The Warrior's Damsel In Distress. Meriel Fuller

me?’

      Because there is something about you that doesn’t add up, Bruin thought. You protest too much about your insignificance. He remembered the way Katherine had supported her, helping Eva to her seat in the hall; how they had murmured to each other, heads together, not like servant and mistress, but more like friends. Everything about the chit made him suspect she was not a servant: her behaviour, her voice—the refined elegance of her beauty, the translucent quality of her skin. Her hair, like ebony silk, bound into two neat braids on either side of her head.

      His chest seized. One of Eva’s plaits fell forward, snaking across her shoulder, her chest, the curling end tied with a thin leather lace, swinging down across her nightgown. And through that fine, gauzy fabric, revealed by the treacherous moon spilling through a distant window, he could see the perfect delineation of her shapely legs, her thighs, before they disappeared up beneath the blanket. His stomach muscles tightened, taut, aware.

      Jaw hardening, he whipped his gaze away, signalling to another knight further down the corridor. ‘Hey, you there! Guard this door!’ A huskiness curled through his voice, lowering the timbre.

      ‘But I told you—’ Eva began to speak. He hadn’t answered her question.

      ‘Come on.’ Bruin ignored her, plucking the candle from her fingers. He clasped her elbow to guide her along the corridor.

      At his commanding touch, Eva dragged her arm down to detach herself from his grip, a deliberate action, forceful. ‘No, I can walk unaided, thank you.’ The pulse at her throat beat in rapid momentum, her pale skin sheened in moonlight.

      ‘Can you? You had to ask that boy for help when you left the great hall.’ Bruin dug his thumb into his sword belt, eyeing her sceptically. The gemstones in his sword hilt winked and glittered, vaguely menacing.

      So he had watched her leave then. Those fearsome eyes had followed her, observing her every move while she, unaware of his scrutiny, had stumbled awkwardly towards the stairs. The thought filled her with dismay, worry threading her veins. She must be more careful if this man watched her so closely.

      ‘The wound’s not deep; it feels much better now,’ she answered him tersely. ‘It was good of you to tend to it.’ But she looked away from him as she said the words and started walking off down the corridor, unable to meet his iron-hard gaze.

      Bruin laughed, following her limping gait, the awkward lift of her hip as she countered the soreness in her leg. ‘Are you thanking me?’ Her swinging plaits tormented him; he wanted to grab them, haul her back against his body, savour those pliant curves against his own. The urge swept through him, wild and traitorous. What would it be like, to pull that lithe, slim body against his? To wrap his limbs around her, kiss her? But he knew. His groin pulsed treacherously, tightening, his breath punching out in surprise. Her beauty drew him, entranced him, chipping away at his self-control, his sadness—like sunlight burning through fog, a magical heat against the frozen lump of his heart.

      Acknowledging his question with the briefest of nods, Eva continued to walk forward, eyes fixed on the end of the corridor, her nose stuck in the air. Annoyed at her impudence, Bruin shot his hand out, closing around her shoulder to halt her, spinning her around. She gasped at the swift, unexpected movement. The blanket gathered in gentle folds around her neck, emphasising her sweet face, the plushness of her mouth. Above the point where her fingers gripped the blanket, the white-lace edging on her nightgown peeked out, the neckline dipping down to reveal the top swell of one breast. For one insane moment, he wanted to touch his fingertip against the delicate hollow of her throat, to feel the satiny push of her breast against his palm.

      Eva glared at him, then saw the latent heat gathered in his eyes, the flash of desire, of intent. Her stomach muscles puddled to a giddy whirlpool, looping dangerously. She had never lain with a man, yet she recognised the savage promise in his eyes, those dark sparkling orbs that whispered of places unexplored. Places she had never been. Every nerve in her body thrummed, strung with anticipation, an expectancy of—of what?

      Bruin’s head dipped fractionally, the etched curve of his mouth looming down to hers. The air between them thickened suddenly, solidifying, adopting a soporific, dreamlike quality. Blood hammered in her veins. The rope of her resistance, once tightly bound, now creaked and strained. She was unable to move, feet bolted to the floor, captured by his sparkling gaze.

      Then, as if from a distance far away, a child cried, a frantic series of sobs, high-pitched, frightened.

      Eva cursed, shoving petulantly at his chest. What in God’s name had she been thinking? Loitering beside him, beside this—this oaf, mesmerised like some foolish dimwit! ‘Can’t you hear?’ she hissed at him. ‘Alice needs me! Stop holding me up like this! What are you doing?’

      What was he doing? A fiery insanity had gripped him, turning his loins to pulp. He had been about to kiss her, to run his mouth across those plush, rosebud lips. To delight in the velvety patina of her skin. This wasn’t him; he didn’t behave like this. Why, he hadn’t even touched Sophie during their brief betrothal—if he had, things might have turned out so differently. Bruin’s heart turned over at the memory, a tide of cloying sadness flooding through him. Disgusted with himself, he released Eva’s shoulder. His fingers shook. With a curt nod he indicated that she should go ahead, his arm dropping to his side.

      * * *

      The kitchens were warm, the fire in the cooking range smouldering gently, banked up for the night with great squares of peat. Flickers of glowing light shone out through the cracks in the turf, reflecting against the pots and pans hung by their handles inside the huge fireplace. An oak table, the boards well-scrubbed to a bleached lightness, dominated the room, earthenware and pewter dishes stacked upon it in piles, ready for the morning. Next to them, Bruin secured the candle in a pool of wax. The flame cast his substantial figure into a huge black shadow on the wall behind.

      The well was in the corner: a circular hole covered with a wooden lid, a rope handle in its centre. A wooden pulley sat alongside, secured to the floor, used to pull the bucket up. Favouring her injured leg, Eva walked over to it, bending down to drag the lid to one side. The stone flagstones froze the soles of her feet, numbing the skin. Annoyance shimmered through her at Bruin’s continued presence, at her own foolish behaviour towards him. As if a man should affect her thus! She was tired, that was all, tired and upset by what was happening to Katherine, and he wasn’t helping matters by following her about. But she must behave in a manner appropriate to a servant; much as she disliked it, she must follow his orders. Taking a deep breath, Eva straightened to work the handle on the pulley that would lower the leather bucket down to the water level, a black shining disc far below. She jumped as Bruin moved beside her, his arm jostling her shoulder.