Although he wasn’t hurting her deliberately, he was holding her firmly, and Elle had twisted around so much that she was the one hurting herself. Her arms were in great pain from the way he had her in his grip. Knowing they couldn’t stay like that all night, she was forced to nod her head.
“Aye,” she muttered. “I will.”
“And I have your word?”
Twisted up and in pain, she rolled her eyes. “You have my word.”
“And I have your word that you will not leave this tent?”
“Would you believe me if I promised?”
“I will believe you,” he said. “But violate that trust and I will never believe you again, about anything, so bear that in mind. My trust is given only once.”
He couldn’t see the face she made, one of utter displeasure and resignation, before finally nodding her head. Instantly, he let her arms go, and she groaned softly as they fell to her side, shaking them out because her hands had fallen asleep. Rubbing her fingers and silently cursing Curtis and his iron grip, she kept her back to him as he moved to the tent opening and summoned a soldier. The man went running for Curtis’ squire as Curtis moved for the open brazier in the center of his tent. As he piled on some peat from a bucket, Elle turned to look at him.
Things were calmer now than they had been only moments earlier. Seeing Gruffydd freed from the vault had startled her. Not that she hadn’t known he would make an appearance at some point, but she hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks. He looked terrible from his days in the vault with little food and no light.
But she didn’t regret putting him there. She’d do it again given the chance. She thought it rather ironic that she was now the one in a prison of sorts, a looming marriage and an uncertain future. That was worse than anything she could do to her brother.
She found herself looking at the man she was supposed to marry.
Curtis was packing peat into the brazier, preparing to light it, and she watched him for a moment. Those enormous hands had held her with a grip of iron. Truthfully, she’d never known a man as big or as strong as he was. Usually, she was one of the strongest people in the room. Not by size, of course, but by personality and determination. She was used to giving commands that men obeyed. But Curtis… He was bigger and stronger and more determined than she ever had been. Shecould see it in his face, feel it in his hands. Everything about him screamed power and command. She was coming to think that power like that was attractive. Any man who could force her into submission, by words or by strength, had her respect, because that was something she understood.
Strength.
“That’s a rather harsh stance, don’t you think?” she said after a moment.
He glanced at her. “About what?”
“That your trust is only given once.”
He adjusted the peat before packing in some brittle kindling. “It is not harsh. It is the truth.”
He sounded final. Elle watched him light the fire, studying him. “But people make mistakes,” she said. “It is the nature of man to err. If a genuine mistake happens, that destroys all of your trust?”
He struck a flint and stone, blowing on the sparks as they caught the kindling. “If you ran after your brother to fight him once you promised not to would not be a mistake,” he said, “that would be a deliberate action, made by choice. There is a difference between a choice and a mistake.”
He had an answer for everything, right though he may be. With a heavy sigh, Elle turned away again, and, spying a stool, she planted herself on it. As she sat there and continued to rub at her hands, a tall young man appeared in the entry. He was clad in mail and the blue and yellow de Lohr tunic, and his long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He faced Curtis eagerly.
“Curt?” he said. “You sent for me?”
Curtis looked at the young man. “Aye,” he said. “Is my equipment cleaned?”
The boy nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I was finishing with your sword. There is some grime in the hilt I’m trying to get clean.”
“Good,” Curtis said. “You can have this mail now, too. Help me get it off.”
With that, he unstrapped the empty scabbard from around his waist and tossed it aside. The filthy de Lohr tunic he was wearing came off, and he tossed that aside, too. Then he bent over and extended his arms to the lad, who took hold of the arms of his mail coat and began to pull. He alternated tugging at the neckline and the arms. By working both positions, he was able to slide the heavy mail coat off Curtis with relative ease.
After that, the lad helped him remove other pieces of protection that Curtis wore. Soon enough, Curtis was stripped down to a sweat-stained linen tunic, leather breeches, and his boots. As the squire gathered up all of the articles of protection and clothing to take with him, Curtis stopped him before he could get out of the door.
“Put those things aside for now,” he said. “I want you to go to Papa’s tent and find the big chest he brings with him. You know the one—with the lions carved on the side. Buried in that chest are things for Mama. He’s had them for years because she used to come along on battle marches from time to time. See if there’s anything serviceable for a woman, and bring it to me along with anything you can find for a bath.”
The young man frowned. “Abath?” he repeated.
Curtis pointed over at Elle, who stiffened up when she realized they were focused on her. “The lady requires something other than the damp clothing she is wearing,” he said. “She smells like a hermit who has lived in a cave for forty years, so find soap and a comb and anything else. Anything Mama or Papa might have in that chest that the lady can use, bring it. And hurry up. I cannot stand her smell much longer.”
Wide-eyed, the boy fled, arms full of Curtis’ things. Elle was so humiliated by the comments on her smell that she averted her gaze, looking at her hands again. It was rare that she didn’t biteback, at least verbally, but she’d been sparring with Curtis since they fell off the wall, and she was weary of him always being right. She was even wearier of him acting superior. Since she had only just calmed down, she didn’t want to rise to the occasion with him.
