a child with his head in her lap as she prayed over him. She had touched his face and hair with gentle hand. Her tears had dampened his skin. He did not understand. How could that benevolent girl have grown into the woman who now occupied the chambers next to his? The same one who glared at him, all the fire inside her dead except for the flame of hatred?
Kol frowned at the tapestry on the wall, a hunting scene. The huntsmen were narrow, weak-looking men, with no more collective prowess than a flock of pea fowl. Mentally he named each of the scrawny hunters "Ranulf.
Surely the princess had known he would return.
No warrior of substance could survive the bloody injustice he had and not return to seek vengeance. To do so in this age would mean only cowardice.
In his mind she had been preserved as a simple young creature, pure and chaste. The woman with whom he had reunited today was complex beyond his understanding.
"Who are you?" he said to the wall that separated them.
A huntsman moved. Kol was sure it had. Clearing his mind of all else, he stared at the tapestry. Again there was a wavering, slight but sure. Fisting his hand in the cloth, he ripped it from the wall. Her fragrance swirled about him, lavender and mint. He'd smelled such on her skin, and in her hair, when he'd held her close.
He passed his hand over the timber. Coldness came through, and yes, a faint glimmer of light. He bent for a closer look. The hole was small, almost imperceptible in the dark mortar between the stones. Perfectly round, it had most certainly been bored on purpose. He stared at the peephole, a portal to her sanctuary. He ran his finger around the edge, his mind circling the possible explanations.
Powerful men spied upon those whom they did not trust, that much he had experienced during his travels into the courts of the Franks and the Byzantines. Perhaps, in the past, visiting dignitaries had occupied the chamber, and the king had felt they required clandestine observation.
Or... could Ranulf have secretly observed his own sister? Nay, surely not. Just the thought made him uneasy. More likely the old king, Aldrith, had enjoyed spying upon his young queen, who, years before, had most certainly occupied the comfortable chambers next door.
Kol stared at the hole.
To look would be no weakness. After all, the hole could be used to spy upon him. Surely there had been a corresponding hole in the tapestry and if he were to lift the cloth and take the time to look, he would find it. Only a fool would decline to probe further.
Without further deliberation he bent and peered inside.
He saw light. A scant moment later his vision focused and he saw what lay beyond. The trestle and the hearth. But that knowledge registered only vaguely.
She stood beside the overturned bucket. Naked.
His mouth went dry. Low in his belly, it began. A slow, exquisite burn that spread to and filled his loins with molten flame.
Her skin shone flawless in the firelight's glow. She lifted a strip of linen to her arm. Shadows etched the delicate lines of her ribs, and shaded the undersides of two full, pink-tipped breasts.
The moment she turned away he suffered crushing disappointment, but was rewarded with the sight of her unbound hair. He remembered it. The slippery-clean feel of it against his cheek as they had struggled. Its scent, lavender and mint.
Darkly, the silken curtain fell over her back to tease his eye, just above her rounded—
Kol whispered a curse and stepped back from the peephole, his body raging with fire.
Her deviant, damned half brother had spied on her. What other purpose could the peephole have served?
He closed his eyes, but the memory of her nakedness remained scorched upon his mind. He should never have looked. He was no better than the one who had created the hole.
And, damn himself to Hell, all he could think of was how much he wanted to look again.
He stared at the opening.
Kinsman or saint, he was neither. In truth, he suffered
Kol frowned at the tapestry on the wall, a hunting scene. The huntsmen were narrow, weak-looking men, with no more collective prowess than a flock of pea fowl. Mentally he named each of the scrawny hunters "Ranulf.
Surely the princess had known he would return.
No warrior of substance could survive the bloody injustice he had and not return to seek vengeance. To do so in this age would mean only cowardice.
In his mind she had been preserved as a simple young creature, pure and chaste. The woman with whom he had reunited today was complex beyond his understanding.
"Who are you?" he said to the wall that separated them.
A huntsman moved. Kol was sure it had. Clearing his mind of all else, he stared at the tapestry. Again there was a wavering, slight but sure. Fisting his hand in the cloth, he ripped it from the wall. Her fragrance swirled about him, lavender and mint. He'd smelled such on her skin, and in her hair, when he'd held her close.
He passed his hand over the timber. Coldness came through, and yes, a faint glimmer of light. He bent for a closer look. The hole was small, almost imperceptible in the dark mortar between the stones. Perfectly round, it had most certainly been bored on purpose. He stared at the peephole, a portal to her sanctuary. He ran his finger around the edge, his mind circling the possible explanations.
Powerful men spied upon those whom they did not trust, that much he had experienced during his travels into the courts of the Franks and the Byzantines. Perhaps, in the past, visiting dignitaries had occupied the chamber, and the king had felt they required clandestine observation.
Or... could Ranulf have secretly observed his own sister? Nay, surely not. Just the thought made him uneasy. More likely the old king, Aldrith, had enjoyed spying upon his young queen, who, years before, had most certainly occupied the comfortable chambers next door.
Kol stared at the hole.
To look would be no weakness. After all, the hole could be used to spy upon him. Surely there had been a corresponding hole in the tapestry and if he were to lift the cloth and take the time to look, he would find it. Only a fool would decline to probe further.
Without further deliberation he bent and peered inside.
He saw light. A scant moment later his vision focused and he saw what lay beyond. The trestle and the hearth. But that knowledge registered only vaguely.
She stood beside the overturned bucket. Naked.
His mouth went dry. Low in his belly, it began. A slow, exquisite burn that spread to and filled his loins with molten flame.
Her skin shone flawless in the firelight's glow. She lifted a strip of linen to her arm. Shadows etched the delicate lines of her ribs, and shaded the undersides of two full, pink-tipped breasts.
The moment she turned away he suffered crushing disappointment, but was rewarded with the sight of her unbound hair. He remembered it. The slippery-clean feel of it against his cheek as they had struggled. Its scent, lavender and mint.
Darkly, the silken curtain fell over her back to tease his eye, just above her rounded—
Kol whispered a curse and stepped back from the peephole, his body raging with fire.
Her deviant, damned half brother had spied on her. What other purpose could the peephole have served?
He closed his eyes, but the memory of her nakedness remained scorched upon his mind. He should never have looked. He was no better than the one who had created the hole.
And, damn himself to Hell, all he could think of was how much he wanted to look again.
He stared at the opening.
Kinsman or saint, he was neither. In truth, he suffered
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