The Commander's Desire (8 page)

“
How gracious you are. What
courtesies you bestow upon me,” she said sarcastically. “I have no
wish to meet your men.”

His hand on her wrist forced her to stop.

“
Do not touch my person,”
she hissed, and wrenched it free. His domineering ways inflamed her
rebellious nature beyond all reason yet again. “I wish to go
nowhere with you. If you wish my company so fervently, you may
beseech my favor.… Not that I would grant it,” she finished, her
eyes narrowed in displeasure.

Did amusement lurk in those clear gray eyes?
The very suspicion made her bosom heave faster in indignation. He
said quietly, “I do wish your company. Now.” Steel undergirded his
words.

She glared. “Or what will you do? Throw me
over your shoulder again? Cart me to and fro like a sack of grain
so your men may sneer upon me? Nay!”

“
Then cooperate. Come with
me now.”

Elwytha heaved another breath and clenched
her fists. The brute beast. The fiendish monster. Again employing
unthinkable threats to bend her to his will. “I will come,” she
gritted finally. “But expect me to submit no pleasantries to your
heathen warriors.”

Chin lifted in irritation, she followed him
about the yard as he introduced her to various warriors. All
treated him with liking and deferential respect, and all offered
her a smile. They were a rough bunch. Many with tangled, greasy
hair, and a few with rows of missing teeth. Maintaining her regal
bearing, Elwytha inclined her head to each one, but did not speak.
And she memorized each of their names. Who knew when these facts
might deliver her an advantage? The Commander did not realize—and
neither had she, at first—that his little tour increased her
knowledge of the castle. Vital knowledge she might need to
accomplish her mission. She smiled to herself.

In all, he probably introduced her to twenty
warriors, and then he explained the function of the various
buildings to her. He started first with the armory.

Elwytha showed her first spark of interest.
“How many weapons have you inside?” she asked. Mayhap he would be
foolish enough to show her.

He regarded her with faint amusement. “You
may not enter the armory. Do not approach it, either.”

“
More threats?”

“
A warning.” Next, he led
her to a grassy courtyard. Two men clashed swords, practicing their
skills. Elwytha’s blood quickened as she watched. How she wished to
practice, too. At home she tested her skills every day.

As if sensing her interest, the Commander
remained where he was, too. “I first learned to wield a stick
here,” he said.

An unwitting interest sparked in Elwytha.
“Truly? How old were you?” She had been six.

“
Seven. It is when I met the
Prince for the first time.”

Elwytha found this information interesting.
Perhaps she’d learn more about the Prince and the palace workings
if she pressed the Commander for details; at least, this was the
justification she allowed for her keen interest. “How old was the
Prince?”

“
Five. We learned
together.”

“
And so you became friends?”
she pressed.

“
Good friends…as the
brother neither of us had,” he admitted after a moment.

Hence, the strong bond she had sensed between
the two. “The Prince has no siblings?”

“
The King sired none after
him. His nannies wished to coddle him. He hated it, and often
escaped to practice in the yard. We spent many hours sharpening our
skills, and getting into trouble.”

“
The Prince’s doing?” she
guessed.

The Commander smiled faintly, but did not
reply.

Elwytha pressed on, eager to make the most of
this opportunity, while her betrothed spoke freely. Another
question, on a different subject, had nibbled at her mind for
years—long before being snared in this enemy pit. “Why does the
Prince wish to be called Prince, when clearly he is the King?”

Restlessly, the Commander moved his shoulders
and strode away from the grassy practice field. Wishing to hear his
reply, Elwytha followed closely by his side. After a moment, he
said, “It is something he does not speak of.”

Elwytha was disappointed. Didn’t the
Commander know? Or perhaps he didn’t wish to tell her. Excitement
energized her. What great mystery could he be concealing? But when
she searched his unreadable face, she wondered if she might be
looking for mysteries where none existed.

Likely the Prince had been called thusly all
of his life, and when his father died a few years ago, had decided
to keep the title. He certainly appeared undisciplined enough to
follow his own unconventional path. Perhaps it pleased him to be
different from other kings.

Chapter
Five

Elwytha arrived early on
purpose
to the great dining hall that
evening. It freed her of the indignity of arriving on the
Commander’s arm. Unfortunately, it also meant she had no buffer
from the Prince, who already sat in splendor at the head
table.

With reluctance, she sat on the same bench as
last night and sent the crown regent a cool, distracted smile. She
sniffed the air and watched servants lug pots to the tables. Stew,
from the smell of it, and no doubt delicious, as Mary was a fine
cook.

The Prince spoke, interrupting her pleasant
meditations on supper. “You enjoyed the tour of my castle this
afternoon, Princess?”

Elwytha reluctantly looked upon the Prince’s
sharp features and mocking black eyes. What did he mean by such
comments? She trusted him not an inch. She retorted, “I am pleased
to be enlightened about the layout of your fortress.”

The Prince gave a thin smile. “Does battle
still wage in your heart, Princess?”

“
Nay.” She pasted a fake
smile upon her lips. “I feel privileged—nay—astounded to be
afforded such trust from my betrothed…and you.”

The stew arrived, and she ladled a generous
portion into her trencher.

“
The Commander chooses his
battles.” The Prince sipped his ale. “I merely watch his
back.”

Elwytha’s lips curled. “Truly, a practice you
must be well accustomed to in this palace.”

The Commander arrived and settled his large
form beside her. Not so discretely, she sidled away. Luckily, the
lout from last night hadn’t arrived yet.

“
Such venom, Princess,” the
Prince said. “You are not happy here?”

“
Except for peace, I would
sooner die than live within your walls, attached so closely to your
brood of vipers.”

The Commander regarded her with a frown, no
doubt surprised to be skewered by battle words when sitting down to
supper. “Elwytha…”

“
Let her speak her heart,”
the Prince interposed. “Tell us, Princess, why you loathe the
Commander so. Do you still see him as a monster?” With narrowed
eyes, he baited her.

Elwytha would not foolishly unveil her hand.
If they suspected the depth of her hatred, they would know the
peace was a sham, and that she plotted something far more deadly
against the Prince’s first-in-command.

She spooned up a bite of carrot and chewed
while plotting her next, subtle attack. Elwytha glanced at her huge
betrothed.

“
The Commander has led many
successful offensives against my land. Am I to harbor warm feelings
toward him?” Delicately, she sipped stew juice. “Nay,” she
continued, “I would pretend no love for a bloodthirsty knave such
as he.”

The Prince opened his mouth, but the
Commander shot him a glance. The Prince tipped his head, allowing
the Commander to respond to Elwytha’s deliberately inflammatory
remark.

In a low rumble, he said, “Speak to me with
respect, Elwytha.”

“
I would pretend no
lies.”

“
You wish to break the peace
agreement, then.”

Of course, she would love nothing better. But
she frowned. “I break no agreements when I speak the truth.”

The Commander regarded her. “You speak the
war in your heart. You wish no peace.”

Elwytha frowned harder. How could he twist
her words thusly? Bending them to his meanings, to accomplish his
desires. She retorted, “I don’t have to like you to love
peace.”

Steely eyes bored into hers. “Speak the
reason for your hatred of me,” he commanded. “I would end this
enmity between us now.”

Elwytha gasped. Did he jest? Could he truly
be so ignorant of the reason for her hatred? How many had he thusly
stabbed in the back, then? It must be a common occurrence, if he
could dismiss it so utterly from his mind. The heathen. The
unscrupulous, low-bellied snake!

She spat, “I will not comfort your ears with
pleasant words, Commander. If you wish an obedient wife, perhaps a
maid would serve you far better. Mayhap you, after all, are the one
who wishes to end the peace agreement.”

The Prince drank from his cup. “I would not
hold you to it, Commander.”

Elwytha clenched her fists, enraged by the
sly, interfering monarch’s comments. She endeavored to ignore him,
and stared at her betrothed. “Do you, then?” she demanded. If only
he would end their betrothal! Perhaps she could battle him early
and be done with this entire unsavory, boiling stew she found
herself in.

“
No,” he told her. “I do not
wish it. You will be mine, as agreed.”

Elwytha gritted her teeth and wished for
nothing more than to leap up and fly on Sir Duke’s back for home.
But it was not to be. “As you wish. But demand no false courtesies
from me, for you will not receive them.” Hands regrettably
trembling with emotion, she stood. “I can stomach no more of your
delicacies, Prince. They poison my very marrow.”

With slow, deliberate steps, even though
inside she wanted to flee their very presence, she exited the
dining hall. Tonight she would go hungry. Better that than enduring
another moment of excruciating word battles with the Commander and
Prince.

A thought entered her head. Mayhap Mary had a
crust of bread she could eat in the kitchen. She altered her steps
to see.

* * * * *

“
She hates you,” the Prince
said.

“
Yes,” the Commander agreed.
He watched Elwytha glide off, her slim shoulders stiff beneath the
hideous brown dress. But she was not as hard as she wished him to
believe; he knew that now. Last night, he had attributed her tears
to the shock of her betrothal to him, and a first night’s
uneasiness within the enemy palace. But today her hot temper and
the faint tremble to her hands just now belied the cold vixen she
pretended to be. As a warrior, he was trained to spot all chinks in
an opponent’s armor.

Beneath the hard princess exterior lived a
vulnerable woman.

The Prince interrupted his thoughts, “You
still wish her, then?”

“
Yes,” he growled. In fact,
he wished for her more now, after seeing her fiercely suppressed
emotions, than ever before.

* * * * *

“
I wish to see the armory,”
Elwytha said the next morning, after a filling breakfast and
troubled sleep. Never mind that the Commander had forbidden it
yesterday. She plotted something else entirely today.

Her betrothed sat writing on a parchment at a
table. Again, surprise filled her that he could read or write.

His eyes narrowed. “I will not trust you in
the armory.”

“
I am bored,” she said,
pretending petulance. Never could he guess her true intent. “I wish
to sport.”

The mutilated brow raised. “You wish to
sport? Then you will sport with me.”

Elwytha frowned, but inside she smiled. How
blindly he had stepped into her trap. “Very well. If you
insist.”

He stood. “At last, then, you will admit that
you are a warrior?”

“
I admit a skill with
weapons practice,” she said, following him into the hall. “It
brightened many a boring day as a child. My brother…” she stopped,
as a lump caught in her throat. How could she speak of her beloved
brother with the man who had murdered him—with the monster who had
stabbed him in the back in cold blood? She forced herself to
continue. Never could she allow the suspicion of her true feelings
to bloom in her betrothed’s mind. “He taught me the basics. He had
great skill…and much patience with me, as a child.”

The Commander opened a heavy wooden door and
led the way across the grassy courtyard to a stone building. After
a moment, he probed, “Your brother, the King?”

“
No. My oldest brother.”
Elwytha looked quickly away as grief welled up. Tears crowded her
eyes, but she willfully blinked them back. She would not cry again
before her enemy.

The Commander said nothing, and well he
mightn’t, the horror. Rage at what he had done to her brother
burned hot all over again as he disappeared inside the armory to
retrieve their weapons. Sticks, she saw, as he reemerged. They were
meant as imitations for true sword play. Elwytha could not snatch
hers quickly enough. How she longed to slay him now! To make him
pay for what he had done.

Blinded by the wretched tears, her first two
slashes swung wild. The Commander easily blocked her stick, and
this calmed her as nothing else could. He would gain no victory in
this match. Rage burned her tears dry.

Elwytha lunged and parried and wielded her
stick with quick, deadly precision. She saw his great shoulders
tense when he realized he had a true opponent.

He matched her skill, and Elwytha saw the
instant he took it to the next level. His make-believe sword cut
quickly to the side, but Elwytha was ready for the jab, and indeed
defeated it, twirled her weapon, nearly wrenching the stick from
his hand.