Page 23 of The Truth About Myths
Did he expect to help her mount? Climbing a sidesaddle was no easy feat. The lady depended on her helper for the right amount of push—too much, and she would topple over the horse, ending up flattened on the other side. Too little, and she wouldn't make it. Where was her groom?
"Come on. I won't throw you off."
"Sir, you seemed ready to do worse yesterday." To her shame, she couldn't conceal the hurt in her voice.
"I was an ass, wasn't I? Can we start anew?" He looked at her openly, no jests.
Despite the crass word, she felt the sincerity of the apology and placed her right foot over his palms. Before she could spring, he lifted her effortlessly.
Her chest became level with his face, his breath warming the velvet of her gown. The invisible threads came alive, connecting them as if they were tied with hemp rope. Her heart leaped to a double measure, and her stomach stirred.
His smile faded, and his eyes focused on her lips. "Isa…"
"Hmm?" She had the baffling impulse to trace his cheek and feel the grains of his shaved skin.
"After last night, I—Are you all right?"
Cheeks flushed, Isabel adjusted herself over the saddle and made a show of concealing her legs below the folds of her woolen skirts.
He pulled her chin up.
Her heart bruised her ribcage, and she sensed he expected something from her, and it maddened her that she didn't know what. The little medal burned inside her jacket. Should she give it to him now? Just so she could occupy her hands?
"I'll be fine, thank you."
He kept eye contact. By daylight, his irises weren't a maze but two fathomless lakes. She was glad she had never learned to swim. Otherwise, she would be tempted to dive.
Around them, horses snorted, jingling their bridles. Wheels scrunched gravel, and birds chirped.
"Should we go?"
He pulled away from her, walking backward until he reached his horse. As Henrique mounted his steed and signaled the guards to proceed, she admired the ease with which he carried himself and the husky timbre of his voice. Last night had vanquished the animosity between them, but it had done nothing to control the fluttering inside her stomach.
Távoras's inhabitants had decorated their village square with lavender and hydrangeas. Still, little effort was needed to make their city inviting. Whitewashed buildings lined the narrow streets, and bougainvillea adorned the simple but charming cottages.
Isabel's cheeks hurt from the smile she kept on her face, her right shoulder sore from waving at villagers and accepting gifts. None of that bothered her. It was the least she could do after learning about the ravages of phylloxera. The wine plague had curtailed their livelihood. She would write about their plights to Luis. Even with the rightful complaints, an aura of cheerfulness prevailed. She had been correct to arrive as the princess and not mask her identity. People needed to see the royal family. It gave them hope and made them feel special.
Henrique stood at the fringes of the small group. He had been silent during the trip, and his introspection increased with each flower given to her or the children she embraced.
"Can we retire now? The sun is burning my nose," Dolly whined, pressing Isabel's arm.
Isabel nodded and said her farewells. When the royal entourage returned to the carriages, Henrique took the opposite direction, his gray coat vanishing into a side street.
Isabel told Diomedes to proceed with Dolly to the hotel. Escorted by Sophie and a guard, she followed Henrique. The walled city was tiny, and she had no difficulty trailing his steps to an ancient house.
A plaque read Cister Monastery. Isabel asked her maid and guard to wait outside and, ignoring their protests, crossed the copper gate. Stillness pervaded the moss-covered stone walls, the kind present only where no one had lived for generations. The main entrance opened up to an inner courtyard. Isabel shuddered at the sight of a greenish pond, half expecting to see a drake landing in its depths. Should she return? But Henrique had not been himself. What if he fell ill?
Rubbing her arms against the sudden chill, she followed the path until she arrived at a stair leading down. Curiosity piqued, she descended the stone steps, holding the granite wall for support. The passageway opened to a cavernous space with an arched ceiling. Water dripped. The scent of wood and mold mingled with wine. A cellar. Blinking to adjust her eyesight, she crossed the threshold.
A gigantic log occupied the center of the room. Dust-covered bottles protruded from the contraption like the needles of a porcupine.
Henrique had his back to her, studying the apparatus.
Her breath caught, and she paused. The inconvenient flutter started anew.
When a minute passed, and Henrique didn't move, she gripped her elbows, her eyes straying to the exit. Why had she followed him here? He must have wished for a private moment. She picked up her skirt to leave.
"Do you know what these are for?"
