Page 13 of Ella’s Desire

He pulled her into an embrace against his skinny chest. Never once had he asked her to take on this burden of a marriage to Calville. Anice and Marin had, but never Papa. It was a reminder of why she had accepted this marriage in the first place: to save her father. A man worthy of saving, no matter the sacrifice.

Her father released her, and she looked up at him. “Why did you never marry again after Mother died?”

Her father drew in a hard breath. Her question had taken him aback.

“I…” He blinked and looked about the room, clearly gathering his thoughts.

“Was it because marriage is so difficult?” she pressed. If nothing else, at least she could win an argument.

“Nay. It isn’t that, it’s simply…” Papa’s eyes went watery with unshed tears. “How can I fall in love again when my heart died with her?”

She murmured her thanks, then offered her father one final hug by means of silent apology for having hurt him, first with her childish behavior, then with her question, and fled the room.

She could not think on it anymore, not when it made her head ache and her heart pound. She grabbed the green leather-bound copy of Floire et Blancheflor. Never had she related more to Blancheflor, feeling as though she herself had been sold by King Felix to the merchants traveling to Babylon.

But rather than being sold to keep her from love, she was being married off.

5

Bronson walked the length of the orchard with his hunting dogs trotting behind him. Rafe could have easily taken the dogs to run them a bit, but Bronson had hoped to find a lady tucked in a tree. He wouldn’t have complained should a naked leg dangle in front of him once more.

He’d thought about it often enough to border on being rather ridiculous. How could a single limb be so wonderfully tantalizing? And while he didn’t know the answer to that, he knew only that it was.

He could almost feel the heat of her silky skin as he imagined palming her shapely calf and sliding her skirt up those creamy thighs, gazing openly at what he’d only been able to peek at before.

After a second pass through the orchard, Bronson accepted Ella was not about. Upon entering the castle, Bronson passed his beasts onto Rafe and went in search of Ella. He wouldn’t want the excitable beasts jumping and racing about as he told her about the conversation he’d had with her father that morning.

The Earl of Werrick had been quick to apologize for Ella’s behavior, claiming it was his own fault for spoiling his middle daughter. Bronson had told the earl that no apologies were necessary, and that he was still interested in the marriage. Negotiations for the union had proceeded smoothly. Now the marriage was fully settled, the documents signed.

He had implored the earl not to tell Ella. At least, not yet, not before Bronson could speak with her.

At least not until he found her, which had proven to be a difficult task. At last, he caught sight of Cat as she passed through a doorway. He followed her into the castle’s kitchen, rich with smells of various cooking foods. Food stores hung on strings overhead and were bottled in clay pots.

Cat beamed brightly at him. “Good morrow, Lord Calville. Did you sleep too late, and sneak down for a bit of bread as well?”

He chuckled. “Nay, I’m searching for Lady Ella. Have you seen her?”

Cat lifted the cloth off a wooden bowl and peered at a pile of freshly baked rolls. “Have you checked the orchard?”

“Aye, I didn’t see her there.”

Cat pulled out a roll and held it to him. He shook his head. She shrugged, biting into the bread as she let the cloth fall back into place over the bowl.

“Ach, what are you doing here, my Cat?” A rotund woman with bright blue eyes and gray hair came out of what Bronson presumed to be the larder.

Her apron streaked with flour suggested she was the cook. A female cook was an interesting thing to be certain, but if she had made the food the prior night, she’d done it as well as any man.

The woman lifted a brow at Cat’s full cheeks. “Overslept again, did you?”

Cat nodded vigorously.

She peered into the bowl and tsked. “You could’ve taken the ones I’d made from this morning rather than the ones just out of the oven. Did you burn your tongue?” the cook asked.

Cat nodded vigorously again.

The woman poured a cup of ale from a pitcher near her and handed it to Cat. “Serves you right, you know.”

Cat drank deep from the cup and set it down with a happy sigh. “Aye, I know, Nan. Thank you.”