maddened by his conflicting emotions. Resisting the urge to rip
down the tarpaulin where he stood, he turned to face her. “By the jaws of
Fenri, wench, I care not what you do!” he exploded suddenly. “Go back to
sleep—and next time, be certain to smother your cries lest you rouse my
men! I won’t bother to answer them—ungrateful, aggravating, witch!”
Blaspheming himself next, he thrust aside the tent
flap and ducked out into the night.
Witch.
The sound of that single word kindled terror in
Elienor’s heart, as it never failed to.
She dared not sleep again. Dared not dream.
Closing her eyes, she prayed for morning.
CHAPTER
12
Take care what
you pray for.
Recalling
Sister Heloise’s words, Elienor grimaced for the first bright rays of morning
had come too early, with no regard for her body’s fatigue. Yet despite her
weariness—or mayhap because of it—she felt restless.
She sat
abruptly, glaring at the tent opening, hugging her knees, thinking that more
than likely it was he that made her feel so cross. How dare he accuse her of
wallowing in self-pity! Especially when she had every cause to do so!
She
shivered suddenly, rubbing her arms beneath the blanket, remembering against
her will the incredible warmth of his lips.
Don’t
think of that, she scolded herself.
How
could she have felt sympathy for the beast? Amazingly, she had—for the
babe he’d once been, and for his mother—and along with it, she’d
experienced such an incredible urge to comfort—a ridiculous notion, for
he’d seemed not at all affected by his past. His face had remained an
impervious mask, and if anything he’d seemed vexed with her for questioning his
murderous father.
Listening
to the sounds of the crew rousing outside, she wished them all to
perdition—their arrogant leader most especially!
She
stood, shaking off the blanket in the heat of her ire, and began to pace the
confines of the narrow tent, stopping to listen to the ghoulish groans of the
mast. She pounded the wooden pillar soundly with her fist, wanting it to cease
once and for all.
She
couldn’t bear this much longer!
And she
most certainly was not a witch!
What of
the dream? a little voice asked.
Elienor
snorted inelegantly. “What dream?” she countered stubbornly.
Ah, Elienor, you
forget so easily—any one of many—last night when he held you...
“’Tis
naught but coincidence,” Elienor said petulantly, refusing to acknowledge the
other accusation—that she’d allowed him to hold her—regardless that
it was merely a dream. Mother Heloise said it was so.
And you believe
it still? Can you be so blind? Open your eyes at last, bien-aimee.
A
shiver passed down her spine. “Beloved?” Something about the way the endearment
came to her, the way it sounded so clearly in her head, suddenly discomfited
her. It brought back memories of her mother’s soft gentle voice. She swallowed,
glancing about warily.
I have been with
you always, bien-aimee. You must heed the warnings.
Elienor’s
heart raced and a chill passed through her, sending gooseflesh racing down her
arms.
“Mother!”
she said, whirling suddenly, searching for the face that went with the imagined
voice, and shook her head.
Heed them,
Elienor.
Again
she spun about, spying nothing
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