The Commander's Desire (18 page)

* * * * *

Elwytha and the Commander rode the outer
reaches of the Prince’s land. None of her brother’s warriors
appeared, and Elwytha was relieved. Had he pulled them all in,
waiting for her attack on the Commander in a week’s time? Mayhap on
that day the warriors would lurk in the wood, awaiting a signal to
charge the palace when the Prince’s best warrior and strategist was
dead. It would be their best moment to battle victory from their
foes.

The very plot made Elwytha want to vomit. She
didn’t know it would happen thusly, of course. But she knew her
brother well. He wanted to vanquish the Prince and capture his
lands as plunder.

Why didn’t the plan settle well within her
soul? The Prince and the Commander remained her enemies. Didn’t
they?

Ahead, the Commander stopped and dismounted
his horse. They’d reached the small chapel again, and Elwytha felt
dismayed. Coming here must be a practice of his; to come and seek
forgiveness for his many crimes. Doubtless he needed it.

Then why was he the one going inside, while
she hung back?

With reluctance, Elwytha dismounted her horse
and secured the reins to a tree. She didn’t want to go inside.
Guilt for her many lies and for her continued plan of treachery
scorched her soul. And now…now that she had the tiniest doubts of
the Commander’s guilt, it seared still deeper.

Did she think she could hide from God out
here?

Of course not. He saw her. And her soul
testified against herself, shouting that she chose the wrong
path.

Hiding out here was doing no good. She had to
face her guilt. She had to kneel before her Maker and confess her
misdeeds. She had to find peace for her soul.

When the Commander came out, Elwytha slipped
in and slowly approached the altar. Three candles burned there
today. She lit another, for her dead brother, and then knelt at the
altar. The weight of the wrongdoing she’d already committed, and
still planned to do, fell over her.

Unable to help herself, Elwytha wept. The
treachery, the lies. All of it sickened her. And what if the
Commander was innocent? How could she attack and kill an innocent
man? She heaved great breaths. What should she do? Follow Richard?
Avenge her brother’s death?

Commit more lies, more treachery? Tears
burned her eyes, and sobs choked her throat.

“
Elwytha.” Her betrothed’s
boot steps approached, and she struggled to still her shaking
shoulders. What was she…a woman, or a warrior? In truth, lately,
she’d felt more the former than the latter. She dragged in a shaky
breath and sniffed.

“
Elwytha.” Concern darkened
the timber of his deep voice. “What is it?” The Commander knelt on
one knee beside her.

If anything, this made her feel worse; for
her enemy, against whom she planned treachery, to show her kindness
and compassion… It sliced through her soul like a flaying knife.
Wretchedly, she gulped out more guilty sobs, cringing away from
him.

“
I would not harm you.”
Anger darkened his tone.

“
I know.” She sniffed
mightily, and wiped her tear-slicked face. “It’s not
that.”

A silent moment passed. “Does our marriage
displease you so greatly?”

With surprise, she looked at him. He
possessed no clue to her treachery. He didn’t know he should run
for his life from their wedding. “That’s not it, either,” she
gulped.

He frowned, his eyes concerned, and even
gentle. Verily, a side she had never seen before. “Then what
troubles you, Elwytha?”

In an impulsive rush, she decided to tell as
much truth as possible. It seemed the least she could do, in this
house of God. “I feel torn in so many directions.”

He waited patiently.

“
I feel grief for Thor. And
I don’t know what to think of you. I don’t know if you’re guilty or
not anymore.” Anguished, she whispered, “It makes everything so
difficult.”

He put a hand under her elbow and urged her
to her feet, then led her to a pew. She sat beside him, well aware
of his muscled thigh and powerful arm brushing hers. She drew a
shaky breath, not sure what else to say. Wasn’t this man her enemy?
Truly, he was enemy to her palace. But had he slain Thor? This made
all the difference.

More helpless tears slipped down her cheeks,
and she wondered what was happening to her. At home she was always
so strong, so full of purpose. A warrior. But here…with all her
perceptions of reality turned upside down, rules for hatred were
not so clear. Her enemies had faces and names…though still she
didn’t know the Commander’s name.

But she could not kill him. She wouldn’t.

She burst into fresh tears at this
revelation. To her shock, his arm went around her, pulling her
close to him, as in the hut during the storm. She stiffened, not
sure what to think. Allow it? Or bolt?

“
Elwytha,” he rumbled. “I
would not harm you.”

Tentatively, and aching for comfort, she
rested her head on his great shoulder. Wasn’t it wrong, to receive
succor in the arms of her enemy? From the man she meant to
betray?

But she would not betray him. She could
not.

No more, she told herself. No more lies.
Unless she found proof of his guilt, she would not battle and kill
him. These truths drifted up from her heart in the quiet
chapel.

It would be wrong.

She relaxed infinitesimally, feeling the
first bit of peace all week. It was the right choice. The right
path. The tears dripped to a halt, and she wiped them with her
sleeve.

“
You are all right now?” His
gaze still looked gentle, patient.

“
Yes.” She didn’t want him
to let her go, though. How could that be? But she felt such peace
in his arms.

She settled her cheek against the rough cloth
of his jerkin. Here, finally, she could think clearly. And she
needed to finish her thought processes.

She would not battle and kill him. Not
without proof. Elwytha would tell Richard that she could not kill
without cause. Of course, Richard only saw the Commander as an
enemy, and maybe that was enough motivation for him, but it wasn’t
for her. She would commit no treachery against him. Her brother
would deliver her from wedding the Commander, and that would be
it.

Richard would be furious. This betrayal
bothered her, too. But at least the murder of a possibly innocent
man would not stain her soul. Enemy or not, death belonged on the
battlefield, not at the knife of an accepted bride…an accepted
peace.

Of course, she knew the Commander remained
her enemy, but when Richard came, she would leave him behind; an
enemy to be battled on another day, on the honorable court of
battle. And he would not fall by her hand—unless of course, blood
guilt stained him.

Elwytha became aware that she had leaned
against the Commander’s chest quite long enough. With a start, she
pulled away. “I’m ready to go now.”

“
Verily,” he said. His thumb
brushed a lingering tear from her cheek.

She looked into his eyes, heart suddenly
pounding. “Thank you.”

“
You’re welcome.” His warm
palm cupped her jaw and she knew he meant to kiss her. A gasp of
alarm caught in her throat, but before she could think further, his
lips touched hers.

Soaring thunder crashed through her heart.
His mouth moved against hers, imprinting his texture upon her lips,
and a tingling, burning warmth spread out from the point of contact
and sped through her body. Her hand gripped his jerkin, fisting it
in her hand. She had never felt thusly before, ever in her
life.

Tentatively, she swayed into him, returning
his kiss. She felt his start of surprise, and then he kissed her
more deeply. Elwytha felt dizzy, like she was drowning in a
swirling, molten vat of sensations.

With a low growl, the Commander pulled away
and Elwytha’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes looked a deep, smoky
color and his breaths came rapidly, too. Dismay settled in, and she
scooted free.

What had she just done? She had allowed her
enemy to kiss her. And she had kissed him back. Had she lost all
reasoning capabilities?

“
That was a mistake,” she
forced out. “I don’t want to repeat it.”

“
Elwytha.” He reached for
her hand, but she flew to her feet.

“
No,” she exclaimed
breathlessly. How could her body betray her like this? How could
she like this man’s caresses?

Elwytha felt panic. Again, he forced his will
upon her. She grappled for reason, for understanding. He was her
enemy. So she’d decided not to kill him? She couldn’t kiss him
now.

He followed her quick steps out of the
chapel.

“
Elwytha.” He caught at her
shoulder before she could vault on her horse.

“
What?” She turned a scowl
at him.

“
You wish us to remain
enemies?” She heard a catch in the deep voice.

“
We
are
enemies. Whether you killed Thor
or not. I cannot forget that, Commander.” She leaped on her horse.
“Pray, take no more liberties with me.”

His lips tightened, but he made no such
promise, she noted. So like him. She’d have to remain on guard at
all times. Especially since her body would betray her in such a
horrifying manner.

Elwytha galloped out of the wood, but she
could not outrun her tortured, dismayed thoughts. How could her
enemy make her feel such things? How could he warm her blood so it
sang a new, wild song? It was a puzzle.…Nay. An unanswerable
paradox.

* * * * *

The Commander galloped after Elwytha, feeling
both pleased and disturbed by their kiss. Pleased by Elwytha’s
response. Disturbed by the depth of his. The very foundation of his
soul had shaken. It scared him as nothing else could…for a scrap of
a woman to wield such power over him.

He also felt disturbed by the way Elwytha had
fled. Clearly, she still saw him as an enemy. Equally clear, she
was confused. Doubts lived in her mind about his guilt in Thor’s
murder.

A step on his path to victory, the Commander
realized. He would continue to pursue her…but carefully. He sensed,
as he did when gentling a horse, that if he pushed too hard now, he
could jeopardize her budding trust in him. And she was beginning to
trust him, although she would deny it if he suggested it. Twice
now, she had allowed him to hold her.

Hope grew, bright like the sunshine warming
his face. Careful steps would gain him what he wished now with
deepening urgency. Could a scarred monster such as himself possibly
gain the prize he sought…her heart?

Chapter
Eleven

When Elwytha entered the
castle
—thankfully shed of her betrothed’s
disturbing presence—a guard approached.

“
Princess, the Prince would
see you.”

“
Now, I perceive?” Elwytha
frowned, for her stomach rumbled, eager for food. But the Prince
could not wait. Heaven forbid that his royalness should have to
languish upon his throne, fretting for an end to his boredom. “Lead
on,” she told the guard.

They traversed the cold, stone flagged halls
until finally, with a faint bow, he opened the door to the throne
room.

As expected, the Prince rested with languid
ease upon his throne, long legs stretched before him. The
ridiculous, bulbous gold crown perched upon his head. Did he truly
wear that all the time?

Elwytha dropped an abrupt, faintly mocking
curtsey. Straightening, she inquired, “Your grace requested my
presence?”

“
Approach,” he
instructed.

Wanting to roll her eyes, Elwytha ascended
the white stone stairs, nearing his pedestal. She stopped a good
five feet distant. “Surely your highness does not desire me too
near. I am, after all, still your enemy, am I not?”

He leaned forward, shrewd black eyes fixed
upon her. “Truly, tell me if you are, Princess.”

Elwytha frowned. What games did he play now?
“Speak what you mean, if you please, Prince. I hunger, and your
games annoy me.”

He continued to watch her, and Elwytha felt
uncomfortable. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Have you
nothing to say?” she asked at last. “Have you wasted my time by
bidding me hither?”

He leaned back then, eyes narrowed. “Nay.” He
lifted a hand. A parchment rested in it. He wiggled it in what he
likely believed a tempting matter. “I received a letter this morn.
Addressed to you.”

Elwytha felt both eagerness and trepidation.
“From my brother?”

“
Yes. From Richard.” He
tapped the parchment against his palm. “I assume you wish to read
its contents.”

“
Of course.” She forced the
next civil words past her lips. “If you please, I would have it,
Prince.”

“
Of course.” He extended it,
but made no move to lean forward. This necessitated she take more
steps to retrieve it. It infuriated her, and she snatched it with
ill grace from his hand. The pompous fool. Sitting there, watching
her with those sharp eyes and curled lip.

She retreated the same two
steps and hastily unrolled the parchment. That’s when she realized
the seal had been broken. Fury soared. “You
read
my letter?” she
hissed.

“
Of course.” Not flickering
an eyelash, he continued to watch her. He lounged like a cat,
looking relaxed, but ready to spring on the attack. It deepened her
feeling of disquiet.