Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3) Page 6

  She hesitated as though intending to decline his offer, and then thought better of it. She nodded as Hardy approached with the stick jutting out of his mouth like a tusk. He dropped it in front of her and sat expectantly, filling the silence with the rapid thumping of his tail.

  Bronson hefted the basket into his arms. “I told you you’d have a friend forever.”

  When she didn’t throw the stick, Hardy wriggled closer to her and nudged his head under her hand.

  “You need to remain patient, Hardy.” Bronson scolded the dog like a child before he caught himself.

  Leila smothered a giggle. “Do you talk to animals too?”

  “Not all the time,” Bronson started defensively. “Only when I need to tell them something.” He winked at her and this time she didn’t bother to hide her amusement.

  He indicated the basket with his chin. “Where am I carrying this?”

  “Just outside the kitchen. I’ll show you.”

  He issued a sharp whistle and the other two dogs ran toward him. Hardy trotted after Leila with the retrieved stick in his mouth, his eyes bright with adoration.

  “Ella can be hard to manage sometimes.” Leila twisted her lips and flicked a shy glance in his direction. “She’s been allowed to do what she likes.”

  “And now she’s being forced to marry me,” Bronson stated.

  “And you’re being forced to marry her.” Leila shielded the sun from her eyes with one hand and found Hardy’s head with the fingertips of her other. “You didn’t choose her either.”

  Bronson gathered from the comfortable quiet settling between them that he didn’t need to reply. Not with this young woman who was barely out of girlhood and yet saw more than most adults.

  “Over there.” Leila pointed to a small stone building with a thatched roof.

  He ducked into the hut attached at the back of the castle and found various herbs and flowers hanging from the rafters, shelves, and anywhere else bits of string could be strung. The sweet perfume of drying herbs scented the air as they spun about by an unseen breeze. He set the basket on a stone table.

  “Is that all you need?” he asked.

  Leila nodded, her fingers still working over Hardy’s ears. Hardy, for his part, was laying against Leila’s legs in his attempt to be closer to her. The two were quite a pair to be sure.

  “Mayhap he should stay here with you.” Bronson indicated Hardy. “Until you come back to the keep.”

  Leila ducked her head, but not before he caught her small smile. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, Hardy hasn’t had this much affection in years.”

  The dog didn’t even bother to lift his ears at the sound of his own name. Besides, he would be good protection for little Leila, though Bronson sensed it was best not to mention that last part aloud.

  “I’ll bring him with me to supper this evening,” Leila said.

  Bronson nodded and made to duck out of the small stone hut.

  “She’s always dreamed of being wooed,” Leila called after him.

  He popped his head back in the sweet-smelling room. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ella.” Leila scratched Hardy under the chin. “She’s always loved the idea of heroes in stories.” She shrugged. “Be her hero and you’ll have an easier time winning her heart.”

  Her hero?

  Bronson offered his thanks and slipped from the hut. He’d always been one to win over people, and Leila had just given him the key to unlocking Ella. If being a hero would be what was necessary to win her over, then he would become a damn hero.

  7

  Since Ella’s determination to soften herself to Calville, she hadn’t seen him. She’d wanted to thank him for his generosity in allowing them both more time.

  Though she doubted she’d find him in the solar, she entered and discovered Cat sitting perched on the end of the window seat with a square of unfolded parchment in her hands.

  “Have you seen Lord Calville?” Ella pulled Moppet from the little bag at her side. He tended to display a temper when she carried him about too long. He scampered out, drawing several acorns with him from the bag’s depths.

  Cat beamed at her. “It’s from Geordie.” Her shining gaze skimmed over the missive and she elicited a laugh. “The knights told him they’ve never seen a bowman more skilled than he. And he said when he told them about me, they didn’t believe a woman could handle a bow like that. He wishes I could join him to show them all.” She sighed wistfully “I wish I could be there.”

  It was still a strange thing to see Cat without Geordie, like the sun without a summer day to shine upon. It had been a long two years since Sir Richard had retired and Geordie had gone on campaign with the king’s knights for the rest of his training.

  Cat hadn’t been the same without him.

  “Not much longer now,” Ella offered hopefully and put Moppet into Cat’s hands.

  Cat offered a sad smile and rubbed at Moppet’s belly. “It’ll be another winter at least until he’s home. Why did Papa have to send him away?”

  “To give him the experience he needs to become a knight.” Ella softened her tone and ruffled a hand over Cat’s silky hair. “You know that. You supported it too.”

  “I did.” Cat traced a finger affectionately over Geordie’s looping script. “I still do.” She sighed. “Lord Calville was in the courtyard when I saw him last. It was not too long ago, and I imagine he could not have wandered far.”

  Ella watched her younger sister for a moment. It was a rare thing to see Cat fall prey to melancholy. Rare and sad.

  Wordlessly, Ella pressed a kiss to her sister’s smooth forehead.

  Cat smiled up brightly at her. “May I read you the whole missive tonight as we ready for bed?”

  “I’d love nothing more,” Ella replied affectionately. She missed Geordie; they all did. Though he’d entered their home as prisoner years before, a sacrifice for his father’s lies, he had become one of the family. He was a good young man with a good heart, always eager to please, quick with praise. He’d been Cat’s closest companion.

  “You can leave Moppet here, if you like,” Cat offered. “His company is pleasant.”

  As if understanding what Cat had said, Moppet snuggled into a tight ball in her lap and his beady eyes slid closed.

  Ella embraced Cat, careful not to disturb the sleeping squirrel, then navigated her way out of the castle and into the courtyard. Several of Werrick Castle’s soldiers passed this way and that, but the bailey was otherwise empty. She turned to go back into the castle when she heard a familiar voice.

  Calville.

  “I suspected that was the case,” he said. “When can we expect them?”

  She followed his rumbling baritone all the way to the stables and stopped. The familiar sweet scent of hay mingled with the mustiness of horse sweat. An ache settled in her chest. She hadn’t been to the stables in several days. Not since…

  Shame heated through her. Not since she’d thrown herself at Peter and been rejected. Her hesitation to enter made her grit her teeth with frustration. This was her home. She ought to feel comfortable going anywhere. Even the stables.

  “They’ll be along in a month or so, I suspect,” Peter said.

  Ella’s heart slapped her ribs at the familiar sound of his deep, smooth voice and her feet refused to pull her forward.

  She glanced inside at the two men. First to Peter, who made her stomach flutter with the same giddy excitement he always had, but there was something else sitting heavily within her—a rock of regret. Next, she studied Calville, who stood slightly taller than the Master of the Horse, his back straighter, prouder.

  Calville’s body was bulkier, his arms thicker, his shoulders wider, and his features were not so fine as Peter’s. Nay, they were hard angles and those soft, soft lips. Her pulse quickened and the memory of their gentle kiss flitted into her thoughts.

  She backed up, eager to get far from the stable where the man who had rejected her spoke with th
e man who refused to reject her.

  “Lady Ella.” Calville leaned to see her easier and offered a wide smile. “I was just seeking advice on Wolf here and have discovered she’ll be having pups soon.” He indicated the hunting dog, laying in a pile of hay.

  Ella’s gaze wandered to Peter who nodded at her in greeting. As though nothing had ever happened. As though she hadn’t sauntered into the stable in a dress as red as sin and asked him to deflower her. Her cheeks went hot.

  Calville was talking still about the dog. She returned her attention to him.

  “Would that please you?” Calville asked her. “To take one of her pups? As a wedding present.”

  The harrier lay in a slant of sunshine with motes dancing about her like fairies. Her velvety brown ears hung over her white and brown spotted face. Ella bent to stroke the weary dog and found her fur to be silky. Wolf lifted her head at once, her eyes bright and eager for attention. Her pups would undoubtedly have loose brown and white fur, floppy ears and sharp little needle teeth. How could Ella possibly turn down such a wonderful gift?

  She grinned up at Calville. “I’d be honored to have one of her pups. Thank you.”

  “Then you may have first pick.” He held out an arm to her. “Will you walk about the orchard with me?”

  “Aye, of course.” Ella slid her hand to the warm crook of his elbow.

  He gave a short whistle. “Come, Wolf.”

  The dog leapt up despite the roundness to her belly and trotted over to them. Together they left the stables and Ella forced herself not to look back at Peter.

  “Thank you.” Ella kept her gaze forward as they left the courtyard and headed in the direction of the orchard.

  “Wolf’s pups will be fine beasts,” Calville said with apparent pride in his tone. “If you enjoy dogs, I will give you a small army of them.”

  Ella laughed. “I prefer the animals I find in the forest to heal, generally. I was actually thanking you for the extra time.” She bit her lip. “Before our wedding.”

  He was silent a moment. “It means a great deal to me that my stepmother and sister be here. I think it will do them much good to get away from Berkley Manor.”

  It was the first time he’d offered any indication at his own hesitation for their wedding. Mayhap he had doubts too, that he did not wish to marry either. If so, he was handling it far better than she. A man set on doing his duty while she balked against responsibility.

  “Do you wish to marry me?” she asked.

  His smooth gait faltered. “I beg your pardon.”

  Ella stopped walking and turned to face him. “Do you truly want to marry me?” She repeated the question and hated the way her insides clenched in anticipation for his answer.

  Bronson detected no malice in Ella’s question, nor hurt or excitement or any other emotion. Regardless of her apathetic delivery, he considered for a moment to offer a delicate reply.

  “I did not wish to marry when I was first given the news,” he replied carefully. “Yet now that I have met you, I think I should like to know you more.”

  She tilted her head and studied him as though trying to read through the diplomatic response. “What do you want to know about me?”

  He lifted his shoulder and tried to act as though he didn’t care. “Whatever I can find out in a fortnight, I suppose.”

  “What do you want from a wife?” Ella asked. “From me?”

  Honestly, when offer for the marriage had been pushed upon him, he’d been eager to get his new wife with child so he might leave her at Berkley Manor with Brigid and Lark while he continued on with his life at court. As most men did.

  Except that was not a heroic answer, not like the men from one of Ella’s books. The proof of its lack of heroism was evident in the lives Brigid and Lark had led. The very idea made his muscles tense, with anger, and with betrayal. For all his life, his father had told him to care for women, to see their needs met, to be a man.

  And in all those years, his father had lied. They had jaunted about on hunts, at court, at parties. Together, they had lived in the silk-lined lap of luxury while Brigid and Lark endured the torture of poverty.

  “My lord?” Ella squeezed her hand on his arm gently. “Is it such a horrid answer that you hesitate to put it to voice?”

  He chuckled. “Nay, ‘tis nothing so grave. I am unsure what I want from you, Lady Ella. I know only that I wish to be a better man than my father.”

  Her brows pinched together, but before she could open her mouth with a question, he spoke. “And what do you want from me as a husband, Lady Ella?”

  Ella stopped and trailed her fingers through the raised pond, sending ripples through the still, reflective waters. “I want love.” But it was said in a tone flat with defeat. As though he was not worthy of it.

  Resolve steeled him. He would get Ella to fall in love with him. By being a hero. Whatever that meant.

  He would figure it out though, and then he would be that man. It was a far cry better than the man he had been: a courtier with expensive taste in clothes and women, who gave in to his desires, who shifted masks to be whoever was necessary to earn him more favor.

  Life at Werrick Castle did not seem based on such foundational principals. It seemed honest, which terrified him. At court, honesty might cost one their head.

  Ella drew her fingertips back and forth through the water again. The action was slow and graceful. Silence filled the space between them, and Bronson found himself lulled by it, by the gentle sweeping of her hand. The garden around them was only just beginning to come to life again after winter, with pale green leaves unfurling from withered shells of plants that had gone dormant. Life was beginning anew.

  “I think one of the important things about a forced marriage is finding commendable things about one another.” He approached her and propped himself against the edge of the pond. “I find you beautiful. I have since the first.” Ella blushed and ducked her head.

  He dipped his hand in the pool. The water was cool against the heat of his palm. “You are kind to animals. I like that too. Though I confess I am still baffled at how you got Hardy, of all creatures, to listen to you. And I find your passion for books to be enjoyable. I look forward to the day you will read to me in bed.”

  He rubbed at his brow with his free hand. “Although I find Moppet to be aggressive for a corpulent little squirrel.” Lowering his arm, he dramatically glanced at her side for the pouch she transported the demon-beast in.

  “He’s being cared for by Cat.” Ella smiled and swept her fingers over his brow. “Moppet can be the devil sometimes, but he’s sweet and means well.”

  Bronson doubted as much but didn’t wish to speak for fear of breaking the fragile moment. She was touching him, smiling at him—this wild and rare creature slowly easing toward his trust.

  “You are good with your hunting dogs.” Her touch fell away and her cheeks went pink. “I find you handsome and…” She tucked her lower lip into her mouth and slowly released it. “I liked your kisses.”

  He couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his lips if he wanted to. And he bloody well didn’t. “Then I shall have to give you more.”

  She drew in a soft breath. He stroked her jaw with his thumb and her eyes fell closed in anticipation. Aye, she was lovely. Achingly so.

  He leaned in, intent on her lush mouth. A lapping sound filled the air, wet and sloppy. Ella’s eyes opened and a baffled expression took over her face.

  Bronson met her confusion when a weight barreled past their legs, sending them both sprawling back. Bear leapt up with his front paws, bracing himself on the end of the pond, and joined Wolf in greedily drinking the pond water. Their pants suggested that while Ella and Bronson were talking, they’d been running about.

  Ella sat on the ground, no doubt thrown there by the impact, laughing good-naturedly at the two dogs. The clear, joyous sound of her mirth rang out in a way Bronson found immensely pleasant. He offered her his hand and gently pulled her to standing.


  Something slipped from her pocket. Bronson immediately bent to pick it up and his head connected with hardness and pain. He shot up with his hand to his brow and found Ella doing likewise. They laughed together.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Bronson offered. After all, wasn’t that what heroes did? Watching her to ensure she stayed upright, he bent to retrieve what was a small book. Apparently, she had one on her person at all times. He handed it to her and dramatically cowered away as though afraid of her.

  She took her book with a smile and shook her head at his antics. And they were foolish. That had been his intention. After all, the idea that this woman could hurt anyone was preposterous.

  But picking up the book did give him an idea. Ella and her sisters had spent countless days dreaming up stories of adventure, and of romance. If Ella needed the perfect hero to fall in love, he knew exactly where to find examples of what appealed most to her—in the solar, from her own hand.

  “Ride with me tomorrow,” Bronson said. “I would love to see the land and the village, and I imagine you would know all the best places to go.”

  “I do,” Ella agreed.

  “Then it is done. I’ll inform the Master of the Horse of our plans, and I shall see you at supper.” He bowed to her and indicated the orchard. “I leave you to your trees, my lady.”

  While he knew he could press his hand for another opportunity to kiss her, he was a man who knew best how to anticipate the odds. And his would be considerably better with her idea of a hero locked in his mind.

  8

  Bronson spent the better part of the evening after supper and a portion of the next morning in the solar with the wealth of Ella’s books. Her carefully scripted handwriting made it seem as though her words were dancing across the page, bright with resplendent descriptions and emotion. Though she was not there with him to read aloud, he imagined what had been penned by her hand being read in her voice, infused with passion.

  He became buried in her stories, turning each page with haste to see what might happen. One was of a knight who happened upon a nymph pretending to be a lady lost in the woods. Another was of a princess locked in a tower and the courtier who fought to set her free. Yet another was about a female knight, of all the fascinating and impossible things, and how she fought alongside a prince with whom she ended up falling in love.