Taken by the Elderman: Kingdoms of Meria Book 3 by Mecca Cecelia

Author:Mecca, Cecelia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Altiora Press
Published: 2021-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

21

Aiken

You are an Elderman to her.

I jump back, the memory of Hilla’s lips on mine, even though it was a farce, never far from my mind. I’d been about to kiss her again in a misguided attempt to comfort her. But this time, for no other reason than I desire it.

A desire that has gotten stronger each day we are together.

“I’m sorry,” I say now. Having her in my arms, consoling her—it had almost felt the most natural thing in the world. To kiss her, soothe her tortured soul by making her forget . . . what had I been thinking? “I will get the maid to escort you.”

I turn to leave.

Hilla’s hand on my arm stops me.

“Nay, Aiken. Stop.”

Her face, still streaked with tears, is as lovely as ever.

“You must still have . . . urges. Even though you’ve pledged yourself to God.”

Urges. If only Hilla knew the urges I’ve had nearly every night of this journey. It was easier when I thought her a traitor.

“Aye,” I agree feebly.

“How could I fault you for such a thing as you stand before me, pardoning me for the joy I feel at Whitley’s death?”

“You need not be pardoned, Hilla.”

“Then certainly you do not either. Please, stay. Tell me of your meeting with the king. Of what you learned today.”

Marveling at how close I came to kissing her, I take a deep breath, attempting to regain control. “I learned of Whitley, of course.” And silently rejoiced then, and now, at the news. “And of the king’s troubles, which are many.”

“Lord Hinton’s name has reached even my ears.”

“Tis but a matter of time before he attempts to wrest control of the crown. The king meets with Father Silvester on the morrow.”

“Silvester will support Hinton,” she says, wise to the situation having lived most of her life at court.

“Indeed, most expect so.”

“Which means Meria will be openly at odds with the church?”

“Aye.”

“What will happen then?”

All of what I’ve told her is common knowledge here in d’Almerita. Facts she could learn by speaking to most anyone. Her maid, for instance. Beyond that, I cannot share additional information.

“We shall see,” I say, evading the question. “Do you still wish to take supper in the hall?”

Hilla waits for me to say more, realizes I will not, and moves to the basin of water by her bed. Splashing her face with it, careful not to wet her gown, she dries it with the cloth I gave her and places it next to the basin.

With an exchanged glance, of regret and something more, we leave the chamber and make our way through the corridors to the great hall, where supper is well underway.

Of all the great halls on the Isle, from Hilla’s home in Edingham to those few castles in Murwood End, none compare to the splendor of this one. Tapestry after tapestry, each one more colorful than the last, lining every bit of space on the stone walls, telling the story of Meria . . . ladies’ gowns made of silk .

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