The Conqueror

“What is that?”

Her wet head lifted, revealing a chagrined smile. “I had nothing else to wear.”

He cocked his head to the side. “And so you chose…ahhh,” he exhaled in understanding. The empty spot on the wall where one of his tapestries had hung explained the outlandish tunic draped around her.

He briefly ran his gaze along her body, then turned to the table and set down the tray of ale. Aye. Much better to be here, with her beauty, than downstairs, alone with the grinding memories.

He kicked the door shut behind him. “Come.” He gestured to the table.

Her bare feet padded over the planks of wood. She sat on the bench he had pulled out. She looked at him a moment, her elfin face bright, scrubbed clean. He set the tray on the table. She stared at his hands.

“Did I take your bathwater?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Am I that dirty? Your message has gone off.”

“And you’ve my undying thanks. For too many things to count.”

He stood squarely in the centre of the room and stared into the brazier fire, deciding it was better by far not to look at her. Her hair was drying in a curling mass of dark silk, tossed over her shoulder. The crimson tapestry had slipped off one shoulder.

A light tap came on the door. He waved Gwyn into the bedchamber and opened it. Maude stood with a tray of food in her outstretched arms.

“Food, my lord,” she whispered, as if it were a most secretive package.

He smiled faintly and took the proffered offerings. “Come,” he called to the dark opening of the bedchamber, laying the tray on the table. “Eat.”

It took all of five seconds for her to arrive at the edge of the table, curling her toes and nearly drooling. He watched as she descended on the simple fare with a gusto uncommon among soldiers on campaign, wondering idly if she would gnaw through the wooden plates once all the food was gone.

“Good,” she mumbled through a mouth filled with bread crust and cheese.

“Umm.” He splashed more ale into her mug and thumped it down in front of her.

Nodding her thanks, she sloshed a solid third of it down her gullet before coming up for air. He shook his head, bemused.

Becoming aware of his scrutiny, she lifted her head from the feeding trough to look at him. He stared back.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked.

He dropped onto the small bench opposite her, tilted the bench back, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Dark green eyes travelled the length of his torso, then back to his face. “And eat?”

He obediently picked up a hunk of cheese and popped it into his mouth.

Her lips curved into a smile. “You are quite biddable.”

“Oh, quite.”

“Always?”

“More so than you, I’ll wager.”

The laugh that greeted this was utterly marvelous. Her face was dissolved in gentle laughter, and the dark tresses pulled back over her shoulders revealed delicate features of shoulder and neck. His gaze travelled down, drawn to a nasty bruise discolouring her exposed skin.

The bench thumped forward. “You’re hurt.” He ran a finger over the bruise on her shoulder, a soldier’s swift appraisal. A ripple of goosebumps sped under his hand. He froze.

She was blushing a pale shade of pink. Dark, wet hair hung in tangled locks across the scarlet linen and her white shoulder, creating a startling contrast in colours. The combination of such an ethereal face and the sudden, innocent desire dawning there made him snatch his hand back as if burned.

“I’ll tend it when you’re done,” he said roughly.