The Commander's Desire (12 page)

The horses looked drenched and cold.

“
You poor thing,” Elwytha
murmured, rubbing Sir Duke’s face. His brown eyes looked
reproachful of her ill treatment of him. “We’ll get you home soon,
with a warm blanket and a bucket of oats,” she promised him, and
swung onto his back.

“
Do you often speak to your
mount?”

Elwytha frowned at the Commander. “Horses
have feelings, too. Sometimes more than humans.” She patted the
horse’s neck and murmured, “Right, Sir Duke?”

The Commander made no reply to this. Likely
he thought it nonsense, which only proved he had a cold stone for a
heart.

Leaves and branches dripped water on them as
they rode through the pungent forest toward the castle. Elwytha
didn’t mind. She loved the smells that lingered after a rain
shower, particularly in the fall; the sweet scent of decaying
leaves, damp earth, and the fresh, clean smell of rain. The cool
moisture in the air freshened her spirits. She was almost sad to
arrive at the stable.

The stable boy took Sir Duke from her and
Elwytha retired to her room to change. Unfortunately, her gray
dress hadn’t been washed yet—or perhaps it was still drying, so she
had to choose another frock to wear. With a frown, she dug through
the trunk. No more drab dresses. Only the jewel tones she
preferred. All complemented her skin tone, or so her maid at home
said. She found a modest one—it had a “V” neck, but at least her
bosom would be mostly covered—and it was in a rich, royal blue
damask. Her absolute favorite color, and it matched her eyes. She
had worn it so often the neckline was frayed the tiniest bit. It
would have to do.

Quickly, she changed and left the brown dress
for Hagma to retrieve later. For now, her stomach rumbled and she
hurried to the kitchen for her meal.

The cook greeted her with a smile. “Elwytha.
I wondered if you had drowned in all that rain. I’m glad to see you
made it home safe and sound.”

“
It’s beautiful out,” she
said, sitting at the table. Mary placed a trencher of bread,
cheese, and fruit before her. A cup of water, as well. “Thank
you.”

“
You were out with the
Commander, were you?” asked the matronly woman.

“
Yes.” Elwytha unexpectedly
wondered if the entire castle knew she lived in an attached chamber
to her betrothed. Most likely. Embarrassment warmed her
cheeks.

“
He’s a fine boy, is the
Commander,” said Mary, with a nod. She had said something similar
yesterday, Elwytha remembered. The cook turned the animal roasting
on a spit over the fire.

Elwytha didn’t know how to respond to this.
“You’ve known him all of his life?”

“
Aye. Of course. I was
friends with his mother, God rest her soul.”

Elwytha nodded. “How did he get that scar
over his eye?” she blurted. And then wondered what was wrong with
her. How could she possibly care?

The cook cast her a knowing look. “You’ll
have to ask him yourself, miss. He’s had a hard life, has that one.
But the Prince has treated him well. And rightly so.” She gave a
nod for emphasis.

“
He said they became friends
as boys.”

“
Aye. Friends. Rivals.” She
shook her head, and said something Elwytha couldn’t quite
catch.

“
What of his father?”
Elwytha found she couldn’t help her confounding desire to ask
questions about her enemy. Perhaps she wanted to understand him
better. That way she could identify all of his
weaknesses.

Mary shook her head. “That’s not a subject
he’ll thank you to ask. The lads taunted him, calling him all
manner of terrible names. It’s why he learned to battle. And a
fight is how he broke his nose.”

“
Why wasn’t it
reset?”

The cook’s quick motions slowed as she
stirred a bubbling pot. “I’ll never rightly know. The boy had lost
his mother. And those who should have looked after him didn’t. I
don’t suppose he cared much back then. Boys don’t. But it’s a
shame, now.” She pressed her lips tight, and stirred more
rapidly.

Elwytha finished her lunch, feeling disturbed
by these insights into her foe. No matter what ill treatment he had
suffered as a child, she told herself, it changed nothing about
today. Now he was a man. He made his own choices, and one had been
a wrong one—to end her brother’s life.

But she did suddenly wonder how often a
filthy past tainted the present, and twisted the future. She
thought on her own family—the jealousy between her brothers; her
father’s clear favoritism of her eldest brother; and Richard’s rage
and mood swings because he couldn’t get their father’s
attention.

And what of herself? Her father had all but
ignored her. A girl was worthless to a clan of warriors. Another
reason why she had learned battle skills—so he would approve of
her. It had certainly shaped who she was today; a warrior sent to
mete revenge on her family’s enemy.

* * * * *

After Elwytha finished her lunch, she exited
the kitchen. The entire afternoon lay before her, gloriously empty,
save to accomplish her own purposes. The Commander had said she
could freely wander the halls. Foolish of him. Today, once again,
she’d test the door to the room that held her blades. Or perhaps
she would search out keys to the lock. No matter. In either case,
she would retrieve her daggers without delay.

“
Princess Elwytha.” A
helmeted, armored guard with a lance at his shoulder appeared
before she had taken five steps.

“
Yes?” She frowned. Had the
Commander forgotten his promise? With what further orders would he
besiege her now?

“
The Prince requires your
presence. Follow me, please.” He turned and headed down the hall.
Clearly, she was to follow immediately.

Elwytha didn’t like obeying the Prince’s
orders any more than the Commander’s. However, she had to admit
curiosity. And suspicion. What did he want?

The guard ushered her into the throne room,
and Elwytha saw the Prince sitting upon his royal throne. Did he
sit there all day? She mentally rolled her eyes at his utter
vanity. Did he need constant adulation to prove his worth as a man,
and as a ruler?

She curtseyed. “Prince. You requested my
presence?” Never mind he had demanded it. She felt it key that he
understand that she had graciously granted his request.

The Prince reclined on his throne, his pose
relaxed. He inquired, “You are enjoying your stay in my
palace?”

“
It has satisfactory
comforts,” she allowed.

He smiled. “You have a cutting tongue,
Princess Elwytha.”

“
I would speak the
truth.”

“
At all times?” His words
seemed testing.

“
Verily, as much truth as
you speak yourself, Prince.”

He smiled again and then stood, to her
surprise. “I will show you something. Stroll with me.”

She followed the Prince, mindful of the
lance-carrying guard accompanying them. Of course, her brother had
ordered no attacks upon the Prince. So he was safe from her.

“
You are accustomed to fine
things?” the Prince inquired over his shoulder. He opened the door
to a room flanked by armed guards, and she followed him
inside.

“
We have a few precious
objects.” Elwytha would allow no detailed descriptions to pass her
lips. The Prince needed no further encouragements to attack her
land. She cast a quick glance about. Sunlight filtered in through
slitted windows.

“
We harbor prized objects as
well. As a princess, I thought you would appreciate their
splendor.” With a languid hand, he gestured toward a black vase,
veined with gold. “From the far east,” he said.

The gold sparkled in the ebony, as did
sparkles of blue. The Prince smiled as she peered at it more
closely. “A treasure, is it not?” He strolled next toward a
pedestal topped with a blue velvet box.

Elwytha followed, and wondered why he was
showing her these prizes. For pride’s sake? Did he feel no threat
from her, as an enemy? Perhaps he wanted her to feel awe for the
splendor he possessed. Likely, she decided. From what little she
knew of him, humility did not appear to be one of his
strengths.

He lifted the velvet lid. A necklace of
glittering diamonds and sapphires sparkled on black velvet. Elwytha
gasped, despite herself.

“
You like it?” He grinned at
her. “It was my father’s mother’s.”

Elwytha was annoyed—both by her response, and
for the Prince’s blatant boastings. He showed her more objects of
art, including sculptures and paintings. Several were of his
ancestors. Last of all, he stopped before a portrait of a man in
full warrior regalia. He looked huge and fearsome, with flowing
black hair and eyes as black as midnight.

“
This man loved battle.
Unfortunately, one too many.” The Prince eyed her. “My father,” he
said.

Startled, Elwytha looked from the portrait to
the Prince. The current crown regent was a good height for a man,
but finer boned than this, his sire.

He smiled. “I favor my mother.”

“
But you share his black
hair and black eyes.”

“
And his affection for the
ladies.”

Elwytha frowned at the Prince, who watched
her, his black eyes intent. Why would he shame his father with such
a word? Not to mention sully her ears with such tripe? Then
suspicion flared, and she frowned harder.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Elwytha. I would
not steal you from the Commander.”

Elwytha still distrusted him. “If you are
finished boasting of your plunder, I tire.”

His black eyes narrowed, clearly amused. “You
mean you tire of me. Return then, to your Commander.”

Elwytha glared, and stiffened her shoulders.
“As much as you highly regard him, I take no pleasure in his
company. Solitude serves me better within your walls.”

His lips twisted mockingly. “As you
wish.”

Only ingrained courtesy made Elwytha drop a
half, irreverent curtsey, and then she left the Prince to his
prizes…no doubt ill gotten, and stolen by blood and the sword from
their rightful owners. She tried to forget that her own palace
harbored treasures gained in like manner.

Now, finally free of the Prince, Elwytha sped
to her next, long coveted destination. Hopefully, solitude indeed
awaited her there. She needed no witness to the retrieval of her
blades.

* * * * *

Elwytha swiftly found the room once again,
but discovered that a maid was cleaning it. Frustrated, Elwytha
wandered the halls, trying to look inconspicuous as she waited for
her to leave. If only the maid would forget to lock it when she
finished.

Many long minutes later, the maid finally
took her leave. Elwytha dashed for the door. Praise be to the most
high God, it opened easily in her hand. She wanted to dance for
glee, but refrained. Looking quickly about to ensure no one saw
her, she slipped inside.

Immediately, she darted across to the rug
which secreted her blades. She pounced on her knees and eagerly
swept back the rug.

Nothing.

Alarm sliced through her. What treachery was
this?

She pushed the rug back further, now in half.
Then she caught a glimpse of steel. With a cry, she grabbed her
smallest dagger and pressed it to her bosom. At last. One of her
blades retrieved.

Now she folded back the rest of the rug,
eager to find her two remaining blades—although she had been so
sure that she had placed them all near the stone wall. The smallest
blade had been found in the middle of the rug, and the other
two…

Missing. The floor lay bare.

Dismayed, she sat back on her heels,
thinking. Someone must have found them. But who? The Commander?

But he hadn’t accosted her with his
knowledge. Surely he would have, if he had found them. Then she
remembered his comment about her preferring the daggers. She
frowned. Maybe he did have them. Mayhap he played some cunning game
even now.

Elwytha took a quick breath. She would be
careful and test him to see. Luckily, he had missed this blade.
She’d tuck it into a band above her ankle. No longer would she be
naked and defenseless. At last, she had one of the three blades she
needed to battle the Commander nine days hence.

The thought didn’t bring the joy it should
have. Treachery against that man, who had held her so gently hours
ago, somehow seemed wrong.

But he wasn’t that man, she told herself. He
couldn’t be. Gentle, caring men didn’t go about murdering people in
cold blood—stabbing them in the back, no less. Forgetting that fact
could prove her fatal mistake. Nay, she would continue to collect
daggers to accomplish her goal. She would be ready for battle when
the time came. One down, two to go.

Elwytha left the room, looking right and
left. No one to be seen. She smiled grimly to herself and headed
back to the Commander’s chamber. She hoped Hagma had finished
drying her gray dress.

Unfortunately, Hagma hadn’t. The gray dress
had not returned to her trunk, but the wet one had disappeared.

Still, Elwytha had her knife. She felt well
satisfied with this.

She tied a band about her ankle and fondly
slipped the dagger into place. At last she felt like herself again.
A woman to reckon with. She felt invincible, although she knew the
deceit of that capricious emotion. She would take care at all
times. No slipups. She couldn’t afford to lose this dagger to the
Commander, too.

* * * * *

It rained all afternoon. Elwytha whiled away
the time skulking the halls of the castle. She wished to find more
weapons, but found none. No doubt the warriors carried them on
their persons. The armory would be her next adventure. Perhaps
she’d sneak in while the warriors ate their luncheon tomorrow. This
plan appealed. With her trusty dagger close at hand, she’d be
prepared, should she meet any unsavory louts.