Page 40 of Ella’s Desire

Despite the discomfort he had endured, he did not blame Ella for his injury. She had meant only to bring him pleasure. And she had, all the way up until he tried to show her how to bring him to climax. With her fingers on him, sliding, squeezing.

He paused in the hall and drew a deep breath to cool his blood. It would not do to walk into dinner with a raging cockstand. Ella rushed to his side as soon as he entered with Wolf and Bear at his heels, the beasts now clean despite their jaunt in the mud.

“How do you fare?” Her concerned gaze swept over his shoulder and widened at the sight of the sling.

“It appears arms can slip free of shoulders, as was the case with mine.” He indicated the linen tied over his shoulder. “Isla was able to put it back but says I must wear this for several days.”

“Are you in much pain?” Ella took his good hand. “Bronson, I’m so sorry.” She flicked a gaze around them and lowered her voice. “You had said not to, but I insisted—”

“I’m not in pain anymore, my dove.” He drew his hand from hers and brought it to her face. She nestled into it, her smile one of gratitude.

“Come, eat.” She drew him with her toward their chairs. “There is a troubadour tonight, so we will have a story once supper is complete.”

The food was as good that eve as it had been the previous nights. Chicken with asparagus in an onion sauce, more bread than they could eat, poached pears drenched in honey. As with all evenings when he ate such decadent fare, his thoughts drifted to Brigid and Lark. They would surely arrive within the next several days.

He was grateful they would be in Werrick Castle with him, where they would have a comfortable place to sleep and good food such as the trenchers heaped before him.

“Lord Calville,” the Earl of Werrick called to him from the head of the table. He indicated the sling with his eating dagger. “You took a tumble from the tree today, did you?” He chuckled. “Need I even ask how it happened?”

Bronson’s mouth opened and closed, his voice locked somewhere between the unspeakable truth and an unprepared lie.

The earl chuckled and waved a hand at Bronson. “You needn’t tell me, lad. ’Twas only a jest. We already know Ella doubtlessly lured you up there. Mind you watch her.” The earl winked at his daughter. “She’s part sprite, I tell you.”

Several people at the table laughed, including Ella. When Bronson gave her an incredulous look, she simply pressed her lips together and shrugged despite her reddened cheeks.

She lifted her goblet of wine and let it hover in front of her mouth. “Their assumptions are innocent,” she whispered before taking a delicate sip. She set the cup aside. “And I intend to make it up to you.”

“Hopefully not in a tree,” he said in a low voice.

She laughed and shook her head. But the brush of her foot against his under the table told him she already had something planned. Only this time, he knew that if his life might be in any form of danger, he would allay her intent.

After they had finished eating, an awkward venture for him with only one hand, and after several more jesting remarks about Bronson’s fall from the tree, the benches were moved toward the great yawning hearth where a merry fire crackled. The troubadour stood before the fireplace, atop a stool to add a bit more height to his short frame.

Though slight in stature, his large voice made up for the smallness of his body, and his story carried throughout the great hall. The story was one of a woman who never thought she would find love, and a noble knight who sought only to perform one act of heroism for his lord. Though it was inevitable that the woman and knight should meet and fall in love, Ella still emitted soft, wistful sighs with each predictable turn.

The hour was late when the troubadour finished the last of his long poem. The crowd broke apart, each going about his or her own business. And so, it was that no one thought to question if Bronson would see Ella to her chamber that night.

He guided her in the darkened hallway with his good arm. “You are better at reading than he was at sharing his story.”

Ella gave a little laugh. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“’Tis true.” He leaned close to her. “And your stories are far better as well.”

Her laugh was throatier this time. “I’m pleased you enjoy them so.”

He stopped in front of her door, the correct one this time. Ella gazed up at him, the skin around her eyes tight as though she was assessing him.

He lifted a brow with curiosity.

“What color do you prefer above all others?” she queried.

“Blue.” He smiled. “Why do you ask such a question?”

She shook her head. “‘Tis not important.”

He touched her cheek and her lashes swept down. This was his favorite part of the night, above the fine meals and the troubadour and even any dessert Nan could put together. He loved this time with Ella best, when she was soft and warm and as eager to kiss him as he was her.

Their lips touched, gently, softly, and then the tips of their tongues brushed one another. Ella nuzzled his neck with her nose, then his ear.