Page 21 of Taken By the Elderman

Hilla

I’ve always awoken before the others, often well before sunrise, while it is still dark enough to need candlelight. Even at Redmare, where my role had been reduced to little more than a minor member of the household. And yet, as I open my eyes, sunlight streams between the wooden slats of the shutters.

I suppose after a sennight traveling with my husband to Craighcebor, then being taken by the Elderman and spending an uncomfortable night sleeping on the hard ground, hands bound, waking late is to be expected.

Realizing I am alone, that Aiken is nowhere to be found, I sit up and immediately spy my clothing lying across the trunk at the foot of the bed. Hastening to dress before he returns, thankful for the clean clothing, I don the undergarments, pulling up each stocking while watching the door.

I’ve no doubt about how it came to be here.

Aiken has truly earned the moniker by which his kind are known. A shadow, silent and no doubt deadly when necessary. With everything but the ties at my back finished, I move to the bed, intent on straightening the coverlet when the door opens.

“You’re not wearing your robes.”

He steps inside looking more like one of my sister’s commanders than an Elderman.

“If we are being followed, they look for an Elderman and a lady.”

When he closes the door behind him, an awareness flushes my cheeks. How many times had I woken last eve aware he slept just a short distance from me? I thought it might have been difficult to fall asleep with that knowledge, but the last thing I remember was him lying on the bedroll he’d placed on the floor.

“You’ve been out already?”

“Aye. There is no sign of our pursuers. But I believe we should wait until at least tomorrow to ride out. I am only one man . . .”

He does not finish the thought.

“And you do not wish for me to come to harm?” I laugh bitterly.

Aiken moves toward me.

“Even if you were my prisoner still, aye, I’d not wish for you to come to harm.”

“Am I not still? Your prisoner?”

He watches as I tie the errant strands of my hair behind me, at the nape of my neck. There’s no hope for anything else to do with it now.

“Nay, you are not.”

This is news to me. “Nay?”

“I do not believe you were in league with your husband.”

I raise my chin. “Good, as I was not.”

“I know.”

“How?” I demand. “You’d been convinced of it just yesterday.”

He looks at me curiously.

“Do you wish to convince me now of the opposite?”

I open my mouth and snap it shut again. Turning, I give Aiken my back.

“I’ve not seen the maid this morn. She left the clothing but”—I peek over my shoulder—“I cannot tie these myself.”

He looks as if he will refuse at first. But then, ever so slowly, Aiken advances toward me. He smells clean. And though he used the same soap as I, anything but womanly. In fact, as his fingers touch the first tie, I close my eyes as if the assault on my senses might not threaten to consume me. But, of course, this does not work.

I can still feel him so close. Slowly he makes his way from the small of my back upward. More quickly than a maid, he claims himself to be finished just moments later. As I spin around, we find ourselves so close I can feel his breath on mine.