By Linda Boulanger (Looks are often deceiving)
The creaking of the floorboards alerted Christiana to the King’s presence. She stiffened though didn’t turn around immediately. A shaky breath foretold a moment of sudden uncertainty.
“My lady?”
His voice made her flesh tingle. She closed her eyes, remembering the way he’d felt pressed firmly against her as they flew through the forest. Outmaneuvering the King’s own men, they’d believed success was theirs. Only their run had led them to a small group who cut them off before they could reach the trail to safety. Her half-brother Evian had been a part of that group and she hated to admit seeing him again had filled her with a forgotten fear, more so than the earlier scuffle with the King. Who would have thought the events of those moments would have tied their lives together as it had.
The young maiden bowed her head, thinking how it seemed like a much longer time since her people had overtaken the King and his bride-to-be, managing to remove the dowry treasures that accompanied her to his castle. Christiana still could not believe her father had allowed her to join them or that it had been the King who gave chase, though she was quite proud of the way she’d unhorsed him in an attempt to gain her freedom when he’d followed her up the hillside. The soreness of her body screamed of their skirmish on the forest floor and then the run that had shown them they were not really on opposing teams after all.
Smiling, she turned to tell him she was glad they were no longer at odds, instead she was forced to cover her mouth to suppress laughter as she took in the sight of him, a king, dressed in his vest only and mud-splattered breeches.
“You dare laugh at a king, my lady?” A single brow raised, he looked at her with thinned lips. His chin may have risen in a haughty gesture befitting a disconcerted king, but the bright sparkle in his eyes made his chastisement ineffectual.
“Forgive me, my lord, but you do not look the part of a king.” She laughed again when he looked down at himself then returned his scowling glare to her. The merry sound evaporated when he began to advance on her.
“Perhaps you would prefer I take them off?” He swept a flamboyant hand down his body, the corners of his lips curling into a devilish smile she knew was often used to sweep women off their feet. He had a reputation with the ladies, though the surge of her own blood and the warning bells ringing in her ears spoke more than his reputation. Christiana shook her head and began to back away as he stepped closer to her.
“Pl…please, my lord. Young Gemson. We must not wake him.” The maiden nodded toward the narrow hallway that led to the room where she’d slept.
“Silly lad, sleeping outside your doorway throughout the night. Did he truly believe a boy of his age would be any match for a man should that man decide to take what he wanted?” Lord Travensworth snorted.
Christiana knew she should be angry over the King’s words. To know Gemson had slept outside her door, the King must have traveled down the hallway to find him, which meant Gemson’s concerns were founded. Lord Travensworth had been planning to visit her room. She should have been livid, should have confronted him. But, all she heard was the last part of what he said: take what he wanted. What he wanted. He wanted her. The King. This man of wealth, and power, and beauty. From his own mouth, he had said… but what could he possibly see in her, a miscreant, a vagabond forest dweller? She sensed it went beyond a simple tussle with a girl who could scarce deny him.
She turned her face up to him as he closed the last of the distance between them. “Why?” she asked, her breath catching when he lifted his palm to caress her cheek. He traced the outline of her jaw with his thumb, his fingers inching back into the waves of dark tresses that hung loosely around her shoulders, down her back. “You have your pick of true ladies within the walls of your castle. Why, pray tell, do you look at me so, my lord?” she whispered, her mouth just inches from his.
The King looked at her and shook his head. “Looks are often deceiving, my lady.” His brows drew down. “When I look upon the women in my court, I see finery’s failed attempt to cover the greed and the lies that lay beneath.” He ran his hand down her back, molding her young body to his. “With you… Christiana, you are so pure, so sincere. Beneath your simple dress, you have the heart of a true lady that shines brighter than all the jewels in my kingdom.”
“No,” she said on a soft breath, “You do not know who I am inside.”
“I know you could have killed me yesterday there on the forest floor before I regained my senses. And just as easily, you could have left me to fend for myself when my own men gave chase. I have never done a thing for you or your people, have hampered instead of helped.” He paused, looking into her eyes, connecting with her soul. “If I were you, I would have cut my losses and ran home, leaving a king to die alone.” He shook his head, his dark hair falling down on his forehead. Christiana reached up to push it back and he caught her hand, turning it over to kiss the inside of her wrist before bringing it down to cover his heart. “But you chose to stay, to risk your life to protect me, and that after informing me I most certainly was not your king.” He chuckled softly. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too, young though you may be. Your body calls for mine, thirsts for fulfillment as though we were made for one another and nothing else will do. Tell me, my lady, can you deny it?”
He waited only a moment, his words hanging between them going unchallenged, before he covered her lips with his.
The cleared throat from behind them had Christiana pulling away, turning her back on the King. Her head hung down, shoulders slumping in a mixture of shame and confusion. He was right. She could not deny it; he filled her with a yearning, a desire beyond anything she’d ever imagined possible. And yet… She pressed her eyes tightly closed. She belonged to another man, or she would. Gemson’s older brother, her father’s second in command, had already asked for her hand. What had she done? She had lost herself in her own desires and betrayed an oath to another. Earlier she had accused the King of being a liar, a robber of hope. Now, she realized she was no better than him.
She turned back to him, her smile weak, sad. “Forgive my weakness, my lord.” She looked from the King to Gemson nervously scuffing a foot against the boards in the entry from the hallway. “Perhaps looks are not so deceiving after all. I do not look the part nor do my actions lie … I am certainly no lady… and I never will be, even though I might forget that for a moment encircled in the arms of the King.”
The tears that had welled as she talked began to slide down her cheeks. Travensworth reached for her, and she stepped back, shaking her head. Again she looked from man to boy before turning and running from the room, fleeing through a hastily opened front door of the old building that had been their shelter through the night.
Christiana ran through the wooded area toward the ravine where her brother’s mother, the King’s aunt, had met her end. Never before had she understood why someone would throw herself from the top of the cliffs, though the weight of her heart as she ran told her it would be so much easier to let it all go. Tears clouded her vision, her skirts hindered her steps. How silly she’d been to choose the rose colored dress that morning instead of the breeches and tunic she’d worn the day before. Had she hoped to appear closer to the ladies the King was used to seeing? Perhaps she had truly hoped to lure him to do as he had.
Realization stopped her as much as the voices calling from behind. She looked down, amazed to find herself at the edge of the ravine. Surprise caused her to nearly lose her footing. She teetered a moment before stepping back, placing a hand to feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
On either side of her, the two males skidded to a stop. Gemson fell to his knees, his fourteen year old body fighting for air. “You scared the hell out of me, Christiana!” he ground out when he could finally stand again. Christiana looked from him to the King who nodded his head in agreement. He remained silent except for the loudness of his breathing and had yet to look at her, staring instead over the edge of the ravine.
“Love is painful,” she said, causing Travensworth to turn to her at last. They merely stared at one another, neither giving voice to what those words meant.
Christiana broke the gaze and leaned in to kiss the top of Gemson’s head when he rested it against her arm. “Come,” she told them. “Let’s get back to the house. We have much to do if we are going to protect our people, Gemson, and your kingdom, my lord.” She slipped an arm through Gemson’s and held out a hand to Travensworth as she began to move away. He hesitated only a moment before taking it.
As they walked, Christiana brought the King’s hand to her mouth and kissed the finger where his ring would have been had she not confiscated it in their scuffle and wore it still on the chain about her neck. She would return it to him as soon as they reached the cabin, though its closeness reminded her of what lay within her heart. One thing the morning had shown her, she was quite certain now that Evian’s mother had not killed herself. Another woman caught in a love that society would not allow, she too had fled from the pain of a broken heart, running toward the cliffs in blindness. Had anyone followed her, calling to her before she reached the edge?
Folklore said she had remained in the camp with only a few of the other women, the children, and an armed lookout, while the others went about the day-to-day chores and rituals that made existence possible for the people of the forest. They said her wails could be heard from inside the walls of the home she shared with Christiana’s father and step-brother moments before she burst through the door and ran toward the cliff, never stopping before she careened over the side of the ravine.
Evian had been twelve at the time, should have been allowed to join the men scouting the woods to determine the next move of the King’s men, though his mother had begged his father not to let the boy go. When the women returned from the cliff’s edge, they supposedly found him sitting on the steps of the house clutching an envelope sporting the King’s seal.
The story didn’t contemplate the envelope’s content and no one seemed to know what it meant. But Christiana did. She’d heard the stories as a little girl, listened to the squabbles between Evian and their father. She knew her brother had always dreamed of gaining access to the throne as his birthright, even though both his parents were against such actions. The King had a son, and it was only if that son should not prevail, that Evian, his daughter’s son, had claim as legal heir to the throne. And then, only if the King’s son, Lord Garrick Fendlay Travensworth, had no son. Christiana knew he did not, knew without a doubt that was why her brother needed this man at her side dead, for he was the son that stood in Evian’s way. Everything seemed so clear to her now.
“Garrick,” she spoke the name softly. The King turned to her, his brows drawn down, though his eyes soft as he gazed upon her. “One who rules by the spear.” She squeezed his hand. “I pray, my lord, that you are prepared. For the life of my people as well as your own, I fear, rests solely upon your shoulders.”
He studied her for a moment when they stopped at the bottom of the time-worn steps to the dilapidated dwelling that was now their temporary home. “No, my lady. Not alone.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips before stepping back and bowing to her, bending deeply at the waist and motioning her to fall in behind the ascending Gemson.
“You are correct,” he whispered to her as he followed her up the steps. “Looks are often deceiving. But not in this case… my lady.”
Christiana smiled, the same thought once again filling her head. She was glad they were not on opposing teams after all.
The creaking of the floorboards alerted Christiana to the King’s presence. She stiffened though didn’t turn around immediately. A shaky breath foretold a moment of sudden uncertainty.
“My lady?”
His voice made her flesh tingle. She closed her eyes, remembering the way he’d felt pressed firmly against her as they flew through the forest. Outmaneuvering the King’s own men, they’d believed success was theirs. Only their run had led them to a small group who cut them off before they could reach the trail to safety. Her half-brother Evian had been a part of that group and she hated to admit seeing him again had filled her with a forgotten fear, more so than the earlier scuffle with the King. Who would have thought the events of those moments would have tied their lives together as it had.
The young maiden bowed her head, thinking how it seemed like a much longer time since her people had overtaken the King and his bride-to-be, managing to remove the dowry treasures that accompanied her to his castle. Christiana still could not believe her father had allowed her to join them or that it had been the King who gave chase, though she was quite proud of the way she’d unhorsed him in an attempt to gain her freedom when he’d followed her up the hillside. The soreness of her body screamed of their skirmish on the forest floor and then the run that had shown them they were not really on opposing teams after all.
Smiling, she turned to tell him she was glad they were no longer at odds, instead she was forced to cover her mouth to suppress laughter as she took in the sight of him, a king, dressed in his vest only and mud-splattered breeches.
“You dare laugh at a king, my lady?” A single brow raised, he looked at her with thinned lips. His chin may have risen in a haughty gesture befitting a disconcerted king, but the bright sparkle in his eyes made his chastisement ineffectual.
“Forgive me, my lord, but you do not look the part of a king.” She laughed again when he looked down at himself then returned his scowling glare to her. The merry sound evaporated when he began to advance on her.
“Perhaps you would prefer I take them off?” He swept a flamboyant hand down his body, the corners of his lips curling into a devilish smile she knew was often used to sweep women off their feet. He had a reputation with the ladies, though the surge of her own blood and the warning bells ringing in her ears spoke more than his reputation. Christiana shook her head and began to back away as he stepped closer to her.
“Pl…please, my lord. Young Gemson. We must not wake him.” The maiden nodded toward the narrow hallway that led to the room where she’d slept.
“Silly lad, sleeping outside your doorway throughout the night. Did he truly believe a boy of his age would be any match for a man should that man decide to take what he wanted?” Lord Travensworth snorted.
Christiana knew she should be angry over the King’s words. To know Gemson had slept outside her door, the King must have traveled down the hallway to find him, which meant Gemson’s concerns were founded. Lord Travensworth had been planning to visit her room. She should have been livid, should have confronted him. But, all she heard was the last part of what he said: take what he wanted. What he wanted. He wanted her. The King. This man of wealth, and power, and beauty. From his own mouth, he had said… but what could he possibly see in her, a miscreant, a vagabond forest dweller? She sensed it went beyond a simple tussle with a girl who could scarce deny him.
She turned her face up to him as he closed the last of the distance between them. “Why?” she asked, her breath catching when he lifted his palm to caress her cheek. He traced the outline of her jaw with his thumb, his fingers inching back into the waves of dark tresses that hung loosely around her shoulders, down her back. “You have your pick of true ladies within the walls of your castle. Why, pray tell, do you look at me so, my lord?” she whispered, her mouth just inches from his.
The King looked at her and shook his head. “Looks are often deceiving, my lady.” His brows drew down. “When I look upon the women in my court, I see finery’s failed attempt to cover the greed and the lies that lay beneath.” He ran his hand down her back, molding her young body to his. “With you… Christiana, you are so pure, so sincere. Beneath your simple dress, you have the heart of a true lady that shines brighter than all the jewels in my kingdom.”
“No,” she said on a soft breath, “You do not know who I am inside.”
“I know you could have killed me yesterday there on the forest floor before I regained my senses. And just as easily, you could have left me to fend for myself when my own men gave chase. I have never done a thing for you or your people, have hampered instead of helped.” He paused, looking into her eyes, connecting with her soul. “If I were you, I would have cut my losses and ran home, leaving a king to die alone.” He shook his head, his dark hair falling down on his forehead. Christiana reached up to push it back and he caught her hand, turning it over to kiss the inside of her wrist before bringing it down to cover his heart. “But you chose to stay, to risk your life to protect me, and that after informing me I most certainly was not your king.” He chuckled softly. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too, young though you may be. Your body calls for mine, thirsts for fulfillment as though we were made for one another and nothing else will do. Tell me, my lady, can you deny it?”
He waited only a moment, his words hanging between them going unchallenged, before he covered her lips with his.
The cleared throat from behind them had Christiana pulling away, turning her back on the King. Her head hung down, shoulders slumping in a mixture of shame and confusion. He was right. She could not deny it; he filled her with a yearning, a desire beyond anything she’d ever imagined possible. And yet… She pressed her eyes tightly closed. She belonged to another man, or she would. Gemson’s older brother, her father’s second in command, had already asked for her hand. What had she done? She had lost herself in her own desires and betrayed an oath to another. Earlier she had accused the King of being a liar, a robber of hope. Now, she realized she was no better than him.
She turned back to him, her smile weak, sad. “Forgive my weakness, my lord.” She looked from the King to Gemson nervously scuffing a foot against the boards in the entry from the hallway. “Perhaps looks are not so deceiving after all. I do not look the part nor do my actions lie … I am certainly no lady… and I never will be, even though I might forget that for a moment encircled in the arms of the King.”
The tears that had welled as she talked began to slide down her cheeks. Travensworth reached for her, and she stepped back, shaking her head. Again she looked from man to boy before turning and running from the room, fleeing through a hastily opened front door of the old building that had been their shelter through the night.
Christiana ran through the wooded area toward the ravine where her brother’s mother, the King’s aunt, had met her end. Never before had she understood why someone would throw herself from the top of the cliffs, though the weight of her heart as she ran told her it would be so much easier to let it all go. Tears clouded her vision, her skirts hindered her steps. How silly she’d been to choose the rose colored dress that morning instead of the breeches and tunic she’d worn the day before. Had she hoped to appear closer to the ladies the King was used to seeing? Perhaps she had truly hoped to lure him to do as he had.
Realization stopped her as much as the voices calling from behind. She looked down, amazed to find herself at the edge of the ravine. Surprise caused her to nearly lose her footing. She teetered a moment before stepping back, placing a hand to feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
On either side of her, the two males skidded to a stop. Gemson fell to his knees, his fourteen year old body fighting for air. “You scared the hell out of me, Christiana!” he ground out when he could finally stand again. Christiana looked from him to the King who nodded his head in agreement. He remained silent except for the loudness of his breathing and had yet to look at her, staring instead over the edge of the ravine.
“Love is painful,” she said, causing Travensworth to turn to her at last. They merely stared at one another, neither giving voice to what those words meant.
Christiana broke the gaze and leaned in to kiss the top of Gemson’s head when he rested it against her arm. “Come,” she told them. “Let’s get back to the house. We have much to do if we are going to protect our people, Gemson, and your kingdom, my lord.” She slipped an arm through Gemson’s and held out a hand to Travensworth as she began to move away. He hesitated only a moment before taking it.
As they walked, Christiana brought the King’s hand to her mouth and kissed the finger where his ring would have been had she not confiscated it in their scuffle and wore it still on the chain about her neck. She would return it to him as soon as they reached the cabin, though its closeness reminded her of what lay within her heart. One thing the morning had shown her, she was quite certain now that Evian’s mother had not killed herself. Another woman caught in a love that society would not allow, she too had fled from the pain of a broken heart, running toward the cliffs in blindness. Had anyone followed her, calling to her before she reached the edge?
Folklore said she had remained in the camp with only a few of the other women, the children, and an armed lookout, while the others went about the day-to-day chores and rituals that made existence possible for the people of the forest. They said her wails could be heard from inside the walls of the home she shared with Christiana’s father and step-brother moments before she burst through the door and ran toward the cliff, never stopping before she careened over the side of the ravine.
Evian had been twelve at the time, should have been allowed to join the men scouting the woods to determine the next move of the King’s men, though his mother had begged his father not to let the boy go. When the women returned from the cliff’s edge, they supposedly found him sitting on the steps of the house clutching an envelope sporting the King’s seal.
The story didn’t contemplate the envelope’s content and no one seemed to know what it meant. But Christiana did. She’d heard the stories as a little girl, listened to the squabbles between Evian and their father. She knew her brother had always dreamed of gaining access to the throne as his birthright, even though both his parents were against such actions. The King had a son, and it was only if that son should not prevail, that Evian, his daughter’s son, had claim as legal heir to the throne. And then, only if the King’s son, Lord Garrick Fendlay Travensworth, had no son. Christiana knew he did not, knew without a doubt that was why her brother needed this man at her side dead, for he was the son that stood in Evian’s way. Everything seemed so clear to her now.
“Garrick,” she spoke the name softly. The King turned to her, his brows drawn down, though his eyes soft as he gazed upon her. “One who rules by the spear.” She squeezed his hand. “I pray, my lord, that you are prepared. For the life of my people as well as your own, I fear, rests solely upon your shoulders.”
He studied her for a moment when they stopped at the bottom of the time-worn steps to the dilapidated dwelling that was now their temporary home. “No, my lady. Not alone.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips before stepping back and bowing to her, bending deeply at the waist and motioning her to fall in behind the ascending Gemson.
“You are correct,” he whispered to her as he followed her up the steps. “Looks are often deceiving. But not in this case… my lady.”
Christiana smiled, the same thought once again filling her head. She was glad they were not on opposing teams after all.