Page 56 of The Cornish Princess
With the cooler temperature, neither were their horses better left standing about, and the pace they kept was easy.
Up ahead, a small rabbit crossed the road, and Málik’s head swiveled before Gwendolyn even realized it was there. His sharp eyes followed the creature long after it vanished from her sight into the safety of a thicket, his eyes shining like a predator’s.
Intensely curious, Gwendolyn longed to ask iffaeeyes were keener than most, but since she didn’t wish to believe he was anything more than a crude beast, she bit her tongue.
Gods.Who could have imagined her childhood dream of meeting a true-bloodfaewould go so terribly awry? All those nights she’d lain in bed, imagining another visitation from these elusive creatures, dreaming of all the questions she should ask—pah!
She was beginning not to believe infaekindat all.
No doubt Málik looked different from other men—his eyes a little brighter, his teeth a little sharper—but for all his oddities, it didn’t mean he wasfae.
Trying to ignore him as best she could, Gwendolyn reached back into her saddlebag to grab a few more prunes, wondering if she’d given too much weight to her father’s trust in Málik Danann. Indeed, tonight she was shadowed by two men she didn’t know by name, and yet another, whose loyalties she questioned.
Willful and bold,she heard Demelza say, “Ye’ve more pride than caution. Someday it’ll lead you astray.”
Was today that day?
ChapterTwenty-One
The night grew long and cold—colder than a miner’s knob. Still Gwendolyn persevered, even as she teetered in the saddle, her mood turning sour as sorrel.
Meanwhile, Málik rode taller even as she slid lower, until at long last, she collapsed atop the horse’s withers, with the pommel stabbing her in the belly, though sadly, it wounded her pride far more than it did her belly, and not even that prompted her to cry halt.
Make no mistake, Gwendolyn understood she was being unreasonable, and still she persisted, until after a while, Málik sidled up beside her and plucked her from her mount, like a berry from a bush, placing her before him on his mare, far too close for comfort.
“Rest,” he demanded.
Rest?
Rest!
“I need no coddling,” Gwendolyn complained, as he dragged her back to rest against his leathered chest. “Considering that my father put me in a saddle when I was only two, I am in little danger of falling from this mount. Nor do I care to tussle with you. Please, unhand me!”
Releasing her at once, Málik said evenly,“Forgive me, Princess. I’d not have it said you came to harm on my watch.”
“Fret not,” she reassured. “I am now awake.”
Wide, wide awake, every inch of her body attuned to the creature at her back, his proximity filling her with nearly as much irritation as it did chagrin, and nearly as much titillation as it did warmth—more, she was horrified to confess.
What was worse, this close to him, she could actually smell him, and she discovered that his essence was curiously appealing—like rain… and wood.
By now, the moon had risen to its highest point, and the air was bitterly cold—far too cold to be traveling without provisions, although at least it wasn’t raining as it did so often this time of the year. Gwendolyn took comfort in that.
Admittedly, something about Málik Danann severed every measure of good reason from her mind and heart. Deep down, Gwendolyn suspected that even this sojourn to Chysauster had more to do with him than it did with Bryok, or even her cousins. If only he’d not come into their lives, she would be snug in her bed, dreaming of Prince Loc…
But mayhap not.
Feeling guilty for pushing them so hard, she peered back at the two guards who had accompanied them, noting their squinty eyes and bent backs.
Unfortunately, this time of the year it was warm enough by day, but night still harbored a vicious chill. If she’d taken more time to prepare, she might have brought a proper tent for the journey, knowing they’d spend at least one night beneath the stars.
Instead, she’d been in such a rush to leave that she hadn’t even secured gifts for her cousins—three sisters from three different mothers.
Her uncle Cunedda had no sons, despite that he’d married four different wives.
Sadly, his new wife, Lowenna, could carry no child to term—mercifully for her, because despite that they were girls, her cousins were all born with such enormous heads their births had resulted in the deaths of their mothers. Luckily, by now all three had grown to match their heads, even if their hearts were still far too large.
Gwendolyn couldn’t wait to see them.
