Blood slowing, Eva lay against Bruin’s chest, the sinewy rope of his arm clamping her naked flesh with a fierce possession. His chest hair tickled her ear; she listened to the slackening thud of his heart. Her palm spread over his belly, the sweat drying on his cooling flesh. My God, how could she have known how wonderful lying with a man could be? Her knowledge had been scant; nothing could have prepared her for what had just happened. Her body ached, quivered with the memory of him, but it was the sweetest hurt she had ever known: as if every muscle and sinew in her body had been stretched and slightly altered, reset into a new and better place.
Bruin said nothing and she was glad. His hand fumbled across the hay, searching for something to cover them, and pulled the voluminous folds of her cloak over their cooling bodies. Now was not the time for apologies, or recriminations. She wanted nothing to spoil the beauty of the experience; tomorrow was soon enough to face any doubts. And there was no question that it was she, Eva, who had made this happen. Bruin had given her the option to stop; she had been fully aware of what was happening.
She snuggled against Bruin’s heated flank, her eyelids drooping. Her lashes fluttered down, sweeping across her flushed cheeks. Bruin heard the small sigh, the shift of her body relaxing against him, her slowing breath as she fell asleep. His chin rested on her glossy crown, the satin ropes of her hair still pinned to her head. In their haste, he hadn’t even bothered to loosen her hair. A rawness twisted his expression, his eyes bleak, riven with guilt. How could he have done such a thing to her? How was it possible that he had lost control like that, especially with her, Eva, the woman so different from any other woman he had met, the woman who—he might have dared to love?
* * *
He had allowed Eva to sleep for a few hours, wrapped in his arms, as he watched snowflakes blow sporadically through the opening above their heads, tracking their dancing journey through the dim light. He had relished the feel of her: her bare flesh like plush velvet against his flank, the spill of her hair across his chest. A hollowness gnawed at him, a wretchedness: he had betrayed her trust and hated himself for it. He had told her time and time again that she could trust him, that he would protect her from his brother, and he had reneged on both those things. As the first fingers of dawn light filtered bleakly down on to the hay, he shifted his position, jostling her out of sleep. ‘Eva, you need to wake up now.’
Reverberating beneath her ear, his speech rumbled in his chest, which rose suddenly, tipping her sideways into the hay. Rolling away, her befuddled mind registered the sound of Bruin pulling on his clothes: the slither of braies and surcoat, the heavy chinking of his chainmail falling into place across his brawny thighs. His sword sliding into the leather scabbard.
‘Here.’ His tone was brisk, matter of fact, as he bent down to pick up her chemise, her gowns. Eva sat up hazily, pushing back an errant curl of ebony hair behind her ear. A hairpin dug into her scalp and she raised one arm, poking it savagely back into place. Bruin’s heart lurched, heat jolting through his belly. Bare-breasted, she looked like a mermaid in a sea of hay, propping herself on one arm with her legs bent behind her, the magnificent sheen of her skin adopting the pure translucency of a pearl, the glimmer of satin. And last night, he had devoured her, consumed that beauty with all the rutting instincts of a boar on heat.
A dull redness covered his cheeks. ‘Cover yourself, will you?’ he said, exasperated with himself, annoyed that he could not control his feelings, his desire for her. He turned away, kicking irritably at the swathes of hay, searching for his boots.
Shivering in the chill air, Eva crossed her arms over her chest, heart plummeting with sadness, hurt pride. Sticking her chin out at a mutinous angle, she picked up her creased chemise and pulled it over her head, her chest caving with despair at his sharp tone, the scowling expression on his face. She clamped her lips together, fiercely, telling herself she wouldn’t cry, nay, she couldn’t! She had lain with this man willingly, with her eyes wide open, and had been fully aware of the consequences. So why did the blunt edge of disappointment hammer clumsily at her spirit, making her movements leaden, defeated?
Anger would be her best defence now, not this crushed, miserable attitude. The hurt coiled with her, solidifying, hardening, shot through with a flare of anger. Show him that you’re not affected by what happened and act with courage, a shrugging nonchalance, Eva told herself sternly. Standing up, she tugged the cumbersome gowns over her head. ‘There,’ she said, fumbling to tighten the side-lacings of the gowns, ‘are you happy now?’ Sarcasm laced her tone; she welcomed it.
Bruin glowered at her, buckling his sword belt. ‘No, I’m not happy.’ He stuffed his big feet into his leather boots. ‘I took advantage of you last night and for that I am truly sorry.’ He stuck his hand into his hair, sending the vigorous bronze-coloured strands awry.
‘Don’t be,’ she bit out. ‘Don’t be sorry. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter, Eva. You should hate me for what I have done. I’ve dragged you here, against your will, forced you to lie with me—’
‘No. You didn’t force me, Bruin. You gave me the chance to push you away—’ She placed her hands on her hips, the stance lending her strength. Her heartbeat accelerated as she remembered the muscled hardness of his thighs against hers, his big hands roaming across her flesh.
‘But you had no idea what you were letting yourself in for.’ A lone muscle jumped high in his cheek. ‘I took what was not mine to have.’
Eva ducked her head, embarrassed by the bluntness of his speech, shamed. How could she tell him that it had all been worth it, to lie with him, to savour his touch against her body, to feel him move against her? Her innocence was something she had been prepared to give freely. She would never forget this night; the memory would rest in her heart for ever. He had to know, even if it meant she would drive him further away.
‘I wanted you to have it.’
‘Eva—?’ His eyes widened, stunned by her simple admission. ‘Oh, my God, why? Why would you give yourself away so arbitrarily, to me of all people?’ He scooped up her cloak, shaking out the heavy folds, brushing bits of hay from the cloth. ‘Me, the ruffian who dragged you here. Remember?’ His metallic eyes met hers, shot through with anguish.
Because I love you, she thought. Streams of hopelessness lapped her heart; she bit down hard on her bottom lip, reminding herself how to behave: to be strong, resolute in the face of his rejection.
Bruin sighed, scuffing the loose hay with his boot, shaking his head ruefully. ‘I am not a good person, Eva.’ His voice was low, the foreign inflection more pronounced. ‘I have killed people—men. After Sophie’s death, I went to pieces, lost control, and there was no limit to what I wouldn’t do. I was given orders and I followed them, blindly, without question. I gave no thought to what I did. That is the sort of man I am.’
Eva took her cloak from him. A chill wobbled through her at the mention of Sophie’s name. The image of the women striding across the bailey, the boy at her side, loomed across her vision; at some point she would tell Bruin about her and her own suspicions: that the lady was the same Sophie he thought was dead. But now was not the time. Now, she realised, she was fighting for the man she loved. Snow crystals blew in through the opening above her head, speckling the dark blue wool over her arm. ‘That’s the sort of man you were,’ she responded quietly, emphasising the past tense. ‘You’re different now.’ Her voice was clipped; she would not plead for him to change his mind, but a small voice whispered at her, nay, begged her, not to give up on him, just yet.
His eyelashes dipped fractionally, hooding his brilliant eyes. ‘No, I’m not. The things I have done, Eva, they live up here—’ he tapped the side of his skull ‘—and they will never, ever go away. You’re a fool, if you think I can give you anything.’
A horrible sense of desolation chewed into her. Flags of colour patched her cheeks. She tipped her head to one side, her bright eyes challenging him. ‘I don’t want anything from you, Bruin. Let’s be clear about that.’ Beneath her cloak, her nails dug cruelly into her palms. ‘But please don’t ruin what we shared together. You owe me that at least. But if you want to forget about it, then that’s fine. Forget it, forget it ever happened and never speak of it again.’
Shocked by the bluntness of her speech, the unexpectedness of it, his chin shot up. He frowned at her, brindled eyebrows drawn close together. ‘You—I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me,’ Eva responded brutally. ‘Forget it ever happened.’ Reaching down for her veil, she jammed the fragile cloth savagely into place with her silver circlet, mouth set in a terse, rigid line.
Bruin peered at her, then touched her shoulder, lightly. She flinched away, resenting the contact. He had expected tears and lamentations, not this bullish stance, tight-lipped and stony-faced. But he had underestimated her, he realised that now. He had forgotten how she had fought him in the forest, how she had battled for her freedom. ‘You don’t have to be like this.’ He saw the turbulent mixture of fire and false bravado, the hurt in her eyes. She was like a wild cat, he thought, fractious and diffident, on the edge of running away to lick her wounds in private.
Oh, yes, I do, she thought. Otherwise I will sink to my knees and weep at your feet, and that is the very last thing I want to happen. I will not plead with you to love me, or honour me, after what you have done. ‘How else should I be?’ she responded waspishly. ‘I’m not going to cry about it, if that’s what you’re expecting. I have no regrets, even if you do.’
Her eyes shimmered with unspent tears. Her stance was tense, poised tightly, as if she balanced on a thin ledge, peering with trepidation into the chasm below. Her arms maintained a fierce grip on her cloak. She clutched it to her stomach like some sort of buffer; a cloth wall between the two of them. But then, what had he been expecting? He had pushed her away before she had even time to fully surface from sleep, erecting his well-worn barriers, his impenetrable defences. He had caused all this: her terse, strained demeanour, the sadness floating in the huge blue pools of her eyes.
A wave of guilt jolted through him. ‘Why are you even here, Eva?’ Walking over to the door, he rattled the iron latch with impatience. ‘Why would Steffen lock you up with me? I thought he would at least have given you a bedchamber to sleep in.’
Eva let out a long surreptitious breath. Bruin was convinced, she was certain, convinced that she was unaffected by what had happened, that she didn’t blame him in any way. It was a good thing he couldn’t see her heart, or the tattered remains of it, for then he would realise her behaviour was a sham. ‘Steffen doesn’t trust me. I’ve already escaped from him once; I suspect he thought I would try it again.’
Her explanation made sense. Bending down, Bruin plucked his cloak from the hay, his hair glinting a dull bronze in the stark dawn light. And on the side of his head, a web of matted hair, clotted with dark red blood.
‘Oh, God, Bruin, your head!’ Eva cried out when she saw it. All her reasons for maintaining an aloof distance from this man vanished in that moment. Shame flooded over her, guilt that she had forgotten what had happened to him, that she had neglected him. ‘Oh, Bruin, I’m so sorry, your wound looks nasty and I forgot to look at it!’ The tough unnatural lines slid from her face. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.
Straightening up, he swung the cloak around his broad shoulders, a practised, efficient manoeuvre. He read the concern in her expression, the glimmer of tears, and wondered at them. His breath hitched in his chest. Why would she still care for him, after all that he had done to her? They both knew why she hadn’t looked at his wound; in the heat of their passion, the reason they were in the chamber had been forgotten, slipping away, lost in their clamouring need for each other. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, firmly.
‘But it’s bleeding!’ she protested, stepping forward. ‘I need to clean it, to bind it with something before it becomes infected!’
‘It will have to wait, Eva,’ Bruin replied. He touched her elbow, lightly, in acknowledgement of her worry. ‘We must leave this place, as soon as possible, before Steffen starts trying to find out where your ruby is.’
Too late, she thought dully. I traded the whereabouts of the ruby to be by your side. Her mouth twisted down slightly, mocking her own stupidity.
Bruin’s silver eyes darted around the grey-lit chamber, alighting on the opening high up in the wall. ‘I don’t suppose you remember if the door is locked or bolted on the outside?’
‘Bolted,’ Eva replied immediately, recalling the stiff, grating noise as the guard had pulled the bolts back. A lifetime ago. She had been a different woman then.
He raised one eyebrow at her, questioning. ‘In that case, do you think you can fit through that window?’
‘I can try,’ she replied.
Dropping her cloak to the ground, Eva tucked her foot into the cup of his hands, bracing herself on his shoulders. He hoisted her light frame easily and she pushed her arms through the window to grip the ledge on the outside. The cold air numbed her fingers as she wiggled her body up and through, the fine embroidery on her gown rasping on the coarse stone. Palms balanced on the soles of her slippers, Bruin hoisted her up until his arms were at full stretch, then he released her.
‘Hold on!’ he said suddenly, snagging one of her swinging ankles, fine-boned beneath silk stockings. He worried he might crush her ankle bone beneath his grip. ‘Eva, can you see how far the drop is to the ground out there?’
Sides squeezed by the opening, she peered down into a thicket of shrubs and brambles, only a few feet away: the height of a man. Trees clustered alongside the shrubs, close enough for her to grab hold. The temperature had dropped below freezing, too cold for snow; everything was covered with a thick, hard layer of glittering ice. Beyond the shrubs, a forest of deciduous trees stretched back into the distance. An eerie light, watery, slowly dissipated as the sun rose, flickering through the bare branches The winter forest turned into a mass of delicate sparkles.
‘Not far.’ She turned her head, keeping her voice low. This back wall of the stables formed part of the bigger curtain wall circling the castle, but the trees on this side had been allowed to grow too close to the wall: a weak point in its structure. She could slither down, right now, and run, run away from all this, from Bruin and her night of shame, leaving him locked in the barn to await his brother’s return. She closed her eyes, the long-held tears finally falling, streaming down her cheeks, dropping through the icy air, crystal droplets. No. She couldn’t leave him.
‘Eva, can you hear me?’ His voice was muffled.
‘Yes,’ she managed to reply. ‘I can jump down easily and I’ll come around.’
‘Be careful,’ she heard him say.
She looped her arm around a branch and swung out from the window. Lichen smeared a green stain on her sleeve. The chill air flowed beneath her skirts, piercing the fine wool of her stockings. Teeth chattering, she plunged into the thicket of brambles, ice bouncing up around her, thorns scratching her legs and arms, tearing at her gown. Her gaze darting this way and that, she checked to see if anyone was around on the ramparts behind her, in the forest. The place was deserted.
Silently, she extricated herself from the brambles, lifting the whippy, snagging tendrils up and away with careful fingers, intending to walk along the curtain wall until she found an opening. Her boots crunched over the frozen earth as she followed the mossy stones, flecked with ice crystals. An undulating path, fairly well-trodden, mirrored the line of the wall. With a sinking heart, she realised that the only way back into the castle was through the gatehouse itself, where Steffen would have guards posted. Rounding a corner, the stone structure rose before her and she stumbled on a protruding stone, her step hesitant, wondering what she could do.
Eva stopped. Inside the gatehouse, someone was shouting. A male voice, harsh and booming, coupled with the clash of swords. Then, amidst a cacophony of warning shouts, Bruin sprang out from beneath the archway on his horse, no saddle or bridle, his reddish-gold hair like a flame against the drab stone. Chainmail glinting, his brawny thighs urged the animal forward, flicking a flaxen rope around the horse’s neck, controlling the animal. He spotted Eva immediately, crouching in the shadows next to the wall. He waved his arm in a wide arc, grinning triumphantly, indicating that she climb up to the path that led down from the gatehouse.
Heart flaring with relief, Eva scrambled up the slope, frost lacing her skirts. As her toe hit the rubble of the track, Bruin came towards her, the horse at a fast trot, mane flaring out like a sun ray. Leaning low in the saddle, he braced his arm around her waist and swept her up before him in a flurry of skirts, wedging her back against his stomach. Secure. Safe. As her back thumped hard against his chest, an arrow whistled through the air towards them, bouncing off the iron-hard ground. Breathless, smiling, she shifted around, inhaling the musky scent of him, catching at the collar of his surcoat for balance, questions tumbling from her mouth.
‘Later,’ Bruin said. ‘Let’s get out of here first.’