The Commander's Desire (29 page)

“
Can I still not trust you?”
Displeasure tightened his features. This wounded her far deeper
than a blade ever could.

“
Nay. I planned no
treachery.” She had to make him see. “I feel…unclothed without a
blade.” Discomfort warmed her cheeks. “At home I always wear one. I
have since I was twelve. Thor insisted I needed protection at all
times. And so now…” she gazed up at him wordlessly.

“
You need no blade here. I
will protect you.” He held her very close to him, and still he read
her features, unsmiling.

“
I’m sorry,” she said. “But
know if I had truly planned to steal a dagger, I would not have
stared at them for so long. I did not intend to betray
you.”

He pulled her with him outside, into the
sprinkling rain. His hand slid from her wrist to her hand,
engulfing it, and he led her toward the castle.

Now the rain felt cold, and Elwytha shivered.
“Where are you taking me?” She hurried to match his long—probably
angry—strides. He did not answer, but instead led her past the
dining hall to a small room beside the kitchen.

The open door revealed a chamber lined with
sumptuous tapestries and warm, wooly rugs. It held a polished
wooden table and two chairs opposite each other. Fresh baked honey
buns spilled from a basket. The sweet scent assailed Elwytha’s
nose. A platter of eggs and bacon lay in the center of the table,
and cups of spiced cider marked the two place settings.

She stared at the Commander as he closed the
door behind them. “What is this?”

“
Breakfast.” His gaze didn’t
look much softer. “I wished to surprise you this morn. Tomorrow I
will not see you until the ceremony.”

Elwytha looked at the delicious feast upon
the table, and then wordlessly back at him. No wonder Hagma had
brought no breakfast this morning. The Commander had planned
this—likely last evening.

“
Thank you,” she said
softly. “It looks delicious.” If only she could mend the breach
between them. If only she hadn’t entered that armory!

How could she convince him she meant no
treachery?

“
Commander…” She bit her
lip, unsure what to say, only knowing that she wished all to be
right between them.

“
Sit.” He moved toward his
chair.

“
Nay.” With boldness, she
reached for his arm, stopping him. His eyes narrowed, surprised. “I
wish things to be right between us. Please believe me. I did not
mean to steal a blade. I will not betray you.”

The steely gaze bored into hers. The grim
line of his mouth softened, ever so slightly. “Verily?”

“
Verily,” she told him from
her heart.

He dipped his head and tension relaxed out of
his great shoulders. “I believe you.”

“
You do?” Relief rushed into
her heart and Elwytha impulsively flung herself into his arms,
hugging him tight. His arms closed around her, secure and solid.
Alarm and delight skittered through her. He smelled clean, of soap,
and his jerkin today was made of worn, soft leather. He felt
nice…solid and warm; safe, yet disturbingly dangerous to her
fluttering nerves.

“
Umm.” She pulled back,
feeling flustered and jumpy. His gaze looked warmer now—gentle,
just the way she liked it. Further relief rushed through her, and
she smiled at him. “Thank you.” Uncertainly, then, she tugged away.
He let her go.

She was glad he had released her, she told
herself. “The honey buns smell delicious,” she said, and busily
filled her trencher with fluffy eggs and thick, chewy bacon. If
possible, everything tasted even better than it smelled. She
sighed. “Mary outdid herself this time.”

“
She’s a fine
cook.”

“
She’s planned quite a feast
for tomorrow.” Elwytha again felt conflicted. Did she lie to him
now, pretending that she would marry him on the morrow, when in
reality she planned to flee?

Of course it was a
lie.
And one he’d hate her for. Discomfort
squeezed her heart and she reached for another honey bun. She
didn’t want to lie to him. The whole thing made her feel
sick.

He spoke, thankfully pulling her mind from
her troubled thoughts. “Your missive will reach Richard this morn.
I sent my fastest horseman.”

“
Thank you. What time will
the ceremony be?”

“
At noon. Hagma will bring
you to the chapel.”

Elwytha nodded. Plenty of time to escape,
should she desire it. A hysterical part of her wanted to laugh.
What a fine farce her wedding might prove to be.

“
Elwytha.” His deep voice
commanded her attention and she gave it. “Again, you are troubled.
Will you tell me what is wrong?”

Surprise leaped. How easily
he read her. So what could she say?
I don’t
know if I should marry you or not?
He
trusted her now, she saw it in his eyes. She wished his trust and
respect. “I have nerves, Commander.” She bit her lip. “Don’t
you?”

His hand covered hers and it comforted her.
“Elwytha, I have no doubts and no nerves. I wish to marry you. I
cannot wish for anything more.” Passion undergirded his words, and
sincerity. He spoke from his heart, and the force of it impacted
Elwytha’s very soul.

“
Truly?” she
whispered.

“
Truly.” Passion and
gentleness, determination and need flickered plainly over his
features, intensifying his gray eyes to a deep, smoky color. He
lifted her fingers to his lips. “I wish nothing more than for you
to be my wife.”

His lips sent electric tingles racing over
her skin, and she stared at him breathlessly. Then he kissed her
fingers, each knuckle, and Elwytha felt a spinning, delicious
feeling inside. All warm prickles and leaping excitement.

“
Do you wish me?” he asked
quietly. “Do you wish me to be your husband?”

It was a question, a need, from his heart to
hers, and it smashed through the walls Elwytha had built around her
heart. The truth lay there, under the last stone, but she would not
turn it over to find it.

“
Verily,” she admitted,
pulse hammering, “I wish you to be my husband more than I did in
the beginning. You have gained that victory, Commander.”

Disappointment flickered across his features,
and she felt guilt and pain for hurting him. But she would not lie
to him. Hadn’t she lied enough already?

He released her hand and she felt bereft. And
a coward for not turning over that last stone to her heart.

“
Thank you for breakfast,”
she said, too quickly. “I should go. Hagma and I have much
decorating to do today.” She stood, clutching her cloak in
hand.

“
I will see you this even,”
he said quietly. He chewed on the last of his bacon.

Elwytha stood still for a moment, watching
him and feeling terrible, and then hurried out. She would tell him
no more lies. Wasn’t that the best? Wouldn’t he thank her
later?

She believed none of it as she hurried for
her chamber to return her cloak. What was wrong with her? Why did
she have so many conflicting emotions for that man? She splashed
water on her face and combed her hair again—carefully, this time.
Her head didn’t hurt today. A good sign. She smoothed on a little
more ointment and left her chamber.

Soon, she would have to make a decision about
their marriage. But today was a day of reprieve. She would decorate
the hall. Tomorrow Richard would arrive. This fact did not cheer
her. Truthfully, it depressed her.

Didn’t she want him to come? Elwytha searched
her heart.

No. Honestly, she dreaded it. Because of the
evil he still might wish to accomplish? Or because he would stop
her wedding? Discomfort and dismay tightened in her at this
thought.

Warily, her mind touched the disturbing
question—did she wish to marry the Commander after all?

Nay. Of course not. Her breaths came faster.
The last, unturned stone beckoned her to turn it, to reveal the
truth. But she could not.

Of course not,
she told herself again, hurrying for the dining
hall and the huge decorating job before her. She did not wish to
marry the Commander. She wished to be freed from this palace prison
as speedily as possible.

Elwytha struggled to forget the way he had
looked at her this morning. And how she had felt in response.

She did
not
wish to marry the Commander. Peace
or no peace. She did not.

* * * * *

The Commander fisted his hand and stared at
it. The remains of breakfast held no appeal for him. Elwytha still
did not wish to marry him. Perhaps she never would. Clearly, she
didn’t hate him anymore…at least, he hoped she did not. Could that
be a firm enough foundation for a marriage?

The great warrior feared not, and buried his
fingers through the unfamiliar hair at his scalp. What more could
he possibly do? He had chosen to trust her when she’d pled
innocence at the armory. He treated her with gentleness and
kindness…in truth, he would treat her no other way.

Was he still so repulsive to her? He fingered
his bent nose, his disfigured brow. Would she always see him as the
monster he appeared on the outside?

He heard a sound in the doorway.

Mary asked, “Are you finished, then? I saw
Elwytha leave a moment ago.” She frowned as she came closer. “Are
you aright, Commander?”

“
I will survive,
Mary.”

The Cook patted his shoulder and gave him a
kind smile. “Don’t give up, lad. You’re a warrior. Never stop
fighting for what you want. Truly, you may yet gain the
victory.”

She cleared the table and left him with those
wise words.

It wasn’t in him to give up. Yet again, the
Commander acknowledged this truth. He would fight, for it was all
he knew how to do. He would fight…and mayhap he should pray. He
needed the help of someone far bigger than himself to reach
Elwytha’s heart.

* * * * *

Elwytha stood at the last table. Pottery
bowls with floating candles adorned it. She looked throughout the
great hall and wonder filled her heart. All of this was for her and
the Commander. For their wedding.

Tiny white flowers scented the air with
vanilla, and mingled with the faint sweetness of the last wild
roses, which Hagma’s friends had harvested yesterday—hence, the
bushes plucked clean this morning. It looked fresh and
beautiful.

A part of her wished the marriage feast would
take place and she could partake of it. For a moment, she imagined
it…. The smell of roast lamb and fresh baked bread. All her
favorite foods on the tables. People happy and laughing… The
Commander, standing next to the head table, waiting for her to
arrive. No longer her betrothed. Her husband. Her heart jumped at
that thought. Him smiling as she approached...and his wonderful
eyes turning to silver.

Elwytha’s fingers tightened on the basket of
flowers. Just for a moment, in that impossible fantasy, she had
wanted to reach for him. Her mind allowed her to go no further. She
would not marry him. He would not be her husband.

Elwytha tried to ignore the emptiness this
truth brought her. Nay. He would not be hers. Biting her lip, she
finished decorating the last table for a wedding feast that would
never be.

“
Elwytha?” Hagma approached,
her basket of flowers empty. “Are you all right? You look about to
cry.”

She swallowed the ache in her throat. “I’m
fine. The hall looks beautiful, don’t you think?”

Hagma smiled. “That it does, miss. Mary and I
and my mum…well, we’ve got something for you, after we’ve finished
here.”

“
You do?” That reminded
Elwytha of a favor she needed to ask. “I’ve asked far enough of you
already, Hagma. But I wondered if I could ask one more
thing.”

“
Of course.” Still looking a
bit concerned, the other girl smiled.

“
I’ve no one stand with me
at the altar. I’m not sure if Richard will come in time. Would you
consider being my maid of honor?”

Hagma gasped, hand to her throat. “Nay, miss.
I could never do that. I’m not nearly grand enough. Heavens! How
could you ask?”

How could Elwytha say that the wedding
probably would never take place—but if for some strange reason it
did, she didn’t want to stand up there alone. “You and Mary are my
only friends here. I’d be honored if you would do this for me.” And
she hoped Hagma wouldn’t be too upset if Elwytha ran out on the
whole thing.

“
Well,” the maid sounded
doubtful. “It doesn’t seem right, miss. Are you sure?”

“
Please,” Elwytha said
simply.

Hagma watched her, and then nodded. “Very
well. I’d be happy to. Now, come with me. That table’s as good as
done. Mary’s waiting in the kitchen.” Giggling, Hagma urged her to
hurry to the warm kitchen. The smell of fresh baked bread permeated
the air, and Elwytha’s stomach rumbled.

“
She’s here, Mary,” Hagma
called, darting ahead. “Sit down,” she told Elwytha.

She sat at the great kitchen table as told,
and Mary arrived, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist.
Hagma carried a burlap covered object. She set it on the table
before Elwytha.

“
There you go, miss. From
all of us here.” Pleased, the two looked on as Elwytha reverently
touched the package.

With wonder, she said, “For me?”

“
Open it, do,” Mary said,
with a jolly laugh.