Resplendence

Giant A Naughtily Ever After Stor y

By Abigail Barnette

Resplendence Publishing, LLC http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Ave #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118 Giant Copyright © 2011, Abigail Barnette Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Jason Huffman Cover art by Kendra Egert, www.creationsbykendra.com Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-297-6 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic release: May 2011 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

To Bronwyn Green, for helping create Abigail Barnette and being the best cheerleader a motivated self-doubter like me can have.

Chapter One

“Your Highness, perhaps we should…turn back?” Her Royal Highness Princess Jacqueline of Chevudon sat up straighter in her saddle. In the village, they had warned them not to ride on to their next stop, but Jacqueline hadn’t been able to believe the truth of their tales. There was, after all, no such thing as a giant. From where they sat, reining in their nervous horses at the edge of the enormous clearing, it seemed perhaps a bit more possible that a giant could exist. Exist, and live deep within the forest upon a few acres of cleared land and an uncommonly tall cottage. She squared her shoulders. “Don’t be foolish. This man owes taxes to the kingdom, and we must collect.” At her side, Groff, secretary to the tax bureau, sat upon his pack mule, nervously flipping through a leather satchel of papers. “I agree, Your Highness, but you see, the last person to try and collect from Andras Karlaff received quite the blow to the head. The poor fellow doesn’t know how to count anymore. We let him sweep up our pencil shavings in the office. Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Please stop calling me ‘your highness’. I am supposed to be incognito. Besides, I doubt this Andras Karlaff is enough of a brute to manhandle an unarmed woman.” Groff tried to stammer a protest, but Jacqueline would hear no more. “Really, if you’re so frightened, ride back to the village, and wait for me there.” The man had a brilliant mind for organization, but no concept of bravery or loyalty. He bowed his head and urged the mule to turn back, then set his heels to the animal and nudged it into a brisk trot down the path. “Coward,” she grumbled to her own mount, the majestic steed Vambrace, who she’d won from her do-nothing brother in a dice game. At the thought of Philipe, her hands clenched on the

reins. All her brother ever did was gamble, drink, and fuck. And while all of those things were tremendous fun in moderation, it was damnably unfair to do them all the time when one was set to inherit the throne. Especially, when one’s sister felt duty-bound to pick up the slack. That’s not really why you’re out here, she chided herself, and she swore under her breath. It was a bit of the reason, though she much preferred her big feather bed to a palette on the ground and her gowns to the trousers and tricorn of the tax collector’s uniform. If she returned to the palace and all of its comforts, she delivered herself directly into the hands of the man she most wished to avoid: her fiancé, Gilbert de Villchard. She clucked to Vambrace and ducked beneath a low-hanging pine bough. She’d ridden all over the kingdom, for weeks, collecting taxes in the guise of an average working class citizen of Chevudon. Never once had anyone guessed her identity, not with her plain clothes and roadside hygiene. She’d become rather proud of the fact she’d gone weeks without a dresser, toilette servants, a coiffureiste. Her dark locks were free for the first time in memory of the powder and flour that stiffened court hairstyles, her skin clear and smooth in the absence of the arsenic her maid liberally applied to the royal cheek every morning. Jacqueline had even prepared her own food, free at last from the worry of poison in her dish. She almost preferred this kind of honest, tedious work to the bored pampering of court life. Of course, a large part of that “almost” related directly to the structure that loomed in front of her. She guided her horse down the narrow path between the fields that crowded the clearing, and peered up at the cottage. Smoke puffed from the chimney, and yet no one had come out to see who visited this isolated croft. Very strange, indeed. A single section of split-rail fence stood moldering at the edge of the field nearest the cottage. She slid from Vambrace’s back and tethered him to the post, though it had rotted so that tying the animal was merely a formality. She smoothed the front of her sapphire silk vest and shook out the full sleeves of her linen shirt. Adjusting her tricorn hat upon her head, she took the steps up to the door and knocked sharply upon it. “Open in the name of our sovereign King Albart!” she called, rather impressively, in her opinion. The door creaked ajar slightly, and a deep voice issued from the scant opening. “What do you want?” A shiver crawled up her back. “I am here to collect taxes from you. Our records indicate that you have not paid in ten years, is that correct?”

“No one has been brave enough to collect,” the voice growled, and Jacqueline stepped back. Immediately, she realized her error. This was exactly how the man had dodged paying for years. Build a towering cottage, put about that you’re a giant, and no one would bother you. Very clever, if not for her superior intelligence. “I must insist that you step outside and converse with me in a civilized fashion!” She moved down the steps and waited for the undoubtedly short man to come out and face his justice. When the door opened and was seemingly filled with person, it took her a moment to realize her error. And though the door was at least six feet tall, the person had to stoop down to step through it. Her throat flexed as she convulsively swallowed, tilting her head up, up, up to look into the face of Andras Karlaff. If she had to guess, she would have figured him at eight feet tall. Though she herself was of average height, she stood only as high as his waist. His hands were easily the size of her head. His feet as long as her arm. How big is his–? “Sir.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath to force the heated flush from her cheeks. “I must insist that you hand over the tax due to your sovereign.” Andras raised one blond eyebrow. “He isn’t my sovereign.” Jacqueline blinked. “I must warn you that your words are treason.” “It’s not treason. It’s the truth. I was born in Irmantraught, to the North.” He crossed his arms over his massive chest. “So, he is not my sovereign.” She opened and closed her mouth, then regained her voice. “You live in this kingdom. You farm our land. You owe us taxes.” Andras leaned down—far, far down—his golden hair falling forward from behind his ears. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Go into the village, buy a turnip, and whatever you can squeeze out of it, you can take back to your king.” So, he thought he would intimidate her, and go another year without paying proper restitution? She clenched her jaw and glared up at him. “I am not leaving here without your money.”

His laugh was deep and full of malice. “What money? Do you suppose I should just go inside and open my vast coffers for you? Would you like it in gold or jewels? Look around you. I’m a farmer with two small fields, near a village that won’t trade with me out of fear.” Jacqueline scowled at him. “Perhaps if you weren’t so surly, people wouldn’t be afraid of you.” He straightened, his expression growing darker, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible. He took an audible breath and exhaled slowly. “You’re not leaving without my money?” “No. I am not.” She folded her own arms, mimicking his stance. “Fine. Get comfortable.” He turned and stomped up the steps of the cottage. “Excuse me!” She marched after him. “I am talking to you.” “Yes,” he agreed as he ducked back through the door. “You were.” The door slammed shut in her face. Jacqueline turned and looked to Vambrace. The horse looked back at her unhelpfully. Now what? She supposed she could ride back to the village and find Groff, then be on their way. Andras Karlaff was the last collection on their list. She could be back at the palace in two day’s ride. Back at the palace, ready to commence preparations for her wedding. To bind herself forever to that horrid, greasy man with his bad breath and hands that seemed to move faster than the eye could see or her own hands could defend. Just the thought of him climbing into bed with her in the middle of the night was enough to make her gag. Groff had most of the provisions in his packs, but she had a few supplies. Her bedroll, at least, a day’s worth of food. Perhaps if she waited right in front of his door, he’d have no choice but to pay just to rid himself of her. And it would prolong the inevitable, at least for one more night, perhaps two if he was very stubborn. She sighed and looked around the clearing. She could get water for the horse at the crumbling well, and she could build a fire in the round brick oven to stay warm. It wouldn’t be so bad. Certainly nicer than some of the roadside camps they’d endured. “Well, Vambrace,” she said with a sigh, “It looks like this is where we camp tonight.

Chapter Two

Andras pulled back the tattered curtain and watched through the open shutters as the tax collector appeared to set up camp. Though he had to admit he’d never seen a tax collector quite as…interesting as she was—until now, they had all been male, and all rather bruised and bloodied by the time they left—he didn’t want her there. It wasn’t that he enjoyed civil disobedience, but he couldn’t think of a single reason he should hand over what little gold he had to live on in order to fill the king’s pockets. Especially when that king seemed to do so little for his people. The tax collectors came every year, and every year nothing changed in the nearby village. The people went hungry; the roads sank further in the mud, the streets flooded when the rains came because no one had repaired the dams. What good, he wondered, was it to pay taxes when the money was never seen again? It wasn’t just King Albart, but his son, Philipe, and his daughters, who spent money as though it were water, and no sign of impending drought threatened to empty their cisterns. They were as culpable as their father. What would the fate of the kingdom be when the old king passed on? The tax collector found and now subsequently dragged a long wooden trough through the grass, chatting amiably to her horse as she did. Nice of her to annex his bathing tub for her own use, but he said nothing. The horse would need water, and it wasn’t the animal’s fault he was owned by one of the king’s lackeys. “You could help me, you know,” she said, straightening and facing the window. “I know you’re watching me.” He scowled and pulled the shutters closed.

He wondered how long she planned to stay out there. Certainly one night, with the cold they had in this part of the kingdom, would send her running. For all that she was a simple tax collector; she didn’t have the look of a woman used to a hard life. She had the look of a woman used to gifts from lovers and fine feather beds. He wondered if her skin would be so creamy all over, what she would look like standing in the firelight, her long, dark hair cascading over her body like water. Water, there was a thought. He imagined her dragging a sponge over her extended leg, the soapy suds dripping from her calf, down her thigh… He shook his head, as though that would dispel him of the torturous images. He’d given up any hope of that kind of relationship long ago, when he’d no longer been able to venture into the village for fear of what the superstitious idiots there might do to him. He’d once sent Bruno, his one and only human contact in the godsforsaken kingdom, to inquire at the brothels on his behalf, but the answer had come back resoundingly negative. The entire experience had been so mortifying, he hadn’t bothered to ask again. Now, a beautiful woman had shown up on his doorstep, indeed, seemed intent to stay there, torturing him with her presence. He imagined he could still smell her, a blend of horse and open air tinted with the slightest perfume that should not have been attractive at all. So, why was his cock straining against his trousers? Why couldn’t he think of anything except how she would feel beneath him, how her body would respond to his touch? He cursed silently. If she were beneath him, he wouldn’t even be able to see her. Usually, when he found himself in such a morose mood, he would go out and work in the fields. There were always weeds to be pulled, or he could work on the new irrigation system he’d planned. But she was out there, waiting to be infuriating and arousing all at once. No, it would be better to remain inside until she went away and left him alone. He went to the hearth and stoked the fire, then looked up at the provisions hanging from the ceiling. He climbed up the ladder to the loft and reached out to pluck down a side of salted pork and a string of onions. They should make a good supper. If he had any left, maybe he would give some to the tax annoyance. Why, because it will make her like you? Because you’ll become friends? He rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. Any normal person, especially an emissary from the king, was not to be trusted. He couldn’t let his cock rule his mind in this matter.

He set about preparing his dinner, his unease growing as he thought of the woman outside. If it rained, she could grow ill. If she died there, he would no doubt be done for. They would blame the giant, find an incredibly tall tree to hang him from, and that would be that. Perhaps he should invite her to stay inside. Perhaps you should forget she’s out there, and stop making flimsy excuses to try and talk to her. “Hi-yo!” He dropped the knife he’d been using to chop onions and wiped his hands on his shirt. Bruno had returned already? Andras had sent him out only yesterday to make inquiries as to the new crop. An early return did not bode well. Ignoring his earlier resolve to remain well away from the woman, Andras stepped outside and lifted his hand in greeting to the man who ambled into the clearing with a huge pack slung across his back. “What are you doing back so soon?” “I’m sorry, friend,” Bruno said without his usual cheerfulness. He stooped and scooped up a crumpled paper caught in the bean sprouts. “What’s this, a royal summons?” The tax collector, who had been pretending to ignore both men, set down the full bucket she’d lugged from the well. She’d taken off her hat, and the setting sun gave her dark hair a flame-colored cast. It was not pulled back so tidily now, small hairs escaping to stick to her perspiring forehead. The flush of hard work colored her cheeks. He wanted badly to go down and help her fill the trough and set up her camp, but that would be ridiculous. He was not about to make her imposition easier on her. The tax annoyance marched purposefully over to Bruno and ripped the paper from his hands. “That is official business of the kingdom. You have no right to touch it.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t have left it all over the place,” Bruno retorted, exaggerating his pronunciation to mock her high way of speaking. He adjusted his dirty cap on top of his greasy hair and scratched his thin stomach. “Who is this, anyway?” “She’s no one, ignore her.” Andras motioned to the door. “Come inside.” As Bruno passed the tax botherer, he bent his scrawny body in a comical curtsey. When the door closed behind him, he asked, “Why all of a sudden you have women waiting outside your door, when a year ago we couldn’t get the most pox-ridden whore in the village to come down and hop on you?”

“She’s not here to hop on me, she’s here to collect taxes,” Andras said, pulling out a chair for his friend. “And why on earth did you ask the pox-ridden ones?” “I figured a man lonely as you for a lady’s company wouldn’t be overly picky.” Bruno dropped his pack by the door and scrambled up the rungs of the chair, looking like a doll in an overly large dollhouse. “I spoke to the reeve of the shire two miles east. Said he’s not interested in any beans, but he would take some grain.” Damn. “If I had grain, that would be beneficial. And what about Rohern? You said you would go south as well. There’s no way you could have walked to both in one day.” “You haven’t gotten the news?” Bruno said this as though he weren’t Andras’s sole source of information from the outside world. “Rohern’s gone.” “Gone?” Andras rubbed his chin. “How?” Bruno reached for a piece of chopped onion and popped it in his mouth, where it would likely improve his breath. “What the floods didn’t wipe out, the raiders did. Nothing left there now but soggy ruins on fire.” “So, I’ll be eating beans this winter, then.” If he didn’t think too hard on it, perhaps Andras could delay his growing panic until he’d thought of a sensible solution to his dilemma. “Thank you for trying. But please, don’t give up yet. Ask everyone you know. I’ll even discount my price.” “It’s going to be a hard winter for all, mate.” Bruno chewed the onion thoughtfully. “I wish you’d reconsider, come and live with me and missus. We wouldn’t let nobody harm you.” “I know you wouldn’t, and as always I am grateful for your offer, but I couldn’t impose.” Nor could he endanger them. All it would take was another flood, or marauders, and Andras would be caught. He wouldn’t have Bruno and his meek wife held responsible as well. He couldn’t endanger them or their children. “Besides, you have your own mouths to feed, and another on the way.” “No, no, not on the way. Arrived, just last week. Annie did a fine job of it, too. The babe was no sooner out than she was up and cooking dinner for the rest of us.” The pride that glittered in Bruno’s eyes squeezed Andras’s heart in a tight vice. What might that be like, to share your existence with another person, to love and to have children? Andras went back to preparing his meal. “I would invite you to stay, but I know you’ll refuse.”

“Have to get back to the family. Haven’t been home in…oh, three days is it? Found some fine chickens wandering about the forest between here and Rohern, want to get them home while they’re still mostly fresh.” He gestured to the sack by the door then slid down from the chair, landing with an “oomf”. “Take care. And take care of that filly out there.” “I think it’s a stallion,” Andras remarked, tossing a handful of onions into the pot. Bruno grinned, showing rotted teeth. “I wasn’t talking about the horse.” Andras went to the door and watched until the man ambled out of the clearing, sack of dead chickens slung over his back. Only then did he look down at the tax inconvenience, who was busily unrolling her bedding. “Are you really going to stay here tonight?” She spared him a glance over her shoulder. “I’m going to stay here as long as it takes for you to pay what you owe the crown.” “Get comfortable,” he suggested grimly. For with no one willing to buy the harvest, it would be a long, long time until he was able to pay.

Chapter Three

“You stupid animal, I’ll have your guts for breakfast!” Jacqueline opened her eyes in time to see a huge boot fly over her head, followed by its mate. The earth she lay upon shook as Andras landed, then charged into the field. She sat up, her brow wrinkled in wakening confusion. What on earth was the man doing? She rolled to her side and propped herself up on an elbow, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Andras Karlaff had clearly lost his mind, for he ran through his fields in a strange, jerky dance as he tried to avoid crushing the bean sprouts growing there. He bellowed in rage of whatever it was he pursued, which ran into her vision in a streak of majestic black. Then, it became much clearer. “Vambrace, no!” Jumping to her feet, she rushed into the field herself, though her steps were admittedly not as careful. “Don’t hurt him!” “Why the hell didn’t you tie him better?” Andras roared. “Why didn’t you build a better fence?” she shot back, waving a hand at the collapsed pile of rotted wood where the fence used to be. She lifted her fingers to her lips and whistled, a high pitched pattern of short notes, the precise signal all royal horses were trained to obey. Reluctantly, Vambrace came to a stop beside her, she grabbed for his lead. Andras stormed over, a litany of curses tumbling from his mouth. Jacqueline ignored them as she petted and soothed the horse. “Hush, you’re frightening him.” “He should be frightened!” Andras shouted, brandishing a fist full of dirty roots. “Look what he’s done to my crop!” “Not the entire crop, don’t be so dramatic!” Jacqueline snapped, letting her worried gaze drift of the ruins of his fields. What the horse hadn’t eaten, he’d stepped on in his flight. Broken

bean stalks smashed into the pulverized soil, large boot prints marking carefully trod paths through the chaos. She looked back at Vambrace’s nose with renewed interest. “You know what you’ve done, don’t you?” Andras demanded, standing so close to her as to block out the sun with his enormous shadow. “You’ve destroyed my livelihood. I was going to have scrimp to survive winter, as it was. Now, I’ll have to actually pillage towns to feed myself!” “Oh, hush!” she shot back, surprising herself with her vehemence. “You’re nothing but a bully, and I’ll not let you intimidate me with your threats. You want to go pillage? Fine. I’m not going to stop you. Bring back enough to pay your taxes.” He blinked at her. “I’m sorry about your plants. I assure you, I will pay you back.” Still holding Vambrace’s lead, she went back to her bedroll and knelt down to pull her purse of gold from her saddle bags. She stood and faced him, already counting coins into her palm. “How much would your harvest usually bring you?” He didn’t answer. When she looked up, he was just…staring at her. She remembered then how she was dressed. She’d gone to sleep in her shirt, and now stood before him in only long, puffed sleeves and short tails. Everything of note was covered— barely—but the early morning chill coaxed her nipples to stand out against the fabric. But the way he looked at her…it was as though she didn’t have even her insubstantial clothing. A hot flush crept up her neck, and she took an involuntary breath that hitched her breasts higher. Heat flooded the crevice between her legs, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Turn your back,” she said in a ragged voice, and at least he had the decency to do as she had asked. “I apologize,” he said, sounding as mortified as she felt. Good. He should be ashamed for ogling her, the brute. “Don’t give me money.” His request surprised her, considering he had just lost his entire crop to her rampaging horse. Moments earlier, he’d been angry enough to murder a horse with his bare hands. He continued, with a soft clearing of his throat, “I don’t have any use for it. I’m not tolerated in the village.” Despite the grim affect to his voice, she snorted. “Not tolerated? What did you do, stomp their cattle?”

“People fear what they don’t understand. And they don’t bother to try and understand.” He shrugged, as though it were something he’d come to terms with long ago. “Go into the village, buy me supplies. I’ll give you a list in the morning.” Her heart twisted in her chest. How lonely it must be for him, living cut off from all human contact. She did not consider the foul smelly peasant who’d visited him earlier human, by any means. “Then we’ll be even?” He walked toward the house. “We’ll be close.” “You realize, though, that I cannot leave here without your taxes?” She followed him and tied Vambrace to the rail beside the steps. He turned on the top step and looked down as though he’d misheard her. So, she clarified. “I said I would not leave until you gave me the money you owed. And I won’t. So, if I’m all that stands between you and a lean winter, perhaps you would like to settle accounts now, and I’ll be able to go into the village and get those supplies for you.” He came down one step, and she thought she might have seen a glimmer of humor in his blue eyes. “If I did that, I would have no assurance that you’d actually return.” “You would have my word,” she pointed out, taking a step back, herself. “And at any rate, you don’t have much choice. Either accept my offer and the terms, or starve.” “And you plan to sleep out here all winter?” he continued to advance on her. “You’ll have to leave sometime, and soon, from the looks of it. You don’t even have any nightclothes.” The damned flush returned, and the unexpected stab of desire in response to his teasing. She kept up her retreat. “I don’t think we’re going to come to an equitable monetary solution,” he raised an eyebrow. “I propose a different tact.” “And what would that be?” Her heart thumped harder against her chest, against her wishes. “I must confess, I’m not sure how to put it.” He stopped advancing on her and took his chin in his hand. “I’m very lonely.” Her stomach lurched. “No.” “Please, hear me out.” He held out one massive hand to stop her. “I mean this in the most…respectful way possible. I’ve never…” “Never?” She supposed that seemed reasonable, if pitiable. And not just because of his size. His attitude also left much to be desired.

“Have you?” he asked, his awkward curiosity surprisingly endearing. She knew her face must be beet red, but she answered him anyway. “Yes. I have. Several times.” “And do you think it’s something worth experiencing?” “You…you can’t be serious.” She tiptoed backward to her bedroll and leaned down as modestly as she could to find her breeches. He hurried on. “I won’t expect payment from you for the fields you destroyed, and I won’t write to the tax bureau to let them know you destroyed my crops. You spend… one week. With me. You can stay in my house, eat my food, all you have to do, really, is…as you might expect.” “I didn’t destroy your fields. My horse did.” “I’m not interested in doing that with a horse.” He shook his head. “Never mind. You can sit out here for as long as you like.” “You don’t get to behave as though you were the affronted party. You just asked me to prostitute myself in order to absolve my debt.” She pulled her vest on and buttoned it over her chest. “I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Well, you should be.” Somehow, she didn’t feel entirely just in chastising him. After all, one would have to be desperately lonely to suggest such a scenario. “Just stay out of my way while I work, and I won’t bother you again.” He unwound Vambrace’s lead, and before she could protest, assured her, “I’m moving him behind the house. I don’t need him eating what little I can salvage.” She swallowed her admonishment and watched as he gently clucked to the animal he had threatened to kill earlier. How much of that bluster and menace was simply the result of too much time alone, spent in resentment of the outside world? No, she couldn’t let herself start thinking like that. He was practically a criminal, stealing from the crown. Her father’s crown. She went to her bedroll and sat down on it, brushing grass and dirt from it. She opened her pack and pulled out an apple and surveyed the field. He would have a lot of work to do today. And she would have…nothing to do.

She reconsidered and smiled to herself. There were worse ways to spend the day than watching someone thoroughly irritating do miserably hard work.

Chapter Four

Andras wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up. He’d begun work on a new section of fence, though he wasn’t sure what it was intended to keep out. The old section had only been there because it was all that was left of the fence his father had built. But Andras had to do something to keep his hands and mind busy, lest either of them want to stray to the tax problem. She sat on a nearby stump, kicking her small boot heels in a bored rhythm against the wood. Every now and again, he would lose all of his willpower and look up at her, and she would turn her head, as though she didn’t wish to be caught watching him. It was almost embarrassing enough to make him put his shirt back on. “You know, there are some lovely wildflowers that grow in the forest,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “Lovely bears, too. Maybe you could find one of the two, preferably the latter.” “Thank you, but no,” she answered in a voice so sweet, honey practically pooled at her feet. “I’m enjoying myself here.” “Watching me?” he raised an eyebrow at her before he went back to planing down the log secured on two sawhorses. “Watching you break your back in crude manual labor,” she shot back. “Are you building something you can sell, hopefully to secure gold to settle your debt?” “No, replacing the fence some insufferable woman broke.” He forced himself to stop enjoying their conversation. Soon enough she would be gone, and he didn’t need to get used to chatting. That’s what Bruno’s occasional visits were for. “It wasn’t a fence. It was a bit of fence. It was barely serving its purpose, unless it was built expressly to rot in the rain.”

The woman should have been a barrister, the way she argued. “It was a fence when my father built it. The years have not been kind.” “Your father?” She sounded surprised to hear that he could have been born from normal means. “Yes. You didn’t think I sprang from the ground?” He brushed shavings from the wood and scrutinized his work with a critical eye. “So, your father…was he…” the drumming of her feet increased. “A giant?” He shrugged. “Yes, I suppose he was. He died when I was very young, but my mother said he was.” “And your mother?” “She was the usual size.” He smiled at the memory of his mother, the way she’d always risen up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and how he would bend down but keep just out of her reach. “In fact, she was quite short.” “Does she still live?” “Do you see her anywhere?” He dropped the planer and went to the bucket of water he’d set beside the sawhorses. He lifted it up and drank about half of it down, and when he lowered it, faced her utterly revolted expression. “What?” “You could at least use a cup!” she slid from the stump and came to stand in front of him, like a tiny, irate field mouse intending to chastise a draft horse. He shrugged and concealed his amusement. For all the trouble she had given him, there was something irrationally endearing about her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a giant. This is a cup to me.” “Oh, hogwash, you are not a giant.” She stamped her foot. “You’re just uncommonly tall. Giants live up beanstalks; it says so in all the stories.” “I live near beanstalks,” he pointed out. She made an exasperated noise and paced back and forth near the sawhorses. “Surely there must be something to do here. I’m ready to die of boredom.” “You could always leave,” he offered with a cheerfulness he did not feel. He hadn’t had so much fun as he had teasing her in his entire life. “The village has a very nice inn.” “The village doesn’t owe taxes.” She tugged down her vest, her pert breasts thrust out in pride. “At least, not anymore.”

“You are setting yourself up to be bored for a very, very long time,” he warned, then whistled as he took up the planer. “Unless you feel like doing some manual labor?” “Is there something you would have me do?” Her question caught him by surprise. Certainly, she didn’t mean to involve herself in the running of his farm now. “You’re joking.” “I am not.” She stepped up on the horizontal rung of the sawhorse opposite and leaned her elbows on the plank. “I’m not entirely useless. And I suppose I do feel a bit responsible for what happened to your fence.” “I already told you how you could repay me for that,” he mumbled, taking up the planer once more. Her cheeks burned furious red, and she stalked back to her former resting place. When she sat down, she didn’t face him. Embarrassment and dread crept over him. Why, he couldn’t say. If he offended her greatly enough, she would leave him in peace, without any of his money. It was, in fact, the outcome that he hoped for. So why he felt so guilty tormenting her, he couldn’t fathom. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she seethed, barely turning her head to speak to him. “Ladies do not appreciate such talk. It doesn’t endear you to us.” “You’re not a lady, you’re a tax collector.” He went back to planing down the log. “I’ve treated you far better than the others who’ve come poking around here.” “Are you to be congratulated, then, on your boorish behavior?” she crossed her arms, still looking resolutely away from him. He didn’t answer. So, he behaved boorishly. What did she expect from a giant? “If you had been raised with manners—” “Don’t tell me how I was raised.” He dropped the planer and marched over to the stump, where he turned her roughly to face him. “My mother was a true lady. I don’t expect you to understand that, sitting there dressed as a man, doing a man’s job. Not even a man’s job. Only a pathetic excuse for a man would rob his fellows blind to feed the coffers of the greedy king and his fat, worthless family!” “Fat?” she shrieked in outrage, pushing hard against his chest. Her eyes bulged in outrage, and she stuttered a bit as she added, “What do you do for your fellow man, then? Hit

them over the head? Frighten them away? Create a greater tax burden to those who do tithe their due?” He could think of a thousand ways to argue against her, but he pushed them down. “You know nothing of the world but what you see from the back of your expensive horse. When those compliant idiots come to you to willingly hand over all that they have, you think they’re doing it because they support their king, when in reality, they fear him.” “The people love him,” she snapped. “And why should they not. Doesn’t he give alms to the poor? Didn’t he recently celebrate the fiftieth year of his reign by opening the royal kitchens to any beggar and peasant who came to sup?” “Drops of water to a people dying of thirst!” How could anyone be so blind to the plight of their countrymen? “You’ve been all over the kingdom. Have you seen a single expression of hope on a face in all that time? A child who was not dirty, in rags for clothing? Have you seen any happiness or content in your travels?” She opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He continued. “Your beloved king is a mad old tyrant who lives in excess while his people starve. His children are no better. They play at life as though it were a game, while we struggle.” “Certainly, if the king were aware—” “And that is the problem, Oh wise tax annoyance. He doesn’t care enough to make himself aware of the state of his own people.” Overhead, the sky rumbled ominously. Despite the silver tint creeping into the sky, Andras felt something akin to cheer. He grinned broadly at the tax irritation. “Seems as thought it might rain.” He collected his tools and whistled on his way into the cottage.

Chapter Five

Jacqueline sat beneath the miserable canopy a scraggly ash tree provided and peered from beneath her sodden bedroll. A crack of thunder split the air, and the sky illuminated. It seemed that with every peel, the thunder came closer to the very spot she sat in. “Nasty out,” Andras noted mildly from inside his window. He leaned on his elbows on the sill and surveyed the rain that fell in streams instead of drops. “Glad I’m in here.” She said nothing and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. “I can’t imagine how long it will take to dry out, even if the rain stops tonight.” He ticked a few points off on his fingers. “The ground will still be wet, of course, and it’s difficult to dry clothes while wearing them. Any fool caught out in this will risk death by ague if they don’t get warm and dry tonight.” The temptation to spit at his words almost caused her to forget her gentle upbringing. She would not let a bully like him bring her down to his level. “If only there were somewhere nearby, a village, perhaps, with an inn that errant travelers caught without shelter could seek comfort in.” He sighed theatrically. “Oh, if only there were such a place.” She tried to keep her teeth from chattering even more loudly. He stayed silent for a moment then pulled the shutters closed. The loss of the cheery square of firelight the window had provided made it seem somehow colder out, but she knew it was just an illusion. And no one died of ague from one night in the rain, did they? In a few moments, the shutters burst open once more. “Are you really going to stay out there all night?”

She nodded, narrowing her eyes. “And the next, and the next. So you’d better hope I don’t die out here. You have a history of violence against the king’s tax collectors. It would be a shame if you were somehow blamed for my demise.” Something dark crossed his features, and he slammed the shutters again. She felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps she should give up and go to the village. After all, she was the intruder here, imposing herself upon his property and making a nuisance of herself. No. She could not think that way, if she wanted to outlast him and take what rightfully belonged to her father. If she wanted to prove herself capable, no, extraordinary, at something other than simply sitting about, being as lazy as Andras accused. The door to the cottage swung open, and Andras swooped out, clad in a long hooded cloak like the angel of death, if the angel of death wore brown homespun. He strode across the yard, toward her pathetic, marshy camp. “What are you doing?” she shrieked as he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. She thought briefly of struggling, but worried that if dropped, the fall might kill her. He carried her into the house and dropped her with little ceremony onto a tall kitchen chair. Before she could right herself or gain her balance, he pulled the chair toward the hearth and settled it there roughly. “Take this,” he grumbled, pulling a rough woolen blanket from his bed and tossing it in her direction. It hit her in the face. She pulled it around her shoulders, grateful for the warmth, no matter how begrudgingly it had been given. Her teeth clattered together, and she had to physically restrain herself from jumping into the flames. He leaned down and stabbed at the logs on the fire with an iron poker, then grabbed another log and pushed it atop the blaze. “If your stubbornness doesn’t kill you, you’ll be very lucky. You should take off those wet things.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “No, I think I’ll stay dressed inside the cottage of the man who propositioned me earlier.” She watched as he pulled a handful of dried herbs from a hanging basket on the wall and tossed them into a fire-blackened kettle. He hung it over the fire then retrieved a glass bottle full of amber liquid. He poured out a measure into a wooden cup and handed it toward her. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. It will warm you.”

“Thank you.” She took the cup from him and sipped the liquor inside. It stung her tongue and tasted like honey and cinnamon as it burned down her throat. She sputtered and held the cup out to him, but he closed his strong, warm hands over hers and pushed back. “Drink it all. It gets easier, I promise.” His tone seemed surprisingly gentle in contrast to his gruff treatment of her. She took another cautious sip. As she winced against swallowing, he said softly, “I’m sorry that I…propositioned you.” She said nothing and concentrated on the shimmer of liquid in the dark recess of the cup. It seemed churlish to ignore his apology, when he did seem sincere. But she got enough of the blunt attention of men at court. “You cannot speak to women that way.” “I was raised better, I assure you,” he said with a grimace. “I suppose I thought that because you were a tax collector, you didn’t deserve to be treated with respect.” “As I learned from being addressed ‘Tax Annoyance’ and ‘Tax Irritation’ all day long.” She swallowed down more of the rough beverage. “I have a name, you realize.” “Really? They give those to tax collectors these days?” He took a drink straight from the bottle. When she pulled a face and looked into her own cup, he said, “Don’t be such a delicate flower, princess.” The admonishment brought a little squeak to her throat, and she cleared it away. If only he knew. “What is it, then?” he asked, tipping the bottle to his lips again. “Jacqueline,” she answered, her cheeks flushing from the heat and the alcohol. “Jacqueline,” he repeated, and somehow her name sounded much more elegant when he said it. “I do apologize. I’m uneasy around…people.” “Have you lived like this your whole life?” She looked around the cottage, wrinkling her nose at the stained walls and thatched roof. At least it kept the rain out. He nodded, following her gaze. “My father built this place, and my mother and I lived here, until her death. I didn’t see a reason to leave. It isn’t as though I would be accepted anywhere else.” “Perhaps if you weren’t so surly.” She fixed him with a sharp gaze. “I think you greatly underestimate the kindness of humanity.”

“I think you are very naive,” he said, taking another swig from the bottle. “But I appreciate you heaping the greatest share of the responsibility for my isolation upon my attitude and not my uncommon size. It equalizes us some, I think.” Her jaw dropped. “You don’t speak like any peasant I’ve ever known.” “Known a lot of ‘peasants,’ have you? And I suppose you’re some highborn member of the aristocracy, you’ve just become a tax collector out of a desire for adventure?” He chuckled. “I was educated. My mother was an incredibly intelligent woman, low born, like yourself.” It inordinately pleased her to know that he thought her intelligent. “You think I’m smart.” “I think you’re a bit drunk.” He took the cup from her then lifted the steaming kettle from the fire. “Here, have a cup of this, and then sleep. I’ll make you a bed by the fire.” He poured out the tea, then, before he handed it over for her to drink, he blew on it, dispersing the steam. “Be careful, it’s very hot.” Something in Jacqueline’s stomach flipflopped strangely. Had he really just warned her to be careful? Earlier, he’d told her to go get eaten by a bear, and now he blew on her tea to cool it. Perhaps he was a bit drunk. “Why are you being so nice to me?” He didn’t answer immediately, going instead to the cupboard beside the door and pulling out a few thin blankets. “I’m embarrassed by the way I treated you earlier. Suggesting the reparation that I did for the fence.” Her face flushed hotter. “It’s all right. I suppose I understand, your…loneliness.” “It wasn’t just loneliness,” he said, as though to himself. She leaned forward, studying his face as he dropped to one knee and spread a blanket out by the hearth. “What did you say?” He stood, grabbing the bottle from the table and taking another long drink. When he pulled his lips away with a grimace, he rasped, “It was nothing.” “No, you said, ‘It wasn’t just loneliness.’” Pride forced her lips into a smug smile. “So, it’s not only opportunity that caused you to proposition me.” “It wasn’t,” he admitted. “I would say it was a combination of opportunity and your beauty. Possibly more of the latter.” She smirked with feminine pride and took an absentminded sip from the cup. The hot tea scalded her tongue and she spit it out, unthinking, to dribble down her chin and burn her. The cup rocked in her hands and sloshed over her fingers. “Ouch!”

He reached out to steady her, took the cup from her hands and dropped it on the table with a curse. “I told you it was hot!” She wiped it from her hands on the wet tails of her shirt then caught his hand. “Oh, let me see, don’t be such a baby.” In her palm, his hand was heavy and rough. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. What would it be like to have those big hands on her? It had been a very long time, her body reminded her, since she’d shared a man’s bed. The last time had been an ill-advised tryst at her brother’s birthday celebration. Philipe enjoyed the costume and decadence of an orgy, and Jacqueline would not deny that the evening had been enjoyable. But she’d made the mistake of singling out the most beautiful man in the room for her company, when she’d learned years before that those men were rarely the most satisfying. She eyed Andras critically. No woman would accuse him of being unhandsome. His piercing blue eyes, always clouded with the frown of his fair brow, held a depth of feeling she suspected no one had ever ventured to explore. His wide mouth looked soft and inviting beneath his straight nose. She’d seen him today, working shirtless, his thick muscles straining beneath his skin. She lifted his hand and kissed his burned fingertip.

Chapter Six

Andras’s expression darkened, and he pulled his hand back. “Don’t. Don’t be cruel to me like that.” “Cruelty is not my intent.” She reached for the mug and took a cautious sip. “It might not be your intent, but for someone like me, who will never know…” he stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head. “It is cruel to mock me with a kind touch.” She set the mug aside and shrugged the blanket from her shoulders. Her heart pounded so hard she could see her pulse in the sodden ruffles of her shirt. He looked up, confusion crossing his brow as she reached for the tie at her throat. Realization dawned, and his gaze never wavered from hers. He looked like a man who had just realized he was dreaming, and who feared that he might wake. His nervousness was so dear, she almost cried. The hope she saw in his eyes cut her deeply. How she hated palace life and its lack of privacy. And how he so longed for company that he was terrified she would turn him away. She slowly unbuttoned her vest and reached for the hem of her shirt. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the garment over her head. He looked away briefly, and firelight glinted off the wetness in his eyes. She took his big hand in both of hers and brought it to her breast. They took a breath in unison, and her nipple hardened under his palm. She couldn’t contain her soft gasp of surprise at the desire that raced like lightning to her core. He stared down at her hands holding his against her chest as though he couldn’t believe it. “Touch me,” she softly urged him. “I want to, but…” he laughed, sounding embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” She laughed with him at that, and reached up to touch his face. “Kiss me, then.”

He didn’t move his hand from her breast, but he leaned down to brush his lips across hers. She captured his face in her hands and nipped at his bottom lip, then opened her mouth against his. He didn’t hesitate further. She rose to her knees on the chair, bracing herself with her palms against his massive chest. Breaking their mouths apart, he whispered, “Come here,” and pulled her into his lap. “Not so afraid of breaking me now,” she murmured against his lips, and they shared a soft laugh. She opened her legs around his waist and let him pull her closer, his large hands gliding down her back to cup her bottom. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he admitted shakily, a half-smile bending his lips. “But it is.” She kissed him again, moaning against his lips. Though she could hardly believe it, she was wet for him, and more than willing to honor the letter of their agreement. There was a heady power in knowing that she would be the first for him, and a strange sort of honor. He would remember her long after she had returned to the palace, and she him. The thought of court made her momentarily bitter. No men there ever supposed that a woman would reject them. No men there would care about being gentle. She shifted her hips and felt the huge length of him through his trousers. “I promise to try, but…” “I understand.” he kissed her again, growing more confident, holding her closer. “Just let me touch you, and I’ll die a happy man.” He stood, lifting her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. She felt so tiny in the oversized bed, so naked in comparison to him, who remained fully clothed. Seemingly sharing her thoughts, he pulled off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor then joined her on the bed. He lay beside her and reached to touch her. He leaned down and kissed her throat, her shoulder, trailing his mouth across her collarbones. His inexperienced touch set her aflame faster than a torch to kindling. She’d been with men who prided themselves on their expertise in the arts of lovemaking, and none of them had made her yearn for them the way she craved Andras’s touch. She threaded her fingers in his golden hair and pulled his head down, inviting him to take her nipple into his mouth. He circled it with his tongue then sucked, tapping his tongue over the hard peak. Some things, she decided, must be instinctual. His hand crept down her stomach, almost timidly. She lifted her hips in anticipation and invitation, but he went no further. Instead, he moved his attention to her other

breast, leaving a trail of kisses in the valley between the two. She closed her eyes and let her fingers roam over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the tight muscles that bunched and released as he supported himself over her. Strangely, his size no longer seemed intimidating, but inviting and incredibly arousing. Her skin flamed everywhere he touched her, and that fire spread through her entire being, ready to consume her. He unfastened her trousers and pulled them down her legs, his fingers tracing long, ticklish paths on their return. His palm grazed her. She gasped and lifted her mound toward his touch, and he briefly moved his hand aside. “That was a good sound?” “It was,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he leaned up, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his hand on her body. With a sort of profane reverence, he eased her thighs apart and ran one questing finger down the seam there. His hands were hot and rough, hands that had known hard work. Nothing like the men she’d been with before. “Here,” she instructed softly, guiding his fingertip between her folds. He whispered an appreciative curse when he encountered the wetness he’d inspired, and let her move his hand, showing him the way. She took a breath as his finger skimmed the little bud, tried to keep her wits about her, but her hands fell away and she arched her back, drawing up like a bow. He was a good student, though, and further instruction wasn’t necessary. He swirled his finger in tight circles, tapped a path up and down, until she writhed and panted. Her entire world narrowed to the focus of his finger rubbing over her flesh. She gripped the bedclothes in her fists and came with a shuddering sob that drown out their heavy breathing. He withdrew his hand, stroking lazy circles over her inner thigh. “I have to say, that was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She flushed. She never usually felt embarrassment over compliments. This one was too intimate, though, and far too sincere. She sat up, crossing her ankles and resting her arms on her knees, thankful to not have to look up at him. “Really?” He nodded, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingertips. “And the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Her heart ached at his honesty. She came to her knees and gave him a gentle push to roll onto his back. She reached for the drawstring of his trousers. “May I?”

“Please, by all means,” he said with a bit of a sputter, and she laughed at his formality. She pulled the tie then slipped her hand inside. His cock sprang against her palm, and she got a true sense of his size then, so wide she couldn’t close her hand around him, and impossibly long. She took a trembling breath at the thought of how he would feel, and realized she had no idea what it would be like. None of the men she’d had at court had been anywhere near as large. She bit her lip and pumped her hand up and down experimentally. With her other hand, she tugged at his trousers. “Take this off.” Lifting his hips, he pushed the material down his legs then kicked them completely away. She gasped audibly. Feeling it was one thing, but seeing it, the incredible length and breadth of him, was a full-body shock. Her throat went dry and other, wetter places certainly didn’t. “What’s wrong?” he asked, moving his hands as though he would cover himself. She shook her head with a smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all is wrong with you. In fact, if you kept your same proportions but were the size of a normal man, I dare say you’d be quite popular with the ladies at court.” “At court?” he asked, and she cursed silently. A simple tax collector wouldn’t know anything about the royal court. Luckily, he wasn’t inclined to pursue questioning when she grasped him and slid her hand up and up, over the flared crown and down again. Mindful of his inexperience, she moved to straddle him. He wouldn’t likely last long, and she didn’t want him to spend in her hand before she had the chance to take him inside of her. She sat astride him, but didn’t take him into her body yet, grinding her dripping cunt over him as he kneaded her buttocks and groaned. “You realize I have been without a woman’s intimate touch for my entire life,” he said through clenched teeth. “Postponing it further is just torture.” She rose up on her knees as much as she could and inched forward a bit, reaching between her legs to position him at her core. The moment he brushed against her, he lifted his hips, and she rose up quickly. “Don’t move! At least, not until I’m…used to you.” “Don’t move,” he grumbled. “My cock feels like it’s about to burst, but don’t move.” “Don’t move,” she repeated, and taking a breath, pressed down on him experimentally. “Are you ready?” “For twenty years, I’ve been ready,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Jacqueline, I’m going to die.”

He said my name. For the first time, he’d called her by her name, and not just “tax annoyance”. She didn’t know why it affected her so, but she could not meet his eyes. Instead, she guided his big cock into her, barely an inch, holding her breath as she stretched to receive him. Though she was wet and more than ready, the sheer size of him surprised her, and she rocked in place, trying to ease the burning ache. For his part, Andras stayed still, the nearly super-human effort not lost on her. She took him further, slipping down almost halfway, and he groaned. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, and a chill raced up her back. There was something to be said for drifting over the line from pleasure to pain and back again. She rose up, a moan caught in her throat as the ridged head dragged mercilessly across the hidden sweet spot inside of her. His fingers dug into her thighs as he held onto her. When she looked to his face, she saw he watched her, again with that hope and disbelief. She slid back down, finding it easier this time to take him in, and rose up again. “I think,” he said in a tight voice, “I think I won’t last very long.” “You’ll make up for it next time.” Now she could take him almost completely, aided by the desire she felt from simply watching him experience this for the first time. She brought her own hand to stroke her folds, to feel how she opened around him, and he groaned, thrusting his hips forward just a bit. “I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized. “It’s just damned difficult not to.” She rolled her hips, hissing aloud at the strange balance between “too much” and “just enough”. “Move, if you like,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it. He held her hips while he moved slowly, experimentally. “Like this?” She couldn’t answer him with anything but a moan. The thick column that impaled her rubbed her most sensitive places, inside and out, stole all her senses until his massive cock was all she could feel. What had begun as a burning stretch now seemed an unsatisfiable need, and she moved with him, taking as much as she dared of what he would give her. She touched herself, rolling her pearl over and over as she panted and gasped atop him. With a final, deep shove, he shouted his climax, his neck corded with tension while he spent inside her. She followed him, cresting the wave with the violent shudder of his cock in her. She fell forward in a sodden, sweaty heap on him, and one of his large hands came down to rest on her back.

They lay that way for a long time, him stroking her hair against her back and she listening to the sound of his pulse, mirrored by the pulse of his cock. She’d made a mistake, in the heat of passion, to let him come inside of her. It would be quite the scandal, were she to return to the palace, to her fiancé, with a highly inappropriate reminder of her time with Andras growing in her belly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly. She lifted her head to smile at him. “Not at all. To the contrary, it was…amazing.” “I would accuse you of exaggeration, but you leave no doubt.” He chuckled, a sound that Jacqueline was growing quite fond of. It was much better than his seemingly eternal bad mood. “So, a week then,” she mused aloud. He stopped petting her hair. “Is that what you’re agreeing to?” Another week away from court, another week to delay the inevitable. A week of incredible coupling with an unusual lover as eager to have her as she was to have him. She grinned up at him. “I can think of worse ways to spend my time.”

Chapter Seven

While Jacqueline slept, Andras slipped from the bed and stoked the fire in the hearth. The chill wind howled outside, and it would find its way through every crack in the cottage walls. He looked back to the woman sleeping, like a tiny princess asleep on a lily pad in a faery story. How had this happened? One moment, he’d been bickering with her, the next, she’d kissed him, touched him, let him touch her. At the memory of how she had wailed and shaken atop him, his cock grew hard and he wanted her all over again. Wanted to crawl into the bed beside her and stroke her until she woke, ready and wanting him again. And she had wanted him. It seemed impossible, but she had. Her body had been so wet and open, for him. All for him. Instead of waking her, he opened the shutters and looked out at the storm. This much rain would cause the river to swell. Homes might be lost. What had happened in Rohern had been a failure on the part of the crown. If the dams had been repaired, perhaps so many would not have been displaced. If it happened here, Andras would be truly alone. Alone seemed a more lonely prospect than it had before. It might have been a mistake to invite her into his home. But how could it have been a mistake? He breathed in the night rain, closing his eyes to remember how she had felt, how she had sounded. He would remember the hot, wet clutch of her body, her gasps and moans, long after she had left him. Still, she was his enemy, so long as she worked for the crown. He had no intention of ever tithing to a king who refused to help his people when they suffered. He’d remembered all the stories his mother had told him, reading from the fashion papers that reported all the sumptuous banquets and balls from court. Women and men dripping with diamonds, wearing gowns worth more than a single village could hope to raise in a year. That it was going on,

seemingly without reproach from the king or his ministers, while people starved, was unconscionable to Andras. Jacqueline had been to court. She’d said as much, then she’d appeared to regret it. Did she hold the same contempt for them as he did? If so, why did she collect taxes, helping the aristocracy become richer by the day? He looked at the woman in his bed, her long, dark hair spilled across the linen, her small, soft body relaxed in sleep. She did not seem like the type of woman who would have a job, if there were available husbands to be had. Why was she not tucked away in some fine house, eating her meals from gold plates, enjoying all the comforts of an easy life? What would possess her to ride about the country, unaccompanied, venturing to the door of a notoriously dangerous man? Never mind that he rarely harmed anyone; that last tax collector had simply gotten on his final nerve. If Jacqueline were his woman, he would see that she never endangered herself again. He would make her life as grand as she deserved, although he would never be able to repay her for what she had done for him. But she wasn’t his woman and never would be. And he could never offer her anything more than a muddy bean field and a life of isolation and starvation. After watching his mother suffer for so long as an outcast, and because of him, he couldn’t stand to do it to another person. He laid awake at night worrying what might befall Bruno, should he be deemed too associated with the village giant, and he didn’t like Bruno very much. He liked Jacqueline. He liked Jacqueline very much. On the bed, she stirred, as if woken by his gaze. Her eyes fluttered open, glinting dark in the firelight. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Because I can’t stand to sleep through such a beautiful night. He shrugged. “The storm woke me.” “Hmm,” she answered sleepily. “Come keep me warm.” He hesitated only a moment, and then only out of habit. She wanted him near her, unbelievably. He wouldn’t question it, though she lay atop the blankets rather than beneath and the cottage was warm. Instead, he slipped into the bed beside her, letting her twine her long, slender legs with his. “I love rainstorms,” she murmured.

Above her head, he lifted a brow. “Like these?” “Mm-hm.” She rested her head against the crook of his arm, molding her body to his. The touch of her skin stirred his cock. “Rainstorms like these swell rivers, destroy dams and swallow whole villages,” he pointed out. “Seems a strange thing to love.” She stiffened, to a degree that would have been imperceptible to anyone not wholly attuned to her body. Andras was. She relaxed against him and said, “I don’t love that bit, obviously. But the sound. The smell of the rain. Those are things to love.” “I suppose I never considered that.” He leaned down and kissed her hair, breathing in the smell of her. “Do you know what I love?” “Hmm?” “The way you smell. How you feel.” He stroked his fingers down the delicate column of her spine. “You’re so beautiful, you seem unreal.” “Be careful, I might get used to these compliments.” She turned in his arms and pressed light kisses to his chest. “I could stand giving them for a week.” Her touch stirred him, and he pulled her tighter to him, her thighs brushing his erection. She looked up, apology written on her features. “I don’t think I can again tonight. I’m a bit…sore.” He should have felt sorry that he’d been the cause of her pain, but it made him strangely proud. As though he’d left some lasting impression on her, some mark that claimed her as his. He smoothed his hands down her back, over the silk of her hair to the soft of her skin, gliding down to cup her round buttocks and part her thighs. She made murmur of protest, and he hushed her. “Let me touch you. That will be enough.” Rolling to her back, she opened her legs readily for him. He moved down the bed, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of her. When he lowered his head to hers, she responded greedily, nipping at his mouth with kisses more like bites than anything soft and loving. He laughed and gave her what she sought to take from him, melding their mouths together in a teasing dance of tongue and lips.

Before, she’d led him into unknown territory. Now, though he still marveled at the foreign wonders of her body, he felt more confident. He kissed her neck, the fragile rise of her collarbones and the hollow between, before moving to her breasts. He lay between her legs, felt the hot, wet center of her pulsing against his skin as he settled over her to lave her nipples and suck them into his mouth. She writhed and sunk her hands into his hair, tugging rhythmically, though he could not get any closer. He’d tried to imagine the feeling of another body, another’s skin, next to his. None of his imaginings had come close to the feeling of Jacqueline beneath him, so soft yet firm, so warm that he ached, unable to have enough of her. He nuzzled the valley between her breasts, dropped kisses in a path down the slight dip that ran from her rib cage to her navel, to the soft, slight rise of her stomach. The flesh stretched over her hip bones fascinated him in its resemblance to the skin of a pale, ripe peach, and he bit her softly there. She rolled her hips beneath him, a harsh gasp breaking through her heavy breathing. “Am I doing well?” he asked, blowing across the place he’d just nibbled. “You’re driving me mad,” she giggled in response. “I had a very irritating teacher,” he said by way of explanation, tracing the seam between her leg and her body with a lazy finger. She parted her legs wider, inviting him to touch her. It was not an offer he saw fit to decline. Before, when she’d invited him to touch her, he’d worried that he would do something wrong, that she would reject him. He’d been too frightened that she might change her mind to enjoy her body, to take his time and explore her. He would not make that mistake now. He opened her with his thumbs, with the reverence some men saved for holy books. Her dark curls tickled his fingers, and he toyed with them absently as he studied her. Between her plump outer folds, thinner flesh, reddened from their earlier lovemaking, awaited his attentions. He leaned down and kissed her, as if he could kiss away the tender spots he’d caused. She hissed and lifted up from the bed, seeking out his mouth. He traced the frilled edge of one of those thin lips with his tongue, moving from the bottom, near the impossibly tiny space he had filled before, to the top, where she bucked and writhed to bring him closer to the knot positioned there. He studiously avoided giving her what she wanted, repeating his attention on the other thin piece of flesh.

“Where did you learn this?” she moaned. “I’m beginning to think you lied to me about your inexperience.” Her words emboldened him to stroke her with one long swipe of his tongue, lifting away from her flesh when he neared that place she wished he would touch. He returned to the entrance of her body, dipping his tongue inside to taste her. She practically gushed with wetness, and the knowledge that he’d caused her desire made his cock throb with need. Still, he concentrated on her body, her pleasure. After the gift that she’d given him, it was only right to give her something in return. “Andras, please,” she whimpered, reaching down to grab two handfuls of his hair in an attempt to move him where she wanted him. “I don’t think I should reward you for your impatience,” he mumbled against her curls. “But I can’t deny you.” With the point of his tongue, he flicked over the straining nub once, then once again. She uttered a strangled cry and lifted up from the bed, and he held her hips down. “Don’t rush me. I’m terribly inexperienced.” “You’re terrible,” she corrected him, futilely testing his strength. He licked her again, swirling his tongue over the tight little bud. When she whimpered again, sounding almost desperate to the point of tears, he sucked her into his mouth, grazing her with his teeth. Her knees locked on his head, and a burst of wetness ran down his chin as she ground into him. He flicked his tongue over her, from side to side as she frantically pumped her hips up and down. Her scent, her taste intoxicated him. Slowly, to test her reaction, he slid a finger into her tight, grasping channel. The memory of how she’d gripped him in wet ripples nearly caused him to spill onto the sheets. When she moaned her acceptance, he pumped his finger in and out of her, increasing his attention to her straining clit. Her body tensed beneath him, her panting rose in pitch, culminating in a wail as she came. When the tremors in her spasming cunt subsided, he pulled his hand back and sat up, wiping his chin. Her cream slicked his stubbled jaw, glistened on his finger. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes low-lidded and dreamy. Sitting up, she brought her knees to her chest. “And what about you?” He shook his head. Of course, it was too much to ask of her to take him twice. He was so large, and she was unthinkably tiny. The way she’d felt so tight, just around his finger, made him

marvel that she’d been able to sheath him in her body at all. “I said it would be enough to touch you, and it is.” She rose to her hands and knees and crawled forward slowly, her dark hair spilling over her back and shoulders as though she were a mermaid rising from the sea in a story. She leaned on his thighs, her face inches from his rock-hard cock, and blew a stream of hot breath over him. Would she take him in her mouth? That seemed almost more impossible than the alternative. But she gripped him in both of her hands and slid them up and down gently, squeezing her palms together when they reached the head. When she pulled her hands back, he groaned. “Patience,” she whispered, and, without tearing her gaze from his, she took one finger, ran it slowly down her chest and stomach, to her cunt, shaded by her dark curls. She plunged two fingers into herself, closing her eyes as she did. Her breath caught, her breasts thrust upward, and she rose and fell on her own hand once, twice, and a third time, moaning as she pulled her fingers free. Then, with a slowness that made it seem as though time had stopped altogether, she brought her hand, coated in her own juices, to his cock. She rolled the slippery wetness over his broad, flared head, then down, over his shaft, while her other hand caressed his sac, gently tugging and cradling him. He tried to make it last, tried to revel in the pleasure she gave him, but each twist of her wrist, each tender glide and stroke, brought him closer. He threw his head back, mumbling pathetic pleas, then stiffened and groaned as he spilled in her hand. Lightning burst behind his eyelids, and he braced himself with a hand on the wall for support as his cock jerked again and again. As though she’d wrung every ounce of strength from him, he fell to the bed, only partially mindful of where she knelt and the fact that he should not crush her. She nestled beside him, her wonderful bare skin scorching him with her sweetness, and he had the presence of mind to pull the blankets over them both. Just as he drifted to sleep, he felt her small foot hook between his legs, and her head tuck against his ribs. It was a new thing to sleep with a woman in his bed, and he liked it.

Chapter Eight

Morning came much earlier than it ever had seemed to before, certainly earlier than it had ever visited the palace. The sting of cold was in the air and an overall feeling of damp had invaded the cottage during the night. Jacqueline shivered and sat up, drawing the thin blankets tighter about her shoulders. Without Andras’s body to keep her warm, the little bed didn’t seem quite as cozy. Neither did the cottage seem so inviting in the cold light of morning. The fire had gone out, and Andras moved about, clad in a long nightshirt, his breath showing blue clouds in the frigid air. “I’m worried about the villagers,” he said without looking at her, as though he could feel that she’d woken. “If the dam broke from the storm, and their fields were flooded…now this unseasonable cold.” She didn’t know how to respond to him, so she said nothing. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, almost knocking the kitchen chairs out of the way in order to reach the hearth. “I should have started a fire immediately. You were out in the rain, and I’m sure you didn’t get much rest.” The heat from her flush could have warmed her all day. No, she hadn’t gotten much rest. She’d practically burned with desire for him all night. Even after he’d licked and sucked her to an amazing climax, she’d wanted him. Twice, she’d woken to find his incredible length hard against her, and twice she’d considered waking him by climbing astride. The delicious soreness at her core had stopped her. There was no need to be greedy. She’d have him enough to get her fill. What if you don’t?

She ignored that voice, that irresponsible voice that seemed to be the guiding force for all of her brother’s actions. Jacqueline would not be a greedy person, not for sex, as her brother was, nor for wealth and power, as her father was. She would not give in to the need for excess. But she would not turn down breakfast. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she clamped the blanket over her middle. “Did a bear get in here?” Andras asked, a note of humor to his voice as he knelt to light the fire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to stay for so long. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.” She wrapped the blankets around herself and slid down from the bed. Everything in the cottage was a little bit too tall, a bit wider than usual. She hissed as her feet touched the cold floorboards. He dropped his flint and tinder and got to his feet, then came to sweep her from hers. He deposited her on one of the chairs and stripped his nightshirt off. “Here, put this on.” It wasn’t as though he’d given her a choice. Before she could respond, he’d dumped the pile of fabric on her head. She pulled her arms through the long sleeves and shrugged the neckline down about her shoulders. “I thought for certain I would be here only a few moments to collect your money. I didn’t pack for a long stay.” “You won’t need much clothing,” he said, stopping to waggle his eyebrows suggestively at her before kneeling by the hearth once more. She watched him, fascinated by his nude body as he tried to light the fire. Goosebumps raised on his skin, stretched taut over his powerful muscles. He’d lifted her up like she were a feather, but he’d treated her with such gentleness. Memories of the night flooded her mind, and in turn, heat flooded her core. Though he had been utterly inexperienced, he had a talent for recognizing the subtle cues of a lover. That was something she would never find with the men at court, and very much doubted she would receive from her husband, once they were married. Just the thought of Gilbert’s skeletal fingers touching her made a shiver run up her spine. Or perhaps that was just from the temperature in the cottage. “I’ll have this lit quickly,” he mumbled. “Or I’ll freeze to the floor.” “I would offer help, but I don’t know how to light a fire.” She rolled her head on her neck, almost moaning aloud with the pleasure of the stretch. “You don’t know how to light a fire?”

The surprise in his voice reminded her that a normal peasant, even a tax collector, should have known this simple skill. She hurried to correct herself. “Of course, I know how, I’m just not terribly good at it. There were several nights that Groff and I huddled freezing in our bedrolls because of our ineptitude.” “Groff?” the note of jealousy in his voice pleased Jacqueline more than it should have. “Another from the tax bureau. We were traveling together.” “And where is this Groff now? Frozen to death on the side of a road?” She snorted at that. It was very likely that Groff had frozen to death, or met with some other nasty end. The man had as much common sense as Phillipe had. “He was too afraid to come here. I sent him back to the village to wait for me.” “It’s going to be a long wait.” A spark ignited the tinder and Andras fostered it into a blaze. Jacqueline rubbed her feet together beneath the hem of his nightshirt, greedily soaking up the warmth. He went to his bed and rummaged about in the tangled bedclothes, found his trousers and shirt and dressed himself. “Your clothes are still wet, I’m afraid. I spread them out on the line in the night, but once the fire went out...” She eyed her trousers, shirt and vest hanging from a drying line impossibly high above her head. “I couldn’t reach them, anyway.” “All part of my plan to keep you naked and at my mercy.” To her surprise, he leaned over her and kissed her. Not a passionate kiss intended to seduce her into his bed once more, but a gesture of affection. A lump caught in her throat, and she squeaked out, “Breakfast?” It had never occurred to Jacqueline what it would mean to be truly alone. Observing Andras as she moved about the cottage, she got a sense of how much work being alone entailed. No one to start the fire in the night. No one to cook your—in Andras’s case, enormous— breakfast. No one to talk to. Perhaps that was why he was so quiet. “Are you out of the habit of talking?” she asked him as he slid two perfectly fried eggs, yolks unbroken, from the heavy skillet and onto the plate in front of her. “Hmm?” he looked at the food with an expression of pride. “I suppose I am. Mornings are generally quiet for me. And afternoons and evenings, as well.” “You’re distracted by the eggs,” she observed with a smile.

“I’ve never really cooked for anyone before. It’s strangely satisfying.” He smiled at her, but by degrees that smile faded. “Of course, I cooked for mother. Broth, when she became ill. But that’s not the same thing.” A pang of sadness assailed her at the thought of her own mother. When Queen Simone had passed during a terrifying outbreak of pox, all Jacqueline had been able to do was pray. She hadn’t been able to offer her mother even the small comfort of food prepared by loving hands. “No, I don’t suppose it would be the same thing,” she said quietly. “I am sorry for you. I lost my mother, as well.” “It is a difficult thing. My mother was my entire world.” He returned to the hearth, lifting another huge skillet out of the fire. This one held eight eggs and a large slab of salted pork. “I had thought of us as isolated, before she died. But one moment she was there, at least, a part of her was. And then she was gone. I thought I was ready for it, but it still came as such a shock. And then I was truly alone, for the first time…it has gotten easier.” She chewed slowly, unable to swallow. What he described was exactly what she had felt kneeling at her mother’s bedside. She’d listened to each ragged, indrawn breath, fearing, praying it would be the last. For days she’d wished for mercy, an end to the painful, feverish struggle. When it came…she closed her eyes, and a tear spilled down her cheek. “Jacqueline, are you all right?” Swiping at her eyes, she laughed at her foolishness. “I shouldn’t be crying. Our situations are so different, and certainly yours more severe.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his large one. “The circumstances don’t matter. We only have one mother, after all.” His words touched something in her, healed a wound she’d thought closed before. In the wake of her mother’s death, the ceremony required to mark the passing of a Queen had trampled over Jacqueline’s need to grieve. Her brother had lost himself in his usual pursuits of gambling and whoring, but all the joy and light had gone out of the world for Jacqueline, and it had seemed nothing could lift her. After a while, perhaps she’d become accustomed to the sadness and emptiness, and accepted it. Andras’s single gesture of kindness had changed that for her, exposed the nerves still raw from that time, still aching with loss. She didn’t know if she should thank him, or resent him.

She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Onto cheerier subjects, then. This is possibly the most delicious breakfast I’ve eaten in weeks.” “Here,” he cut her a piece of the pork and deposited it on her plate before tucking in to his own substantial meal. “No one can frown and eat ham.”

Chapter Nine

Andras wiped his brow and looked toward the house. He wondered what Jacqueline was doing inside, if she watched him from the windows and anticipated his return. He would have liked nothing more than to have taken her directly from the table to the bed after the morning meal, to stay there all day feasting on her body, devouring her every cry and throaty murmur to sustain him when she was gone. Time seemed more precious now, and he didn’t want to waste a moment of it parted from her, but in five days she would be gone and the fields would be there, withered and completely ruined if he did not tend to them. The heavy rain had loosened the soil, washing away some of the sprouts that remained, exposing their saturated roots to the air. He’d worked half of the field so far, replanting the beanstalks that had been uprooted, coaxing drier forest loam into the earth that had turned to mud. He wondered how the village had faired, if the dams had held and the roofs remained on the houses. Branches torn by the wind littered the clearing, even as protected as his land was. In an open space, the damage would have been greater. “Andras!” The sound of his name took him by surprise, and he looked up. Picking her way carefully down a row of sprouts came Jacqueline, bearing a pitcher and a cup. She still wore his nightshirt, belted in the middle with a length of cord to hold it up. The neckline shifted off one shoulder, and she attempted to shrug it back in place. “You looked thirsty.” “I am thirsty.” He took the cup she poured him and swallowed it down, then handed it back. “Still am.” As she poured another cup, she asked, “So, what are you doing out here? It seems like very hard work.”

“It is very hard work,” he agreed. His back and knees ached, but he wouldn’t mention that. He would rather have his tongue pulled out than admit a weakness to her. “Very tedious work, as well, since I’ve already done it once this season.” She bit her lip. “I am sorry for the damage Vambrace did. I assure you, I can pay you back.” “You are paying me back,” he reminded her with a wink. She flushed. She was so pretty when she blushed. She was pretty when she did anything, really. He shook himself from his stupor and took the second cup from her, draining that one as well. The rising temperature, coupled with the heat of exertion and the wet that still lingered in the air, made for miserable working conditions. “Do you have everything you need? I don’t wish to neglect you.” “You must work, of course.” She sipped from the cup, as well. “I tidied things a bit in your house, but I must confess I’m not much for housework.” He couldn’t help his grin. “You don’t build fires, you don’t cook, you don’t do housework…what do you do?” “Taxes,” she said with a shrug. “And seduction.” “Oh, couldn’t forget that.” He looked up at the position of the sun in the sky. A short break wouldn’t hurt, and he liked talking to her, when it wasn’t about the taxes he owed or her determination to collect them. He wondered, as he had several times since the night before, if her willingness to lie with him, indeed, to stay with him for five whole days, was an attempt to coax those taxes from his pockets. She would have a rather rude surprise, if she counted on that. He decided to leave such grim thoughts aside. “So, why did you become a tax collector, then?” She looked for a moment as though she didn’t understand the question. He reached for the pitcher and set it on the ground. With nothing to occupy her hands, she looked even more lost. “I suppose I did it out of a sense of wanting to do something for king and country. I’m not really qualified to do much else.” “You never thought of becoming a lady’s maid, or working in a kitchen?” She flushed again, but this time in obvious consternation. “I have a confession, Andras.”

He’d wondered when it would come, the admission that she was not, in fact, a simple peasant. As he’d worked, his head had been filled with thoughts of her, and those thoughts had turned to the woman she was outside of this clearing. Tax collector was a job that very few peasant women would be qualified for, as one would have to read and write. That Jacqueline didn’t know basic household skills had been suspect, as well. “I have a confession, as well. I know you’re not just a peasant.” She blanched and began to stammer. Ignoring the dirt on his hands, he took hold of her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze. “It is obvious that you’re not one of the working poor. Did you think I would resent you more because of it?” “I am of noble birth,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I don’t want you to judge me that way.” “What way?” he thought back to all the heated words he’d thrown at her, and immediately felt remorse. “I do spurn the noble class for their air of entitlement. But you’re not one of them, Jacqueline. If you were like them at all, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. You would have been just another lazy aristocrat living off the broken backs of the poor.” “But I’m the one that makes them poor, aren’t I? Coming to collect taxes they can ill afford to pay?” He was not as eager to lay blame now. He retrieved the pitcher, put his arm around her shoulders, and began walking them both back to the house. “You are doing what the law requires. You have no recourse to change the law.” “Hmm.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully and glanced up at him. “I wonder if you’d have had such kind words for all the tax collectors that visited you, if the first one had gone to your bed.” He wrinkled his nose. “No. I am not fond of short, balding men. I can see my reflection in their heads. It would have been terribly distracting while he serviced me.” She laughed and slapped at his arm playfully, pretending to be scandalized by his salty remark. They walked to the steps, and he sat down on the top one, drawing her to stand between his legs. He crushed her close, pressing growling kisses to her neck, and she squealed and held herself back with a hand on each of his shoulders. Seated like this, he could look into her eyes. He liked that.

“You smell,” she complained with a wrinkle of her nose. “I’ll bathe before supper.” He stroked her arm through the sleeve of the shirt. “I don’t care what kind of life you had before, you know. Whatever caused you to leave your home and seek work. I don’t find you lacking because you’re no longer a ‘noble’, whatever they may be.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I am engaged.” That stung him, pricked some raw place inside of him that had foolishly hoped this tryst would last longer than the time they’d acknowledged. He kept his tone even, disinterested. “Oh?” “I wish I wasn’t.” She made a noise of disgust. “My father wants me to marry this completely unsuitable man. He’s a fop, really; he dresses more femininely than I do.” “You were wearing pants when we first met,” Andras reminded her. She gave him a gentle push in admonition. “He goes to court and romances all types of women, undesirable ones at that.” “Why would he want an undesirable woman, when you’re promised to him?” It made no sense to Andras’s mind. If someone were to offer him a woman as fine as Jacqueline, he would have thrown her over his shoulder and sprinted to the village chapel. “Because he doesn’t care about the women themselves. He cares about the score.” She rolled her eyes. “To many men, the quality of the conquests come second to the quantity. In fact, I’ve heard it said that he’s bragged about our engagement, that I will be his three hundredth woman. Whether I actually am or not remains to be seen.” “Because you won’t marry him?” Was that a pathetic note of hope in his question? “Because he hasn’t stopped whoring since the moment the engagement was announced. Unless he’s working his way to two hundred and ninety-nine, I dare say I shall be three-fifty or three-seventy-five.” She shook her head in dismay. “But, it is my father’s wish. At least, I have five blissful days without worry that Gilbert will find me. He rarely leaves the gaming table.” Of course, she wouldn’t be able to simply call off her engagement and stay. Not that he’d had any hope of that in the first place. Five days was all he would have. He looked to the field, the mounds of still uprooted plants. Five days, and he would waste it working? It would be a hard year, but he’d foraged before and survived. Why waste this precious time on something so useless as work, when he had this woman, this divine creature, for only five days?

“You’re very quiet,” she said with a bit of trepidation. “I was thinking,” he said gravely. “That it has been hours since I’ve touched you.” A glint of mischief lit her eyes. “Shall I heat some water, then?”

Chapter Ten

Jacqueline could not do much in the way of household chores, but she knew enough to be able to heat water. Andras drew it up from the well and carried it in, and Jacqueline added it to the huge pot over the fire. When the pot was full, he went back outside to empty the tub she had been using for Vambrace’s trough, and refill it with clean water from the well. When the water inside boiled, he would add it to the cold water in the trough. She leaned on the windowsill and watched him, sneaking glances as she had all day while he worked. The sunlight glowed in his light hair, burnished his tan skin slightly red over his shoulders. She’d never really thought to enjoy the look of the male form before. Perhaps because at court, the male form was swathed in velvet and furs, trussed up and bent to the whims of fashion. As she had been. Life was much easier without a tower of hair catching fire on candelabras and the blunt ends of stays jabbing under her ribs. A pang of guilt stabbed her in much the same place. She hadn’t lied to Andras, really. He’d guessed that she was nobility. She’d been a fool to assume anyone would have mistaken her for otherwise. But she’d had the opportunity to tell him the truth, and she hadn’t. Wasn’t a lie of omission as much a lie as deliberate deception? What did it matter, though? In five days, she would be gone from here, returned to the palace and Gilbert, who would use his new title and status as member of the royal family to swive as many wenches as he liked. He would probably tire of her quickly and move on, and she would be free to live her life as she saw fit. But she would not be free to love.

She pushed that grim thought aside and locked it away. She was a member of the royal family, a birthright granted by God, who intended for her ilk to rule. There were different standards for herself and her brother, and romance had never been in the cards. The best she had hoped for was to make a love match in her marriage, or at least be promised to someone tolerable. That it hadn’t happened was no surprise, and nothing to be bitter about. Still, she could not help the longing she felt when she allowed herself to pretend that this was her life, this simple cottage with its cracked walls and strange, but slowly endearing, inhabitant. The water in the cauldron began to roil. She called out the window to Andras, and he came inside to fetch the boiling pot. They went back to the yard, and Jacqueline stood back as Andras up-ended the iron cauldron into the trough of cold water, as though it weighed nothing. He tossed the cauldron aside and stripped off his trousers. Jacqueline covered her mouth to hide her grin as she watched him. Watching men struggle to undress was as comical a sight as she could think of. He hissed as he dipped his toes in then balanced on one foot to stir the hot water into the cold before stepping in and sitting in the oversized tub. He patted the surface of the water between his knees. “Room for one more, come on.” She hesitated. She certainly could use a bath, but she wondered how much actual bathing would get done with the two of them pressed together in such a close space. He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you’re frightened of the water.” How was it that they had known each other for only a few days, and he’d already uncovered her biggest weakness? Not a fear of water, but a refusal to be thought of as cowardly. She pulled the cord from around her waist and lifted the nightshirt over her head. At the first touch of the air, her skin prickled with goosebumps. It wasn’t a matter of temperature, but the strange, vulnerable feeling of being naked outdoors. At the palace, there were plenty of opportunities for exhibitionism. Philipe’s “hunting parties” for one, where scores of female courtiers stripped down and adorned themselves with fox ears and tails, and the males chased them. When they were “caught”, the obvious took place. But Jacqueline disliked the idea of being so displayed, and preferred such games in private. This was much different, standing in the clearing without another soul around her besides Andras. In fact, it was rather freeing. She tossed her hair back, reveling in the brush of it against

her back. That the motion displayed her up-thrust breasts to great advantage, well, that was nice, too. When she opened her eyes and saw Andras greedily drinking in the sight of her, she smoothed her hands down her body, across her breasts and over her stomach, then to her thighs, framing the curls of her mound briefly with her thumbs. “It’s such a beautiful day, don’t you think?” she asked innocently, turning her gaze to the sunny sky. “You’d never believe that it had stormed so last night.” “If you don’t get into this tub with me, I will drag you in,” he warned. “I will run from you,” she countered, an evil thought forming in her brain. She remembered the delighted squeals of the women dressed as foxes, the breathless moaning that followed. She’d shut her bedroom windows to drown it out. He grinned, playing along. “I will catch you. My legs are easily twice as long as yours.” “Indeed they are,” she agreed, stroking one finger idly around the bend of his knee. “So much of you is ‘twice as long’ as I’ve ever seen.” He caught her hand and tugged gently. “Longer, if you get into the water.” She bit her lower lip, her mouth growing into a smile she could not contain, even to play this game. She turned on her heel and raced toward the woods, jerking her hand from his while he was still too startled to react. He followed immediately, she could tell from the sound of the water sloshing from the tub. She squealed and picked up speed, a pleasant thrill of fear going through her. It was fun to be chased when she knew the outcome of the pursuit. She set her sights on the line of trees at the end of the clearing, her legs pumping furiously to bring her to her goal. She should have known that it wasn’t meant to be. He grabbed her around her waist and tackled her to the ground, pulling her to his chest as they fell to the soft earth. Her body never touched the ground. “Caught you,” he growled, pulling her bottom against his cock. She wriggled and fought, laughing as she did, and he tightened his grip, pinning her to the wet grass. His mouth trailed down her spine, sucking and nibbling on each rise of bone, laving the small of her back. His hand slipped between her thighs, and she blushed to feel how wet she was against his hand. He slicked her juices over her clit and rubbed her with his fingertips. Thrills of pleasure shot through her, and she ground her aching cleft against his palm. “I want to fuck you,” he rasped, his thumb entering her.

Instead of, “Just let me touch you,” he asked for more, no, demanded it, and Jacqueline moaned in reply. The tip of his impossibly large cock nudged against her buttocks, and he pulled her hips up and knelt between her legs. He pushed into her, and she gasped as her body stretched around him. His cock opened her wide, then wider. The thick ridge of the head dragged mercilessly along her channel, igniting her with sensation. Her skin felt aflame while chills raced down her spine. She arched her hips toward him, taking in more of him. He bent over her, and she was surrounded, his arms around her, his body over her, his cock inside her as he moved slowly, carefully. The stinging memory of their last encounter still ached in her core, but she didn’t want this gentle coupling. She wanted him to be rough, to push her to the limits of her body and beyond, to make her never forget that he had taken her. “Fuck me,” she begged, rocking against him. With his arm around her waist, he pulled her up, ramming his full length into her in one breathtaking thrust. She cried out in surprise, and he immediately withdrew. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” There was real concern in his voice, and it touched her unexpectedly. Without him inside of her, she was empty. Not only physically, but a gnawing feeling of emotional emptiness that startled her. She twisted his arms, rolling to her back on the grass and opening her legs. “Fuck me.” He sat back on his heels and grabbed her by the calves and pulled her roughly into his lap. She moaned and worked her hips as he entered her again, filling her until she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand anymore then pressing even further. She gasped for breath, panted and pleaded as he surged and withdrew. He was like iron inside her, with no element of caution or gentleness that had been there before. She bucked and writhed, and when her cunny spasmed and clutched in the throes of her climax, she screamed his name and dug her fingers into the earth beside her head. He followed her, growling as he pulled her body to meet his thrusts. He stiffened and emptied his seed into her, and she cried out as he throbbed and jerked, trapped inside her sensitive flesh. “Sorry to interrupt,” a voice that was not Andras’s and certainly not hers called through the clearing. Andras scrambled to his feet, and Jacqueline followed, cowering behind him. “Bruno!” Andras roared. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a moment,” the peasant replied. “I thought it would be rude to interrupt at the crucial moment.” Dying of embarrassment, Jacqueline peeked around Andras. The peasant made his way down the path, looking as though he’d just interrupted them cooking dinner, not fucking on the ground outside. Peering up, she noticed the back of Andras’s neck was red. Whether from embarrassment or anger remained to be seen, for he certainly sounded angry when he shouted, “For God’s sake, man, avert your eyes.” “Averting, averting.” The peasant turned his back to them. “Go into the house, I’ll get rid of him,” Andras said, turning to pick a blade of grass out of her hair. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Don’t get dressed. I’m not finished with you.” A thrill shot all the way to her toes. How did he do it?, she wondered as she scurried up the steps, into the concealing privacy of the cottage. How did he make her want him just moments after they’d finished coupling? How would she cope once her time with him here was finished?

Chapter Eleven

Andras watched Jacqueline hurry into the privacy of the cottage then he reached for his trousers and reluctantly pulled them on. He’d rather be lying in the grass with Jacqueline, or lounging in the warm bath with her, than talking to Bruno. “If I might offer you a piece of advice,” the peasant began, still facing the wrong way, “if you were to do that inside, you might save yourself from future awkward situations.” His voice went up at the end, as though it were a question. Curbing the urge to chase Bruno out of the clearing with a rake, Andras strode to meet him halfway. “Turn around, you nitwit. What are you doing here?” “Well, glad to see you, as well,” Bruno said as he turned. His shrewd eyes darted about the clearing, no doubt checking to see if he could catch another glimpse of Jacqueline. “I see things are going well with the Tax Nuisance.” “Her name is Jacqueline,” Andras corrected him. “Again, I must ask, why are you here? You were supposed to go home to your wife.” “Oh, I went home, and good thing, too. The wind last night badly damaged my roof. I got it patched, but some of the houses in the village are barely standing. You know what that means.” He did. It would mean that the villagers would be looking for something to blame, something more tangible than just a storm to hang their troubles on. “What do you think?” “You could do the goose trick again.” Bruno shrugged. “That one went over well.” Andras nodded. The goose trick had gone over well, when he’d been alone. He could hardly sneak out in the night without Jacqueline noticing. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“For what it’s worth, there haven’t been any rumblings. No one sharpening their pitchforks or shining up their torches.” Bruno wiped his nose on his skinny arm. “Yet.” “Better not to let it get to that point,” Andras mused. “Thank you for the warning, friend.” “It’s what I do.” Bruno scraped the ground with his dirty hat as he made an exaggerated bow. Situating the cap on his head once more, he said, “So…would you like to tell me how you two are getting along so well?” “No, I wouldn’t. Go home, and don’t return during daylight. At least, not until I’ve visited the village and calmed things there.” Four nights left with Jacqueline, and one of them would be spent away from her. Damn his luck. “Good plan. Well, enjoy,” Bruno said with a wink and a nod toward the cottage. Andras waited until the peasant had gone to return to Jacqueline. He found her inside, wrapped in a blanket from the bed, standing on her tiptoes to spy out the window. “What was that about?” she asked, totally unconcerned that she’d been caught eavesdropping. Were all nobility so absurdly entitled to the world? If they were, Andras doubted it would seem as charming from anyone but Jacqueline. He shrugged and took the edges of the blanket in both hands to pull her closer. “He was letting me know about the damage to the village, from the storm last night.” “What does he expect you to do about it?” she asked, her brow wrinkling as she tried to make the connection. She was smart. Andras had no doubt she would realize exactly what he feared from natural disasters and angry villagers. But he didn’t want to talk about it now. “Nothing. He knows I like to keep abreast of conditions there. After all, the village isn’t so far, what affects them affects me, as well.” “True,” she said slowly. “You seemed rather shocked to see him.” “So did you,” he pointed out. “For the same reason, I assume. He did find us in a rather private situation.” She flushed and covered her face, laughing ruefully. “Oh no, don’t make me remember it. I’ve worked so hard to overcome my complete mortification.” “Come on.” He gave the blanket a tug. “The water is getting colder by the minute, and now we both need a bath.”

She didn’t need much encouraging. Of course, she also was a noble-born woman traveling about the kingdom, without the luxuries she was accustomed to. She might have leapt into a cistern of frozen water for a bath, were she desperate enough. Whatever the reason, he was glad when she hurried across the grass and, checking this way and that to be sure no further peasants lurked, waiting to spy on her, dropped the blanket and stepped into the tub. He joined her, arranging his long limbs around her as they settled in. The water was still warm enough to be comfortable, and she moaned with pleasure as she sank into it. The sound brought his cock to full, rigid attention. He was certain that her breathy exclamations would haunt his nights for the rest of his life. Reaching beneath the water, he found one slender foot, and her eyes flew open at his touch. He smoothed down her pale skin to cup the round flesh of her calf, slowly raising her leg from the water. She slid down a bit, giggling, her breasts barely covered by the water. The rosy pink tips of her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze, and he paused in his worship of her legs to trace the areole of one breast. “We’re supposed to be bathing. Getting clean. You do remember the point of bathing?” She arched an eyebrow, but despite her admonishment, she didn’t shy from his touch. “And I told you that we weren’t finished,” he countered. “You do remember that?” She captured the hand at her breast and drew it down her stomach, then lower, spreading her legs and pressing his fingers against her cleft. She was still wet there, her own secretions more slippery than water, like silk to his touch. He slicked his fingers over her, rolling fingertips around the little bead of pleasure until she sighed and pumped her hips against his hand. Never in his life had he dared to dream he would be with a woman like this, bringing her pleasure and receiving pleasure from the simple act of pleasing her. When he’d sent Bruno to look for a prostitute, Andras had known that it would not be a tender encounter with whispers and gentle touches. It would have been business, conducted to bring him relief and the whore her coin. He’d had no illusions or expectations otherwise. Then, Jacqueline had come and fulfilled hopes he hadn’t been brave enough to allow himself. For that alone, he was falling in love with her. Cold fear gripped him. He couldn’t love her. In days, she would be gone, and he would be alone again. She would be married off to her fiancé, living in a castle or a manor, far finer

than his cottage. She would bear another man’s children, grow round and beautiful with life. She would be content, in a way he could never provide for her. “Andras, please,” she sighed, rolling her hips, and only then did he realize his hand had stilled. He composed himself. He would not let himself hope for anything more than what he had, this woman of flesh and blood and passion in his hand at this moment. He returned his attention to her pleasure, stroking her and reveling in her cries, catching the hot, wet gush of her release against his hand in the cooling water. When she came, her thighs clenched around his hand, he memorized her face, expression lost to ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and leaned back, enjoying the swirl of the water around him. She opened her eyes and smiled slowly. When she moved toward him, he stopped her with a gentle hand to her shoulder. “No. That was enough. I only wanted that.” Her puzzled expression held a hint of hurt, and he lifted her chin with his finger. “I wanted that, so I could remember it when you’ve gone.” A hesitant smile crossed her lips. Then she splashed him.

Chapter Twelve

In the dark, silent night, Jacqueline lay awake, pretending to sleep. She was certain that Andras and the peasant had conferred about something more than the storm. The look on Andras’s face had been so dark, so unlike him. Not entirely unlike him. She hadn’t forgotten the chilly reception he’d given her just days ago when she’d showed up at his doorstep. Had it really been only days? Her memory had softened those hours now, so that they seemed inconsequential. The surly, imposing man she’d met at the door was not the same man she’d spent the evening tumbling about the bed with. Of course, that man was not the same as the man who’d taken her on the rain-soaked ground, either. He’d given her everything, brought her to climax time and time again with his powerful body and gentle fingers, but he hadn’t been entirely present. Even now, he lay beside her, pretending to sleep as she pretended to. Her instincts tuned from years of constant fear of an assassin’s blade or garrote, she felt the careful stillness in him. He was waiting to be sure she slept. With a soft sigh, she relaxed against him, tossing her arm above her head. As she rolled toward him, he rolled away, vacating the space. So he wouldn’t disturb her, she realized, as he slid from the bed silently. She listened to the quiet, unavoidable sounds of getting dressed, heard his whispered curse as a body part struck a piece of furniture in the dark. He was trying to sneak away. For what purpose? She tilted her head just a bit, and opened her eyes to slits. He cast a nervous look her way, and, after being satisfied that she knew not what he did, knelt beside the hearth and pulled up a cracked stone. He lifted out a small iron box

and opened the lid, grimacing at the creak it made. There was a faint click of coin dropping slowly into a purse, and then he replaced the box and the hearth stone. So, he had money. That was not the issue in not paying his taxes. That pricked at her a bit, though it should not have. She was no prostitute, lying with him for coin. But what was he doing with the money? How much did he have? She waited until he pulled on his cloak and left the cottage before she slipped out of bed and went to the window. He made his way quickly down the path and out of the clearing. Her curiosity piqued, she made a plan. Her boots were in no shape for pursuit on foot, and his longer strides meant she’d lost him, already. She would have to take Vambrace, and be stealthy in her pursuit. She dressed quickly and hurried out, clucking to the horse as she untied him and mounted. If she remembered correctly, the forest road that had led to the clearing had begun from a more-travelled one, and ended at its singular destination. Unless Andras had gone through the forest, he would have to reach the main road before making a choice about direction. Riding was a particular talent Jacqueline had honed as a child, and she prided herself on her ability to control an animal as powerful as Vambrace. The horse obeyed her signals to keep to a slow gait. She wanted to catch up to Andras, but not so closely that he would hear or see them. Luckily, Vambrace’s hooves made little noise on the rain-soaked ground, and she led him around puddles to avoid splashing. They reached the main road without a single sign of Andras. Where ever he had gone, he’d been sneaking, too. At the crossroad, Jacqueline slid from Vambrace’s back and knelt to inspect the ground. She was no tracker, but certainly a footprint of the size Andras would make could be trusted to indicate his path. Only a few yards from the crossroad, she had her answer, in the form of a huge boot print in the rain-loosened earth. She climbed into the saddle once more, and gave a fleeting glance to the road that stretched in the other direction. If she followed that for a day’s ride, she’d be back at the palace, back to her old life, which seemed more foreign and needlessly complicated every time she thought of it. There was no temptation for her in that direction. She followed the road into the village, and was aghast at the damage she saw. No doubt Groff the coward had already fled the destruction left by the storm, if he hadn’t before. She wrinkled her nose at the man’s obvious deficiencies and slowed Vambrace to a stop. Ahead, a large shadow darted across the road. She dismounted and left Vambrace waiting for her in the road, then pursued on foot.

The raucous cluck of disturbed fowl drew her to the rear of one of the houses, a structure badly damaged by the storm. No sign of light or warmth emanated from within, so its occupants had likely vacated. The same could not be said for the chickens and geese clustered in the rustic enclosure at the back, which a large, cloaked figured stooped to enter. He was stealing! The nerve of him, to sneak out, right under her nose, and commit a crime. But why had he brought the money? She tiptoed quickly into the door and watched as he fought his way past an angry hen who flapped her wings and launched from her perch. Distracted as he was with death and feathers from above, she moved in behind him and watched as he leaned over one of the geese, who seemed to care less about his intrusion. “Are you stealing?” Jacqueline hissed, and Andras straightened, slamming his head into the roof. With a curse, he stooped once more and turned, grimacing in pain. Holding his head with one hand, he shook a finger of the other at her. “I knew you weren’t asleep! I knew it!” “If you knew I wasn’t asleep, why did you sneak out?” No, that didn’t sound right at all. “What I meant was, why did you sneak out in the first place?” From far away, but not nearly far enough, a voice called, “Who’s out there?” “Damn!” Without further explanation, Andras hefted Jacqueline over his shoulder, upsetting more birds in the process. They cackled and squawked, flying about, and as Andras ducked them both out the door, she caught the glint of coins in a nesting box. “What on earth?” she mused, and Andras gave her gruff shake to silence her. With surprising speed, he ran for the forest, leaving behind the noises of an increasingly wakeful village. When they had gone far enough from the village that they would not be further pursued, Andras set her on the ground and covered her shoulders in his large hands. “What were you doing following me? You could have gotten me caught.” “Caught doing what, exactly?” she leveled an icy stare to his furious one. “What were you doing leaving money?” He let go of her and started walking, and she took two steps to each one of his to keep up. Finally, when she was out of breath and could no longer pretend to keep pace, she sat down on the forest floor and waited for him to notice that she’d stopped. For a moment she worried that

he would not stop, that he would be angry enough to strand her there in the forest. But he turned and came back, kneeling on the ground and leaning over her. “You cannot possibly understand the things I must do just to live my life in peace. Every time there is a flood, a storm, a fire, a blight on the crops, I’m the one they blame. I don’t have the power to do any of those things, and I certainly don’t have the power to stop them from happening, but I’m blamed!” He sat back on his heels and raked a hand through his hair. Oh, I understand. Far more than I could ever tell you. How often had a famine or drought brought with it the very real fear that her father’s subjects would turn against them? But she could not tell Andras that. “So, you leave them money? Why, if they don’t know it’s from you?” “Better that they don’t know it’s from me.” He shook his head sadly. “They don’t want me there, for any reason. They fear me. The coin is a distraction. If their homes are destroyed, but the next day someone’s goose lays gold instead of eggs, well, it distracts them. Hopefully enough that they don’t come looking for someone to blame for their earlier misfortune.” “How long have you been doing this?” She couldn’t imagine having so little, and yet giving it away, even for safety. “For my whole life. My father did it, my mother, and now I’m the only one left.” He spread his hands. “And it helps them. The villagers have as little as I do, and they don’t help each other. I pity them. So, I give them the money. They can use it, I can’t, unless I send Bruno to trade for me, and I think he likely fills his pockets in the process. He’s a thief; I might as well put it directly into the hands of the people it’ll do some good by.” For the first time, she realized how alone he truly was. Even his friend from the village could not protect him. Her heart ached for him. She closed her eyes and a hot tear splashed her cheek. “Don’t do that,” he begged quietly. “I can’t stand to see it.” She wiped her eyes and looked up, forcing a smile. “That’s not much comfort. ‘Don’t cry, it bothers me.’” He laughed. “I’m sorry I got so angry. Truth be told, I’ve been in a bad mood ever since I got out of bed. I didn’t want to leave you.” “I would have been there when you returned,” she pointed out. “Apparently not.” He laughed and got to his feet, then offered his hand. “Come on. It’s a long walk if we’re going to avoid the village.”

Dread clutched her heart. “Vambrace! I left him in the village, we have to go back!” “Are you mad? They’ll burn me at the stake, if they can find one tall enough.” There was a chipper note to his tone as he spoke that suggested he would not miss the horse at all. It was, she must admit, a good excuse for her to stay with him. She hadn’t thought too far ahead, but when she returned to the palace, she would have to give some explanation of where she’d been. When she returned to the palace. The finality of that thought, the certainty of it, bothered her more than the lost horse. She swallowed a lump of inexplicable sadness and fought to restrain her tears. Andras had already gotten a few steps ahead of her, but her feet refused to budge. “Wait!” He stopped and turned, looking as exasperated with her as he had the morning Vambrace had eaten his field. “You do recall I said there were bears in the woods. That wasn’t for comedic effect, I assure you.” “I don’t want to go home.” She shook her head, knowing she sounded like a child and not caring. She’d never met someone like Andras, someone so wholly alone yet completely unselfish. At court, there were notable recluses, people who wanted no company and advertised the fact, so that others might chase them. Andras was happy to simply have the acquaintance of a peasant who stole from him. Confusion rumpled his brow. “You want to stay in the woods?” She took a few steps toward him, but stopped herself short. “No, I meant, I don’t want to go home. At the end of the five days. I don’t want to leave.” He said nothing, and the silence wound around her like an unbearable pressure, squeezing her tighter and tighter. Had she misinterpreted everything so badly? Did he prefer his solitary life? At the very least, did he prefer it over the prospect of spending more time with her? Why did it matter? Because you love him. The inner voice was patient and tender, and sounded strangely like her mother’s. Mother would know, if she’d been alive. She would be able to patiently counsel her daughter on the difference between men at court and men in the world, for Jacqueline was fast becoming aware the world at court and the world at large were nothing alike.

Still he said nothing, and the silence would surely kill her. “May I stay? Please, may I stay with you?” He moved toward her, slowly at first, and when she advanced, he picked up his pace. They met in a frantic tangle, their arms about each other, their mouths meshing, warring in their desperation. “I love you,” he gasped against her mouth, before devouring her with another kiss. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her feet dangled off the ground. And then she, who had always been cautious, always been the responsible child of her father, said to man she had known for only days, “And I you. I love you.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Food, wench!” Jacqueline giggled and turned from the hearth, carefully carrying a steaming bowl of bean soup to the table. “I didn’t ruin it this time.” “Ah, you never ruined it. You’ve just improved every time.” Andras splashed water on his face from the pitcher beside the door. He was still drying his hands when he sat at the table. As she served Andras his afternoon meal, she marveled at how easily the simple, domestic life of a peasant had come to her. The weeks she’d traveled as a tax collector had certainly made her accustomed to a more rustic way of living, but things like cooking, cleaning, and her least favorite task, laundering clothes, were an entirely new world. For the most part, she and Andras did these chores together, and she helped him tend the fields as much as she could manage. Work on a farm was difficult, though she had spent more time learning to dance than learning to wield a rake. She even looked like a peasant. Andras had given Bruno some coin to go into the village and purchase fabric, and Bruno’s wife had sent back a simple muslin shift and a long homespun apron. It was easy to imagine herself as Andras’s wife, a simple country woman living a simple country life. It was the evenings, though, that she truly loved best. Not just the hours of lovemaking, but the long talks at the kitchen table, the walks they had taken in the woods at sundown. In the first days after that night in the forest, they’d devoured the history of each other, and though she had not shared everything with him, she had painted him an accurate portrait of herself, her family, her stern father and loving mother. Only one part of her new life was unpleasant, and that was the knowledge that, sooner or later, she would have to confess to her father that she did not plan to return. She was certain that

by now, Groff would have gone on without her. She would eventually be missed. And she would have to tell Andras that the woman he’d loved for weeks had been living a lie of omission. That, she did not look forward to. There was no doubt that he loved her, and she him. That was not in question. What she feared was that his hurt, the wound to his trust would be so great that he would not forgive her. It might have been easier to stage an elaborate death. She wondered where she might find a corpse that resembled her. “Aren’t you eating?” Andras asked, totally unaware of the deceptive plot unfolding in her head. She grimaced. “No, I’m not feeling well.” That wasn’t a lie, at least, though she suspected that it had been caused by one. As she’d grown increasingly aware that she would eventually be forced to face her father and reject her position as royal princess, she’d also developed frequent bouts of sickness. “Still?” A look of concern crossed Andras’s face. “I thought you were getting sunsickness or you had to grow used to the food. Are you certain you’re all right?” “I probably still need some time to get used to eating mostly beans,” she said with a forced laugh that she hoped sounded genuine. This pacified him, and he tucked back into his bowl. He ate quickly during the day, so he could return to the chores that could only be done in the daylight. “Perhaps. But it’s been three weeks.” Three weeks. The words lodged firmly in her mind, and a new, terrible awareness came over her. She’d been with Andras for three weeks? That was impossible. She hadn’t had her time since... Since before she’d met him. He looked up. “Are you all right? You look like you’re going to faint.” “Oh. I was just. Thinking.” She shook her head, tried to clear her disturbing thoughts and keep up a cheerful patter until he finished his soup and went out to work on the new fence, which was nearly half done. She smiled at him from the window, then closed the shutters and stumbled to the bed. She stepped on the overturned bucket she used as a step stool and boosted herself up to sit as she counted the days on her fingers.

How could she have been so stupid? She wasn’t some dairymaid who could tumble with peasants and bear an illegitimate child! Her issue would be a part of the royal lineage. Her father would never allow her to keep such a child. Her fingers were icy cold, and she realized it was because she gripped the bedclothes so tightly. Would her father stoop so low as murdering his own grandchild? She could not say for certain that he would not. Did Andras know? She shot a panicked look to the window, as if he could read her thoughts through the shutters. He’d lived alone, the only woman he’d ever known was his mother…if she had not thought to educate her son…was it possible that he didn’t suspect? She could run away now, go to the palace, marry her fiancé and no one would ever dare to challenge the paternity of her child. Gilbert wouldn’t stand for it. Perhaps he’d be killed in a duel over the very subject, and then she would be free. A sob wrenched from her throat and she covered her face. She could not leave Andras. She could not kidnap his child. Stop that, you don’t even know for certain, she scolded herself. But she did know, as surely as she knew that she’d made a very, very bad mistake. She had to tell Andras, and now, while they still had a chance to flee. She burst out of the front door shouting his name. He dropped the tool he’d been using on the fence and ran for her, concern etched on his every feature. When he reached her, he held her at arm’s length, his gaze roving over her entire body as if checking to be sure she was still in one piece. “What’s happened? Are you all right?” “We have to leave!” She could not think past her hysterical emotions to tell him properly. She owed it to him, she knew, but she could not force out any words other than ones that expressed their need to flee. “We have to pack some things and go. We must go far away from here, to the Northern Kingdom, where my father cannot find us.” Andras shook his head, visibly warring with the confusion that threatened to pull him into her mania. “What is this? Jacqueline, you said your father knew you had left home.” “He does, but he expects me to come back. And Vambrace—” Andras swore and let go of her, raking his hands through his hair. “You should have told me! You should have told me the moment you decided to stay!”

“I didn’t want to! There’s something you don’t know, Andras, please listen to me!” she hurried after him as he retreated toward the house. She caught his arm and held on, as if she could stop him once he was in motion. She clung to him, cursing the tears that streamed down her face. She could not appear weak, not if she were to convince him that she spoke with a clear mind about the danger she’d put them in. He didn’t stop, but he did shrug her off, not in gruff manner but an efficient one. Once through the door of the cottage, he began pushing furniture aside, tossing cooking utensils and food stuffs into a pile on the floor. “Get me your saddle bag. We’ll buy a donkey in the village. Don’t worry overmuch about the horse. You said your home was far from here, he’s likely to have been caught and sold. But you should have immediately voiced these concerns to me. Is that why you’ve been so ill? Because of worry?” She could not answer. When he turned to take the saddle bags from her, his expression fell. “Oh no. No, please tell me I’m wrong.” So, he was not as uneducated about women as she had assumed. She could no longer contain her tears, and her shoulders shook with sobs. “Don’t cry,” he bade her, but he made no move to comfort her. “Can you travel in such a condition?” “I shall have to,” she practically whimpered. Was that what her lies had reduced her to? A sniveling, whimpering, weak-minded woman? She straightened her spine. “If you would have me.” “If I would have...” he repeated, dumbstruck. Then, as if only just realizing all he’d said and all he hadn’t, he looked unbearably sad. “Oh, no. You mustn’t think…I only want to keep you safe, and with me. I am not unhappy that you bear my child.” She wept harder, and he took her into his arms. Despite the urgency she still felt, she let him hold her and comfort her. She, who deserved no comfort after all she had done. She cried harder. He shushed her suddenly, his big hand over the back of her head, as if to smother her sobs. “Did you hear that?” She lifted her head, heart in her throat. She did hear it, the sound of many hooves advancing up the road. They went to the door, and her heart pounded in fear. It was too late.

The royal banners bearing the king’s sigil became visible first, a lion rampant with a crown of laurels about his head. The symbol, which used to represent home and family pride to her, now filled her with dread. The lion was coming for her, and he would not be pleased when she was delivered back to him. The group, five soldiers and an armorless rider in their midst, entered the clearing. The soldier at the front called ahead of them, “In the name of King Albart, throw down your weapons!” “We are unarmed,” Andras called back. To Jacqueline, he said, “Is this about my taxes?” “No,” she whispered, shaking her head sadly. She recognized the rider surrounded by soldiers on all sides. Gilbert de Villchard. “Good lord,” Gilbert guffawed loudly. “Will you look at this? It’s just a peasant family. We’ve come all this way for nothing.” The lead soldier paid Gilbert no mind. “Andras Karlaff?” “I am.” He moved as if to put himself between the soldiers and her body. Gilbert still showed no sign of recognition as he sneered at her. Please, let them resolve their business and go. The soldier waved two of his fellows ahead. “We seek the whereabouts of a tax collector who visited you some three weeks ago. You are under arrest.” Jacqueline closed her eyes. It had been a fantasy to think she would never be found. Finding her voice, she stepped from behind Andras. “I am not missing, captain. You may end your search.” Only then did Gilbert show any sign of understanding. His eyes flared wide in amusement that quickly faded to anger. “Jacqueline, what are you doing? You look like a common villager.” I would rather be a common villager than your wife, she thought churlishly, but she would not be so bold, now. Not when her words could destroy all she wished to preserve. “Gilbert, how odd to see you here.” “The same to you, my dear.” He snapped his fingers to the soldier closest him. “Seize that…man. Or whatever he is. He has kidnapped my fiancée.” “Have I?” Andras’s tone was mild. “I believe she’s here of her own volition.”

“I am,” she said quickly, praying silently that he would not test Gilbert’s patience further. Villchard was a cruel man. That was no secret at court, and with no one to check his vile impulses out here, he might well cut the heart from Andras’s chest. “There has been a mistake.” “There must have been,” Gilbert said cooly. “On your part. The terms of an engagement rarely include taking up with freaks only months before the wedding.” The soldiers dismounted and moved toward the cottage. Jacqueline stepped in front of Andras, realizing how ridiculous she must look, trying to defend a giant. “Halt! I command you halt!” “Sorry, Your Highness,” one of the men said. “These orders come from the king himself.” “Why did he call you ‘Your Highness’?” Andras asked, looking from the soldiers to Jacqueline. “Please, just go with them,” she begged. “It will be easier if you cooperate. We’ll get this straightened out, once I speak to my father.” “Your father wants this man executed for treason,” Gilbert called, tossing his raven curls. He thought they made him look dapper. He looked more like a skeleton wearing a dirty mop on his head. “There is no treason! Haven’t you been listening?” If she let her anger get the better of her, it would do no good, but she could not lower her voice. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I am here of my own free will. If this man is harmed before we reach the palace, I swear my father will have your head on a pike, Villchard.” “You have my word,” he swore with a bow so fluid it could only be described as oily. “Come on, mount up behind me. We’ll ride ahead and announce the good news of your safety to your father before nightfall.” Though she shuddered at the thought of touching Villchard for any duration of time, she did not see that she had another option. She turned to Andras, looked up at him with eyes that pleaded forgiveness. “Cooperate with them, and all will be set right. You must trust me.” “I do,” he said with an easy smile, but it was all for effect, to prove something to Gilbert, most likely. She knew Andras’s emotions by his eyes now, and she could see that he was not pleased with her.

He would have to bear it, she decided. She took one of his hands, lifted it to her lips, and kissed his palm. “I love you. We will be together soon.” She turned to the soldiers, holding back her tears and standing straight and tall, despite her peasant clothes. “If this man is harmed at your hands, I will make it my personal mission to see you and your families suffer. Do you understand me?” The soldiers each took a knee and bowed their heads with a loud and clear chorus of, “Yes, Your Highness.” Swallowing her sadness, she strode toward Gilbert Villchard. She would not look back at Andras, because it would feel like a last look, and she knew that it was not. As she stared up at her fiancé’s smug face, she pasted on a smile. She would not let him think he had bested her, or Andras. She would not allow him to think her weak. “Ride fast, my lord,” she bade him with a mocking bow as she accepted his hand. “I would like this matter settled by tomorrow’s breakfast.” He jerked her roughly onto the saddle behind him, and she clenched his doublet, closing her eyes. She was grateful that he faced away, and could not see her tears.

Chapter Fourteen

This is a fine predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, Andras scolded himself as he plodded along behind the captain’s horse. The least they could have done was bring a mount for him, but then, he doubted a creature capable of carrying him would have been readily available. “Is she as mean as they say?” one of the soldiers asked. Andras shrugged. The rope around his wrists scratched something terrible, but he did not complain. His escort had been amiable enough the day and night before, and he aimed to stay in their good graces. All during the long walk and later, around their campfire, the soldiers had peppered him with questions about Princess Jacqueline, as they had called her. Andras had yet to accept that she was who they claimed. Certainly, she had the regal bearing of a princess, and it seemed they took her threat seriously, but he could not make himself believe it. He could scarcely believe that he’d gotten a child on her. “She isn’t mean,” he answered. “But stubborn. Very, very stubborn. I hope it’s not treasonous to say so.” One of the other guards chuckled. “Word around the palace is she’s a handful. That’s why her father wants her married off to Villchard, the ponce. He thinks marriage will calm her down.” Married. To that dark stain of a man who’d looked so smug, as though he’d already won some imagined battle between the two of them. “I could break a man like that in half.” “Wish you’d been with us on the ride in, then,” another soldier said, and they all laughed. Andras joined them, though inside he was completely hollow. Jacqueline had gone with that man willingly. Would she marry him, once Andras had been executed on whatever charge the king would levy against him? Would that man raise Andras’s child?

Never. He would kill him himself. If he had to do it from beyond the grave, if he had to become a murdering ghost, he would keep that cur’s hands off his son. My son. The idea hit him more powerfully than any fist ever could, and pain blossomed under his ribs. Weeks ago, he would not have dared to dream of those words. He wished he’d never met Jacqueline. He thanked every god in the universe that he had. He loved her, and he regretted her, and regretted even more the child that grew inside of her. And that he loved more than he would have ever imagined. He trudged along with them, answering their easy chatter when necessary, remaining silent when it was not. They crested a hill, and suddenly the entire sky seemed to open in front of them. A guardhouse stood deserted at the demarcation between chunks of limestone paving the road and the hard-packed trail they’d been walking on. Ahead, the largest dwelling Andras had ever laid eyes on sprawled in a continuous line across the horizon. “Ever seen the palace before?” one of the soldiers asked with a lopsided grin. He seemed as proud of the building as he could have been if he’d built it himself. Andras shook his head and cast his eyes down. “No. And these stones are going to hurt my feet.” They continued on their trek, and, as he had guessed, the jagged rocks cut into his soles through his boots. It was easy enough to ignore as they drew closer to the royal palace, the place that Jacqueline had called home for her entire life and hadn’t seen fit to mention. All around the manicured gardens and lush lawns, people in clothing so fine that the sale of their socks would have purchased the whole village, walked with no particular place to be or task to do. It must have been an incredibly boring life. No wonder Jacqueline had turned to tax collection to break the monotony. The crowds on the limestone avenue parted for the soldiers as they escorted Andras. He ignored the stares and undisguised gossip as they passed, choosing instead to examine the marvelous fountains with their strange statuary. Some of the figures, he guessed at from tales of ancient Gevudon mythology. Others, like a man’s body with a swan’s head that vomited a continuous stream of water from its beak, those defied explanation.

By the time they’d climbed the seemingly endless sets of shallow marble steps and walked passed a parade of trees pruned into unnaturally neat shapes, they’d amassed a tidy group of courtiers who followed them through the doors and into the crowded entry room. The first thing that he noticed was the stench. It was as if every flower in the world had come to the palace to die. He preferred the scent of the horses he’d walked behind, and lamented that they couldn’t bring them into the building with them. The second thing he noticed was the height of the ceilings. He hadn’t had to duck through the doors, and he stood no chance of scraping his head against the rafters. From his vantage point, towering over everybody crammed into the space, he saw through to the next room, and the one beyond that. It seemed a row of endless, enormous rooms connected as far as the eye could see, crowded with over-perfumed fops and women with enough white face paint caked on to frighten away spirits. “This is a different world,” he said under his breath, and the soldier beside him snorted. A man with a thin face and sharp chin pushed through the crowd, arrayed in a long black cassock. His hollow eyes roved over Andras as though sizing him up for a coffin. “If this is the prisoner I assume it is, you must bring him at once to the throne room. The king is about to conclude his audience.” The soldiers, who’d before been jovial and personable company, lost all trace of humanity when commanded by the Angel of Death. They tugged the rope securing Andras’s wrists and marched him through the crowd, shouting and shouldering people out of the way. The further into the palace they moved, the less they dared to make physical contact with the people they passed. Andras had the terrible feeling that the courtiers around them, dripping with diamonds, might have more power with a single word than a whole army of villagers with pitchforks. They entered the throne room. The walls stretched high above, a feeling Andras hadn’t experienced since childhood. He followed the blood-red satin wall covering, up to the gilded molding that served as a frame for an immense mural on the ceiling. Cherubs flitted about pinktinged clouds, and a fearsome, bare-chested god stood among them in a chariot drawn by sea serpents. Andras had never understood art. The soldier with the other end of the rope tugged it and commanded, “Kneel before his royal majesty, King Albart of Gevudon.”

King Albart did not look as majestic as his title would have him be. Rather, he appeared comical, a shrunken old man in too-large robes, weighed down by a too-heavy crown upon his scowling gray head. He held a scepter in one palsied hand, the jeweled head of it bobbing feebly, as though he would drop it at any moment. Andras fell to his knees, making him about the height of the men who stood around him. Gasps and twitters sparked, and the king’s audience caught fire with murmurs and suspicion. Above all that, he saw her. Andras had seen the woman seated behind the king when he first entered the throne room. He hadn’t recognized her yet, and so he’d paid her no mind. Now, he could not look away. Jacqueline was beautiful, there was no denying that whether she was dressed in a tax collector’s clothing or soaked from the rain. That was how Andras would prefer her, not in the ridiculous gown with wide skirts that she wore now. If he had tried to pull her close, he doubted he would actually be able to touch her. In other circumstances, he would have laughed at her hair, piled so high atop her head that she threatened to match his height. Her beautiful face was painted with unfathomable complication. Rouge contoured her cheeks and paints illuminated her eyes until she looked like something not quite human, too perfect to be real. She looked very frightened. An empty seat next to hers indicated the missed presence of the crown prince, beside the dais the king’s throne and Jacqueline’s chair rested upon, Gilbert Villchard, affianced to the Princess Jacqueline, stood with smug satisfaction to watch his rival brought low. The king leaned forward, using his scepter as a cane in front of him to balance. “This is the giant? We expected something larger.” A well-rehearsed ripple of laughter passed through the room. It did not feed the king’s ego, the way it might have another powerful man. His features twisted up in annoyance, his milky white eyes casting this way and that, as if to say to the courtiers, “I would put you all to death if I could.” Feeble though he might be, the king was a dangerous man. The man in the black cassock swept forward grandly and bowed at the waist, his silver medals of office clanking against his chest. “Your majesty, this…man is Andras Karlaff, known giant, accused of kidnapping the Princess Jacqueline.” “Your majesty,” Jacqueline interrupted, “I was not kidnapped.”

“Let the magister finish!” the king snapped at his daughter. “Am I not king? Does this old mind not still run this kingdom?” Jacqueline, who had stood up to a giant, shrank in her chair. Andras ached to offer her some measure of comfort, even an encouraging look would be better than trying to avoid her eyes, but it seemed a foolish thing to do in front of the king. King Albart turned back to the magister. “Doesn’t he owe some taxes, did you say?” “Ah, yes.” The magister approached the king with a sheet of parchment outstretched. “Quite a considerable sum. But hardly as vexing as the charge of high treason.” “We will decide what vexes us, magister.” The king snatched the paper and held it up to the light. “Considerable, yes,” he decided, so quickly that it was apparent he could not have read it with his rheumy eyes. “What has the cur to say for himself?” Not having expected a chance to speak in his own defense, Andras gaped, struck dumb for a moment. He felt Jacqueline’s eyes on him, and it was with her silent urging that he found his voice. “Your majesty, I did not kidnap the Princess Jacqueline. She came to me, looking to collect the debt you see before you. She was caught in a storm and fell ill, and chose to stay at my humble cottage to recover. I did not recognize her as a member of the royal family.” “A horse, belonging to Prince Philipe, was confiscated from a party of Western raiders,” the magister interrupted. “Continue, peasant,” King Albart prompted. “With respect, your majesty, there is very little left to say. I do owe taxes, but I am only a poor farmer. I cannot pay you what I do not have.” He could no longer control his impulse to look at Jacqueline, to see past the ridiculous court fashion to the woman beneath, a woman who looked very much like a scared little girl. He cleared his throat. “The princess was never in any danger from me.” Finally, as if deigning to allow her to speak, the king circled a hand in the air and asked, “Is this true, Jacqueline?” She nodded and narrowed her eyes at the magister. “It seems that a rather large blunder on the part of the esteemed magister is to blame for all of this. It is as Andras Karlaff has stated. He gave me shelter from a storm and nursed me through my recovery, in good faith.”

“In good faith, he has not paid his taxes, daughter,” the king said with a dry laugh as he settled back in his throne. A light came to his eyes that suggested mercy. “Villchard! What would you say about this rogue who stole your rightful property away?” “Why, death, sire,” Villchard said, feigning surprise that he had been asked. “Of course, in your divinely granted mercy–” “Death, then,” the king pronounced. “By beheading. Tomorrow afternoon.” The soldiers hauled Andras to his feet. They did not look him in the eye. Jacqueline sat, frozen like a doll. Her gaze found his, and she threw herself from her chair, staggering to fall at her father’s feet. “No, your majesty! Father, I beg you!” As if he couldn’t hear his sobbing daughter, a pleasant smile broke over King Albart’s face. “A fitting conclusion to today’s audience, don’t you think, magister?” New guards moved in, armored in black, with tall, barbed spears at their sides. The soldiers who’d escorted Andras thus far moved away. One of the black-clad spearmen lowered his weapon and struck Andras across the face. The blow set him off balance, and he fell to his knees once more, a considerable height to drop. His vision swimming and something hot coursing down his cheek, he landed face first against the cold marble floor. The last that he heard was Jacqueline’s screaming.

Chapter Fifteen

As though her anguished cry had wrenched the last of her voice from her, Jacqueline could say nothing as they dragged Andras away, blood spattering the floor from his wounded face. She covered her face with her hands and wept, unable to bear the truth of what had happened. “Let this be a warning to you,” her father hissed once the courtiers had filed from the room and the men-at-arms had closed the doors behind them. “If you cross me, the consequences will be dire.” A black-gloved hand closed over her arm, crushing her flesh. Gilbert’s foul breath cascaded over her cheek. “Stop your sniveling. How dare you humiliate me so!” “Humiliate you?” She tore from his grasp and scrambled to her feet. “You are nothing!” “He’s the vicomte of Fortenebras, and your future husband,” her father snapped. “You will treat him with the respect that he deserves. No more of this…whoring around with any oddity that catches your eye.” “Oddity?” she looked from her father, the king, to her fiancé. “You think I stayed with him because he’s an oddity? Yes, he is half again your size, Villchard, and I do mean that in every conceivable measurement. But he is not a curiosity I sought for amusement. He is a good man, far better than either of you will ever be!” “You hold your tongue, girl!” her father snapped. The huge doors to the throne room scraped open. With the audience concluded, that could mean only one person entered. Jacqueline turned and fled the dais, meeting her brother halfway across the room. Philipe strode toward her, his usual carefree expression fading into one of concern as he took in her disheveled dress and tear-streaked face. Jacqueline was certain she looked a fright,

with her face powder washed away in rivulets by tears. He held her at arm’s length, his gaze flicking from her to his father and back. He gave Villchard no notice. “Sister, it has been a long time. I’d heard rumors of your return.” He looked to the dais. “I sense they are all true?” “Your sister has been playing whore to a freak of nature these long weeks that she’s been missing. Lost Vambrace, too.” The king shook his head. “Damn fine horse.” “He cares for a horse more than for me,” Jacqueline cried, gripping the front of her brother’s coat. “He’s going to have him executed!” “The horse?” Philipe asked dryly. It wasn’t, Jacqueline knew, because he was not concerned for her, but because he dealt with their father by revealing nothing of his true feelings. Philipe was far more skilled at it than she. He patted her shoulders reassuringly. “Go to my chambers. I have some maple candies hidden in the top drawer of my desk. I’ll speak to father and meet you there.” Numb, Jacqueline nodded and exited the chamber. She heard Gilbert protest and start after her, and she whirled to face him. “Do not follow me, you son of a whore, or I will slay you where you stand!” That was enough to stop him, and let her pass unmolested through the rooms of the palace, though the murmur of gossip was always at her back. It was a good thing that it had stopped him, for with that final explosion of venom, her emotions were spent and she could manage no more anger. She floated like a wraith to her brother’s chambers, and even scrounged about his desk for the hidden sweets, but she could not bring herself to eat them. Her body was hollow, devoid of feeling, and she had no doubt it would stay that way, should Andras die. How could she have been so foolish? Since her return to the palace, she’d walked on needles, every second filled with a consuming dread that would not abate, not until she learned her father’s ruling on Andras’s life. Now that she had, the dread only intensified to a sharper pain. She would not allow herself the comfort of believing that, somehow, Philipe would come through for her. She resigned herself to Andras’s death, because it was the certainty, and false hope would hurt her more. Pressing her hands to her abdomen, she thought about the child who would come in the spring, if she’d calculated correctly. By that time, his father would be a jumble of bones in an

unmarked grave, and no one save Jacqueline and a scraggly peasant would remember he’d ever existed. She flung herself on Philipe’s bed, sobbing, yearning for comfort that could come from one person only, and he awaited his death in her father’s dungeons. She cried until she had no more strength, and then she slept. She did not know for how long, but when she woke to a gentle hand stroking her hair from her forehead, the room was dark, the tall windows lit with the gentle glow of torches in the garden below and the clear, bright stars above. “I am sorry, Jacqueline,” Philipe said softly. “The old bastard won’t budge.” A tear slid down her cheek, but she could not cry, not the way she ached to. She hadn’t the strength of body or emotion. “I could take you to the dungeons, if you like.” He rubbed her back the way he had when they’d been children and storms had frightened her in their nursery bed. “To say goodbye.” She pushed herself up on weary arms and gazed around the room. For a blissful second upon waking, she’d forgotten where she was and the circumstances that had brought her here. She willed that second to return, to eclipse the rest of her life and take away the horror she felt at that moment. “Philipe…I am with child.” The hissing breath he took was the only response she needed. Before he could speak, she quickly said, “I know, I know. I’m stupid and I’m reckless. But father is going to kill Andras. I don’t want him to take my child away, as well.” “Let me think,” Philiipe said, and though he tried to sound reassuring, it was clear that he did not feel positive about the outcome. She nodded and played along. “Take me to the dungeon. I would see him one last time.” Because the dungeons were beneath the palace, carved from the bedrock far, far down, Philipe suggested she go to her rooms and dress warmly before they went. She heeded him, but dismissed her servants. She took down her hair and brushed the starch from it, and wiped the powder and rouge from her face. She would face him as his Jacqueline, not the Princess of Gevudon. When she had finished preparing—physically, for she would never be ready in her heart—she found her brother waiting in the anteroom, and she approached him with a tremulous smile, as though he were the one needing reassurance.

They walked through the darkened palace, and no one paid them any mind. After the day’s gossip, Jacqueline had anticipated it could go either way; the courtiers still lingering after dinner would either hound her for a reaction, or avoid her, not wishing to be associated with the nasty scene. All her life, Jacqueline had lived at court, and never once had she been to the dungeons. The moment they passed through the magister’s offices, their way unbarred owing to her brother’s status, they began the long, slow descent down a curving stone stair that lead them so deeply into the earth, Jacqueline was certain they would end in the bowels of hell itself. It was far too cold, though, and not nearly as impressive as she expected hell would be. The closeness of the low, curved ceiling reminded her of a crypt, and she fingered the ties of her cloak, resisting the urge to claw at her throat. “We’ve come to see Andras Karlaff,” Philipe said to the jailer, who jerked his thumb toward a row of cells without any deference to Philipe’s rank. Perhaps someone who spent much of their life underground didn’t care for the protocol of their betters. Philipe moved cautiously down the row, holding her hand but holding it far out, as though he sought to cushion the blow of whatever he would find in the cells. He paused before one, mild shock registering on his features before they softened and he waved her forward. Taking a deep breath, she pulled back her hood and looked into the cell. Clapped in irons that looked painfully small, Andras sat on a palette of dirty straw, his head down in defeat. Darkened blood stained his hair and a dried rivulet led from his ear down his neck. Tears welled in her eyes. She’d done this to him. She’d doomed him through her foolish whim, her desire to avoid the inevitable and not return home to face her father. “Andras?” she asked softly, fearing for a moment that his motionless state was an indication of the worst. He raised his head. One eye was black and swollen. Blood stained his upper lip and nose, and a long cut across his split cheek still oozed fresh blood. He looked at her then dropped his head once more. “Unlock this door!” she commanded the jailer. “In the name of the King, unlock this door!”

Philipe joined her at the bars, covering his nose with a handkerchief. The stink of mildew and rot was greater the further down the long hallway one ventured. “Do as she says, by order of the Crown Prince.” Jacqueline gave him a grateful look as the guard did as he’d been commanded. The cell door screamed on its hinges, and Jacqueline ran to Andras, kneeling beside him on the filthy straw. She lifted his face to hers and couldn’t contain her sob when she viewed his injuries up close for the first time. “My god, what did they do to you?” “They beat me,” he said with a weak chuckle. “I was so worried for you.” “For me?” Her heart twisted. She’d been the one who’d lied to him, she’d been the one who’d unthinkingly put his life in danger. As if reading her thoughts, he said softly, “I knew it was a bad idea to keep you with me. But I had to.” “Because you were so lonely,” she stated for him. She wasn’t sure she could endure the word from his own lips. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “Because I fell in love with you.” Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. Still, even the lightest touch seemed to hurt him, and that only made her cry more. He hushed her, soothing her when she’d come to comfort him. She would have laughed at the irony, if she hadn’t been crushed under the weight of her own hopelessness. Losing Andras was worse than any pain she’d felt before. Seeing him like this was more than she could bear. His death would be hers, as well, for certainly she would not be able to stand upon her father’s dais and watch the headsman do his work, not without expiring, herself. “I don’t want you to die,” she wailed against him, leaning her head against his strong chest. He was so warm and alive. It was unthinkable that in mere hours his heart would beat no more. He put his arms around her as best he could with the irons on him. “I don’t want to die, either. But I would trade my life a thousand times for those weeks with you.” “What of our child? Andras, I’m so afraid. What will I tell him of his father?” She pressed her face to him and inhaled his scent, ignoring the copper tinge of the smell of his blood. Even for his dire predicament, he found some humor. “You could tell him to watch for low hanging rafters.”

“Don’t joke!” She leaned back, searching his face for some emotion, some recognition of what would happen to him on the morrow. Even some anger toward her, for her role in the situation. There was none. He held her face between his chained hands and kissed her, long and slow, and she knew then that it would be the last. With reluctance, he parted them. “It’s too damp down here. It’s not good for you in your state. You must keep our child safe, Jacqueline. Promise me.” “I promise,” she whispered, covering his hands with hers and bringing them to her lips. “I swear it.” “Go. And do not weep for me anymore.” She fought her instinct to cling to him, to hold him until someone pried her away. But she could not do that to Andras, when he was being so brave. She got to her feet, and could not look him in the eyes. Ashamed of her weakness, she fled the cell, into her brother’s arms. “Don’t. Don’t,” Philipe whispered against her ear. “He doesn’t want this for you, or the child.” “Your Highness,” Andras called softly, and Jacqueline knew he addressed her brother. Philipe stepped to the bars of the cell as the jailer secured the door once again. From within, Andras bade, “Take care of her. She is my life.” A strange look crossed Philipe’s face. He nodded, and cryptically answered, “So you say.” As they made their way up from the dungeon, every bone in Jacqueline’s body was weary. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, for months if she could, sleep through the pain that rent her soul into pieces. Philipe, however, seemed driven by some inner mechanism, like a watch wound too tightly. “Sister, you must listen to me, and listen to me well.” She blinked at him, wiping tears from her eyes. “What is it?” He smiled, the same triumphant smile he’d been unable to hide when he’d held the winning hand in card games as a child. “I think I know how we are to save your giant.”

Chapter Sixteen

There were worse things, Andras supposed, than dying. Returning to his cottage alone, to live out his days without Jacqueline, that would be worse. He could not imagine now how he’d borne it. Ignorance, that could not now be undone. That was how. He would rather die than learn to live with that loneliness again. He did regret that he would never see his son. He could imagine the boy, slender, with his mother’s fair skin and dark hair. Perhaps the noble, masculine face of his uncle, the prince who’d stood at the door and looked upon Andras with pity. What if the child were a girl? Andras would have the same for her, her mother’s coloring and softness, her lithe gait and the gentle way her thoughts registered upon her face when she wasn’t aware anyone watched. Boy child or girl, he hoped he had not passed his curse to them. He thought again of Gilbert Villchard. What would a man like that do to an abnormal child, one who cannot help but grow as their parentage dictated? If he must, Andras vowed to himself, he would come back from the grave and smother the man with a pillow in the night. The hours passed slowly, with no indication of night or day in his bleak prison. He was almost grateful when four guards came to his cell and ordered him up. They unlocked his irons from the wall, but left the vises clamped around his wrists. That would be another relief in death, for they made his hands ache, and he would rather look on the bright side of things. His execution, he learned, would take place in an inner courtyard, attended by the king and his favorites. It would be an entertainment, a spectacle for those lucky enough to be chosen. One of his guards informed him, on the death march past throngs of curious courtiers, that bets

had been taken on how many strokes of the headsman’s axe it would take to sever him. Andras hoped it was not six, as the guard had wagered. The courtyard was not what he had expected. He’d thought of grass and perhaps a few trees, but it was a stark, barren square, with a wide swath of marble running the length. At the edges of the marble floor, neatly pruned bushes rested in a bed of limestone chunks. At least he would die beneath the sky, and the king’s wishes had not altered that. The king himself sat upon a dais erected at the back of the courtyard, and his few favorites who would be witness stood about it, far enough from the block that they would not be splattered during the messy business. Andras hoped with bitter humor that his head would bounce straight toward them. The guards forced him to his knees, but to lay his head upon the block he had to lay on his stomach and support his weight on his elbows. “Whoever designed this did not have a man of my stature in mind.” Those would be his last words? If he were a more profound man, perhaps he could have come up with something grander. “Andras Karlaff,” the magister read somewhere above him, “You are sentenced to death for the crime of treason. Have you any last words?” Ah. A second chance and still unprepared. “I didn’t pay my taxes, but I committed not treason.” The magister said nothing in response, but called for the headsman. “Wait!” Andras groaned. He’d been resigned to die, the least they could do was get on with it. From the outraged twitter of the courtiers, he gathered he might want to see what was happening. He pushed himself up and turned, sitting cross-legged on the marble. What he saw was nothing short of a miracle. Jacqueline, preceded by her brother, Philipe, entered the courtyard, dragging a chest between them. Jacqueline’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of him, and she launched herself at him, leaving her brother to struggle with the chest. “What is this?” King Albart roared. “This, father,” Philipe said, dropping the chest and kicking its side, “is every single jewel, every fine perfume, every bauble and frippery my sister has purchased with her own coin these

six years past. You will find they add up not only to the sum of Andras Karlaff’s tax debts, but the cost of a night in the king’s dungeons as well.” “So, you seek to…barter the prisoner’s head, then?” the magister asked, but Andras only half listened. He’d not anticipated the chance to see Jacqueline again, let alone to hold her against his body and press his face to her hair. As she no longer seemed to care what the court’s opinion of her was, he cast away propriety as well. “Oh, my love,” he murmured. “I hadn’t hoped to see you again.” “You’ve never called me that before,” she sniffed. “Why do you do it now, at a time like this?” “Because I fear I might not have the chance in the future.” Still, he could be strong enough to die now, and there would be comfort in it that only her presence could have provided. Philipe spoke loudly, with confidence, not anger, as he addressed his father and the magister. “Permit me, if you would, father, a moment of honesty. You are not going to live forever.” “Treason!” The magister gasped. Philipe continued as though the man hadn’t spoken. “If you were alive in another five years, I would be astounded. My sister confided in me, only last night, that she carries the bastard child of this peasant, that she bedded down with him willingly and now intends to bear his seed.” Villchard drew his sword, only to be stilled by the points of the guards’ spears. “Gilbert, really, this concerns the future of the kingdom, we don’t have time for your petty jealousy,” Philipe scolded. Andras wished they had met under better circumstances. If Philipe had been a simple farmer, they might have gotten along splendidly. “Get on with it, boy,” King Albart growled. “You try my patience with all these…theatrics.” Philipe grinned. “Of course, your majesty. Simply put, when I am king, I do not wish for the son of my sister to challenge my throne in the hopes of avenging his father’s death. Remember what happened in the North Kingdom.” Andras had no idea what had happened in the North Kingdom, but it was clear from the look that fell across the king’s features that he knew the story well.

Jacqueline had gone deathly still, scarcely breathing in Andras’s arms. He did not need to question it, for he’d thought of it during the long hours in his cell. The child was in as much danger from the king’s wrath as Andras was. The king composed his expression of dread and grumbled to his son, “What would you suggest, oh mighty future king?” “Exile, your majesty. For both my sister and the condemned. We shall make it perfectly legal, force her to sign away any claim she or her lineage will have to the throne in trade for the safety of her…odd fellow.” “Your majesty, I beg pardon,” Villchard said, having sheathed his sword and extricated himself from the attentions of the guards. “But the princess is betrothed to me, is she not?” “I am sure the viscount can find a suitable wife somewhere else,” Philipe suggested. “One who might one day not wish to violently topple the reigning monarch?” King Albart looked from his son to Villchard then spared a long, hard look for Andras. Despite the intensity of the old man’s gaze, regal where all other aspects of him had withered, Andras did not look away. It was the only way he could fight for Jacqueline, and in this battle he would not back down. “Very well,” the king said slowly. “We would transmute the condemned’s sentence. Exile, to the northern most border of our kingdom. And for our daughter, the Princess Jacqueline, for the crime of treason, exile with the condemned. Philipe, I trust you can live with your conscience?” Philipe smiled. “You’ve taught me well, father.” The guards came forward and unlocked the irons around his wrists, the headsman removed his hood. “Nothing personal, mate.” Andras only stared back at him.

Chapter Seventeen

Despite the papers having been signed, witnessed, and handed over to her brother’s secretary, Jacqueline was still driven by the urge to flee. Philipe had already ordered a coach to be readied and money doled out from his coffers, but those tasks took time. As long as she stood within the palace gates, she feared that Andras would be lost to her once more. “It will be fine,” Andras had assured her. “I have faith in your brother.” It was not faith that Jacqueline lacked, but the abundance of fear for how her father might choose to retaliate that hung like a cloud over her. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Philipe, moving with the determined speed of a madman, collected them both from his sitting room and ushered them, attended by his own personal guards, to the waiting carriage. As they walked, he instructed them quickly on their destination. “I’ve sent a rider ahead to Julien Auvrey at his chateau to the north. He will shelter you for a few weeks, until Northbriar is fit to live in.” Northbriar, an abandoned monastery on the northern-most border of the kingdom, had been where her brother had seen fit to exile them. He’d sent messengers there, too, with instructions on finding servants and properly stocking the castle for their arrival. “Sorry I couldn’t do better, but it was awfully short notice,” he apologized again as they reached the carriage. “But there is food and at least one change of clothes. I am sorry, sister, but this is the only way to keep him alive.” She flung her arms around his neck, squeezing hard. “Promise me you’ll come and visit. I can’t bear to think this is the last time I’ll see you.” “It’s not the last time,” Philipe assured her, though his voice sounded choked with tears. When he drew back, though, he wore the same careless expression as always. “Go on. The farther you two get away from here, the better.”

Andras gave her his hand and helped her into the carriage, then somehow, miraculously, folded himself in as well. He squinted one eye as his head smacked on the roof. “This isn’t going to be a comfortable ride.” “Again, sorry,” Philipe said, closing the door. “Although I’m not sure if I’d had a year to plan, I’d be able to find a coach large enough to accommodate you. Also, dreadfully sorry about all of those ‘odd’ and ‘freak’ remarks back there. My father only understands the language of cruelty, and I felt it important to speak on his level. Driver!” The driver cracked the reins, and the coach, loaded with their scarce supplies, lurched away from the only home Jacqueline had ever known. She pulled the shade so she would not see the curious stares of the courtiers turned out to watch her banishment. Though she wanted to be away from them, she would have it on her terms. She would not tolerate being a spectacle. “When will we be safe?” Andras asked, glancing out the opened window on his side. It took him only a moment to copy her line of reasoning and close the shade, as well. Ensconced in the stifling warm darkness of the coach, she considered her answer. “When my father is dead.” They said nothing else until they had cleared the palace gates and the crunch of limestone tumbling beneath the wheels gave way to the bumps and ruts of the dirt road. Finally, when she could bear the silence no longer, she said, “I am so sorry, Andras. I never thought that my lie would…I never wanted it to hurt you.” He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “Do I appear hurt, Your Highness?” She shrank from her title, until his chuckle made it clear that he did not mean it as a condemnation. “Don’t look at my face when you answer that.” Before she could stop it, a sob burbled from her throat. “Look at you! How can you say you are not hurt? You were about to be beheaded!” “But I wasn’t,” he said with maddening ease. “Honestly, aside from the split face, the sore wrists, the fact that I spent the night in damp cave, the exile for treason, you being a princess and me being a father, this is all just another day, and I have many more ahead of me.” She wanted to cry harder, but she couldn’t. “Shut up. This is serious. I’m trying to atone for my wrong doing!” “Oh, the spectacular wrong doing that you miraculously undid?” He reached for her, and it felt good to be pressed against him, even in the awkward close quarters. He pressed his lips to

the top of her head and murmured, “You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted. Things I couldn’t even dream of. You don’t have to apologize for that.” They didn’t speak much further, content to twine their hands together and listen to the creak of the wheels. Soon, she struggled to stay awake against the rhythmic noises of the coach and the warm safety of Andras’s embrace. “Sleep,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her brow. “You’re not going to miss anything.” “That’s hard to believe,” she mumbled. She didn’t let his hand go, even as she drifted away. **** It was nearly midnight when the carriage arrived at Chateau Perrault. Andras studied the sloping roofs and conical towers and wondered at the strange changes his life had seen of late. He thought of his cottage, all the small pieces of his life there, as good as buried. No, he fooled himself to think that. Bruno would loot the place, probably already had. All of mother’s baskets and sewing. All of father’s tools and shovels. Lost. And in trade, a flight from the only home he’d ever known, exile, and the woman who curled at his side, eyes swollen from tears she’d shed in her sleep. It was worth it. Despite the late hour, the residents of the Chateau waited for the coach in the castle yard. A hale looking man in his middle years, silver streaking his brown hair, and a young, blonde woman at his side, her face creased in worry. Andras gently roused Jacqueline. “We have arrived.” They stepped out of the carriage, and at once the woman waiting stepped forward. She dropped into a deep curtsey. “Your Highness.” The man did not step forward, but bent at the waist in an elegant bow. “Your Highness.” “I don’t think that really applies anymore, do you, Julien?” she opened her arms and the man strode forward to embrace her, lifting her as he did and spinning around. Jacqueline’s squeal of happiness woke something dark inside of Andras. He didn’t like the other man putting his hands on her, even if Julien Auvrey had offered them sanctuary. As if mindful of Andras’s reaction, Jacqueline extricated herself and said apologetically to Andras, “This is Julien Auvrey. He is a good friend of my brother’s.” Andras nodded.

“And this,” she tried again, “Must be his beautiful new wife.” “Josephine Auvrey,” Julien supplied, and the love that transformed his expression as he gazed upon his bride left no doubt that his affections were for her, alone. Andras relaxed. “I am sorry that I missed the wedding,” Jacqueline remarked. “Philipe said it was the most beautiful he’d ever attended.” “I imagine Philipe would think that of any wedding, so long as it was not his own,” Josephine said with an easy laugh. “Come, let’s get you inside. It is late, and you should not be in the night air in your condition.” Andras offered Jacqueline his arm, and they followed their hosts into the castle. It was remarkably empty, in comparison to the palace. “Your room has been prepared,” Josephine told them as they passed through the empty hall. “And I shall bring you something to nibble on, though more complicated food must wait until morning. Our housekeeper is…temperamental.” Their hosts led them to their room and bade them goodnight, and once the door was closed, Jacqueline flopped back on the bed and groaned as she kicked off her slippers. “I feel as though I can finally stop holding my stomach in.” And then, it became absurdly clear to Andras. The strangeness that had weighed on him since they’d left the palace seemed to disappear as if into the air, and he chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she rolled onto her belly, her ankles up and crossed behind her. “I can’t help it if I’m vain.” “Yes you can. But it wasn’t your vanity that made me laugh. It’s the whole situation.” He sat carefully in one of the armchairs, praying it wouldn’t break or trap him. His first order of business at their new home would be to get some proper furniture that could hold his weight. “I thought something had changed between us. But it hasn’t. It’s been there all along, but it’s been hiding behind the person you had to be at court.” “Ah, that. Well, I would advise you to get used to it, but since I am in exile, I don’t forsee any future occurrences.” He had to ask her, for he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew. “You don’t regret it, do you?” Her expression darkened. “Regret it?” “You know, leaving such a glamorous life…for me.” He sounded so pathetic to his own ears, he would not have blamed her if she’d stood and walked out.

She rolled off the bed and to her feet to stand beside him. “I did it once before. I left the palace to become a tax collector precisely because I wanted to leave court.” It should have been enough; he should have been able to accept it. “But you knew you would return. Perhaps you only wanted a respite. You weren’t expecting a permanent exile.” “Andras, stop.” She clutched her hands together over her middle, her eyes wide and shining with wetness. “You were willing to die for me. Do you think I am so shallow that I do not see what an enormous sacrifice that is? Do you think my exile is anything like your torture in the dungeons, your death sentence?” He shifted uncomfortably. The chair groaned. “No, but—” “Then shut up, you stupid man.” She raked a hand through her sleep-tangled hair. “Can’t you just take my word for it?” “I did that once before, and my head very nearly rolled because of it.” The grin he’d not hidden faded. “I do not doubt you because I don’t trust you. I doubt you because I do not trust my own senses. It is unbelievable to me that once I would have settled for the company of a woman I paid, and now a princess has given up her crown for me.” She smiled through her tears, now borne on waves of happiness, not the sadness that had reigned for days. “I won’t lie to you again, Andras. I swear it.” “I’ll hold you to that,” he warned. “Forever.” She fell into his lap, leaning up to kiss him. “You’ll keep me forever, then?” “Well, it seems I’ll have to,” he replied, his hand drifting to her belly, as though he could already feel the child growing there. “I’m about to have the dreams I never knew I had come true.”

About the Author

The alter-ego of USA Today Bestselling Author Jennifer Armintrout, Abigail Barnette was born during a conversation with author Bronwyn Green, who encouraged Jennifer to develop an elaborate fantasy persona-- complete with nom de plume-- under which to pen erotic romance. Abigail enjoys long naps in fairy-filled glades, running through corridors in tragically romantic haunted castles, and drinking goblet after goblet of spiced wine.

Abigail loves to talk to her readers and can be found at abigailbarnette.com.

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing Glass Slipper by Abigail Barnette Naughtily Ever After, Book One When Julien Auvrey promises to help his goddaughter snag a prince, he has no idea that the squalling infant he held in his arms nineteen years ago has turned into a beautiful young woman. Once he sees Joséphine, he knows that she’s just what the prince wants in a woman…and just the type of woman that Julien wants in his bed. But Julien is a life-long bachelor, and Joséphine deserves more than just a brief affair. With his help, she’ll blossom into a wife fit for the prince—in and out of the bedchamber. Joséphine Thévenet wants nothing more than to be quit of her father’s crumbling house, her stepmother’s temper, and her two obnoxious stepsisters. Notorious seducer Julien Auvrey appeals to her desire for escape, and plenty of her other desires, as well. When etiquette lessons turn to carnal instruction, Joséphine fears she will lose her heart before she can win the prince. Julien can’t deny the raw heat between him and Joséphine, but he also can’t deny the promise he made to her father. To possess Joséphine, Julien must betray his friend, and give up his own life of indulgence. Can he truly ask Joséphine to turn her back on the chance to be princess for nights of endless pleasure? Can he trust himself to love her as she deserves?

Infernal Devices by Abigail Barnette The Two Aces. Victorian London’s most salacious secret, the club is a place where erotic fantasies are played out among clockwork automatons and aether powered machines. Where nothing is off limits and the pleasures are as wicked as the imagination will allow... Permilia Deering goes to The Two Aces looking for the sexual excitement that she knows she will not find with the man to whom she is affianced, notorious cold-fish Wallace Sterling. On her first visit to the club, she meets the Ace of Spades, a masked stranger who drives her to heights of passion she’s never dreamed possible—and makes her seriously reconsider becoming a mannerly society wife. When Wallace Sterling first glimpses his fiancée standing outside The Two Aces, he assumes she’s uncovered his secret identity—the Ace of Spades. But Permilia has no idea that her intended is living a double life, and Wallace worries that he’ll be out of the picture once she gets a taste of what the Ace of Spades can offer her...

Unmasked by Genella deGrey Venice, Italy, 1795 - Gwendolyn Rawleigh longs for adventure, but has fallen into a clandestine, carnal game of instruction with an intimidating stranger who insists she must embrace this new found tuition before she can proceed. Marcello Verdante finds the alluring Miss Rawleigh irresistible. However, he must remain anonymous for her safety as well as his own. Ellie Appelton wants so badly to emulate Gwennie's sophistication, but is afraid of where her own wicked thoughts may take her. She finds her liberation in a close, intimate friend . . . her impromptu Chaperone. Never in his wildest dreams did Preston Rawleigh think to find himself attracted to his sister's innocent best friend… Then again, the magical wonderland of Venice can reveal secret truths even a masked reveler cannot hide. Come spend a few days exploring the sensual mysteries of Carnivale Some will be pursued, most will be caught, and all will be Unmasked.

Tutoring Miss Molly by Lyn Armstrong Desperate to help her sick aunt through another brutal winter on their meager farm, Molly Cambridge will do anything to survive. Even if it means becoming a courtesan at the scandalous Harmon Manor. To catch the eye of a wealthy benefactor, she must learn the art of carnal pleasure from a resentful Marquess. Yet her traitorous heart cannot resist the handsome tutor that harbors secrets that may destroy them both. With attempts on her life and time running short, love is a luxury a courtesan can ill afford. Bored with the spoiled, decadent lifestyle of the infamous sex society, Lord Devlin Harman has little time for courtesans and their cunning wiles. Blackmailed into tutoring an inexperienced courtesan, he is determined to show the farm girl the error of her ways. However, a unique beauty exists beneath the mud-stained rags, causing his jaded heart to melt and his flesh to burn for her touch. If she does not become the chosen courtesan at the mistress auction, he must marry a devious aristocrat by spring. Can he let Molly be a courtesan to gain freedom from his marriage contract? Or will he sacrifice everything for a farm girl?

Heat Lightning by Patricia Pellicane Arizona Heat Series, Book Three

Abby was going home for her mother’s wedding. Caught in a train crash, she was horrified to suddenly find a strange man laying over her. That he was attractive bore no consideration. This simply could not happen. “Don’t fall asleep,” she pleaded, “oh please, don’t.” What had she ever done to cause this impossible moment? She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t! She’d never sleep while pressed to the train’s filthy floor, held in place by the full length of a strange man. The night went wild with the sounds of shattering glass, crushing metal and wood splintering into a million jagged pieces. Linc realized he taken a blow to his head. Something had hit him hard. He was bleeding, he thought, but the pain was already easing some. There wasn’t an inch of space and nothing he could do about it. Something held him in place. Hours later he awoke to find himself sprawled over the softest women. It took a moment before he remembered. She was that neat, little piece he’d been talking to seconds before the crash. Damn, if she didn’t smell and taste delicious. Could he be blamed for sampling a morsel of luscious woman? After all if she truly didn’t want it, wouldn’t she have stopped him?

Lady of the Isle by Temple Hogan From the Sea Series, Book One From the sea, two tormented souls are washed ashore—one a beautiful, mysterious lady, the other a man who'd once been the King's warrior and is now a lowly fisherman. As Rioghnach and Cormac learn to heal and trust in love again, they spend sun-seared days and starlit nights exploring the need that draws them together.

The Pirate Bride by Temple Hogan Book Three in the Pirate's Booty Series Red Charlie is the scourge of the sea, the devil himself, so imagine Jackson Shaw’s stunned disbelief when he recovers from a drunken night of revelry and discovers he’s married to the infamous pirate captain. Furthermore, he did not acquit himself with much sexual finesse on his wedding night. Now he wants to redeem his mangled pride, but a few nights in Red Charlie’s arms will make him forget about pride… Charity, known to the world as Red Charlie ever since she was abducted by the same bloodthirsty pirate who killed her parents, relaxed her guard for one night and was ushered into a hasty marriage with a man who mesmerized her. But when the bridegroom mistakes her for a whore on their wedding night and expects her to perform sexual acts she knows nothing about, she runs away. But there’s no running away when Jackson captures her pirate ship and refuses to return it unless she spends two weeks as his wife, with all that entails.

Charity sets out to teach Jackson a much needed lesson, but the tropical nights of lovemaking teach her a few things about men that she never expected to learn.

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