Chapter 17
Seventeen
FRIEDRICH
Aurelia lets out a delighted squeal when we approach the stables near the edge of the forest. There are two horses tied and waiting for us, and Aurelia is practically vibrating as we approach them.
“I hope you like to ride.” I mentally cross my fingers, hoping her childhood in the southern part of the United States involved some experience with horses. Or perhaps that’s an unfounded generalization based on Hollywood’s representation.
“I do, but I haven’t ridden in a long time,” she replies breathlessly as she runs a reverent hand down the neck of the grey.
“How long is a long time?”
“I took a few lessons as a child and went on a few trail rides with friends. I rode a little in college, but that was at least three years ago.”
I feel a wave of relief. “That’s not so long, but we can walk if you want.”
She giggles as the horse nudges her hand for more pats. “No, I would love to ride.”
“Good,” I say with a smile. “Because Merry seems quite taken with you.” I gesture at the horse she’s still petting. “He’s fairly gentle, so you should be okay even having not ridden in a few years.”
“Merry, huh?” she asks, stroking the horse’s round cheek, not its nose like many inexperienced people tend to do.
“Yes, and this one is Pippin,” I say of the bay next to him.
She laughs that throaty melodic laugh that makes my chest ache. “Merry and Pippin.”
I shrug. “What can I say, I’m a Tolkien fan.”
She smiles at that. “Really? I would have never pegged you for a fantasy geek.”
I chuckle. “Geek?”
“Well, you know—”
“No, no, it’s okay. My mother read them to me as a child.” Until I was sent to boarding school when Father’s cancer was diagnosed the first time. “I still reread the series when I need a little escape.”
“Well, Prince Friedrich, there’s more to you than meets the eye. I’m pleasantly surprised.”
I shoot her the wink I’d seen Claus use to his advantage on numerous occasions. “I’m more than just a pretty face, princess.”
I hold out a hand to help her onto her horse, but she waves me off.
She runs a hand down the horse’s neck and whispers something to him before fitting her foot into the stirrup.
Aurelia pushes herself up and over to settle into the saddle and pats Merry the horse one more time as she adjusts to her new mount.
She straightens and takes the reins in her hand, not a shake or tremor or even a touch of uncertainty.
The tight fabric around her legs reveals every twitch and flexion of her thick thighs.
I try to shut out images of those thighs wrapped around me before the blood starts rushing to the last place a guy wants it while trying to ride a horse.
I mount my own horse and lead us to a trail at the edge of the woods, wide enough for us to ride side by side.
“So, tell me more about this nerdy side no one knows,” she teases.
“Not much else to tell. I like a good adventure novel, the occasional escape into a different world.”
“Definitely feel you on the escapism.”
“What are you escaping into, mi’ lady?”
Her cheeks are rosy, but perhaps it’s the cold. Maybe horseback riding in December wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t come up with a better excuse to get her out to Whitewood alone. It’s a still, peaceful day, no biting wind or rain; perfection at this time of year.
Aurelia clears her throat, and her cheeks go a little redder. Okay, not from the cold then.
“Miss Aurelia.” I shoot her a sly grin. “By that look, I’d say you’re one of those smut girls.”
She squirms in the saddle. “I plead the fifth.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I chuckle.
She laughs too. “Oh, right. That’s an American thing. It means I choose not to incriminate myself.”
“Isn’t refusing to answer a question incriminating in a way?”
“True, but by not verbalizing it, it can’t be held against me.”
I turn my head to take her in fully. Christ, she’s gorgeous, all tall and proud on top of the horse. She keeps her gaze resolutely ahead, but I don’t miss the smirk on her lips.
Finally, she sighs. “I am, and it’s all Margaret’s fault.”
I raise a fist in triumph. “Yes! I knew it. There’s a saucy side to the sweet, pure Nanny Sumner.”
She snorts a laugh. “I would think you, of all people, would know how not pure I am.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child. A man puts his hand in your pants a few times, and suddenly your purity is a thing of the past.”
Something like a hiccup sounds in her throat, and her face drops. Even her shoulders curl in a bit.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe. “Christ, Aurelia. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.”
She straightens her back again, but her mouth is still curved down, her brow tight.
We ride in silence for a little while, and I kick myself for triggering something in her.
I was just continuing the joke, but something touched a nerve, and I don’t think I’ve earned the right to ask about a topic so obviously upsetting.
Someone hurt this woman badly. And, Christ, I want to know how to help.
I want to know who so I can strangle them.
But a finger banging and a few heavy kisses do not a trusting relationship make, and fuck me, but I want to know everything about her. The good and the bad.
“I love the winter,” Aurelia says after long minutes of silence. Normally, silence with her is comfortable, easy.
I take the olive branch she’s offering. “Me too. The whole season just feels like quiet and stillness.”
Dead leaves crunch under the horses’ hooves, fallen from the baren branches that tangle overhead.
“People think it’s a sad time because all the trees are bare and nothing grows, and it’s always gloomy.” She tilts her face to the grey sky where the sun is trying to peek through the haze. “I think the bareness and decay are beautiful.”
“It’s the world preparing for the rebirth of spring. Not dead. Just resting.”
She nods, at last turning back to me, and though her smile isn’t back in full force, it’s better than the pinched frown from moments before. “Resting,” she agrees.
We ride over several stone bridges crossing the small stream that runs through the woods and eventually meets up with the Ardsmure in the foothills.
There are the occasional sounds of winter birds rustling in the trees and skittered steps of squirrels or some other small creature scurrying across the frozen ground.
We go silent again, and it feels lighter, more like our usual quiet together. When we’re together like this, I don’t feel the need to fill the void with constant conversation. With Aurelia, it’s easy. Like, just being in each other’s presence is enough.
We’d been on the trail for over an hour when I hear the distinct rumble of a protesting stomach.
She lets out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. I was too anxious to eat breakfast this morning.”
I laugh. “I guess it’s a good thing it’s nearly lunchtime, then.”
We come upon a small clearing in the trees. In the middle is a tiny stone hut. I dismount, and she does the same, giving her horse another pat on the neck. I tie both horses to a tree on the edge of the clearing, then gesture to the little round building.
“Luncheon is served, mi’ lady,” I say with a bow.
“What is this?” she asks, her face lit up in wonder.
I lead her through the opening that serves as the door. The only windows are small slits with no coverings, allowing in a little natural light. I asked one of the staff to come out and get a fire going in the small hearth and deliver a basket for our lunch.
“This is a hermitage,” I explain as I lay a blanket over the beaten earth floor.
“It was built around the same time as the house. There was a big religious revival going on in the country, a turning back to the old ways when our people followed ancient traditions and lived and died by the elements. Many religious men took to the mountains to escape the distractions of the world and immerse themselves in nature and creation. There used to be hundreds of these huts dotting the mountains and hills around here to serve as shelter for the wanderers.”
We sit on the gingham facing each other with the food spread out before us. The chef supplied us with a decent picnic, plenty of sandwiches, a selection of crisps, a plate of brownies and biscuits, and a huge thermos of hot chocolate.
“I hope you like Boxing Day sandies,” I say as I unwrap the plate of sandwiches. “Or day after Boxing Day, as the case may be.”
Aurelia picks one up and lifts the bread to study the contents before shrugging. “Looks like what I used to make with Thanksgiving leftovers.”
“Exactly.” I beam as she takes a bite and groans.
“Oh, my. I haven’t had this in years.”
I tear into my own sandwich in hopes of distracting myself from the pure pleasure on her face, but she’s not exaggerating. Something about the two-day-old stuffing hits different.
I lean to one side, propping myself up on one arm as close to Aurelia’s leg as I dare lest I start on the rest of the day’s plans a little early. My eyes seldom leave hers as we eat our lunch and sip a bottled stout from a small brewery in Ardsbend.
A fat piece of chicken drops from her sandwich onto the gingham, and without hesitating, Aurelia picks it up and pops it into her mouth. I try to keep my expression under control, but I can barely breathe as I watch her suck the bit of currant jam off her thumb.
“Oh god! That was so rude. I’m so sorry.” Her face turns that adorable shade of pink.
I laugh and cup her cheek in one hand. “No, it was decidedly not rude.” My thumb traces the seal of her lips.
She holds my heated gaze for a long moment before the color rushes back to her cheeks.
I drop my hand while I can still think rationally.
I’ve been fighting the urge to devour her all day, and a drafty stone hut is hardly the spot for me to lose control.
“So, tell me, Miss Aurelia, what brings a beautiful young American to Emarvia?”