Chapter Six

Killian woke very late the next morning. He'd been dreaming he was a boy again, playing a game of pirates with his brother Liam. He'd surprised Liam and Graham and dowsed them with cold water. That had led them to chase after him, yelling their threats of retribution when he'd effected a narrow escape by coming upon his mother in the garden and hiding behind her skirts.

"What's all this about?" she'd asked affectionately, taking him in her arms for a cuddle.

"It's Liam and Graham! They're chasing me and I'm afraid they're going to catch me and give me a thrashing!" Killian faux-sobbed into his mother's breast, clutching his small arms around her neck.

When Liam and Graham came skidding to a halt in the garden, they both grimaced and gave up promptly, realizing that the baby and pet of the family would now be protected from their just vengeance. Instead, they launched into a cacophony of complaints about Killian's bratty behavior and how he had provoked them.

Their mother smiled indulgently, stroking Killian's black curls to soothe him. "Oh I know, I know! Killian, my pet, how many times have I warned you not to pick fights with boys bigger than you are?" she reproved him without much force.

Liam and Graham exchanged knowing, infuriated glances. "You always let him get away with anything!" Liam accused his mother.

"I know, I know, but he's younger, and so beautiful and such a good boy," his mother said in gentle voice. "Now both of you kiss me, then run to the kitchen. Cook has just made the most lovely chocolate cake. Go and tell her I said you were to each have an extra-big piece with your tea."

Shouting happily, Liam and Graham had run off, Killian's crimes forgotten for the moment. Meanwhile Killian smiled the secret smile of the adored baby of the family – he'd got away with it again!

His happy dreaming reverie was abruptly halted as a flood of dark, shaming memories of the previous evening flooded into his mind. He quailed at the thought of Emma's stricken face and the diabolical nature of Milah's scheme. He scowled at the thought of Graham's frank confession of his amorous designs on Killian's wife.

He heaved himself over fretfully. Handling Milah was going to be tricky. He had to keep her at least complacent so she would not cause further mischief as he attempted to placate Emma. At all costs he must avoid further scandal and heartbreak for his father.

His feelings about Emma remained in turmoil. He'd pushed her away repeatedly despite his growing attraction to her, feelings he was only now beginning to acknowledge, grudgingly. He felt guilty about his cruel treatment of her and wanted to make amends at least. At the same time, he felt equally wretched about Milah. And something else – a small hard knot of suspicion that maybe Milah had played him for a fool. The trap she had laid for Emma, the way she had masterfully manipulated him into the whole embarrassing situation – his faith in Milah was shaken to the core and he began to reexamine their relationship in a more skeptical light. They way she'd insisted he agree to marry Emma in order to hold onto his place in the succession. Had the real reason been her own vaunting ambition to be Queen one day, and not his own well-being as she had fervently proclaimed?

What, exactly, did he want from Emma? Did he want, as she suggested, to become friends and co-conspirators, political partners for the sake of convenience and saving face? Did he really want to live in a sham marriage, with or without Milah?

His head throbbed as his thoughts whirled and he realized he was badly hungover and beginning to feel bilious as well. Groaning, he turned over in bed, pulled a pillow over his head, and tried to shut out the world before his head exploded.

He slept most of the day, then skulked and sulked in his room for the next night, sending word via his valet that he was too ill to get out of bed. Every once in a while he would creep stealthily over to the door to Emma's chamber and press his ear against it to hear her. However, all remained quiet and by breakfast the next morning he was beginning to wonder whether she had spent the night there. And if not, where in God's name had she spent the night?

He rang for his valet, dressed, breakfasted alone in his sitting room, and then went down to greet his father in the library.

"He emerges at last," the old man exclaimed, rising from his chair by the fire, a cheery smile on his face. Killian, noting the smile, realized once again that his father had only begun to smile again when Emma had come to live with them. He made a mental note to express his admiration and gratitude toward her when he saw her later, if she remained willing even to speak to him.

"Good morning, Father," Killian cleared his throat and walked over to stand near the fire as well. "You're looking very well. How are you feeling?"

"Remarkably well, thank you," replied the King, settling himself in his favorite chair again. "Shall I ring for tea?"

"No thank you, I've got business to attend to," Killian declined politely. He hesitated for a few moments, then plunged in. "I'm surprised my lady wife is not with you this morning? Has she gone out riding already?"

"Actually, no," his father chuckled. "She left yesterday midday to visit the tenant farmers and tour the western crown lands. She felt she'd neglected her duties in this area long enough and wanted to leave immediately – I assume she told you?" His father shot him a questioning glance.

"Oh, er, yes, quite," Killian muttered, taken off guard. "I forgot." Shouldn't she have asked his permission or notified him at least? He fumed a little but supposed under the circumstances couldn't blame her.

"She decided she'd rather ride herself rather than travelling in a royal carriage with a large royal escort. Said it put the common people off talking to her, put too much distance and she'd be more useful if she could go about the countryside freely," his father explained, shaking his head. She was a plucky lass, his daughter-in-law, and a determined one when she had a notion in her mind.

"She's not travelling alone, is she?" Killian put in, his face and voice alarmed. It really wouldn't do for her to travel alone, for the sake of safety as well as decorum.

"Why no, of course not! Graham offered to escort her. You know he has a manor house of his own quite nearby and he fancied a little tour himself," the King blithely informed him, a shrewd look in his crinkled old eyes as he watched his son's reaction.

"How generous of him," Killian couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The treacherous bastard! And it was hardly decorous for his wife to be travelling with an unmarried and obviously attractive young nobleman like Graham. What could his father be thinking to have permitted it? He tried to suppress his rage and dismay, and his jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together in disapproval.

"Yes, I thought so too," his father replied, innocently, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly at Killian's obvious discomfiture. "But, Killian, it's been far too long since you yourself have toured the crown lands. What about all the reforms you and Liam introduced? You should go see for yourself!"

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Father," Killian nodded, obviously agitated despite his attempts to control his emotions. "I'll leave as soon as possible."

Although Killian had torn off after his wandering wife and her would-be lover as fast as he could, they still had nearly a 24 hour head start and he couldn't be sure exactly where they were headed or where they might have chosen to stop for the night. He winced a little at the thought of them stopping together for the night. Although he was positive the two would maintain the outward proprieties, Emma had already made it clear she was a passionate woman, and she'd had no satisfaction in that department from him, he thought. Might she give in to Graham's considerable charm and physical attractiveness? Had their marriage been all that a marriage should be, he knew his lifelong friend, indeed his foster brother, would never betray him by seducing his wife. But given his own actions, and Graham's disgust with him, he didn't know what he might do, especially if Emma herself sought solace and comfort in the arms of another. Could he really blame her?

Hot on their trail, he called in at many of the farms along the King's Road, noting with satisfaction how prosperous most seemed. He really had to press land reform throughout the Kingdom, he reminded himself. Killian had known most of the families since he was a boy, and they greeted him warmly, pleased that their Crown Prince would show such care and attention to their concerns.

They were equally elated, he discovered, by his Princess, who appeared to be universally lauded as an angel of kindness, beautiful inside and out. She had held the hands of the sick and dying, her prayers and devotion warming them like a healing balm. She had consulted with worried mothers and shared her own herbal concoctions for ill children with croup, influenza, earaches and more serious complaints. She had rocked fretful babies to sleep and listened to the homely concerns of their mothers and fathers.

He shook his head as he heard story after story, marveling. She reminded him of his mother, whose tireless devotion to and compassion for common people had given her the popular reputation of a saint. There had been floods of tears and genuine grief at the Queen's untimely passing. Some of the more credulous actually prayed to her for deliverance in times of sickness or trouble. Remembering his mother as he heard the many tales of his wife's kindnesses caused his throat to close up and his eyes to sting. It didn't help that many of the folk he spoke with approvingly drew parallels between his Princess and the late Queen. It made him feel like the worst vermin for his carelessness and his blindness in failing to appreciate Emma. Obviously he'd been physically attracted to her despite his intention to remain faithful to Milah, but Emma was proving to be so much more than just another pretty – no, beautiful - woman. As he rode on through the peaceful country, he found himself increasingly impatient, and longing to see her again, even if she did hate him.

When Killian finally caught up with Emma and Graham, he found her striding across the street of the main market village, a basket of medicines and bandages on her arm as Graham trotted her with a pile of blankets like a faithful dog.

Relieved to have found her at last, he pulled his horse up and jumped down. With a few long strides, he caught up with Emma and tugged at her arm to get her attention.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as she slowed to a stop and turned around to see who was plucking at her sleeve.

"Killian! What are you doing here?" she asked, her face clearly startled to see him.

Damn. He'd forgotten how lovely she was, and something twisted inside him at the sight of her. He realized he had actually missed her. He was also vaguely surprised to hear her call him by his given name. She usually addressed him formally as 'my lord husband' or 'my lord'."

"I came to find you," he replied after a little pause. "And it was high time I visited as well," he added hastily. He gave Graham a curt nod. Graham rolled his eyes at him.

"Well, we can't stop," Emma said, resuming her determined pace. "There's been an accident. A wall at the church collapsed while it was undergoing repairs, and some of the workmen have been badly hurt. We've set up a make-shift infirmary in an undamaged part of the nave, but we needed bandages and medical supplies to help with stitching the wounds and resetting broken bones."

"Wait a minute, woman!" Killian said, tugging at her again, frustrated, "isn't that best left to a doctor and the local people? I've only just arrived, and was hoping to be able to speak with you. We've matters to discuss."

She wrenched her arm away from him and gave him an angry glare. "Killian, it is our duty to help our people when they are danger or need, surely you know that?"

Paying him no further attention, she carried on like a galleon in full sail as he stood there, slack-jawed and entirely flummoxed. Graham gave him a pitying glance.

"Killian, my friend – let me give you one piece of advice about your wife," Graham lectured him. "You can walk beside her, or you can walk behind her, but don't ever try to get in her way." With that, he hastened after Emma.

Killian wasn't about to let Graham spend one single further moment scoring points with his wife unopposed. He saw to his horse and then scurried into the church. He was greeted by the sight of about eight or ten wounded men lying on blankets on the floor, some quite seriously, others, thankfully, less so. Several local women, some crying, attended to them.

Emma was standing next to an older man, apparently a doctor of sorts, who was gesturing and pointing at a badly mangled arm. Emma appeared to be arguing with him. Graham was nowhere to be found, presumably sent to fetch additional supplies. When Killian approached she barely glanced at him, instead speaking urgently to the doctor.

"If you take his arm off, he'll lose his livelihood!" she exclaimed. "I think we can stitch the torn flesh well enough for it to heal, and we can keep it preserved if we just keep it cold while the surgery is in progress. I've seen it done!" She ran an agitated hand through her hair, in mad disarray from the demands of the day and Emma's distraction.

"Have you an ice house in town?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Yes, it's a few doors down," said the doctor uncertainly, his lips pursed skeptically.

"Good," she said, turning to address Killian. "I need you to get down to the ice house, have them chop a largish block into bits, then bring it back. We'll wrap the ice in blankets and keep his arm cold while I'm stitching."

It didn't occur to him to argue, and soon enough he was offering the patient his own brandy to dull the pain, holding the man's head, and speaking to him in a low voice to soothe his screaming as Emma stitched his mangled arm feverishly. After she'd finished, the two continued from one person to the next. Sometimes Killian would hold the patient while she worked, at other times, she would offer comfort while Killian performed painful but necessary operations such as splinting and wrapping a broken limb or maneuvering dislocated bones back into joint. The ersatz doctor, miffed, had sloped off much earlier.

After the last victim had been tended to, Emma and Killian walked outside to get some fresh air. Together, they sank down on the church steps side by side, both disheveled, sweaty, and tired. Graham had been sent off to the tavern and grocer to gather food for the wounded men and their families. Silently, Killian handed Emma his brandy flask. She accepted it, taking a healthy slug, before returning it to him. He did likewise before heaving a heavy sigh, feeling the tired muscles in his shoulders. She sighed, played with the bandages still in her hand, and looked out toward the horizon, shading her eyes as she did so.

The sun was setting and beautiful streaks of red and gold coursed through the sky before them. The last golden rays caught Emma's hair and caused it to shine as if she were wearing a halo. Even dirty and disheveled, she was radiant, breathtaking.

"You're full of surprises," he murmured, his blue gaze frankly admiring. "How does a Princess in a castle learn to be a healer? You were bloody brilliant. Better than the doctor himself."

"Well, to be fair, I think he was actually the butcher," Emma said, turning towards him and smiling shyly at his praise. "But I have to say I'm the one who's surprised. How did you learn to reset and dress broken bones? You're better than most doctors I've seen."

He laughed softly, pleased and slightly embarrassed at her praise. "Why, the army and navy of course. Lots of grievously injured men there, alas, and not all of them can be mended. I found I had a bit of knack for it and I found it strangely satisfying." He broke off, ducking his head a little.

Emma looked at him with understanding eyes. Almost, but not quite, she wanted to reach out and put her hand on his. "Perhaps you enjoy being useful to others? Sometimes service to others can be more rewarding than cards, dice and women?" She was teasing him.

"Perhaps I would have made a decent doctor, if life were different," he allowed. Then he gave her a mischievous little grin and cocked an eyebrow. "But there's something to be said for gambling and women, too."

She laughed a little at his cheekiness, noticing how attractive he was when he relaxed in her company, rather than holding himself stiffly in check. How different it could have been had it not been for the cursed Milah. she thought to herself, a little wistfully.

"You must be hungry," he said, happy to have made her laugh. He was enjoying their moment of real emotional connection and cast about for a means of prolonging it. Perhaps he could engineer a dinner with just the two of them before blasted Graham returned to ruin the moment.

"I'm starving," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Shall we find someplace to dine? The royal manor in these parts is a bit of a ride, but the tavern in town is quite decent as I recall." He rose and put his hand out to help her up.

She seemed to hesitate then, and began to rise on her own as if she hadn't noticed his outstretched hand. He frowned, feeling her closing him out again but said nothing.

As she walked down the stairs, however, her tiredness got the better of her and she caught her skirt and stumbled a little. Instinctively he reached out to steady her with two strong hands just as she had reached for him to right herself. As he pulled her up and into his body, he heard her breath catch a little as she looked up into his eyes.

Emma could feel the heat of his body against hers and she felt momentarily…confused. His particular spicy masculine smell assailed her and she felt dizzy and slightly weak at the knees. There was a heady, leaping sensation in her breast, and a fluttering deep in her belly. She cursed her own weakness in his presence. Why had he always had this effect on her? She leaned into him and parted her lips, half-hoping he would kiss her, when a sudden involuntary vision of him with Milah on that dreadful night flashed into her brain, rudely destroying the mood. Nauseated at the thought, she wrenched away from him.

Killian cursed to himself as she turned away. He'd been as swept away as she by the feeling of her in his arms, her breasts heaving under him. He'd been drowning in the sea of her eyes, the delicate bloom on her cheeks, and her sweet smell. He'd read the unmistakable passion on her face, confirmed for him when she tilted her head up at him and parted her full red lips, lips just begging for his kiss. He'd been on the point of bending his head to capture her lips in his when he'd seen her eyes suddenly cloud and the gates slam shut.

He knew, as surely as his own name, that their moment had been destroyed not by Graham, but once again by Milah. His shoulders sagged at the hopelessness of their situation, just as he heard Graham shout a greeting to them. Oh perfect, he thought sourly.

He didn't bother to hide his feelings or his sarcasm. "Why, Graham, what a surprise you've returned! Don't you have an estate around here that needs tending to? I think we have the situation here well in hand. Don't let us keep you." He composed his face in faux solicitude.

Graham shot him an amused look, then turned to Emma. "Perhaps you'd care to have some dinner," he said, offering her his arm. Killian scowled as Emma graciously accepted it and the two walked arm in arm down the street to the tavern, their heads close together in apparently intimate conversation. Killian could do nothing other than follow along in their wake like a third wheel.

During dinner, he watched helplessly as Graham worked his considerable charm on Emma, who laughed at his stories and flirted with him as if her husband, lord, and master, legally speaking at least, were not sitting at the same table. Despite his earlier hunger, he was barely able to eat. His insides felt gnawed by hot jealousy and regret like a poison and he fought the urge to batter Graham's handsome face until it was no longer so pretty. Graham, a man he'd loved as a brother all his life. That just made him hate himself more and held him back from offering any direct competition for Emma's attention.

He'd already ruined everything. He had only to sit back now, and watch Graham take his wife from him. He couldn't object, not really, as he'd been no husband to her at all, and certainly far from the husband who could truly deserve the treasure she had proven to be. He supposed when it was all said and done he could be with Milah as they had planned. But somehow the thought of spending the rest of his life with Milah left a bad taste in his mouth.

He was relieved when dinner was over. The evening had been an excruciating torment and he only wanted the oblivion of sleep. The landlord came forward then and offered them his best rooms for the night, which they gratefully accepted. He led them up the stairs and stopped at the first door on the right. Throwing it open, he turned to Graham.

"My Lord, this is our second best room. There are fresh linens and water provided for your comfort. Please call me or the servant if you require anything at all," the landlord said, bowing unctuously.

Then he turned to Killian and Emma and led them to the far end of the corridor and threw open the last door. "Your royal highnesses, it is my honor to offer my finest accommodation to you. We are at your service, and wish you a good night." Bowing even lower this time, he shuffled backward towards the stair and then disappeared, returning to the tavern below.

Killian couldn't help himself from throwing Graham a triumphant smirk as he followed Emma into their bedroom.

HOPE YOU ARE ALL ENJOYING JEALOUS KILLIAN! GRAHAM HAS REALLY BEEN MAKING HIM SUFFER AS HE DESERVES, BUT WHAT LIES BEHIND THE BEDROOM DOOR? STAY TUNED.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING. I'D LOVE A REVIEW OR A PM WITH YOUR THOUGHTS!