Page 16 of Taken By the Elderman

Having lost his fortunes and then regained them, marriage to the king’s daughter was to have been his greatest achievement. And it was, for a time, when my father named Lord Whitley an honorary member of his Curia. Even though he had no official role in Father’s council, his ability to attend meetings of the Curia was an honor indeed.

And then, the affair.

Pushing such thoughts from my mind, I move to the bed. Not expecting to find my gown as the maid kindly offered to have it laundered, I had planned to don my shift but it too is missing. Partly grateful because she must be laundering it as well, I have little time to debate alternative clothing to wear before a knock at the door has me scurrying around the chamber.

Tis nowhere. She took all of it. My gown, my shift and stockings. The only thing remaining are my boots, which do me little good now.

“Lady Hilla?”

Tis Aiken, as expected.

I could hide under the bedcovers, but then how would he enter? The maid instructed me to lock the door behind her, a wise directive.

“Do you have a key?” I shout through the thick wooden door.

“Why should I need a key if you can simply open the door?” he asks.

I look frantically toward the bed.

“Do you have a key?” I ask again.

“Lady Hilla, open the door.”

More accustomed to his brisk manner, I ignore his gently tone and flee to the bed. Tossing the drying cloth to the bottom of it, I climb inside. The bed is surprisingly soft, the feather mattress rivaling my own at Redmare Castle. My dreadful home these past few years.

Realizing he must have a key, praying he does, I am not surprised to see him angered once the door finally does open.

“What game do you play at?” he asks, stalking inside. Finding me with the firelight and candles as his guide, Aiken walks toward the bed.

“Are you—”

“The maid took my clothing. All of it. I’d assumed she left my shift, but . . .” I lift the covers up to my chin. To think about it. A married woman alone, nude, with an Elderman. Unfortunately, this could not even be considered the most scandalous moment of my life.

My hair is still wet, though I dried it as much as I was able, and tis soaking the pillow beneath me, but I don’t dare reach up to pull my hair up over my head. I’d had no time to dry it properly, and probably should not have washed it. But every bit of me dearly needed scrubbing.

Looking away, he stalks back to the door.

“I will fetch your clothing.”