The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals Book 1) Read online

  I’d never much considered my ideal woman. Never cared.

  Now? I’ve seen her. Been close enough to touch her and I can’t fucking get her out of my mind.

  Mid-night black hair hung to her hips and, Jesus, those hips. All I could think of was grabbing them, holding hard and slamming inside her watching the swell of her tits bounce as I drove in and of out her.

  She came barely to my chest and I could have scooped her off the ground with little effort and taken her away with me. Oh, how I wanted to take her away with me.

  Green eyes unlike anything I’d seen before seemed to look into my soul and tell me for the first time in as far back as I can remember, there is more to life than pain. There is care and comfort and I needed her to be the one to give it to me.

  My reaction to her stunned even me. I’d lived long enough—and hard enough—to have had my share of women. I’d enjoyed the pleasures they provided but never before had I desired one with such intensity, such unbridled fury to possess... to protect. To have. To own. In the moment I locked eyes with her, the truth became clear:

  I wanted her to be mine. And I needed to be inside her.

  If it weren’t for the look in her eyes, and the all-consuming protective need it induced in the pit of my stomach, I would have taken that beautiful girl right there, staring into those eyes that reminded me of a spring meadow. Consequences and onlookers be damned.

  I shook when she looked at me as though the ground under my feet had shifted. The fear in the washerwoman’s voice was right—I had no place forcing myself on a girl like that. She was way too goddamned pure for a brute like me.

  She was young too. Far too young for my years. Mine multiplied by war and fury. I was older than I should be and yet young enough to still long for things others took for granted in life.

  Worse still, I knew now that all my best-laid plans meant nothing. My intentions had been simple: find a nice widow, settle down, have a quiet life. No more. No less. I hadn’t considered love, I just wanted simple. I wanted to be done fighting.

  But all those simple, vague plans that had consoled me were chaff on the wind.

  After seeing her, I knew I was fucking ruined. The haze had cleared—if I couldn’t have her, no other woman would do. And I knew in my heart that I would never have her.

  I’d seen heaven and could never return to earth again.

  Up ahead, the old whitewashed cottage where I was headed came into view. The vines along the east corner were thicker now nearly covering one window and a crack in the foundation was wider than when I was here last. Still, blossoms of pink and purple showed their tenacity lining the aging stones where the structure met the rock soil and it made me think how something so delicate and beautiful can co-exist with something so hard and inhospitable.

  As I slowed my horse to a trot, I felt pissed off and resentful. She was the one, but there was no chance in hell a warrior like me could have an angel like that. I was too sullied by life to have her, yet I could not imagine life without her. In the matter of a few moments, one glance and my future was changed, created and crushed all at the same time.

  I dismounted and untacked, giving my horse a bucket of grain, two flakes of hay and a drink of water, and then headed toward the cottage, calling out to Angelica.

  She and I had a long history. I’d known her since we were both brushing up on adulthood, and I knew how she felt about me, but we’d never fucked. She’d always been a good friend to me and vice versa, and I wouldn’t have done anything to change that.

  I’d protected her from over-zealous customers back in her early brothel-running days, and even wiped the floor with some of them. The world went red when I saw her customers mistreating her or the other whores; men who disrespected women deserved all the pain in the world.

  Over the years, I’d dished out plenty of pain in her defense. In return, she’d always given me a place to stay, a warm meal, trusted friendship and good advice. As for her body, she’d offered it often, free of charge, but I never agreed. For some men, sex was mere currency. But not to me. I respected Angelica far too much to treat her as a replacement for my own hand.

  As I approached the house, I was proud to see the life Angelica had made for herself. She’d come a long way from running whores in the back rooms of the village tavern. Years back, she’d had a dozen or more girls under her wing, but now she was all on her own since the army moved on and the whores became camp followers. Her independence suited her. I walked up the front path, admiring the lush garden she’d managed to cultivate, full of medicinal herbs and plants. The door squeaked open and before I knew it, Angelica was in my arms, squealing and laying a big kiss on my cheek.

  I embraced her, but my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was still with her. And, I knew, it always would be.

  Angelica slid out of my arms back to her feet and looked up at me. Her crow’s feet were deeper than the last time I’d seen her, and there was even more wisdom and kindness in her eyes than I’d remembered, too. “The years are always good to you,” I told her, with a brotherly kiss on her forehead.

  She giggled a little and slipped her arm into mine. “As they are to you. Is this the day you take me up on my offer?” She lifted her shoulder and her eyebrow in unison.

  I knew what she was asking—she always did. But, as ever, I shook my head. “I just need a place to stay while I get my feet under me. I’ll pay my room and board—no arguments.”

  Her eyes sparkled in the morning light and she smiled up at me. “Come in, Bors. You should know by now, your money has no value here.”

  Angelica poured me a mug of ale and sliced into a fresh loaf of crusty bread as I sat down at her table. “So, what brings you through?” She asked.

  Before I even thought about answering, I downed the ale and she poured me another. As I slathered the thick slice with butter, I told her my plans. Even though the encounter with that green-eyed beauty at the well had shaken me to my core, life would have to go on in some form or another. “Buy some grazing land, breed and raise horses to build up a livery stable. It won’t be easy, but I’ve got some money laid by and can call in some favors if I need them.”

  Angelica nodded approvingly as she sat down across from me. “You’ve always had a knack with animals.” She swept the breadcrumbs off the old pine table into her hand. “And something tells me your fighting days are done. You’ve got the look of a broken man.”

  “Broken? Gee, thanks,” I said around a mouthful of bread, shaking my head.

  Angelica shrugged and pursed her lips impatiently. “I mean, you look tired, Bors.” She reached over and gave my forearm a squeeze. “In all our years, even when I’ve seen you bruised and bleeding, I’ve never seen this look in your eyes.”

  She spoke the truth. “Working for the clan has lost its lustre. I’ve earned something better. But I bet you’ve met enough broken men to know when one can’t be repaired.”

  Angelica tipped the corners of her lips upward with grace in her shimmering hazel eyes. “Maybe. But I know I’ve never felt a hint of what I see in your eyes now.” She stood from the table and dropped the breadcrumbs into the pig slop bucket beside the sink basin. I knew she was waiting for me to reply, but when I didn’t, she went on, “Horses and animals are all well and good, but they won’t keep you company at night. They won’t see you through the long winter. They won’t fill your house with joy. Why not find yourself a wife? I could find you a willing woman in no time,” she said with a wink, as if to say she might be willing herself.

  Just hours ago, I’d have agreed with her that a wife was what I needed. But not anymore. I wanted only her. I knew I was too much of a brute to be with her, but that didn’t stop me from rubbing salt in my wound. “I want to ask you about someone I saw today in the village.”

  Angelica narrowed her eyes at me. “Someone?”

  “A girl.”

  She nodded slowly and shrewdly. “Go on.”

  How would I even begin to describe her? How th
e fuck was it even possible to reduce these impulses, these urges into ordinary words? “Raven-haired. Eyes like emeralds. Skin like cream. Cherry wine stained lips so full they…” I trailed off realizing I was about to slip into a description of things Angelica would understand, but need not be said.

  “Sara,” Angelica said, laughing lightly. “She’s pretty. And good. I approve.”

  It was a beautiful name and it suited her well. “Sara,” I repeated.

  Angelica nodded. “Lives out by the old forge with her family. She’s like an angel among them, if you ask me. She’s far too good for their sort. They treat her like a charwoman, a servant. Never heard them say a good word about her. They don’t treat her right.”

  I clenched my beer mug in my hand, so hard I damn near crushed it. The idea of her hurting was fucking unacceptable. “Do they hurt her?”

  “It would seem their way. But more than anything, they don’t value her. And that’s its own terrible pain. Take it from me.”

  My desire to protect Sara was an animal urge, a simple instinct—a stallion guarding his mare when she went into heat. “I saw her for the first time today,” I said, letting my eyes wander over to the window, looking out into the garden. “I was like a man possessed. An army couldn’t have stopped me from putting my hands on her, nor God himself. The only reason I didn’t touch her is...”

  Angelica got the measure of me from across the table, eyeing me up and down. “Talk like that is enough to make a woman jealous. Oh, don’t look so torn, you know I’m only teasing. You and I are better as friends than lovers. So, you didn’t touch her because?”

  “A girl like that and a man like me? Fucking impossible.”

  “You might have a knack for animals, Bors. But I have a knack for people. You might be just what that girl needs. A man who’ll treat her the way a woman ought to be treated. Take her away from a joyless existence.”

  The idea of having Sara made me fucking wild. I felt my heart and cock ache at the same damned time. Still though, it was insanity. “I’ve seen too much of the bad in this world. I’d break her. I’d ruin her,” I said, not entirely sure my body agreed that was a bad thing.

  But Angelica poured me another mug of ale, without breaking my gaze, and said, “Storms come on sunny days. Night follows day. The light needs the dark.” She smiled enigmatically. “That’s the way of the world.”

  “Maybe.” I considered her words deep down knowing poetry and reality had little in common.

  I drew my ale from the mug, swallowed hard thinking maybe drinking would be my new charge. Staying sober without her would be too painful.

  Just as I considered my new fate, there was a noise from outside. A sharp sound then a yelp and Angelica turned to me as I rose to my feet, my fighting instinct impossible to quell as I stomped out the door more in the mood for a fight than I’d been in as long as I could remember.

  Sara

  I peeked through the window of the whitewashed cottage and my worst fears were confirmed.

  He was in Angelica’s house—the prostitute’s house. She was serving him food and beer, touching his arm. Oh no, no, no. I felt the clutch of my heart in my chest with a burning in my eyes that made no sense.

  I knew little about the ways of men and women together, but I had seen animals breed on the farm often enough to have the basic idea. There could only be one reason he was in the whore’s house: to relieve his animal instincts. I felt a mixture of disgust and jealousy, all tangled up together.

  I knew I shouldn’t be spying on him, but I couldn’t help myself. I carefully placed my market basket at my feet, gently setting it down so as not to upset the unsold eggs I carried.

  Not for one second did I take my eyes off of Bors. Once, when I was a child, there had been a lunar eclipse and I found I couldn’t look away. For hours I stayed awake, until my eyes stung, watching and waiting, studying every curve of the moon, memorizing the stars. I did the same now as I looked at Bors.

  He sat in the chair with his long legs spread wide, like he was too big and burly for ordinary furnishings. His scarred arms were immense, rippling and straining against the fabric of his shirt; the once white cloth pushed up to his elbows. His boots were enormous, the leather battered and worn. The veins in his forearms seemed to throb as I watched them. My eyes fell on his neck and throat, his Adam’s apple and the dark stubble along his jaw.

  His dark hair long enough to tuck behind his ears yet not cover the collar of his shirt. Its waves called for my fingers and I dreamed of running my hands through the shiny silk telling him my secrets as he kissed my neck making me shiver.

  Looking at him ignited something in me—something between my legs—as did my dream this very morning. As my breathing quickened and my cheeks grew warm, I felt another rush of wetness trickle from my sex and I resisted the intense desire to touch myself as I stared at him.

  Suddenly I felt a hard, stinging smack on my bottom and I yelped even as my hands flew to my lips and I whirled around. Before I could make sense of what was happening, I was in the wiry arms of a vaguely familiar man.

  He had the unfocused, moist eyes of a drunkard and he smelled like spoiled beer and unclean hair. I pulled my face away and planted my arms on his chest to push him off me. But he was too strong and too drunk to notice.

  “If you’re thinking of working in Angelica’s profession, lass, you’ll need a reference,” he growled. “I’d like to take the first plunge in your pool.”

  A wave of nausea came up from my stomach into my mouth, as much from the smell of his breath as the idea of him thinking even for one moment about my virginity. Still with one arm wrapped around me, he started digging in his pockets. I heard coins jingle and he chortled. “Won’t be able to raise my member for a while yet. But I’ll give you five farthings in advance and pay the rest once the deal is done.”

  What a vile man. I found I wasn’t afraid of him as much as revolted by his presence and his assumptions. He was much bigger than me, but I knew from my experience of my father that drink made men slow and sloppy.

  Still, I didn’t want him or his dirty hands anywhere near me, and I gave him a slap across the face which made him roar with anger. As I made contact with his greasy cheek, I shrieked, “Get away from me!”

  The slap stung my palm and his face bloomed with a red welt. A blossom of my own regret came immediately, because now I saw anger flash in his eyes—and I realized I might be in real danger.

  But then, as if God himself reached down, the man was plucked from me and I looked down in amazement to see his feet dangling off the ground. Attached to the man’s thin, pimply neck was a massive, veined forearm and all the rugged beauty that accompanied it.

  Bors had come to my rescue.

  He threw the man into a hedge of holly bushes on a grunt, and then followed and grabbed him by the shirt with two massive fists, plucking him back from the ground with so little effort he could have been stuffed with feathers. With a few long, authoritative strides, Bors carried him over to Angelica’s pigsty and plopped him headfirst into the sloppy, filthy mess.

  I choked back a giggle seeing the man was covered from head to toe in pig muck, but Bors wasn’t finished. He reached back over the fence and dunked him face-first, into the trough.

  A bit of panic clutched around my neck as he held him down, the man’s hands slapping and pulling at Bor’s solid grip and I wondered for a moment if he intended to end his life. As I opened my mouth to protest, the punishment seeming excessive to the crime, Bors jerked him from the trough and he emerged like a gasping, wet rat.

  “Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you. Now get the hell out of here.” Bors roared as the man stumbled away coughing down the road, cursing us both as he ran.

  Bors turned and met my gaze with that same fire in his eyes he’d had the first time. I squeezed my legs together against the heat and rush of wetness, as he seized the breath from me in his enormous arms, and I knew everything was about to change.

 
; Under the shadow of the budding magnolia tree, Bors took me in his arms and asked, “Are you hurt?”

  I found I couldn’t speak, so I merely shook my head, overcome with warmth and desire. I was smitten, so very, very smitten with this beast, this hero. This man. He smelled musky yet clean, like a pine forest after a soaking rain.

  “Forgive me. I can’t take your word for it, Sara.” His hands ran down over my hips as he dropped to his knees at my feet and I wondered how he knew my name. “I will always take care of…” He glanced up, drawing a deep breath to stop himself before he went on.

  I placed my hand on his immense shoulder. I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric and once again, I ached to trace every muscle and fiber. “Don’t stop…what were you going to say?”

  He merely shook his head as he continued running his hands over me bringing back the wicked sensations I’d experienced in my dream from the morning making my head spin.

  My knees felt weak and I steadied myself on his shoulder. “Please tell me.”

  “Quiet. I’m not done checking you.” He caressed my calves with his huge palms, careful to stay on top of the fabric of my skirt, but I could feel the edges of his fingers brush against my bare skin.

  Inch by inch, he checked me over. His touch was certain and confident as he explored my body. He touched me in a way that I had never even touched myself, even in the darkness and privacy of my own bedroom. He touched me in a way that made me feel liked a treasure. Something rare and fragile. Something to be guarded and revered.

  As he moved up from my calves to my thighs, I ached for him to touch me where my body had begun to throb—between my legs—I wanted his rough fingers where I had never been touched, where I had never touched myself. I wanted him to touch me on the throbbing, aching blossom of my cunt.