Read Online Folly's Reward by Jean R. Ewing - Free Book Online Page A

walls. Trees clustered thickly, some having taken root in the walls of the gorge itself, so the castle seemed to float as if it were unreal—a mirage that might disappear at any moment.
    “It seemed,” Hal said with his light humor as he examined the scene, “that this was a particularly romantic and picturesque spot, which deserved our admiration, if not our rapturous breaking into verse. But, alas, the only poetry to which I can bend my wanton tongue would be most unsuitable for the scene below us, don’t you think?”
    So Prudence found herself climbing down from the carriage, wishing that she might be anywhere but here—with this uncertain rogue, on a treacherously lovely day, in a heartbreakingly beautiful place.
    Bobby raced about on the grass, laughing and skipping. Hal took the basket from the chaise, then unwrapped his own provisions, which he had tied up in a square of cloth. He spread a blanket from the carriage and invited Prudence to sit.
    Far from displaying the retiring habits of a servant, Hal dropped down beside her. He shrugged out of his jacket and used it to make a cushion for her back. Then he leaned his shoulders against the sloping wall of granite and stretched out his lean, strong legs, his booted feet negligently crossed at the ankle, so that Prudence was painfully aware of the graceful lines of his body.
    Bobby curled up beside Hal. They of course shared their food. It was a perfect, marvelous picnic that left Prudence devastated.
    For as they feasted on the fresh bread and fruit, the cold meats and cheeses, Hal began to tell Bobby a story. He wove into the tale every element of high romance that could be imagined, and then took the story into flights of wonder.
    The ruined castle became populated before her eyes with stalwart, long-haired warriors, armor shining; lovely princesses, sad with longing; scaly dragons breathing fire; swart hobgoblins, trolls, and giants; and wild swans keening their wild cries overhead. Forests became enchanted; trees had voices; and flowers sprang wherever maidens put their feet.
    When Hal finished, Bobby—every sense filled and satisfied, eyes shining with happiness—fell asleep against the storyteller’s knee. Hal gently picked the child up and carried him to the chaise.
    Prudence stood and leaned against the great outcropping of granite that had sheltered them. She closed her eyes and let the warm afternoon sunshine beat down on her lids. For no reason she could fathom, tears pricked. A painful lump blocked her throat. She felt lost. Voiceless, humbled, entranced, searching for some thread to hold her to the earth.
    A light touch brushed across her hair, and a hand was gently laid over her closed lids.
    “No,” Hal’s voice said. “Don’t open your eyes.”
    Prudence trembled, blinded by his fingers, her senses alert to him: his clean scent mingled faintly with that of leather and horses; the knowledge that he towered over her, slim and lean; the clear memory of his features; the soft, regular rhythm of his breath.
    “For only a moment, angel,” he whispered into her ear. “For one moment out of time, relax. This is the enthralling land of Faerie. No rules apply here.”
    His hand dropped away, but Prudence knew only her disturbing longing. Her closed eyes must block her tears. Yet a tremor ran over her skin. Her legs swayed.
    She felt him pull the pins from her hair.
    It fell lightly around her neck and across her shoulders. She could feel it being smoothed back, until his long, firm fingers cradled her face, then slipped behind her head. Subtle, delicious sensations, lovelier than she had ever imagined.
    Prudence did not dare to look into that long-lashed harebell gaze. So to her shame, like the princess of the fairy tale, she stood enchanted, as Hal touched her shaking lips with his own and began to tease nectar from her mouth.
    Ah, the delicate, wild, insistent taste of his lips! All while he was stroking her hair in long, sensuous waves down her