A lot of snow had fallen during the night. Stepping out into the ward, she was nearly blinded by the sun’s reflection on the snow-covered ground. A guard led Christoph’s horse to him. He hefted her up into the saddle, then mounted behind her. She was still shielding her eyes against the glare as they rode off, so she didn’t notice the little boy standing by the meat-pie cart watching her closely, or see him hurriedly leave the ward as soon as the captain’s horse paced through the gate.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALANA BLAMED THE COOK’S coat for making the ride to the festival one of the most unusual horseback-riding experiences she’d ever had in her life. The soft fur that lined the inside of the coat was doing the strangest things to her exposed skin underneath it. Every time the horse jostled her even a little, the fur brushed against her breasts. Her nipples kept tightening, and so did Christoph’s arm around her waist. It was almost as if he knew the brush of the fur against her skin was arousing her, and he wanted to intensify those sensations. But, of course, he couldn’t know. He was merely concerned about keeping her from slipping away from him, so he drew her back tighter against his chest—then the cycle would begin again.
She was quite warm and flustered by the time they arrived. They’d had to ride around a bend in the mountain, then steadily upward to a high meadow. The road was actually clear of snow from so many carts, coaches, and horses heading to the festival, but this area of the country, at a much higher elevation, had obviously been deluged with more snow than the capital had seen so far. Several feet of it lined both sides of the road and circled the meadow near a small village where a fairgrounds had been set up.
The huge tent at the center of the grounds was filled with people—merchants selling food and drink, and people of all ages eating, drinking, and laughing, many seated at long tables. Laughing children were gathered in front of a makeshift stage where a puppet show was in progress. With so many people in the tent, Alana found it so warm she worried that she’d have to remove her coat if they stayed there. But Christoph merely bought each of them a mug of ale before they went back outside to walk around the grounds.
Games and competitions were set up everywhere Alana looked. There were targets for archery, pistols, and rifles, stakes in the ground for throwing horseshoes and other objects large and small, and several wrestling platforms. There were contests of dexterity—an obstacle course a contestant had to cross while carrying a mug of ale on his head! And contests of strength—a footrace in the snow, but each runner had to carry another man on his back. That one, Alana noticed, definitely got a lot of laughs from a crowd of onlookers. Most of the games seemed designed to amuse the audience rather than the competitors, but that was apparently part of the fun.
Christoph kept his arm around Alana’s waist as they walked around. Mindful of the role she had tacitly agreed to play, she didn’t try to shrug away from him despite the odd tension she felt from his closeness. The effects of that sensually stirring ride still hadn’t worn off, and she didn’t think they would until she could get rid of the fur that was still tickling her skin. But the alternative was out of the question because the outfit she had been given was much too revealing. Yet because of her agitation, she was far too aware of the man beside her!
She drank some of her ale, hoping it would soothe her frazzled nerves. Christoph bent his head toward hers to say, “You don’t have to drink that. It’s just another prop to help us blend in.”
“Is it common to drink so early in the day?”
“Normally, no.” But then he grinned. “At a festival, absolutely.”
“Then I think I’ll have a little more of this, if you don’t mind.” She took a bigger sip.
He laughed. “You can’t sound all prim and proper while drinking ale, wench. But you don’t need my permission to enjoy yourself.”
No, she didn’t. He might like to consider her his prisoner, but he was going to get his comeuppance just as soon as she met her father. She took a bigger sip. It was helping to soothe her agitation over how possessively he was holding her. She also felt on display. Well, she was, actually, because he was drawing so much attention himself, which meant too many people were looking at her, too. He might have wanted the people to be at ease with his presence, and it appeared to be working—he got a lot of smiles and greetings—but they still knew who he was.
“Are you here merely to observe, or to speak with someone, or are you not allowed to tell me?” He didn’t answer, which was an answer, so she added, “Well, if you’re determined to ‘blend in’ as you put it, shouldn’t you be playing some of these games?”
“Which would you like to try?”
“Me? If I was inclined, I would choose the pistol shooting, and I would win, you know. But I suppose the men might object to being beaten at something like that—by a woman.”
“I think you’re right. It’s fine for women to show off, and they’re quite good at it. In the kitchen—and the bedroom.”
“Oh, please,” she said drily. “You’ve let the barbarian out again. That’s a bad habit you’ve got.”
“Being myself? I should hope so, eh? But in the interest of avoiding embarrassment for the men present today, perhaps I’ll take a turn at something for you. What would you suggest?”
She glanced around, twice, but both times her eyes were drawn back to the wrestling platform where the two combatants currently up there were only half-dressed, their chests bare. Yes, she would like to see him up there.
She took another sip of the ale, then pointed at the platform. “There you go, that ought to be a piece of cake for you. Show them how it’s done.”
“Too easy.”
“Oh, ho!” She laughed. “So barbarians are braggarts, too?”
He raised a brow. “Are you getting drunk on just a few sips of ale?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been drunk, but you asked me to choose and I did. Now let’s see what you’re made of, Captain.”
He chuckled. “And said in the form of a challenge I can’t refuse, eh? Very well.” He started walking them toward the platform.
“The object, I take it, is to throw the other man off the platform and you win?”
“That’s about it.”
“Well—good luck.”
“You think I need luck?”
