The Commander's Desire, page 1
“Give me your blades,” he growled down at her.
Fear pounded in Elwytha’s chest, and she licked her dry lips. “You found no blades when you pawed through my clothes. The maid found none on my person. Perhaps that is because I have none.”
“I don’t trust you.”
She smiled. As well you shouldn’t. However, she said, “How can we have a marriage with no trust?”
“Come with me.” He forced her toward the door. “You will not return to this room.”
“But my clothes!”
“You will have new clothes. Clothes with no holes for pockets. Clothes that provide no access to the blade at your thigh.”
“Nonsense.” Unthinking, she struggled and then, to her consternation, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She cried out in fear and horrified humiliation. “Put me down!” She pounded on his broad back. “Put me down, you monstrous serf!”
He strode silently through the halls. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to see the others witnessing her humiliation. “Put me down. Put me down at once!” she gasped. She bit her lip, trying to stop the weak tears of a woman, not a warrior. She sniffed and finally stopped struggling, and hung down his back. His belt about his jerkin was within reach. If only she could loosen it, she could cinch it around his massive neck! It was only a hopeless fantasy, of course.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, voice muffled. Perhaps if she pretended submission he would return her to her feet. And if she found a dagger, she’d gladly plunge it through his heart.
“To my chambers.”
“Nay!” she gasped out, and struggled in earnest then. “I have decided you are unacceptable to me. You have none of the finer qualities I require in a husband.”
Also by Jennette Green
Her Reluctant Bodyguard
Murder by Nightmare
(a novelette)
The Commander’s
Desire
Jennette Green
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE COMMANDER’S DESIRE
A Diamond Press book / published in arrangement with the author
Published by Diamond Press at Smashwords
Copyright © 2008, 2010 by Jennette Green
Cover design by Rae Monet
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010936492
Library of Congress Subject Headings:
Man-woman relationships—Fiction
Love stories
Historical—Fiction
Scotland—Fiction
Middle Ages—Fiction
Princesses—Fiction
Revenge—Fiction
Arranged Marriage—Fiction
Diamond Press
www.diamondpresspublishing.com
Published in the United States of America.
Dedication
To my husband, Dale. Without your love and support, I could never have come this far.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
CHAPTER ONE
Castle Cor na Gaeth, Galwyddel, 715 A.D.
October
“Peace. Are you sure it will work, brother?” Elwytha pushed at the warrior circlet that banded her head. It felt constricting, and not for the first time, she wanted to tear it off.
Apprehension simmered in her as she watched her brother slouching on his carved wooden throne, stroking his thick black beard with his fingers. Four years her elder, he had ascended the family throne when their oldest brother, Thor, had died six months ago. Richard shared her dark hair and startling blue eyes—the color of a loch on a bright summer day, when the water reflected the sky.
Richard smiled, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. He said, “They are eager for peace, since our forces have decimated theirs in the last five battles.”
Elwytha wondered if this was true. Their castles had been at bloody war for over a century. Why would either side wish for peace now? More puzzling, however, was why Richard would want it. Especially after their enemy’s latest despicable act, which had stolen her brother’s life. “If we are winning, why not kill them all?” she asked. “Why strive for peace?”
He shook his head. “Sister, your heart is too true, too pure. Of course I do not want peace. I wish vengeance, and I want to annihilate them all.”
She waited, feeling troubled. Vengeance. King Thor had been her favorite brother. Gentle for a warrior. He’d made her a swing in the castle grounds when she was five, had been her champion all of her life…and she missed him terribly. One horrific day six months ago he’d been cut down in their woods by the enemy Prince’s Commander—stabbed in the back in cold blood. The very cowardice and foulness of that act…the evil of it blazed pain and fury through her heart yet again.
Elwytha burned for vengeance as her brother did, but something disturbed her about Richard’s plan. The sneakiness of it. The deceit. No matter if the Prince played those unscrupulous, unjust games. Did they have to sink to his level, too?
She said, “This is the only way?”
“Yes.” Richard gave her a direct stare. “Vengeance for our brother lies in your hands. Are you ready to make the bastard pay?”
“How will I know him?” she consented, fingering the blade strapped to her upper thigh, hidden beneath the flowing blue lines of her gown. A slit in the fabric gave her direct access to the weapon. It was one of many weapons she wielded with a skill matching her brother’s. War had been their play since babes.
He laughed, an unpleasant one, which revealed his straight white teeth. “You will recognize him because he’s as ugly as sin. He looks like the monster he is.”
Elwytha had killed in battle before, but never like this. Premeditated murder. And she’d do it in the palace of their bitter enemy, Prince Rex. In truth, he was their last remaining enemy. None of the other petty kings of Galwyddel dared attack her home any longer, for each had tasted the bite of their blades and wished no more. Only the huge kingdom of Northumbria, to the far east, remained a threat to Castle Cor na Gaeth. But for now they had peace with King Osred—as long as they paid the tribute he demanded.
So their last enemy—rooted in hatred and watered by the bloody war spawned by their mutual great-great-grandfathers a century earlier—remained the Prince, and his fiendish Commander.
She said, “You are sure he will accept this marriage contract?”
Her brother smiled. “The Prince will not be able to resist when he sees you. And he will grasp at the chance to keep his throne. Never fear, sister mine. All will commence as I have planned. I’ve written everything in this missive.” He tapped it on his leg and extended it to her. “Make no move to kill the Commander until you hear my battle horn, announcing my arrival to witness the nuptials in two weeks.”
“I will not truly have to marry the Prince, then?” Her flesh prickled at the very idea. The Prince had a repulsive reputation.
“Never, sister. I will rescue you as soon as you slay their Goliath.”
She bowed her head. “Yes, brother. I will leave at first light.”
“My guard will escort you to the palace with a white flag of protection. Godspeed.”
“Success,” Elwytha promised, swallowing another churn of apprehension. Tomorrow she would face the enemy Prince. Would she be able to maintain her charade of peace? She had enjoyed make-believe as a child. But acting a part for two weeks seemed nigh to impossible.
* * * * *
Castle Iolaire, Galwyddel
“Enter.” Elwytha’s escort had deserted her at the Prince’s drawbridge, which had been lowered so she could cross the deep, swift flowing burn that protected the castle entrance. Elwytha had never visited the enemy keep before, and in a glance had taken in the deep moat about it, the high stone walls at the front, and the tall, spiked wooden poles that surrounded the castle at the rear. It looked impenetrable.
Now she walked silently beneath the arched entrance into the courtyard of the ancient fortress. Men in thick leather chest armor, inlaid with linked metal pieces, walked beside her. Enemy men. Their weapons were sheathed because of the white flag she carried in one hand, and the scroll of peace she held in the other. She felt several of them looking at her, perhap s eyeing the warrior circlet upon her head. No doubt they thought it was a crown for the princess she was. Her lips tightened, suppressing a smile at their foolish gullibility. None knew of the two knives she wore beneath her flowing aqua gown, which was made of the finest linen and decorated with strips of intricate beadwork. Or the dagger at her ankle, just above her delicate kid slippers. Fools, all of them.
Of course, she was no better—a liar. An ambassador of peace, while she plotted murder. Discomfort squeezed inside her. How could she carry off this farce?
A helmeted soldier who smelled like old sweat took the white flag from her, and pushed open the door to the palace. “Enter,” he ordered, as if she were a subservient maid, and not the princess of Castle Cor na Gaeth.
With a lift to her chin, Elwytha walked with stately elegance to the double, curved wooden doors ahead. Two guards opened these, and before her lay the main hall of the palace.
A soft gasp escaped her as startling white blinded her eyes. The floor was made entirely of inlaid quartz pebbles, and they sparkled in the light streaming through slit windows in the stone walls. Overhead, candles in circular candelabras burned, brightening the room still more. Rich tapestries in elegant dark reds and blues and purples covered the walls. Men in helmets stood in two lines before her, lances crossed overhead, marking her pathway to the Prince, who sat upon his throne at the far end.
The Prince sat erect on a polished, elaborately carved wooden chair, with a plush footstool before him. He wore dark pants and boots, and a fine white tunic embroidered with gold threads. A bulbous crown of gold, encrusted with jewels, sat upon his head. Elwytha had never seen such a splendid crown before.
She moved slowly toward him, mindful of the lances above her. Her neck itched. If only they knew of her treason, surely they would wield them upon her.
The Prince’s straight black hair reached his chin, and he was smooth shaven. She saw more as she neared him. He possessed a thin face, aquiline nose, and a self-indulgent set to thin, cruel lips. His eyes were as black as coal, and opaque. An involuntary shiver rippled through Elwytha. She stopped ten paces distant and knelt to the floor.
“My lord,” she said, in her best obsequious voice. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Your forces surrender?” His voice sounded too smooth, as though falsely polite, and her flesh crept.
“Not surrender. My brother wishes peace. He writes of it in the parchment I carry.”
“Peace.” The single word sounded contemptuous. “Rise. Bring it hence.”
She was surprised. He would allow her to approach him? Was he a fool? She could easily kill him. Of course, she would forfeit her life, and thankfully her brother had not sent her on a martyr’s mission. She arose.
The Prince said, “My Commander will escort you.”
Elwytha’s breath caught. Alarm pierced her, mixed with hatred—and fear. The Commander. The monster who had murdered King Thor. The man she was ordered to kill.
A man appeared behind the ranks of soldiers that stretched to the Prince. Elwytha’s courage faltered as he descended the steps toward her.
He was huge. In a quick, observant warrior’s glance, she took in the essentials. Dark stubble prickled up from his shaven head, and his pugilistic face was shaved clean. Half of his nose was pushed to his right, as if broken and never reset. A scar puckered down through his right brow to his eye, which seemed to make him squint. He had a thick neck and bulky, muscular shoulders covered in a short-sleeved, dark leather jerkin. Beneath this was a long-sleeved, brown woolen tunic. Cloth trousers of the same color encased legs the size of tree trunks.
Elwytha involuntarily gulped with fear. She would be lucky to match his shoulder height. And she was to kill him?
He stopped before her and inclined his head. “Princess.” His voice was uncommonly deep.
Elwytha snatched back her courage, reminding herself that she was a warrior, trained to kill men. All men. Including this one. She inclined her head. “Commander,” she said with fake sweetness.
“Follow me,” he rumbled.
“Of course.” Perfect. If only she could kill him now! How swiftly she would unsheathe her dagger and plunge it through the monster’s back, as he had done to her beloved brother. Hatred shivered through her, and she clenched her fists, willfully controlling herself.
Three steps from the Prince, the Commander stopped, and so did she. He turned and held out a huge hand. “The scroll.” He spoke with a courtesy that belied his rough appearance.
Elwytha could not look him in the face, for fear her eyes would betray her fury and hatred. Pretending submissiveness, she bowed her head and relinquished the scroll. The giant moved to the side, so she had a full view of the Prince as he unrolled the document. He read quickly, and the beginnings of a smile twisted his mouth as he reached the end.
“Well,” he said. “A fine prize your brother offers me.”
Elwytha lifted her chin in an effort to appear regal, and not as merchandise about to be bartered for peace. The Prince’s eyes drifted down her form, which made her want to shrink in revulsion. With an amused smile, his eyes returned to her face.
“Unfortunately,” he said. “I have no wish for a bride.”
Her spirits plummeted. Now what would she do? She should have killed the Goliath when she’d had the chance.
“How disappointed you look.” He chuckled. “I am flattered you desire me so intensely.”
Elwytha swallowed back repelled words of denial, and said instead, “Shall I tell my brother you do not wish peace?”
“Nay.” He slapped the document into the hand of his Commander. “I will agree to a marriage of peace. What think you, Commander?”
Confused, she looked from one to the other. “You do not want me for a bride. Therefore, you do not wish peace,” she reminded him.
The Prince watched the Commander, who had finished reading the document. She was faintly surprised the hulking giant could read. The Commander imperceptibly nodded to the Prince.
“Good,” the Prince said. “It is agreed.”
“What is agreed?” She frowned with wary suspicion, disliking the silence. Disliking the silent communication between her two enemies.
“Your brother’s marriage of peace has been accepted. I will agree to peace with him if you, Princess, will agree to marry a man of my choosing in my stead.”
Her frown deepened. “How can that be peace between your crown and ours?”
“I will sign your brother’s peace agreement at the marriage supper in two weeks. Peace is peace, is it not, Princess?”
Elwytha drew a deep breath, uncomfortable with the Prince’s trickery. And then she remembered it was a trick—all of it. The marriage would never happen. Peace agreements would never be signed. What did she care if the Prince chose her future fake husband? The wedding would never happen.
She lifted her chin. “Very well. I accept, in the best interests of both of our peoples.”
“Good.” The Prince smiled, and stroked his chin with one finger. “You are a fine specimen. And my Commander agrees you will satisfy him as a wife.”
Her heart faltered. “What?” she sputtered. A sudden roaring filled her ears. No matter if it was all a lie—she could not countenance even a fake betrothal to that monster! The man who had filthily murdered her brother.
“Never,” she breathed. “Never!”
“No, Princess?” The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “You do not want peace?”
“I wish peace, but not to that monst…”
“Monster,” the Prince finished. “Do you hear that, Commander? She thinks you are a monster.”
The bulky shoulders tightened, but he did not answer. He did not look at her.
Elwytha heaved a breath and dropped a brief, disrespectful curtsy to the Prince. “I will tell Richard that peace has been rejected.” She spun on her heel and marched back the way she had come.
