ELIA IMMENSELY ENJOYED their first week of travel. Ferand proved to be an interesting companion. He told her many stories of his days fostering with Walter Dubosc and the mischief they’d gotten into. In turn, she recounted growing up at Castle Questing and shared countless stories that her grandfather had told her of the old days.
“You spent a lot of time with him,” Ferand noted as they sat near the side of a brook, eating bread they’d purchased in the last village they’d passed and allowing Midnight to graze.
“He may have been the great Nighthawk, son of The Wolfe, but to me he was simply my grandfather—and an excellent storyteller.”
Ferand laughed. “One who taught you how to use a blade and fend for your own supper in the woods, as well.”
“Aye, he did. I recall so many of his stories in detail because I had him repeat them over and over. I remembered them many times when I tried to fall asleep once I’d left home.”
“You’ve missed it,” he noted.
“More than I can say although I know it will be different now with Grandmother and Grandfather dead and Kenneth gone, too. He was my father’s heir. Now Stephen will someday have the title and lands.”
“You rarely speak of your father and you’ve never mentioned your mother.”
Elia toyed with the remaining crust in her hands. “Mother died giving birth to my sister. I was only five. I barely remember her. Father is a quiet man. He spent most of his time with my brothers and rarely spoke with me. I know he loves me but . . . we are not close.”
“And yet you still wish to return home. Why?”
A week ago, she would have had a ready response. After meeting this man, Elia wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“I can tell you that I am tired of court,” she began. “I don’t regret my time spent with the queen. Far from it. She encouraged me to keep reading and learning. She favored me amongst all her ladies-in-waiting and I was fortunate enough to travel with her wherever she went.”
“I heard she even took you to meetings with the king’s advisers.”
Elia cocked an eyebrow. “You are well informed, my lord.” She sighed. “In the end, it wasn’t enough. The king is all about pleasure and gaiety. Everything surrounding the royal court seems so . . . frivolous. The people became tiresome. The conversations dull. I missed the fresh air of the country. Riding horses. Being out on the land.
“I suppose I long to go home because the north in is my blood. I miss the people. The food and customs. How everyone has a purpose they take seriously and yet still find time to enjoy living. King Edward’s courtiers ply one another with falsehoods and insincerity. I want to be where plain speaking is a way of life.”
She tossed her bread crust aside and stood, dusting her hands against her skirts. “Are you ready to continue?”
“Nay. I thought we’d stay here for the rest of the day and tonight. Midnight could use a more lengthy rest. We could wash our clothes and mayhap catch our dinner in the brook.”
“An excellent idea,” Elia agreed, ready for a break from the long days of riding.
Ferand removed their satchels and the saddle from Midnight’s back and hobbled the horse. Elia removed her spare set of clothes, which she’d already washed once a few days ago. She would change into it and scrub clean the ones she wore.
“Would you like me to wash your clothes?” she asked Ferand.
“Thank you.” He withdrew a tunic of deep green and a pair of black pants. “I think I will also bathe. You might wish to do the same.”
He moved behind a tree trunk almost three feet wide. Moments later, he tossed the tunic he wore aside. His pants followed suit.
“Close your eyes, Elia. I wouldn’t want to offend your virgin eyes.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she huffed playfully.
She did as he said and sensed when he came past her. Curiosity forced her to open her eyes a slit. She watched him walk to the edge of the brook, bare as the day he was born. His shoulders seemed twice as broad as when clothed and his back and buttocks looked sculpted from stone. Her mouth went dry as her eyes skimmed up and down his muscular frame.
A low curse sounded as he stepped into the running water. She closed her eyes again and giggled.
“You may open your eyes,” he shouted a few moments later.
Elia did as he suggested and her heart stopped. He stood facing her, waist deep in the water, his chest and arms bare, a fine matting a dark hair disappearing in a line below the water. Ferand bent and submerged his head, popping back up and shaking his hair like a wet dog. Droplets of water cascaded down his chest. She wanted to lick each one from his body.
Where had that thought come from?
“Would you like some soap?” she called.
“Nay. I can scrub with the sand. Besides, if I borrowed your soap, I would smell of violets as you do. That would drive me mad.”
She scurried behind the same tree he’d used and switched out her clothes so she could wash the ones she’d been wearing. Elia then gathered his clothes and her own and dunked each piece in the water, spreading them on nearby rocks and scrubbing them with a stone. Whether he liked it or not, she rubbed her soap into his clothing, wondering if smelling like flowers would make him feel less manly—or would it remind him of her—and that’s what he meant.
Rinsing the clothing as he splashed in the water, she tried to keep her mind on her task, only to continually steal glimpses of him.
“Would you bring me dry clothes?” he asked.
“Aye.”
Elia retrieved something for him to wear and placed it behind the tree where he’d doffed his clothes.
“I’m coming out.”
Once more, she closed her eyes and then cheated as he passed her, stealing another glimpse of his naked form and longing to run her hands and tongue over him. The fantasy began to take shape in her mind.
Ferand suddenly appeared next to her. “Would you like to bathe?”
“I think I would,” she said, lowering her eyes so he wouldn’t read what they held.
She spread their wet clothes out to dry in the sun and decided to undress behind the tree he had used. She unbraided her hair so she could wash it. Warning him that she was coming out, she leaned around the tree’s trunk and saw his eyes still open.
“Ferand!”
Immediately, he shut them. “Go, wench. Hurry,” he teased. “Before I find myself sinning as I drink you in.”
Elia scampered to the water, her cake of soap in hand, and danced into the deep stream. “Oh!” she cried as she pushed off into the middle of the running water. “It’s freezing,” she complained.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Turn around,” she ordered, seeing that he faced her, though his eyes remained closed. “I won’t have you seizing glances me.”
“You certainly know how to ruin a man’s fun,” he complained good-naturedly but spun so that he faced the opposite direction.
She dug her toes into the sand since the current ran strong. Leaning back, she plunged beneath the water to wet her hair. Elia didn’t tarry because of the cold water. She washed her hair and scrubbed her body quickly, rinsing and rising. Making her way from the water, she told Ferand she was returning. He remained where he was. As she passed him, she checked to see if his eyes were shut and then ran to the protection of the tree.
Elia shivered in the late afternoon breeze and hurried to put her clothes back on, though she left her feet bare for the time being. Emerging from her hiding place, she saw Ferand had gathered twigs and some wood and watched as he started a fire. Once he had it going, he rolled up his pants and walked to the water. His muscular calves had her salivating. He stepped into the stream.
“I plan to catch a fish or two for us,” he called out. “Be ready in case I need you.”
She waited eagerly on the bank, watching him as he hovered just above the water. After several attempts, he plunged his hands into the stream and brought them up, a fish wriggling. He tossed it on the bank next to her.
“Don’t let it jump back in.”
“I won’t.”
Elia collected a few long sticks and put them close to the fire then collected her dagger and cleaned the fish. By the time she finished, two more had joined the first and Ferand climbed from the brook.
Looking at what she’d accomplished, he said, “You know what you’re doing.”
She heard the admiration in his voice. “I’m not just a pretty face,” she teased. “I have talents you’d never suspect.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing you can’t do once you put your mind to it.” Sincerity shone in his eyes as he looked at her.
Elia accepted his compliment. He was so different from the noblemen who flooded the royal court. Again, she found her resolve weakening.
She continued cleaning the fish while he used the sticks she’d collected to spear them. Ferand gathered some stones and built a small pile near the fire which he used to brace the sticks. That kept the fish above the flames of the fire so that they didn’t char on the outside while remaining raw inside.
Rinsing her hands and blade in the stream, Elia decided to retrieve her comb to keep her hair from tangling as it dried.
“The fish won’t be ready for some time. Here, let me help you.”
Ferand took the comb from her fingers and had her sit near the fire, placing her between his legs. He dragged the comb leisurely through her hair, working through any snarls he found. The feel of his fingers resting against her scalp and the comb gliding through her long waves brought an utter feeling of bliss. Elia closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation.
When he finally stopped, she had to bite her tongue to keep from begging him to continue.
Leaning close, his chin grazed her neck as he handed the comb to her. Elia turned her head toward him, and his lips brushed against her ear and landed on her cheek. One arm went around her waist as the other cupped her face. He pressed his mouth to hers softly.
A snap of a twig nearby caused him to spring to his feet. Elia glanced up and saw two men heading their way. Ferand already had his sword in hand.
“Greetings,” said the taller of the two, by far the better looking with deep brown hair and warm brown eyes.
His companion, short and stout, could only be termed ugly at best. One eye wandered about. A jagged scar rent one sallow cheek in two.
“May we join you?” the handsome one asked. “We could smell the fish. I’m afraid we haven’t eaten today.”
Ferand had told her that travelers on the road often joined together for meals, even though they were strangers. She remained quiet, letting him decide.
“Of course. Come. Sit,” Ferand invited. “There is plenty. ’Tis almost ready.” He glanced to her. “Lady Wife, be so kind as to bring more of the bread.”
“Aye, my lord,” she said, withdrawing to his satchel.
Elia gave him the half-loaf still left and went to the tree, where her boots and blade still lay. She wanted the protection both offered since both men had stared openly at her bare feet, making her uncomfortable. She put on her boots and slipped the baselard into one and then returned to the fire, noting Ferand had returned his sword to its resting place.
“I am sorry if we interrupted you,” the tall man said.
She thought it odd neither stranger had introduced themselves and noted Ferand had done the same.
Ferand shrugged. “We don’t mind company while we eat, friend, but being newly wed, we would prefer to spend the rest of the night alone. If you know what I mean.”
He gave her a lewd smile, which took her aback, but Elia understood the game he played and went to him, linking her arm through his and stroking his forearm lightly as she smiled up at him.
The tall stranger nodded knowingly. “We will share your meal and be on our way.”
It couldn’t be soon enough for Elia.