By Linda Boulanger (I used to dream…)
Christiana walked beside the King, dagger in hand should she need it. She’d surprised him, pulling his own weapon from her boot as he’d forced her to the ground, ready to take her innocence - the only thing of value she possessed besides her pride. She’d contemplated killing him, something she’d considered twice already that day. Instead, she’d used the weapon to back him off. She would kill him without hesitation … if she had to, regardless of the fact that she was quite sure her future depended upon his. Her plan was still unclear, still forming in her head as it had been with each moment since she’d managed to knock him from his horse.
The memory of the chase and subsequent skirmish caused Christiana to suck in hard. The King’s questioning stare went unanswered. Instead, eyes forward, she pushed the thought away as best she could while wondering if she would ever be able to erase the feel of his hands molding her to him, his mouth plundering the warmth of her own. She’d never been kissed. Not like that anyway and especially by a complete stranger. That he had dared! Of course, he was used to doing as he pleased. He was the King.
She used to dream of a time when the King would take her in his arms, imagined a kiss filled with passion and promise. She used to pretend she wore royal gowns and walked the halls of Dunover Castle at his side. Her, the daughter of his enemy! What foolish notions even if, in her world, she was equal to the princess bride who most assuredly now awaited him within his rock fortress. Only… Christiana’s people had no kingdom. Her father was their leader, not a monarch. They lived off the land, by their own hands, not on the backs of subjects. They did occasionally rob, taking only from those with more than they had need of. Travensworth was the real thief. He took people’s lives, robbed them of hope.
The lines of Christiana’s red lips thinned, anger burning inside her. Her brows furrowed.
“You are troubled by much, girl.”
The King’s voice pulled her from her rumination. Her head snapped toward him, the crevice between her brows deepening. Girl? He’d considered her woman enough earlier! He chuckled, undoubtedly at her disdain, earning him a disgusted snort. He was her prisoner! Did he not realize that?
“Seems one at such disadvantage should do well to mind his own!” She wished she felt as sure as she sounded, wished she could grasp why the situation felt… not quite right. Why did he not fight her more? Was his freedom not precious? She would have killed for her freedom. Perhaps he was playing her as he had on the forest floor when she’d believed him hurt worse than he was. He’d lunged at her, his hands fastening around her throat. She could still taste the fear that gave way to the loss of coherent thought as his grasp turned to caress and he’d thoroughly kissed her. She’d melted into his hands, against his body for a few seconds before her senses had returned and she’d thought to pull the knife. He’d been unprepared for that and she’d thought herself to have bested him. Now, uncertainty plagued her, especially with his lack of resistance. He was trained to fight!
The King’s horse whinnied, pulling against the reins in her hands and Christiana stopped, the arm with the dagger halting Travensworth. Amber eyes scanned their surroundings, her ears straining to hear. Something had alerted the horse. Someone had closed in.
A twig snapped to her right and she stepped before the King, quickly positioning him between herself and the horse. Dagger raised, she prepared to defend his life – the very life she’d considered taking earlier. The irony of the situation made her laugh as did the figure that stepped from the woods.
“Gemson!” The young man received her best scowl, rendered ineffective by the laughter that still lit her eyes. Her posture relaxed, though she did not move.
The boy of fourteen smiled rather sheepishly, looking from her to the King, his eyes widening. “You captured the King!” The comment was definitely not a question, even if his face registered surprise.
Christiana nodded her confirmation, her eyes daring him to challenge her, which he did not. “Why do you dare follow me, waif?”
Stiffening at the stern reproof, Gemson tucked too-long, golden locks behind his ear. “Your father was worried when you failed to return to the camp. He injured his leg else he would have come searching himself.” He waved off her concern. “He’s fine. You know him. Invincible.” He paused before continuing, “My brother remains with the men assigned to secure our treasure.”
His smile matched Christiana’s. They had succeeded in their mission. The riches accompanying the King’s bride were theirs!
“And the Princess?”
Christiana bristled at the King’s demand. The captured had no right to ask questions! And yet her own curiosity overrode her ire. She turned back to Gemson, raised her brows.
The boy shrugged. “We had no interest in her. She was released to continue to the castle with the men who remained with her carriage.” He chuckled. “Although unharmed, I would not say unscathed.” He mimicked a maiden trembling with fear, dabbing at tears on her cheeks. Both he and Christiana laughed at his antics. Neither noticed the King’s mirthful chuckle. “Of course, we had no designs on the King either…”
The accusation hung in the air making Christiana snort yet again. “I know what I’m doing!” she lied. “Go and tell my father all is well.”
Gemson nodded. “You are not taking him to the camp?”
Christiana shook her head then pushed dark curls away from her face with the back of the hand that still held the dagger. “Would I need you to return to my father if I were? We go to the back cave. It’s been unused since… since that smiling devil departed. The King will be easier to secure there, our camp location kept safe.” Gemson didn’t need to know their destination was determined there on the spot.
“Good.”
She welcomed the lad’s approval, wondered if she should confide in him that she had no idea what she was doing. Captives were not her area of expertise. She had an eye for detail - that was her gift her father had told her. That same man had reluctant acquiesced, allowing her to accompany them on the raiding mission. “I’m seventeen, Father,” she’d argued. “Old enough to marry and yet you refuse to let me grow up in other ways.” She’d used words she knew he could not refute.
“Go, Gemson. And return to me with supplies. Take care no one follows and tell no one where we have gone. Not even your brother. Our freedom depends upon the King’s safety.”
The knit brows and clouded gaze indicated Gemson did not fully understand, though Christiana knew him well enough to trust he would not let her down. With a nod he turned and faded into the forest.
Christiana continued to watch, even after she could no longer see the figure among the trees. She started when the warmth of the King’s hand grasping her upper arm seared through the thin tunic. Her throat constricted, making her feel breathless when his chest contacted her back. Had he heard the near silent moan that escaped her when his lips brushed her ear?
“Are all men besotted with you, my lady?” he whispered.
“What does that mean?” She stepped away, squaring on him with a mental reminder that she could not afford to be anywhere but on her toes with him. How easily the tables could have, should have turned. She’d dropped her guard, like a fool.
The King laughed. “You are not blind.” He stared into her amber eyes. “Surely you could see the way young Gemson looked at you.”
And the way he did? The thought caused Christiana’s cheeks to flame. “You err, my lord. Gemson thinks of me as a brother would, nothing more.” Her chin rose. He knew nothing about her or the people who shared her days. No doubt, he did not care to learn, robber of life that he was. He was toying with her. She might be too young, too innocent to understand his game, but she knew she needed to take care. What brief contact they had shared had rocked her senses. She must maintain control over the situation - or gain it.
She stared at him for a moment more before motioning him forward and falling in at his side. Was it her imagination or was the King searching for something as well? It dawned on her that the key to the future of each lay in the other’s hand. The stakes of this game seemed suddenly far greater than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Silently, they continued moving along the barely visible path, unaware of the smiling figure that watched them from just beyond the tree line.
Christiana walked beside the King, dagger in hand should she need it. She’d surprised him, pulling his own weapon from her boot as he’d forced her to the ground, ready to take her innocence - the only thing of value she possessed besides her pride. She’d contemplated killing him, something she’d considered twice already that day. Instead, she’d used the weapon to back him off. She would kill him without hesitation … if she had to, regardless of the fact that she was quite sure her future depended upon his. Her plan was still unclear, still forming in her head as it had been with each moment since she’d managed to knock him from his horse.
The memory of the chase and subsequent skirmish caused Christiana to suck in hard. The King’s questioning stare went unanswered. Instead, eyes forward, she pushed the thought away as best she could while wondering if she would ever be able to erase the feel of his hands molding her to him, his mouth plundering the warmth of her own. She’d never been kissed. Not like that anyway and especially by a complete stranger. That he had dared! Of course, he was used to doing as he pleased. He was the King.
She used to dream of a time when the King would take her in his arms, imagined a kiss filled with passion and promise. She used to pretend she wore royal gowns and walked the halls of Dunover Castle at his side. Her, the daughter of his enemy! What foolish notions even if, in her world, she was equal to the princess bride who most assuredly now awaited him within his rock fortress. Only… Christiana’s people had no kingdom. Her father was their leader, not a monarch. They lived off the land, by their own hands, not on the backs of subjects. They did occasionally rob, taking only from those with more than they had need of. Travensworth was the real thief. He took people’s lives, robbed them of hope.
The lines of Christiana’s red lips thinned, anger burning inside her. Her brows furrowed.
“You are troubled by much, girl.”
The King’s voice pulled her from her rumination. Her head snapped toward him, the crevice between her brows deepening. Girl? He’d considered her woman enough earlier! He chuckled, undoubtedly at her disdain, earning him a disgusted snort. He was her prisoner! Did he not realize that?
“Seems one at such disadvantage should do well to mind his own!” She wished she felt as sure as she sounded, wished she could grasp why the situation felt… not quite right. Why did he not fight her more? Was his freedom not precious? She would have killed for her freedom. Perhaps he was playing her as he had on the forest floor when she’d believed him hurt worse than he was. He’d lunged at her, his hands fastening around her throat. She could still taste the fear that gave way to the loss of coherent thought as his grasp turned to caress and he’d thoroughly kissed her. She’d melted into his hands, against his body for a few seconds before her senses had returned and she’d thought to pull the knife. He’d been unprepared for that and she’d thought herself to have bested him. Now, uncertainty plagued her, especially with his lack of resistance. He was trained to fight!
The King’s horse whinnied, pulling against the reins in her hands and Christiana stopped, the arm with the dagger halting Travensworth. Amber eyes scanned their surroundings, her ears straining to hear. Something had alerted the horse. Someone had closed in.
A twig snapped to her right and she stepped before the King, quickly positioning him between herself and the horse. Dagger raised, she prepared to defend his life – the very life she’d considered taking earlier. The irony of the situation made her laugh as did the figure that stepped from the woods.
“Gemson!” The young man received her best scowl, rendered ineffective by the laughter that still lit her eyes. Her posture relaxed, though she did not move.
The boy of fourteen smiled rather sheepishly, looking from her to the King, his eyes widening. “You captured the King!” The comment was definitely not a question, even if his face registered surprise.
Christiana nodded her confirmation, her eyes daring him to challenge her, which he did not. “Why do you dare follow me, waif?”
Stiffening at the stern reproof, Gemson tucked too-long, golden locks behind his ear. “Your father was worried when you failed to return to the camp. He injured his leg else he would have come searching himself.” He waved off her concern. “He’s fine. You know him. Invincible.” He paused before continuing, “My brother remains with the men assigned to secure our treasure.”
His smile matched Christiana’s. They had succeeded in their mission. The riches accompanying the King’s bride were theirs!
“And the Princess?”
Christiana bristled at the King’s demand. The captured had no right to ask questions! And yet her own curiosity overrode her ire. She turned back to Gemson, raised her brows.
The boy shrugged. “We had no interest in her. She was released to continue to the castle with the men who remained with her carriage.” He chuckled. “Although unharmed, I would not say unscathed.” He mimicked a maiden trembling with fear, dabbing at tears on her cheeks. Both he and Christiana laughed at his antics. Neither noticed the King’s mirthful chuckle. “Of course, we had no designs on the King either…”
The accusation hung in the air making Christiana snort yet again. “I know what I’m doing!” she lied. “Go and tell my father all is well.”
Gemson nodded. “You are not taking him to the camp?”
Christiana shook her head then pushed dark curls away from her face with the back of the hand that still held the dagger. “Would I need you to return to my father if I were? We go to the back cave. It’s been unused since… since that smiling devil departed. The King will be easier to secure there, our camp location kept safe.” Gemson didn’t need to know their destination was determined there on the spot.
“Good.”
She welcomed the lad’s approval, wondered if she should confide in him that she had no idea what she was doing. Captives were not her area of expertise. She had an eye for detail - that was her gift her father had told her. That same man had reluctant acquiesced, allowing her to accompany them on the raiding mission. “I’m seventeen, Father,” she’d argued. “Old enough to marry and yet you refuse to let me grow up in other ways.” She’d used words she knew he could not refute.
“Go, Gemson. And return to me with supplies. Take care no one follows and tell no one where we have gone. Not even your brother. Our freedom depends upon the King’s safety.”
The knit brows and clouded gaze indicated Gemson did not fully understand, though Christiana knew him well enough to trust he would not let her down. With a nod he turned and faded into the forest.
Christiana continued to watch, even after she could no longer see the figure among the trees. She started when the warmth of the King’s hand grasping her upper arm seared through the thin tunic. Her throat constricted, making her feel breathless when his chest contacted her back. Had he heard the near silent moan that escaped her when his lips brushed her ear?
“Are all men besotted with you, my lady?” he whispered.
“What does that mean?” She stepped away, squaring on him with a mental reminder that she could not afford to be anywhere but on her toes with him. How easily the tables could have, should have turned. She’d dropped her guard, like a fool.
The King laughed. “You are not blind.” He stared into her amber eyes. “Surely you could see the way young Gemson looked at you.”
And the way he did? The thought caused Christiana’s cheeks to flame. “You err, my lord. Gemson thinks of me as a brother would, nothing more.” Her chin rose. He knew nothing about her or the people who shared her days. No doubt, he did not care to learn, robber of life that he was. He was toying with her. She might be too young, too innocent to understand his game, but she knew she needed to take care. What brief contact they had shared had rocked her senses. She must maintain control over the situation - or gain it.
She stared at him for a moment more before motioning him forward and falling in at his side. Was it her imagination or was the King searching for something as well? It dawned on her that the key to the future of each lay in the other’s hand. The stakes of this game seemed suddenly far greater than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Silently, they continued moving along the barely visible path, unaware of the smiling figure that watched them from just beyond the tree line.