SECRETS OF THE WIND (7 page)

But the woman riding beside him—leaning forward over her mount’s neck—kept pace with him, their horses matching one another stride for stride as the miles disappeared behind them. By the time the signpost announcing Viridian came into view, the two riders were galloping along in tandem, neither looking at the other.

Chas could sense the anger roiling in Ruan Cosaint’s brawny body. A white line streaked alongside his mouth and his eyes were narrowed. Although his hands were loose on the reins, she could see the coiled tension that had him sitting straight as an arrow in the saddle.

Slowing her pace as they entered the coastal village, Chas took a deep breath of the salt-sprayed air. Unlike Gaillimh Bay with its heavy scent of marine life, Viridian had a pleasant scent and the waters beyond were a lush turquoise blue. Beside her, the prince had reined his mount to a light canter and it was then she realized they had outdistanced his guards, leaving them far behind. Looking back, she saw the five-man escort bearing down on them, dust flying.

“Are you always so disdainful of your safety, Your Grace?” she asked, but received only an ugly snort for an answer.

Ruan led her to the inn where they would be staying the night. He halted his mount then flung a leg over the horse’s head, sliding down with a gracefulness Chas could not help but admire. She dismounted before he had a chance to help her, and when she stood facing him—for he had come around his mount to assist her—she saw his lips twitch. Whether it was in amusement or annoyance she couldn’t tell for his blue eyes were hooded as he spun around and headed to the inn.

The guard arrived as Chas reached the inn’s door, frowning when she realized he was not going to hold the portal open for her. It had already closed behind his entry. She entered the establishment in time to hear the prince ordering two adjoining rooms.

He ignored her as she joined him at the innkeeper’s desk. She could feel the stares of those sitting about the common room and heard a smattering of whispers that included the word doxy among them. Apparently, Ruan had heard the snide label as well, for he turned to survey the room with ill-disguised contempt.

“The lady accompanying me is of the royal house of Cosaint. Is there one among you who would like to repeat your insult aloud so I might deal with it?”

Shocked silence greeted the prince’s challenge and eyes were cast down as faces turned red or white…depending upon the sex of the gossip. When no one spoke, Ruan Cosaint nodded, his eyes narrowed into thin slits of coldness.

“I thought not,” he said and turned around to spear the innkeeper with a stony glower. “See to the lady’s bath then prepare one for me. We wish to dine alone, so if you have guests who wish to use the dining room this eve, I suggest you discourage them.”

“At your command, Your Grace,” the innkeeper agreed, his head bobbing up and down as he twisted his hands before him.

Ruan spoke to the guards who had entered right behind them. “Contact Mayor Cronin and tell him we will meet with him at nine of the clock tomorrow. I expect a hearty breakfast be waiting when we rise. Is that clear?”

The Chief Guard clutched his fist and struck his chest over his heart. “At your command, Your Grace,” he too, agreed.

“T-This way, milady,” the innkeeper offered as he skirted the desk and held out a hand to show the way.

Chas glanced back as she followed the innkeeper up the stairs and saw Ruan entering what she knew must be the taproom. She frowned, for it was far too early in the day to partake of strong beverages. One sweep of her well-trained eyes around the room found no glaring threat to the target to whom she had been assigned and she relaxed somewhat, knowing his guards would bar entrance to the taproom and see to his safety while she washed off the road dust.

It was while she was lathering her long hair in the wide, deep copper bathtub that the door to her room crashed open and she gasped to find the prince standing in the opening, his white lawn shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Standing beside him under the draped protection of his arm was a woman any reasonable person could see was nothing more than a common trollop.

“Chastain, meet Chastity,” Ruan said, his words slurred. He grinned and lifted the bottle he had in his free hand to his lips and took a long pull.

“I doubt the name is fitting, milord,” Chas replied. She locked eyes with the strumpet.

“Me name’s Charity,” the girl corrected.

“Help and assistance to those in need,” Chas defined the name. “That fits, I imagine.”

“I do what I can,” the girl said with a giggle, and threw back her head as the prince’s hand molded over her breast to fondle her.

Continuing to lather her hair, Chas ignored the duo in the doorway. The lush suds from the bubble bath hid her from the shoulders down, and unless Ruan came right up to the tub, he could see nothing more than her slender arms.

“How do you feel about a threesome, Chas?” the prince inquired with a leer.

“I prefer my men one-on-one, Your Grace,” Chas replied. “Send the whore away and we’ll discuss the matter.”

“Look here!” Charity hissed. “Who you calling a whore?”

“Either take her to your room and hump her, Your Grace, or send her on her way. I don’t share my body even for a Caitliceachs prince.”

Ruan was well on his way to being rip-roaring drunk, but he wasn’t drunk enough yet not to grasp the challenge in Chas’ light tone. He cocked his head to one side and though the tub swam as though sitting under water, he screwed up one eye and studied the lovely woman reclining amidst the foamy bubbles. She was ignoring him and when she slid down into the tub to rinse her hair, he felt his cock go rigid with need.

“Go find my Chief Guard and tell him to pay you well for this afternoon, Chastity,” Ruan said, sliding his arm from the strumpet’s shoulders. He slapped her playfully—though a mite too hard—on her ample rear then left her standing in the doorway, her mouth a round “O” of surprise as he kicked the portal shut in her face.

Chas’ head came up from beneath the water along with her shoulders and a goodly amount of creamy white bosom, the nipples barely hidden below the suds. “Her name is Charity,” she said, not looking around at him as he staggered to the tub.

Ruan hunkered down beside the copper vessel and wrapped his hands over the curled rim. He lowered his chin to the back of his right hand and stared at her as Chas soaped a fleece rag and ran it down the length of her arm.

“You are beautiful,” the prince whispered as he tried to see beneath the foamy bubbles.

“Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace,” she said, casting him a quick look. She didn’t like what she saw, for his eyes were red-rimmed with a sheen of sweat dotting his upper lip.

“I want to fuck you,” he said.

“I don’t like that kind of language,” she informed him and when he snaked his hand out to grasp her wrist—belying the condition of his reflexes—she felt the strength in his grip and her heart thudded, for drunken men could be hard to control.

“Now, wench,” he stressed, and tried to pull her toward him.

The slap was loud in the room and made even more so by the wetness slicking Chas’ palm. There was enough power behind the hit to knock Ruan off center and he crashed backward to land partially on his ass and partially on the wrist he had wrenched earlier that day. He yelped, grabbing his arm as tears of pain flooded his eyes.

“No one manhandles me, Your Grace,” Chas said between clenched teeth. “No one! Not even you!”

He stared at her, unable to speak as she rose from the water to stand over him. Dripping from head to toe, patches of foamy suds clinging to her lush form, she was an embodiment of the goddess rising from the sea. With her long golden hair curled around her shapely hips, her green eyes flashing, she was a sight to behold.

“I…I’m sorry,” he heard himself say and the words surprised him, for apologies did not come naturally to Gaelachuan men, and especially not to members of the royal family.

She lifted one long, perfectly formed leg and stepped out of the tub, sloshing water on his legs. Standing over him, she locked her stormy gaze with his astonished one.

“If you want to make love to me, you ask and you ask in a gentlemanly fashion. I will not be spoken to like a common tramp, and I detest the word you used to describe the interaction with which you would like to engage my person. Never, e
ver
use that word to me again. Is that clear?”

He could do no more than nod, for his attention was glued to the triangular patch of crisp golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. Tapered as though it were a silken arrow pointing to that part of her he desired the most, it beckoned him like a siren’s call. He longed to reach out and touch it, but he feared she’d break his hand if he tried.

Though Chas was trembling from head to toe, she refused to allow him to see her condition. She walked elegantly past him, trailing soapsuds as she trod. Her bare feet slapped lightly against the wooden planking as she lifted her dressing gown from a peg and wrapped it around her, belting it about her slender waist.

Ruan managed to push himself up with the elbow of his left arm for he was cradling his right wrist in his left hand. He sat there with his knees raised and gawked at her.

“I want a man who will court me, not rape me,” he heard her say and lifted his gaze to her beautiful face. She was standing there now with her arms at her sides, the lush, round globes of her breasts outlined against the pale green silk. The gown clung to her wet body and the prominence of her nipples made his mouth water. “I may not be of Gaelach royalty as you told the people in the common room but I have pride in myself, Your Grace. I know my own worth.”

He ached to take her into his arms and hold her. He was shivering with the need of it, and the erection that had plagued him for most of the day was back in stony form. His palms itched to touch her. He wanted to kiss her until she swooned into his arms and then he wanted to…

“Perhaps you should leave now, Your Grace,” she recommended. When he hesitated, she reiterated her suggestion.

It was difficult to get to his feet but he was able to do so with only a slight groan. His wrist was throbbing almost as much as his cock, but at least she wasn’t looking at that stalwart soldier waving his bayonet at her. Her scrutiny was fused with his bewildered stare. Though his cheek stung and his tailbone ached from the hard landing he’d taken on it, he felt the pain of his embarrassment more than any other discomfort.

“I had too much to drink,” he said and could have screamed as he staggered like an untried youth.

“Aye, Your Grace, that you did,” she agreed as she walked to the door and opened it.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled as he passed her on his way out.

“I already have, Your Grace. Have someone see to your hand,” she said.

He turned once he gained the corridor and opened his mouth to say something else, but she shut the door in his face.

Ruan stood there and stared at the door as though it were an object he’d never encountered before. No one—not even his virago of a mother—had ever shut a door in his face. No woman had ever turned him down before. So completely beyond his normal experience with women, this episode felt as though he had fallen through a black hole and into a strange new universe.

He walked down the hall shaking his head.

Chapter Six

Chas was fully dressed when the light knock came at her door later that evening. It was time for supper and she was famished. Delightful smells had been wafting up to her from below stairs for the last few hours and her stomach was rumbling, her mouth watering at the succulent scents weaving their way through her nostrils.

It was the chief guard who stood at her door, preparing to knock again, when she opened it. The man’s face was carefully blank but she fancied she saw a gleam in the pale gray depths.

“Prince Ruan sends his regards, milady, and bids you sup with him,” the man said.

“Do I need my shawl?” she asked.

“Begging your leave, milady, but I don’t believe you will. The dining room is quite warm, at the prince’s request.”

Chas carried on a light conversation with the chief guard whose name she found out was Patrick Murphy. He had been Prince Ruan’s primary protector since the heir-apparent turned eight years of age.

“A handful, was he?” she inquired of the man who appeared to be at least a full score older than his charge.

“Still runs me a merry race, he does,” Patrick admitted. “It was a relief when the queen decided to go before the Tribunal and hire you.”

Chas stopped. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the chief guard. “You know what I am?”

Patrick nodded. “I have the queen’s ear, I do, since it has been my duty to protect Prince Ruan. She went over your qualifications with me and asked if I thought you’d suit.” He grinned. “In more ways than just job-related, I’d say.”

Squinting, Chas asked him what that meant.

“The queen thinks you’d make a grand daughter-in-law. The mystic thinks so too, and Queen Annalyn puts great store in the throwing of the runes.”

“And if I am not interested in being Prince Ruan’s consort?” she asked, her jaw tight.

The chief guard actually laughed before coughing away his merriment. “That’s your decision, milady,” he finally said, and his tone left no doubt in Chas’ mind that he thought she was pulling his leg. He opened the door to the dining room for her.