She held up the cream-colored shirt and eyed it with chagrin. It offered only slightly more modesty than what she was wearing now, but at least it was dry and warm. Perhaps she could find a blanket to burrow under once she was dressed.
Not wanting him to come back in before she had undressed, she hurriedly stripped the wet breeches off then yanked the shirt over her head. She paused just long enough to warm her damp skin then quickly pulled on the night shirt. It fell to her knees, leaving the rest of her legs bare.
She reached down for her boots and laid them by the fire to dry with her clothes. Carefully, she tucked the precious map she’d hidden in her breeches into the toe of her boot along with the pouch holding her ring. The floor felt cold to her bare feet, and a chill ran up her legs despite the fact that she stood so close to the fire.
She turned her back to the fireplace so her hair could dry. Placing her hands behind her, she flexed them as the heat spread up her arms. After a few moments, the uncomfortable numbness gave way to soothing warmth.
She settled cross-legged on the floor in front of the hearth and closed her eyes, sending her mind seeking across the miles to her homeland.
Stronger now and better able to maintain the mental link, she sent out the burden weighing heaviest on her.
Can I trust him, Father Ling? He seems a good man, and I desperately need his help.
Look within your heart, Your Highness. There you will find the answer you seek. Trust your instincts above all else. Use what I have taught you.
She took a deep breath, her head pounding with exertion. The link was faltering, fading, and she struggled to keep her mind free of all other encumbrances. His soft voice sounded one last time in her mind.
God be with you, Princess. You have trying times ahead, but have faith and you will prevail.
Simon stomped his boots on the doorstep as he walked in bearing a load of wood. When he glanced up, his attention was drawn to Isabella, who sat in front of the fire with her eyes closed, an expression of utter peace on her face.
Unwilling to disturb her, he busied himself stacking the wood beside the door. When he was finished, he shrugged out of his coat and carried it over to the fire to dry. He moved quietly, intrigued by the picture Isabella presented.
Her palms were pressed together under her chin, and her head was bowed slightly in a position of prayer. Complete calm radiated from her. It was almost as if her body was here, but she, herself, was somewhere else entirely. He shook his head at the absurdity of that notion.
The fire crackled, and her eyes flew open, her inner torment burning as brightly as the flames in the hearth. Wherever she had been, she had only gained a temporary respite from reality.
She scrambled up and moved away from the fireplace, settling into the chair a few feet away. She hugged her legs to her chest, he guessed, in an effort to maintain a semblance of modesty. Her slight frame lent her an air of vulnerability even though he knew her to be far from helpless. Her eyes shone brightly in the shadow of the flames, their ocean green depths looking more like a storm at sea than the calm, placid waters of a tropical bay.
She stirred in her chair as if uncomfortable with his perusal. But he was riveted to her, unable to drag his gaze from her. In the soft light of the fire, there was something otherworldly about her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to pull her into his arms and hold her against his chest. But as powerful as the urge was, he stood still, the warmth from the fire becoming nearly as uncomfortable as the direction of his thoughts.
Finally, he pulled himself from the enticing picture she presented and moved away from the hearth. He picked up an old wooden stool from the kitchen and carried it back to where she sat. Settling down on it at a more comfortable distance from the fire, he placed his hands on his knees and turned his attention to the princess once more.
“I think it’s time for our discussion,” he said, breaking the silence between them.
“Very well,” she said softly. “Ask what you will.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering how to voice the thing that was plaguing him the most. Unable to remain still, he stood and paced back and forth in front of the fire.
“There is something that has bothered me for a while, but until now I was unable to put my finger on it.”
He paused and looked directly at her. She viewed him calmly, awaiting what he had to say, no trace of anxiety.
“The men who attacked you. Why didn’t they just kill you?”
A puzzled look crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he continued on.
“It seems simple enough. If they truly wanted you dead, why didn’t they just shoot you? They’ve not been short on opportunities, yet each time they’ve come armed with only knives.”
“Perhaps they didn’t want to draw undue attention the noise would create,” she murmured in a perplexed voice, one now laced with the anxiety she was missing earlier.
Her eyes darted sideways, and for the first time, he easily read uneasiness in her expression. What could she be hiding?
“I thought of that,” he said, watching her closely now. “But they risked you screaming by allowing you to remain alive, and after the first time you escaped, I would think they would be all the more determined to be successful in their attempts at assassination. Unless…”
He let his voice trail off suggestively.
“Unless what?” she demanded, blatant fear written in every facet of her face.
