Page 43 of Pippa of Lauramore
He nods, though he doesn’t look terribly sincere. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
I’m freezing. The brisk night air felt good before, but now the breeze is icy. I wring my skirts out the best I can, but there’s too much fabric.
“Turn around,” I command.
They obey, and I roll my skirt up to my thighs so I can really squeeze out the water. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than it was.
When I’ve finished, Galinor wades over to the clump of waterchivel and pulls it from its watery home. Mud clings to the roots, and it glops into the creek as he makes his way back.
“Thank you,” I say, as I accept the weed. “You are very kind.”
I give Archer a sharp look, but he only holds out ahand to help me on my horse. I ignore him and turn back to Galinor. “We should part here.”
My prince nods, his eyes dark in the night. “I hope you don’t find too much trouble at home.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
I should embrace him or pat his arm…or something. Archer turns away, busying himself with something in his saddlebag. I should be grateful he’s giving us a semblance of privacy, but I still feel awkward.
Galinor solves the problem for me. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “Goodnight, Pippa.”
I sigh. “Goodnight.”
He helps me mount my horse—which is extremely difficult in wet skirts—and then Archer and I continue on the trail.
I glance over my shoulder. Galinor sits on his horse, looking like the perfect prince. He raises his hand as a goodbye. I take a deep breath as we ride along, willing the butterflies to riot. My stomach grumbles instead. I can’t expect butterflies when I’m hungry.
“Are you cold?” Archer asks after we’ve ridden about five minutes.
“No.” I shiver, but I think it’s too dark for him to notice. “I’m fine.”
He glances at me, a wry expression on his face.
I shiver again as the cold air sinks into my bones. “Maybe a little.”
We have at least an hour ride back to the palace. Perhaps he brought a cloak with him.
Archer doesn’t answer at first, and when he finallydoes, he looks straight ahead. “Ride with me. You’ll be warmer.”
The butterflies, which are just a little late from my parting with Galinor, decide to show up. I can’t ride with him. It’s not right being that close to a man you aren’t going to marry—even if it is only Archer. Besides, how much warmer could it possibly be? I rub my hand over my arms, trying to ignore the chill.
A small voice I’ve been working very hard to ignore whispers over my other thoughts:What if you like it too much?
I’m being ridiculous. It’s either I ride with Archer or catch my death before I arrive home.
“All right.” The words come out like a croak.
The moon rises, and pale, white light illuminates the woods around us. In the far distance, I can just make out the palace on its terrace. The waterfall shines in the night, and the mist from the pool glows like a fairy light.
I crawl down from Willowisp, cursing my wet skirts as they tangle around my legs. Archer attaches a lead to my horse and then ties her to his horse. I pull off my bow and arrows, and he secures them to Willowisp. I accept his hand and try not to compare it with Galinor’s. I attempt to swing my leg over his horse with grace, but once again, the skirts get in the way, and I end up wrestling with them. Once I’m seated, he pulls himself up.
I don’t mean to, but I tense when Archer settles behind me. Then I sigh, because he’s right—it is much warmer. His tall frame blocks the wind from behind, so it’s no longer swirling around me. He radiates heat aswell, and I can feel it from his chest, though I am careful to keep distance between us.
Part of me—most of me—wants to lean against him and draw from his warmth. His arms brush my shoulders as he takes the reins. I must keep my head slightly to the right so he can see the trail in front of us, and occasionally, his chin bumps against the back of my head.
“Archer?” I whisper.
“Hmmm?” His voice is a low rumble in my ear.
