The Commander's Desire (25 page)

She realized he still held her hands. She
tugged at them. “It’s late. I…I wish to sleep.”

He did not release her. Instead, he leaned
forward and kissed her. The sensation burned, like popping,
fizzling rain on hot metal. Her pulse accelerated. She swayed into
him just as he broke the contact.

Alarmed, she blinked up at him. He watched
her, appearing to measure her response. Heat bloomed in her face,
and she tugged her hands free. “I would retire. Goodnight.”

“
Goodnight, Elwytha.” His
deep tone resonated through her soul, following her as she huddled
into her blankets, on the far side of the fire. She closed her
eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t there.

What was wrong with her? She had enjoyed that
brute’s kiss yet again.

Wasn’t he a monster? Again, she reminded
herself of this fact. Never mind the way he looked. It was his
character. His despicable deed.

Then why didn’t she believe he had committed
that deed any longer? Why would her heart blind her mind to the
truth?

Confused, she buried her face in her arms.
The fire crackled nearby, and she heard the soft movements of her
betrothed wrapping up in his blankets and settling down for the
night.

Complication after complication twisted
through her relationship with the Commander. Gilead. She rolled it
around in her mind. It suited him, in an odd sort of way.

She recalled his kiss, and his hands holding
hers, gentle as always, although clearly he felt frustrated with
her this evening. Because no proof had been found to vindicate him.
She thought back over the days she had known him. He had never hurt
her, except when she had struggled to gain her weapons or attack
him. Even then, she knew from experience that he had exerted only
the minimum force needed to protect himself.

She thought on the way he treated his men.
The honesty ingrained, deep in his soul. Even her clear half-truths
displeased him. Could he be more honorable than she?

Nay. Wasn’t he a brute, murdering beast?

Or was he?

Could he be telling the truth about her
brother’s death? If he was, then who could have killed Thor? And
why had the Commander’s sword been used? And why would Daniel
lie?

Elwytha found no answers to these troubling
questions. She remained awake long after the fire burned low in the
hearth.

Chapter
Fifteen

Elwytha awoke to freezing
cold
and soft, muffled movements. She
blinked her eyes open and saw the door open, and the Commander’s
large frame filling it.

She sat up a little. “What is it?”

“
Snow,” he said in his deep
rumble.

Snow! No wonder she felt so cold this morn.
Of course, the fire had been dead for hours. She rose, blankets
still wrapped around her shoulders, and joined him at the door. In
the dim light of the partially cloaked moon, a wonderland met her
eyes. Pure white snow covered the grass, and coated the tree
branches in the forest. It was at least three inches deep.

“
It’s beautiful,” she
whispered, hugging the blankets tighter against the bite in the
air.

“
It is dangerous.” The
Commander wore his full armor this morning, with both swords at his
hips. “We leave now,” he told her. “I’ll get the horses. You gather
the rations.”

The unease from yesterday fell upon Elwytha,
stronger than ever. Quickly, she gathered their supplies. It took
only moments, and she waited in the doorway with the bags at her
feet. Still, she clutched the blankets to her. Perhaps she’d take
them with her. It felt far too cold for her cloak alone. Of course,
the Commander did not appear chilled. She wondered if small things
such as heat or cold ever bothered him. He was so
uncomplaining…always ready to choose the best plan of action, no
matter the price to himself. Look how he’d gone into the snowy
forest to get the horses. Now she wouldn’t have to tramp through
the snow, wetting her footwear and possibly her skin.

Trepidation rose as she waited for him. Was
it taking longer than it should? Was he all right? Anxiety bloomed.
When would he return?

Finally, his great form and that of the two
horses emerged from the woods. She hurried to join them, and gave
Sir Duke’s cold nose an encouraging rub before handing a bag to the
Commander and securing her own. Blankets still about her, she swung
into her saddle. The Commander already waited atop his horse. When
he saw she was up, he sent the black stallion trotting through the
fresh snow toward the pass, fifteen minutes distant.

Hopefully, if there was a trap, the snow
would deter it, Elwytha thought. Who would be about on a dark,
snowy morning like this one? She’d much rather be in her warm bed
with a hot cup of tea in her hands. Were men such different
creatures?

Mayhap they could escape the valley before
they were ever detected. And who was to say a trap was laid?
Perhaps her unease was only her imagination, run wild. Too many
suspicions of plots and treacherous subplots tangled through her
mind. Richard’s…and what of the Prince? Surely he was no innocent
in the intrigues snarling between the two kingdoms.

Elwytha nibbled on bread before they reached
the pass, fortifying herself for the possible confrontation
ahead.

Finally the pass loomed, narrow with sheer,
rocky walls on either side. She knew from experience it would take
twenty minutes to traverse, and the most dangerous section was on
the opposite side. There the sheer cliffs lowered to rocky jumbles.
Perfect for warriors to hide amongst and spring an attack.

The Commander went first. His hand rested on
his sword hilt as they moved forward. He felt the danger, too. And
yet he’d chosen to place himself in this position, by visiting
Daniel and staying at the loch; all to clear his name, and to keep
her from freezing last night. Elwytha had no doubt that if alone,
he would have returned over the mountain last night. So both
reasons he was here, in this perilous situation, was because of
her.

“
Commander,” she called. He
glanced back. Here it was wide enough for two horses to ride side
by side, so he slowed so she could catch up. Overhead, she saw the
sky lightening to a dull gray. Low, heavy clouds still obscured
most of the sky. Little light reached their deep, dark crevasse,
however, and the Commander’s face was hard to make out.

She said, “The treacherous part is fifteen
minutes distant. If you will trust me, give me your extra sword.
I’ll fight, should we be attacked.”

“
Against your
brother?”

Her breath caught. “My brother would not be
in a snowy pass before daybreak.”

“
You know whereof I speak.”
He sounded grim. “Your brother’s men.”

“
They wouldn’t attack me.”
Elwytha hoped this was true. But she accompanied the Commander. She
may be a side casualty if they were determined to take his
life.

“
But with pleasure they
would attack and kill me,” he returned.

“
Nay.” The word blurted
before Elwytha could stop it. “I would not let that
happen.”

“
You would protect me at the
cost of your own life? If you fight for me, you will be their enemy
as well.”

“
It will not come to that,”
Elwytha insisted. “And why do we speak of something that may not
occur?”

He rode silently for a few moments. Then he
said, “You feel it too, Elwytha. Danger. It lies ahead.”

“
Then I will ride first. If
a trap is laid by my brother’s men, I will reason with them. They
would not harm me.”

“
If an attack is laid, they
will not rest until I am dead.” He spoke with cool, faultless
logic.

True. “Then give me your sword.”

“
Nay. If you have a sword,
they will attack you, too.”

“
You do not trust me,” she
accused. And well, why should he? She had been sent to kill him,
for heaven’s sake. Not that he knew this. Neither did he know that
she would never again consider committing such a heinous
act.

“
You would choose your enemy
over your own brother?” Disbelief undergirded his words.

“
I choose justice. An attack
on you would be murder. I cannot countenance that, especially as I
have no proof of your guilt.”

“
Nor proof of my
innocence.”

“
An attack would be cowardly
and dishonorable.” Somehow, she had to make him see. But see what?
Truly, would she choose his side over her brother’s? Would she
fight for the Commander to the death? For honor, she said. But was
that all there was to it?

The end of the pass approached, dim in the
blue shadows of brightening daylight.

Anxiety ratcheted higher in her heart. “Give
me your sword,” she insisted, feeling a simmering fear. “Please,
Commander.” She threw the blankets backward, off her shoulders, so
they rested on Sir Duke. Then she unclasped the broach holding her
cloak together and lowered it, securing it to her waist. Cold air
bit into her skin, making her shudder. But if battle lay ahead, she
needed her arms free. She needed full movement to defend her life
and that of the Commander’s.

Ready at last, she looked at him, eyes
direct, jaw tight with resolve. Time for battle, and she needed her
weapon. The Commander’s steely gaze held hers, and then he
unsheathed the sword on his left hip. Metal glinted as it flashed
through the air. She caught it by the hilt.

“
Thank you, Commander. You
are ready for battle?”

But she didn’t need to ask. His face had
settled into a grim, fearsome mask, and aggression tightened his
frame, like an extra suit of armor he donned to face battle…and
possible death.

Together, they rode through the last feet of
the pass. Rocks loomed high above, and Elwytha cast alert glances
from side to side. At last she felt like a warrior again; at home
in battle, where she had first earned her father’s approval. Would
he approve of her now, about to fight her brother’s men?

She saw no movements in the rocks as they
rode past, and then saw why. Ahead, blocking their path just beyond
the pass, were six horsemen. Each held a lance and sword in hand.
Each was helmeted. One carried her brother’s flag.

Fear and a little sickness squeezed through
her insides. So they would attack so openly. Perchance they would
negotiate. She rode forward, but stopped short of lance range. Her
brother’s men remained motionless, as if waiting for an unknown
signal.

“
I am Princess Elwytha,” she
announced. “We travel in peace. We wish safe passage to the
Prince’s land.”

No response. The men—none of whom she
recognized—stared at her like ominous specters of death.

She demanded, “Have you no words for me? I
entreat you in the name of King Richard to move aside.”

Still no word, but now they began to advance
toward her. She sensed the Commander at her side now. Fear rose,
but she froze it, steeling her mind into battle mode. How she
wished for armor. She still kept her sword at her side, exhibiting
no aggression. The Commander, she noticed, did the same.

The men continued their advance. Faster. And
suddenly their snorting horses charged. Simultaneously, the men
drew back their lance wielding arms. Three weapons flew through the
air, and Elwytha’s sword deflected two. The other flew wild. Then
the lance wielding warriors were upon them.

Elwytha fought as she had never fought
before. She could not keep track of the Commander’s movements, for
she desperately battled to save her own skin.

Her sword flashed, unhanding
one lance—another, she deflected. Sword wielding horsemen wheeled
around and followed behind the lance bearing ones, pressing the
attack. She whipped her sword in a blinding fury. How dare these
men attack her? She was Princess Elwytha. But they pressed on,
faces masks of hate, battling to kill her…to kill
her
. Some part of her mind
recognized this. They seemed as determined to kill her as the
Commander.

Silent, pure snow drifted down from the sky;
a jarring contrast to the unholy battle.

With quick precision and well-rehearsed
skill, Elwytha unhanded sword after sword, but after one man was
disarmed, another took his place. The men gathered up their swords
and the attack pressed on. She could not continue forever. They
would not stop until she was dead. She would have to kill them. Her
brother’s men…she would have to battle them to the death.

A deadly calm fell over her then. Elwytha
parried and thrust harder and faster, focusing…waiting…for the
chance to pierce through the gaps in their armor. Armor she knew
well. She knew exactly where their weaknesses lay.

Her foe made a foolish move, and his sword
flew high.

Elwytha whipped back her sword and kicked Sir
Duke forward. The blade skewered her opponent. Faster than thought,
she whipped out the bloody blade and faced her next opponent. She
barely saw the first man topple from his horse.

Two men attacked her at once. Two blades
against one wasn’t a fair fight. Then one retreated. Why?

Viciously, she fought the remaining man. He
lunged forward, sword aimed at her head. She lifted her sword to
deflect it, and out of her side vision she saw something hurtle
through the air. Blade still up, she instinctively tried to deflect
it. A tremendous weight smashed against her blade, and then slammed
into her head. Pain screamed through her mind and then only
blackness fell, soft as the snow.