Tales of Enchantment 2: The Quest Read online

  “You don’t have much faith in your suitor, do you?” Frederick mocked.

  “But Rodin is --” Giselda stopped as she realized what she’d been about to say. The best. Rodin’s the best.

  She had seen him many times before as he sparred with his men on the training field. As the chief of the security people guarding the royal family, Rodin had to be the best in his chosen profession. In the whole kingdom of Mithirien, he was the best tracker and top weapons expert. For a big man, he could move with lightning speed. No one was faster than he, except maybe for Frederick, who was leaner.

  “Rodin has orders to lose. I wouldn’t want your favored suitor to be embarrassed.” Frederick stared at her for so long that she began to fidget in her seat.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure Prince Michael is your choice?”

  “Well, I was only seen kissing him for most of the past two weeks.” Giselda pretended to think and looked up at the blue sky. “So, aside from that, I guess everybody has a fair chance.”

  “It is not too late to change your mind, Giselda. You might find a better man someday.”

  “Don’t be silly, Frederick. Michael is the one for me, I just know. He loves me, he --”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s told me at least once every day for the past few weeks. Remember I met him at your wedding? He said ...” Giselda stared intently at the field, not really hearing the roar of the cheering crowd as the combatants faced off again. “He said he was instantly smitten with my beauty, and his heart will never waver.”

  “How poetic.”

  “Just because you don’t have the same inclination doesn’t give you the right to laugh at those who do.” Giselda felt insulted on Michael’s behalf.

  “Frederick, Giselda’s right.”

  Thank the gods for her sister-in-law.

  “All right, I’m sorry.” Frederick held up his hands in surrender. “Just remember --”

  “Oh, look,” Giselda cut in, not wanting to listen anymore. Ever since he’d married, he had gotten stuffy and annoying and boring. “Rodin’s fallen to the ground,” she shouted over the triumphant applause and cheers of the crowd. “I am going to congratulate the winner.”

  She ran off before anyone could stop her. She made her way down to the ground, where a sweat-drenched, helmetless Prince Michael swept her into his arms and planted a solid kiss on her lips to the delight of the multitude, evidenced by the even louder applause and wild calls and whistles. If Michael smelled a little, er, funny, she didn’t pay it any attention. After all, he’d gone through so much for her.

  Chapter Three

  Michael pulled her into the deserted gazebo. “Come here, my delectable bride.”

  “Am I your bride?” Excitement rushed through her. Finally, she was done with watching from the sidelines.

  He sat on the bench and tumbled her into his arms. “Aren’t you?” His husky voice sent shivers down her spine.

  Giselda noted his dark good looks in the early evening twilight, and she couldn’t believe that he was hers, all hers. “A girl likes to be asked.” She cast her eyes down demurely and fiddled with a button on his coat.

  “I won you fair and square.”

  “A girl still likes to be asked.”

  He got down on his knees. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes, yes!” She threw her arms around his neck and fused her lips with his.

  He slanted his lips, moving over hers with a hunger and passion that she had always sensed burning just beneath the surface. It was a good thing her husband-to-be was fond of her body. It would certainly make it easier to ask for all the things her little heart desired -- a large clothing allowance, for instance. She would also have the top designer in the kingdom plan her wedding trousseau. Her wedding gown would be decorated with lots of little diamonds, instead of the usual sequins, and --

  “I thought I heard someone over here.”

  Giselda’s eyes popped open, and she pushed at Michael’s hands, which were somehow beneath her skirt. “Stop, stop. Someone’s here!”

  “Wha--”

  She slapped his hand, which continued to caress her thigh. “Stop it! Someone’s coming!”

  Michael assumed an injured look as he rose to sit beside her on the bench. “I thought we were betrothed.”

  “It has yet to be formalized,” Giselda reminded him as she straightened her hair and clothing.

  “So I can’t touch you before the union is formal?”

  “I seem to recall having your hands all over me for the past two weeks,” she shot back tartly, trying to quell her displeasure at seeing his surprising likeness to a little boy being denied his favorite candy.

  “That’s because you’re so beautiful.” His leering glance dispelled the sullen pout. “Here, feel this.” He took her hand and curled it around his cock. “See how you affect me?”

  Surprise kept Giselda’s hand where it was, curved around his hardening member. Frissons of heat shot through her, reviving her waning excitement. She remembered another cock nudging against her, and moisture pooled in her pussy.

  “This seems to be a bad time. Maybe I should come back again a little later.”

  Giselda jerked her hand away from that fascinating pulsing thing, belatedly remembering that she had heard voices. She encountered Rodin’s glittering green eyes and shivered at the cold anger she saw reflected there.

  “No need.” She stood up in a huff, displaying her princessly imperiousness. “We were just leaving.”

  She swept out of the gazebo, her head held high. She hoped Michael was following.

  * * * * *

  “Where are we going?” Giselda skipped beside Michael as they climbed the gentle slope of the hill. The verdant grass served as a thick carpet to cushion their feet from the hard ground. Far in the distance, the dense leaves of the trees gave color to an otherwise blue and sunny sky . A slight breeze didn’t do much to alleviate the heat. She was glad she had pinned her long hair into a fat bun on top of her head.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Ooooh, I like surprises.” Giselda smiled, turning her face up to the sun. “You know what I love, Michael?”

  “What?”

  His voice seemed distracted, but she didn’t care. Serena had said that engaged couples must get to know one another, since they were going to spend a lifetime together.

  “I love riding Randalin. Have you seen her? She is the most beautiful mare in Mithirien. She may look dainty and delicate, but she has the worst temper I have ever seen. She threw every trainer who tried to break her, but the moment I touched her, it was love at first sight for us both. She allowed me to get on her back when she would not --”

  “We’re here.”

  They had turned right a few paces back onto a trail that led into a secluded grove. A stand of tall trees formed a shady bower, and the air turned cool and refreshing.

  Giselda looked around with delight. “It’s so beautiful! How come I didn’t know of this?”

  “You have to ask the right people, my dear.” Michael put down the basket he was holding and spread the blanket on the grass-carpeted ground. “Come, sit here for awhile. The climb couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  Giselda felt fine, but she saw that Michael was panting slightly. She didn’t want to embarrass him, so she sat down on the blanket. The basket must have been heavier than it looked.

  “As I was saying, Randalin wouldn’t suffer anyone’s touch but mine.” She turned to smile at Michael, who had settled beside her. “When my father heard this, he had no choice but to give the mare to me, when he originally wanted to give her to my cousin for a birthday present. I can still remember that day. I was so happy --”

  Giselda tumbled onto her back, a heavy weight keeping her pinned to the ground. “Ooomph!”

  “Your mouth has other uses than talking, my love.” Giselda found herself staring into Michael’s dark, desire-laden eyes. Her breath shortened. “Like this.�
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  His lips roved over hers in slow motion, nipping and sipping at her lips. “We have all the time in the world,” he whispered as he angled his head in the other direction. “No one to interrupt us again ...”

  “But I want to tell you about --”

  “We will talk later.”

  His lips trailed down her chin, down her neck, and burrowed into the hollow of her throat. Giselda closed her eyes as she felt his hand at the bodice of her dress, untying the ribbon. Without any warning, his lips fastened on her nipple, sucking strongly.

  Giselda gasped and arched against his mouth. His lips were demanding, pulling strongly. His fingers pinched her other nipple, tweaking and pulling the tight bud into prominence. White-hot fire streaked from the tips of her breasts and burned in her veins.

  “Do you like that, love?”

  She wished he would stop talking and just continue what he was doing. That way, she wouldn’t remember that all he wanted was --

  He nudged her legs apart and settled himself fully between them. He made little thrusting motions, rubbing his cock against the juncture of her thighs through their clothes.

  Giselda went rigid. She could not think, could not say anything. Her whole attention was focused on his hard member demanding entry into her most secret place.

  Suddenly, his weight was gone. She gave a cry -- of relief and surprise. He must have changed his mind and decided that she needed more time --

  “You think to take advantage of the princess!”

  Giselda’s eyes snapped open at that roar of fury, and she saw Rodin lifting a befuddled Michael off his feet.

  Michael shook his head and saw his attacker for the first time. “You again!” His eyes glinted with outrage, but it was no match for that which flared from Rodin’s eyes.

  “Don’t touch her again until the wedding ceremony is over!” Rodin shook him hard before tossing him, like a sack of potatoes, toward the trees at the far end of the grove.

  Giselda shook from the expression on his face. His voice was both grim and gentle as he said, “Cover yourself. I’ll take you home.”

  She scrambled to sit up and tried to tie the ribbon of her bodice with fingers that weren’t steady. She couldn’t summon enough energy to lambaste him for his interference. Because he had saved her. But also because she dared not. An angry Rodin wasn’t something she’d seen often during her growing-up years. He was the easygoing one, while Frederick was the moody one. But in the past four months, it seemed that there wasn’t a day when he wasn’t scowling at her. And then there was yesterday ...

  He knelt in front of her. “I’ll do it.” He nudged aside her clumsy fingers, brushing his own fingers over her taut peaks in the process.

  Her breath caught as a curl of heat arced between them, a heat that seared her with its flame. She must really have some sensitive breasts. First Michael, and now ... But at some deep level of instinct that was inherent in all women, she knew it was not the same.

  Their eyes met, and his eyes smoldered, not with rage, but with another kind of fire. Then he bent his head and tied the ribbon with deft efficiency.

  She was so confused that she let Rodin hustle her out of the grove without looking back at Michael.

  How could one innocent, accidental brush of Rodin’s hand ignite the same response from her that Michael’s seduction had?

  Chapter Four

  Fresh air filled her lungs as they left the grove, and Giselda began to feel better and more like herself. She rounded on Rodin when they were but a few steps down the hill. “How dare you interrupt us! And how come you’re always on hand to interrupt us?” A thought struck her. “Bloody hell, you’ve been following us!”

  “Tsk, tsk. Is that the way for a princess to talk?”

  “Don’t evade the question. You have been following us, right?”

  “There you have it.”

  “You have no right to do that!” Giselda stamped her foot, but it lacked power and noise on the thick grass. “My betrothed and I can make love if we want to, when we want to, and where we want to!”

  “He is not your betrothed yet.”

  “Says who?” The memory of Rodin and the maid added fuel to her burning rage. “If you can have sex in front of me, then I bloody well can do it whenever and wherever I want!”

  He stopped walking and stepped closer to her. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Giselda was shaken and disarmed by the cold glitter in his eyes and his hard voice. Her rage fell away and left only confusion. “What is it to you?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  She didn’t know why, but she suddenly couldn’t look straight into his eyes.

  With his thumb and forefinger, he caught hold of her chin and gently turned her to face him. His gaze was somber. “Why would seeing me have sex bother you? Unless perhaps ...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “... you want the woman in my arms to be ... you.”

  She sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous!” But her protest was weak.

  She wrenched out of his grasp and walked a few steps away. She took several deep breaths, feeling unbalanced and displaced. Suddenly, she saw herself with her back against the tree and Rodin’s mouth on her breast and his hand underneath her skirt. She felt hot. Feverish.

  She whirled around. “Look, Rodin, why don’t we just forget about all this?”

  “Can you?”

  She went on, ignoring his question. “I can’t understand you these days. You’ve been different ever since we came back from the lodge; you’re almost always angry now. Are you mad at me? Why? Was it something I did? Can’t we go back to the way we were before? Be friends?”

  They weren’t exactly friends, because Giselda had always been too aware of her position to be friendly with the hired help, even if that person was her stepbrother’s best friend. But Rodin had always been kind to her, tolerating her presence when Frederick would not and allowing her to tag after them on fishing trips even when she chattered too much and scared the fish away.

  Looking back, she now felt a smidgeon of shame at her snobbish behavior. A few months of being around Serena was making her see a lot of things from a different perspective.

  But now, she didn’t understand what was happening between her and Rodin. A tantalizing thought teased at the edge of her mind, but she pushed it away. She didn’t want to examine it, afraid of what it would reveal. No, her destiny lay with Michael. She was on her way to be queen of Ermont.

  Her resolve firming, she repeated, “Can’t we be friends again?”

  She thought she glimpsed a stark bleakness in his eyes, but then she blinked, and it was as if it had never been there. Instead, she saw resigned acceptance.

  “I am not mad at you, princess. I’m mad at myself. And I wish I could, but I don’t think ‘just friendship’ is possible. Not anymore. Not for me, that is.”

  He brushed past her before she could press him further.

  Giselda stared at his back in frustration. When he was a few feet away, she turned around and made a mad dash back to the grove, aware that he fully expected her to follow him down the hill. She was barely halfway there before she was tackled to the ground by an object far heavier and more solid than Michael.

  The breath was knocked out of her. Her face hit the ground, and her teeth felt like they had all been jarred loose. She spit out a few blades of grass that had found their way into her mouth. “Get off me, you big oaf!” The shout didn’t come out quite like she’d imagined it would.

  He moved and helped her to sit up on the grass. He sighed. “All right, I give up. We can be friends or whatever it is you like.”

  “Really?”

  The delight that surged through her was reflected in her voice. It was no wonder, then, that Rodin laughed before saying, “Really. If this friendship is going to get off the ground, then I should first apologize for ...” He hesitated. He looked at her sideways and then continued, “For the incident the other day with Rosie.” A
t her blank look, he explained, “The maid by the tree.” Sudden comprehension dawned. “I never meant for you to see us. Also ...” He hesitated again. “I apologize for the things I said to you. I shouldn’t even think them.”

  Even if they were true? For a moment, Giselda was horrified that the words might have left her mouth. When she realized that Rodin was still looking at her expectantly, she was so relieved that she stuttered. “Of course -- Yes -- No -- I mean --” She took a deep breath. “Yes, I accept your apology. I also have my own to make. I should not have said those words to you, either. And what you do with the maids is -- is --” The words seemed to be stuck in her throat. “Is your own business.”

  He smiled, though she noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes. “I am glad we agree on that. But one last thing, princess. If you please, don’t make this job harder than it’s supposed to be.”

  “Job?”

  “Frederick asked me to look after you, be your bodyguard.” His teeth flashed. “So I’m doing just that -- guarding your body.”

  Giselda gasped. “So you mean, that day, when I saw you hiding behind the trees ...” Hot color burned in her cheeks as she remembered just exactly what he’d been doing.

  “Not really,” he drawled. “If you remember, I was busy myself.”

  “So --” She cleared her throat. “But I’m sure Frederick didn’t mean Michael.”

  He shook his head. “He was specifically mentioned.”

  “But why? He is soon to be my betrothed, and --”

  “As I’ve said, soon is not is. Come, let us get going.” He helped her to her feet. “I think Frederick wants to make sure no scandal will be attached to your name now that you are about to be married.”

  “I didn’t see him exercising such restraint with Serena before,” she muttered, kicking her feet against the grass and bemoaning the unfairness of it all.

  “I don’t trust him, either.”