By King's Decree. Shari Anton

you prefer wine or mead?”

      “N-nothing, Bronwyn. I will eat later.”

      Bronwyn tilted her head. “Are you all right? You do look a bit peaked.”

      Ardith drew a calming breath. “I am fine. Do go and have your meal.”

      With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Bronwyn went in search of nourishment. Gerard stood at the opening, waiting.

      “Have you ever ridden in one of these, my lord?”

      “Nay,” he said, inspecting the litter front to back. “From the way it moves, I would imagine the motion feels much the same as a ship in gentle seas.”

      “Gentle seas?”

      “Aye.”

      “Have you traveled on many ships?”

      “I have crossed the Channel several times between England and Normandy.”

      “And your opinion, my lord?”

      Ardith gave him credit for trying to hide his smile. He knew she was stalling, unable to move.

      “I would rather my feet on solid ground, or at least a good, steady horse beneath me.”

      Then he reached inside the litter, pushed her mantle aside and took a firm hold around her waist. His encircling hands were warm and reassuring.

      “Come, Ardith. We shall walk a bit and you will feel better. Now, put your hands on my shoulders. Both hands, my lady. Very good. Move toward me a bit. A bit more.”

      “I feel such a dolt.”

      “Do you trust me, Ardith?”

      “Aye, my lord.”

      “Then lean toward me and I will lift you out.”

      She did trust him, but as she leaned forward and Gerard tugged, Ardith flung her arms around Gerard’s neck and clung. He grew very still, then his hands squeezed her waist. Ardith floated out of the litter, supported by strong arms and warm hands and her death grip on Gerard’s neck.

      She hung suspended for a moment before he lowered her to the ground. Her feet on firm earth, Ardith loosened her hold to allow Gerard to stand upright. Expecting to see amusement, prepared to laugh at her own cowardice, Ardith looked up.

      He smiled, but didn’t mock. “Come, scamp,” he said. “Let us see if you can walk.”

      Her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, they walked in silence up the road, past men and horses, until Ardith’s legs no longer wobbled.

      “I hope I need never board a ship,” she stated firmly.

      “’Tis not so bad once accustomed to the sway.”

      Her body and mind again in harmony, she thought to ask, “How fares my father?”

      “Well enough.” He stopped walking. “You worry overmuch.”

      “Is that not why I came, to look after my father?”

      “Partly.”

      Gerard realized his mistake as soon as the word passed his lips. Ardith withdrew her hand and faced him squarely.

      “Then you must enlighten me, my lord. I heard of no other reason why I had to leave Lenvil.”

      Now wasn’t the time to tell her the whole of his plans. Gerard wanted first to speak with King Henry, ensure no objection would come from royal quarters before bargaining with Harold on betrothal and marriage to Ardith.

      But she was so damned adorable, her pert face tilted upward, her blue eyes flashing with irritation. Wasn’t now a good time to hint at the joys to come?

      He hadn’t intended to kiss her, hadn’t even intended to stray so far ahead of the rest of the company. But they were alone and the temptation was just too sweet.

      He cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I wished you to come,” he told her, then gently touched her mouth with his own.

      Gerard felt her surprise in the slight tremble of her lips. He pressed through her hesitation, coaxed her honeyed mouth with featherlight brushes of lips. Finally, delightfully, she responded.

      He cursed his chain mail, designed to deflect sword blows and spear points. He couldn’t feel her hands where she placed them on his chest, twining her fingers in the metal rings. Nor could he feel the warmth of her body as he gathered her into his embrace.

      The flash of her passionate nature, hidden under a thin veil of innocence, nearly shattered his resolve to be content with a kiss. With rigid control he kept his hand from straying to her breast, the gentle swell he longed to cup and fondle.

      Knowing his limits, Gerard broke the kiss. Her eyes remained closed. Her lips, reddened and slightly swollen, stayed pursed for an instant, then relaxed.

      When at last she opened her eyes, it was Gerard’s turn to feel surprise. He saw sadness of unfathomable depth. A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

      “Oh, Gerard,” she whispered. “Sometimes we may not have what we wish.”

      No, not right now, but soon. Gerard knew well the ways of seduction—a kiss here, a touch and sweet words there. When he was ready to claim her, she wouldn’t deny him. Her response to his kiss told him as much. But why had the kiss brought on such sadness?

      Before he could ask, Ardith pushed away, glancing back toward the company and the sound of an approaching horse.

      “We have a problem, my lord,” Corwin said as he reined in, his face all smiles. “We are being followed.”

      Gerard frowned. “By whom?”

      “Elva.”

      “Elva?” Ardith exclaimed.

      “Aye. I bade her return to Lenvil, but she refuses. She says that when Father banished her to the village, she became a peasant. Therefore, she claims the right of a freeman to go anywhere she damn well pleases.”

      “Where does she go?”

      Corwin dismounted. “She follows you, Ardith. She says you will have need of her counsel at court.”

      Ardith crossed her arms, her expression stern. “I would wager she has read those blasted bones again. Every time she casts them, she sees some dire event.”

      “Superstitious nonsense,” Gerard muttered, and began walking back to the main body of the company.

      “Aye,” Ardith agreed, falling into step. “But Elva believes in the old rites.”

      Corwin asked, “Do we let her join us? She is older than Father and the walk will be arduous.”

      Gerard shrugged the matter off as unimportant. Having one more person in the party made little difference. “Ardith?”

      “If Bronwyn agrees, put Elva in the litter. I will walk.”

      Gerard waved Corwin off to tend to the old woman. “Why give up your seat?”

      “I would give up my seat to anyone who would take it. I refuse to ride any farther in that device of torture.”

      Gerard’s ire rose. No future mistress of Wilmont would trek the road like a common peasant.

      “Thomas,” he shouted. “Fetch my cloak.”

      Thomas dropped the destrier’s reins and sprinted toward the cart bearing Gerard’s tent and belongings. To Ardith’s amazement, the warhorse stood still.

      From the middle of the line came voices raised in argument. Harold lectured Elva on insolence. Elva shouted back from beside Bronwyn’s litter.

      “Oh, dear,” Ardith said and took a step.

      Gerard reached out and stopped her. “Leave them to their spat. Neither is helpless.”

      Thomas