The Prince's Bride

Chapter Thirteen

Gabriel had not intended to fall asleep. He’d not intended to hold her. His vague plan had been to leave her as soon as—

Well, none of it had been planned. Obviously.

He stomped through the stable in the misty light of dawn, feeding the animals. His actions were rote, mechanical, he moved blindly. His brain was consumed with memories of last night and all the things he’d done to Ryan Daventry. Making almost-love to her had been...

He couldn’t say what it had been. He knew only that he’d wanted it at the time, which also seemed to be the same moment she’d wanted it. The darkness had been so complete, and the day had been the most agonizing in recent memory, and damn it all to hell.

He grabbed the slats of a stall with both hands and dropped his head between his shoulders, breathing in and out.

Making almost-love to Ryan Daventry was not a change of heart. It was not a compromise. It was base, and primal, and he hadn’t realized it ran so very deep until he’d touched her. The moment he’d plucked her from the road and held her against him had been like popping the cork on a vessel that was bone-dry inside. Now all he wanted to do was fill it, and fill it, and fill it. And so what had he done? He’d brought her here, to his camp, so she could immerse it with her scent and her wet undergarments and her; so she could be everywhere at once. In his waterfall, in his kitchen, in his head, in his bed.

The bedroom and the darkness had awakened something inside of him so ferocious but also so very latent. It was a version of himself he’d never met. She made him feel entitled to abundance; like mere safety and isolation were not enough. She made him feel like a man who said bollocks to loneliness, even if being alone served a purpose.

With Lady Ryan, he was allowed to be a flesh and blood man instead of a stone-cold survivor.

And where did that leave him? If she was going—and she was going—and he carried on surviving by himself? When you’d tasted warm bread with butter, it would be very hard to eat raw turnips and call them delicious.

But this wasn’t about only him. He remembered enough about society to know you did not hurl yourself onto a young woman, hours after meeting her, and ravage her. Or nearly ravage her. She’d asked him to touch her, but she’d not been thinking clearly. She’d been terrorized by the highwayman. She was exhausted. She’d been overwhelmed with the responsibility of saving her family. He’d not taken advantage so much as sat down to an abundant feast when he should have eaten the rations he’d packed from home.

The honorable thing to do would be to apologize, and make some excuse, and remind her that nothing had changed. And after he’d suffered through those great many words, she would go, and he’d be left in a wretched state of yearning for the rest of his life. Because—bloody hell—it hadn’t been enough. Not the sleepy hours holding her nor the mind-blowing minutes touching her. They’d been a fraction of what he wanted and an infinitesimal drop of what he would need again. If he ever had the opportunity to lie again with Ryan Daventry. Which he would not. She would go—she had to go—and he would remain and never again their paths would meet.

The realization of this made him so very angry. He shoved from the stall and knocked about the stables with terse, agitated movements. His jerks and grunts disturbed the horses, which only irritated him more.

“You said the rooster would awaken me.”

At the sound of her voice, Gabriel went still. He dropped a scoop of barley into a trough and slowly turned around. She was standing in a hazy pool of sunlight, hair pulled back, a cautious look on her face, hands folded. She was dressed in her muddy gown, her cloak hanging down her back. She gave him a shy smile.

A whoosh of sensation swept from his throat to the bottom of his feet. And just like that, he felt like a man entitled to abundance.

He turned away. “It’s early yet. I’m glad you slept.”

“When did you leave me?”

Why did she want to know this? Of all the things to ponder about last night, what difference did it make when he’d left her? Had he stayed too long? Should he have waited for her to wake up? He’d never lain with a woman more than ten minutes after—

He trudged to the next stall. “I’ve been awake for an hour.”

“Thank you,” she said, “for staying with me. In the dark.”

“You are not...” he began, but he could not finish. He scooped another cup of barley and moved to the next trough.

“You’re not troubled by last night?” he said finally, speaking to the bowed head of the gelding dipping his nose into the feed.

“No,” she said. “Not troubled.”

His shoulders had been tense, full of knots, and now the tightness eased. The tight pinch when he breathed was gone. He examined her tone for sincerity. He glanced back, checking her expression. She raised her eyebrows and he felt the whoosh again. He turned away.

“Are you?” she asked. “Troubled?”

Yes, he wanted to say. Of course. Entirely. But that would be a lie.

They’d come to the stall of the stallion called Xavier, and Gabriel made his clicking noise, summoning him to the trough.

“He’s afraid,” Ryan observed. “Should I go?”

“It’s not you,” he said. “He’s a deep fear of me, and you, and any human, actually. He’s slowly warming to one of my grooms, thankfully. He was stolen from his owner and treated horribly by the thieves, only to be recovered and returned home. The abuse he suffered was severe, and he’ll no longer acknowledge his owner.”

“How terrible,” she whispered. “But is the horse so essential that the owner cannot simply put him to pasture? After all he’s endured?”

Gabriel shrugged. “He belongs to the son of a wealthy lord. The horse had been a gift of his late father; his first horse when he was a boy. He is attached to the stallion’s larger meaning within the family. Xavier, the horse’s called. He’ll not approach the food until we’re gone from the stable. Although, every day, I try.” Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a carrot, extending it to the horse. He made the clicking noise again. The horse eyed him from the shadows at the end of the stall but did not move.

“When we’ve gone,” Gabriel said, “he’ll eat.”

“When we ride to the edge of the forest, so I may return to the inn,” she added.

He felt this statement like a pin to his shoulder. He moved down the stalls, measuring feed. After a moment, he said, “I’ve a new proposition.”

“Oh?”

He came to the last horse and emptied the remaining feed into a barrel. Stalking across the stable, he took up his saddle and carried it to his own horse, Anton.

“Something to consider,” he said. “The least I can do.”

“Alright.”

He took a deep breath. It was not physically painful to say words. He wasn’t accustomed to talking, but he could do it. He need only open his mouth and speak. Still, making this offer to her felt a little like pulling himself free from a trap. He’d been ensnared by her arrival here, and he was freeing himself, but the means of freedom would tear away skin and bone.

“Gabriel?” she prompted.

“I’ve a sister,” he forced himself to say. “Elise, she’s called. You may remember her. She was older by seven years than I.”

“Princess Elise,” said Ryan. “Yes. I believe I do remember.”

“We are no longer acquainted, unfortunately, but she and her husband have purchased an estate on the southern edge of Savernake Forest, not far from the village of Pewsey. I cannot say for sure, but I think if you were to go to her—to call upon Elise and her husband and appeal to them—they may be able to help you. With Maurice. Particularly with the legal aspects of this twenty-year-old betrothal. Her husband was formerly employed by St. James’s Palace and worked directly for the king. He sorted out complicated problems in unconventional ways, I believe. He is creative and connected and Elise herself is very clever. Together, the two of them may be able to help you.”

“What do you mean, you’re no longer acquainted?” Ryan asked.

Gabriel rolled his neck. Of course she would ask this. This was why he’d not wanted to make the offer. In the end, his desire to help had been greater than not wanting to discuss it. And now she would pick over the skin and bone of his decision.

“I mean,” he said, tightening the saddle, “I’ve not seen my sister since we were separated as children in France. Before we were exiled. Not for fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years?” repeated Lady Ryan.

“Yes.”

Silence settled around the admission and Gabriel went about the business of securing Anton’s saddle. She watched him, he could feel it, and he was bothered by it. He knew silence very well but he wasn’t accustomed to being watched. Did she judge him? Probably. Yet another reason he lived apart from all society. Freedom from judgment.

“We have written to each other, Elise and I,” he finally said, speaking to the horse.

“You’ve written,” Lady Ryan repeated.

“Yes. Back and forth. Not a lot. Enough. We are friendly.”

“Friendly?”

With every repeated improbability, the pinch in his shoulder squeezed tighter.

“She approached one of Samuel Rein’s sons in Newmarket,” he said. “Roderick—his name is Roderick—was negotiating client business on my behalf, and she approached him, and Roderick brought her inquiry back to me. I agreed to correspond with her.”

“But are you... angry with Princess Elise?”

“No. Not angry.”

“But you don’t see her? Not in person? No proper meeting, no reunion? Not even once?”

“No,” he said, stretching the reins over Anton’s mane.

And then, to his extreme irritation, she fell silent again. No further questioning. No suggestions. No admonishment. She simply watched him ready the horse.

Say it, he thought tersely. Call him a coward, or unfeeling, or a maddened recluse. Better to challenge him than to force him to define it. He knew his choices were indefensible.

When he could take the silence no more, he said, “I’ve not met with her for the same reasons I cannot travel to Guernsey with you. I never leave the forest, Lady Ryan. Not ever. I came here to protect myself and to protect others. My sister’s safety—the safety of her young family—is my priority above all things. Leaving the sanctuary of the forest is not worth the danger.”

He kept a spare sidesaddle to train mares for female riders. He took it and the saddle pad to the horse called Fleur. Lady Ryan made no reply. He wondered if they were having a conversation or if he was simply dribbling out his terrible life story for her shock and bafflement.

“But have you,” she finally ventured, “considered inviting your sister here, to your home, in the safety of Savernake Forest, to reunite?”

“No. Actually. I’ve not,” he gritted out. “And I didn’t mention my sister so that I could defend my choices to you. I meant only to offer an alternative way to help.”

A pause. Damn her pauses. They compelled him to say too much. Then they compelled him to stew in his own admissions.

After a long, painful moment, she said, “Forgive me. My own sisters are very dear to me and it’s difficult to imagine a life where we might correspond rather than—well, rather than anything else. Your reasons are for you, alone, to know. I am grateful for any help you can give me, including an introduction to Princess Elise. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, truly.”

I’ve done nothing for you, he thought, but he said, “I regret that you came all this way. I know you do, as well.”

And now his pounding heart stopped and he held his breath. He was waiting for her to say, I don’t regret it.

She did not say it. And he would not unsay it. And so it was a reality. Silence stretched over the stable again.

“Is there anything I can do to help get underway?” she asked.

“No.”

“I saw the breakfast you laid and helped myself,” she offered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“That is why it was there.” He led the mare to the hitching post.

“That’s a fine-looking horse.” She followed him into the sunlit paddock.

“Fleur, she’s called. You were riding through the forest when Meade set upon you, so I assume you’re proficient on horseback.”

“Oh I’m proficient,” she said on an exhale. She tightened her gloves. “I’ve a multitude of problems, but riding a horse is not one of them.”

If nothing else, Ryan was behaving more like herself today. She was listening, she was waiting. No implorations to remain; no begging for passion. Also, a man was sending her packing. How familiar it was to be overlooked, or passed by, or whatever was happening here with the saddled horses and the handing off to a sister.

At least she had last night.

It was not Ryan’s nature to feel sorry for herself and she tried very hard to shake the feeling that she was being unchosen. She would focus on her next plan of action instead. And on empathizing with Gabriel’s struggles, which were clearly significant to him—they would be significant to anyone. He was sending her away, but he was not a happy man with an easy life. Meanwhile, her life before Maurice had been rather charmed, the loss of her mother notwithstanding. Gabriel was clearly a stalwart, deep-feeling man, and one did not live in the forest unless the outside world was untenable. She should see his challenges and encourage him to endure. Seeing and encouraging were restorative gestures. The more she felt for others, the less sorry she felt for herself.

Gabriel stalked to the stables to bring out his own mounted stallion. Compared to his house, the interconnected maze of paddocks and pens was new and modern. The fence gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. The shingles were straight and flat. The sod was trimmed. There was a kitchen garden and rose bushes in large pots. The contrast surprised her; she’d seen the outside last night, but only by torchlight.

In the stalls and the paddock, horses grazed or stared languidly out, watching Gabriel. The dogs—the pair of them—had clearly been warned to keep their distance, because they sat in the open doorway of the stable, alertly observing her. There was a coop for chickens and pens that housed swine and goats. It was a bustling enterprise, as tidy and well maintained as the house. And to think, all of it buried so very deep in the forest.

“The facilities for your livestock are beautiful,” Ryan called to him.

“Samuel Rein’s family sustained themselves on a perfectly workable layout here for fifty years,” he said. “Samuel trained me in this paddock—or rather, a cruder version of it. I’ve made improvements over time. Space is limited in a small valley at the base of a large hill, but I’ve managed to make the most of it.”

“And you find that no one disturbs you here? No other forest dwellers, no travelers who have lost their way? Huntsmen? No one? You’re completely alone?”

“It is very remote.”

“Your preference,” she observed.

“My necessity.” He rounded the stallion at the hitching post, reached for his saddle horn, and put a boot into the stirrup.

“But we’re going now?” she asked.

“My grooms will arrive soon to start their day. I’d rather we be gone by then.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Ryan took a step toward the saddled mare.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but can I trouble you for a hand up?”

Gabriel paused, halfway in his saddle.

“Or,” she tried, “I can lead the horse to a mounting block?”

Gabriel dropped his foot to the ground.

“I can mount up without help,” she volunteered, “but it’s an ungraceful enterprise. And it will upset the balance of the saddle.” She shaded her eyes and looked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, speaking to the horse.

“My sister Diana can leap into a saddle without assistance, but she rides astride.” A nervous chuckle.

“There is no mounting block,” he said. “Can you use the slat of the fence?”

“I suppose I could do; but it will be difficult in a dress. The fabric snags. It becomes a bit of a fight between the post and gravity.”

But had she offended him by asking for help? Ryan looked to him and realized he was blushing. He studied her position beside the mare but would not meet her eye. He took off his hat and swiped his brow. Had she upset him with the suggestion of closeness? Was the prospect of touching her again so terrible?

Slowly, almost tiredly, he released his horse and came to her. Ryan smiled cautiously. There was no ulterior motive here. He needed her to ride, and she needed a hand into the saddle to do it. She thought about apologizing again, but he was upon her—coming closer and closer and so close, he stood six inches away. The smell and heat of him came over her in a rush, and Ryan felt a zing of sensation shimmer down her body. She took a step back. He’d need room to kneel and she’d need space to hitch her foot into his hands. The grooms at Winscombe took up position about two feet away.

She took another step back. Gabriel closed the distance, following her.

Ryan bit her lip. She glanced at the mare. If there was any hope for reaching the saddle horn and the reins, he must—

With no warning, he fastened his large hands around her waist and lifted. Ryan let out a little yelp and her hands flew first to his wrists, then to his shoulders. He lifted her up, up, past his face, past his hat. He lifted her so high, she looked down into his face.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said in a small, breathless voice. “Gabriel, let us—can we begin again?”

He frowned and lowered her. Now they stood chest to chest. The fabric of her skirts enveloped his legs; the bodice of her dress brushed the lapels of his coat. The zing in her chest was now a cascade, raining down on her pounding heart.

“Sorry,” she said on a breath, “I wasn’t expecting you to—” She laughed. “That is, the grooms at Winscombe stoop like this...” she demonstrated going down on one knee “...and make a cradle with two hands by interlocking their fingers, and I step into their hands. I wasn’t expecting you to lift me from—well, I wasn’t expecting to be lifted.”

He took a step back.

“Although,” she said quickly, following him, “your way is perfectly alright; I simply—”

“I’ve never seated a woman on a horse before,” he cut in.

In the same moment that he said it, she blurted out, “I’ve never had a man lift me onto a horse before.”

She laughed and raised her hands to his shoulders. His blush persisted, brighter now, and he was still frowning. She was just about to suggest that he lift her again, that she was prepared this time, when he dropped to his knee and interlocked his fingers. Because of their closeness and the position of her hands, she tipped forward when he went down. He was given no choice but to grab her around the legs to steady her. She fell, leaning into him, pressing her thighs into his shoulder and her belly into his cheek.

“Oh,” Ryan exclaimed, her hands sliding from his shoulders to the back of his head. His hat dropped to the ground. For a long moment, they hovered there: Gabriel on one knee, his face pressed into her middle, Ryan clutching his head. The memory of last night swept over her, the closeness, the safety, the intimacy. She squeezed her fingers into his hair and closed her eyes, basking in the feeling of being held by him again, of his shoulder against her legs, of his hands tangled in her skirts.

He would pull away, she knew—any moment he would go—but until he did, she held him. But then he didn’t move, and so she didn’t move, and she nudged closer. He hesitated a moment and then encircled her legs in his arms, crushing her against him, burying his face against her breasts.

Ryan stifled a whimpering noise and closed her eyes. She folded over him and dropped her mouth to the top of his head. Oh, the rightness of it, she thought. How could he feel so familiar after only one night? She moved her fingers through his hair, inhaling the scent of him. The embrace was sweet, and unexpected, and restorative. After everything he’d not said, and she’d not said.

It wasn’t a moment for chatter, but her mind cast around for something to say. I’m sorry. Or, It feels very good when you hold me. Or, Please don’t send me away. These were wrong, of course. She wasn’t sorry. And his arms felt far better than “good.” And the problem wasn’t that he sent her away, the problem was that he refused to go away with her. He would remain, and she would not challenge him.

After a second, a minute—she didn’t know—he drew back his head, let his hands fall away, and shoved up from the ground. He turned briskly away. Ryan staggered a little—he’d released her as swiftly as he’d snatched her—and she reached out a hand to the mare. The moment dissolved.

Breathing hard, she watched him walk to the paddock fence, grip it, and turn back. His face was tight and unreadable. Was he angry? Pained? Sad?

“But are you angry, Gabriel?” she asked.

It was one thing to say too much, but quite another to say nothing and simply guess. Ryan preferred to understand.

“Or hurt?” she offered. “Sad? Forgive me, I don’t understand what’s happened between us.”

“Nothing’s happened,” he said. “I’ve never seated a woman on a horse before. I’ve never had a woman hover at such close proximity. I’ve never—” He stopped himself.

“I apologize,” he said, clearing his throat. “Shall we mount the mare your way or shall I lift you?”

She blinked at him. “Your choice.”

“Fine. Up you go.” In one swift movement, he picked her up around the waist, lifted her, and plopped her on the saddle. Her skirts and cloak got in the way and she scrambled to hook her knee around the pommel and arrange the fabric.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and climbed into his own saddle.

And that was that.

One minute she’d been holding him, and now he’d tossed her onto the horse. When she gathered the reins, her hands shook.

“There is a path to a thicket,” he said.

“A path?”

“Aye. Your mare will follow Anton. When we enter the thicket, however, the path disappears. I take a different route every time to hide the direction to my camp. This involves doubling back and winding around trees. It’s slow but not difficult. You can mirror me to the right or left. Fleur should comply with no effort. Just watch for holes in the sod. The thicket is home to every manner of creature.”

“Alright,” she said, shading her eyes. She’d lost her hat in the ambush the day before. “And you’re taking me to...?”

“We’ll ride to the edge of the forest, just outside Pewsey. You’ll have to walk from the outskirts of town to the inn—it’s not far—because I cannot be without this mare. I’m sorry. I’ve money for you to give to the innkeeper to cover the price of the horse stolen by Channing Meade. There is also money to hire a carriage to convey you to the home of my sister Elise. It’s also not far. Her estate is called Mayapple. Any local driver will know the way.”

“The money, Gabriel,” she said, “it’s not necessary, really I—”

“Please do not argue. Please take what very little I can give.”

These words seemed to pain him, so Ryan simply nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

He exhaled then—it was clear he expected to fight her on every point—and then kneed his horse into motion. Ryan followed suit, reining the mare behind his stallion.

“Shall I close my eyes,” she volunteered, “so as not to see the way back?”

“No,” he said. “Please do not close your eyes.”

It was the last thing he said for half of an hour, and Ryan did not disturb the quiet. What more was there to say? He couldn’t help her; he couldn’t tell her exactly why he couldn’t help her; and he would not discuss what had happened last night. They had exhausted all relevant topics. Everything else would be chatter.

She studied the shape of his shoulders and back, marveling at the power of him. Had he felled the trees to construct his stable yard? Did he hunt and skin his own game? Ryan was hardly a city dweller, but Winscombe was staffed by loyal servants and she and her housekeeper shopped in the village every week. She knew every comfort.

They cleared the thicket using his zigzag route and then turned to follow the ruts of what appeared to be a sparsely used road. There was room for Ryan to ride beside him, and she kneed her horse forward.

“Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“Would you have me say anything in particular to your sister? When I call on her? Shall I simply knock on her door?”

“I’ve written a letter that you may give her. This will help explain. It’s inside a packet with the money.”

“Thank you. This is all very helpful. But do you expect your sister to welcome me? Just like that? I’ll not have to convince her to indulge my tale of woe?”

“I believe she will be very open to receiving you. She is—” An exhale. “She is eager for any connection to me. It will interest her very much that you have seen me. Please... can you assure her that I am well.”

“Yes, yes—alright. But Gabriel? Is there no explanation for why you’ll not see her yourself? What if she asks me why I’ve seen you and she has not?”

Gabriel said nothing.

“You’ve said there was no falling out,” she continued. “I only raise it because disagreements have a way of healing themselves over time. Or perhaps you dislike her husband? Have you—”

“There was no row,” he said, cutting her off. “And I’ve never met her husband. She speaks very fondly of him in her letters. If she is happy, I am grateful to him.”

“Alright. Fine. I’ll simply tell her what I know of you—which is almost nothing—and also that—”

“I cannot meet her outside the forest because it’s not safe,” Gabriel stated, his voice pained. “And I’ll not meet her inside the forest, because I’m not prepared for her to see what I’ve become.”

What he’d become? Ryan scrunched up her face, trying to understand.

“When last she knew me, I was a prince,” he said. “Now—now I don’t even know how to help a woman onto a horse.”

“Oh, yes, well...” Ryan was beginning to understand. “Please be advised, I’ve never been helped onto a horse by a gentleman before. I’m accustomed to grooms.”

He didn’t answer, and they fell quiet. Only the plod of hooves and birdcall filled the void. All around them, the forest was a lush tunnel of green. It dripped with vines and swayed with feathery groundcover that bent easily under the horses. Ryan saw the wildness, she registered the beauty, but she didn’t care. She repeated his words in her head. I’m not prepared for her to see what I’ve become.

In her view, Gabriel had not transformed in such a way that his own sister would not welcome him. He was hardly a London dandy or a country squire, but she’d found no objection with him. Obviously. Quite the contrary; if pressed, she would say he was magnificent. Was Princess Elise, whomever she was, so judgmental that she’d rather not see her brother than see his evolution?

They came to a brook and Gabriel allowed his stallion to drink. Ryan’s mare dipped her head but clomped into the water to take the clearest depths.

After a moment, Gabriel said, “I was not meant to exile with Samuel Rein.”

“No?”

“No. When I fled France, the arrangement was to exile in Marlborough. I’ll—” A deep breath. “I’ll tell you what happened. Then you may form your opinion. About me.”

“I’m no judge of circumstances, Gabriel,” she said. “What I value is honesty. When someone reveals his true self, I’m rather at their mercy.”

“Do not place yourself at my mercy, Lady Ryan.”

Too late for that, Ryan thought miserably. Too late.