Page 5 of Veiled Flames
As we approach the tree, we slow Sky Stallion, stopping just behind it. Anyone with a looking tube will easily spot the horse here, but the tree’s trunk is wide and should shield both me and the stranger from view.
I stroke the horse’s sweat-slicked neck, and he paws the earth, seemingly frustrated that his hard run has ended. Or possibly that it’s ended in a place where there is no water to drink, nor oats to feed him.
The man dismounts, and his absence exposes my back and legs to the chill of the evening air.
The purple light of the setting sun turns the man’s cloak a deep black, and highlights the sheen of its fabric, clearly a plush, silk velvet. He is no pauper.
Is my stranger a nobleman or knyght? If so, where is his steed?
He backs several paces away, ducking under a low-hanging branch, and then turns as he looks up toward the evening sky. As he spins, his cloak rises to reveal the leather-covered shape housed beneath. His tightly fitted garments seem like part of him.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his solid build. The stable boy’s form is impressive, but the mounds and planes of this man… His sculpted lines seem to hold the power of a steed—or other such beast—and my brief sighting heightens the unfamiliar stirrings deep in my belly.
“How may I repay your kindness?” I ask him. “I don’t even know your name, good sir.”
He turns back toward me. “I am neither good, nor a sir. And you can thank me by returning home safely. Now go.”
Another shriek sounds in the distance, and a shiver traces through me. Night is quickly falling, perhaps bringing creatures of Darkness. I don’t want to leave this man’s side, but I long to be in the safety of my chambers, where a warm bath awaits.
“Where is your mount?” I ask.
“She is safe.”
I’m shocked that this man doesn’t ride a stallion. “At least give me your name.” My voice comes out breathless.
“Saxon.” He slaps Sky Stallion’s flank, and I grip the beast’s mane for dear life as we gallop toward the castle’s gates and away from the stranger.
Nurse’s arms twitch, clearly longing to beat me. She wouldn’t dare. Not now I’m a grown woman having two and twenty years. But her look delivers a harsh scolding as well as any blow she ever delivered when I was young. Perhaps better.
Still, I wouldn’t take back one moment of today’s ride. Not even the part where I was grabbed by that stranger. Especially not that part. My fingers rise to my heated cheeks.
“Look at the state of ye, lass!” The stocky woman folds her arms over her aproned tunic as she shakes her head. Amber-tinged light from the roaring fire highlights stray gray hairs, which have escaped the braids Nurse wears coiled atop her head.
No matter how neatly Nurse’s hair greets the day, in a few hours it always looks as if it has been styled in a windstorm. In this way, I suppose Nurse and I are kindred spirits, and warmth of amore familiar kind rises inside me. Nurse is the closest thing I’ve had to a mother. My only caregiver after the Queen died, when I had barely seven years.
“Are ye grinning, lass?” Nurse’s eyes narrow. “Are ye laughing at me? Are ye proud of your unladylike antics?”
“No, I…” I’d like to tell her what fueled my smile. I’d love to share the warm affection I feel for her right now, but such an interaction between a grown princess and her servant would only add to the list of crimes I’ve committed today.
“What’s done is done.” Nurse shakes her head. “Let’s get ye bathed and dressed. It’s to be a special feast.”
“A feast to welcome the King of Khotor?”
Her head cocks to the side. “How did ye know—” Interrupting herself, she shakes her head. Then her strong hands take my shoulders. She turns me and begins to release the laces down the back of my simple frock.
I begged Seamstress to fashion this dress, claiming it was a gift for one of my maids. Little white lies harm no one.
“Filthy. Disgraceful.” Nurse mutters under her breath as she works to disrobe me. “And ye smell of that beast ye had between your legs. Indecent.”
My cheeks burst into flames, but I quickly realize she means the horse and not the stranger. Nurse knows nothing of how my bottom and flanks were pressed between a man’s thighs. Nor how firmly he held me against his trouser flap, the place where men house their mysterious sausages.
The heat in my cheeks amplifies. Oblivious, Nurse tugs the loosened garment off my shoulders, and it drops to pool around my feet.
Left in my thin shift, I step toward the copper tub. Steam rises from its welcoming surface, even though I was late to arrive.
The fire flares, and I spin toward the carved stone fireplace.
“My frock!”
