The Gypsy Prince by Elise Marion

Author:Elise Marion
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

L ucy slowly drifted awake as the clinging haze of whatever she’d been drugged with began to abate. With a groan, she turned her head away from a stream of light that seemed to shine directly at her closed eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to think past the throbbing in her temples. Her body was cradled by something soft, and she was warm. Yet, from deep within her mind came the niggling of … something.

Something that told her despite her current comfort, there was an urgent need for her to open her eyes and rise.

What was it?

Burrowing closer against the warm cushion warming her back, she sighed. It must be important, but just now she couldn’t bring herself to care. This bed—for it must be a bed she lay in—was cozy, and the soft sway of her surroundings felt like being rocked in her mother’s arms … a sensation she’d forgotten over the years. The movement was just perceptible enough that she registered it, but gentle enough to be pleasant instead of unsteadying. The sort of movement that made her think of floating on the surface of a river.

Movement?

With a gasp, she opened her eyes, trying to come to a sitting position as the memories of the night before came back to her in a rush. Last she remembered, she had awakened in a dark room with Alex, laid on a bed with her arms tied behind her back. She’d been untied since, though she was still on the bed. Alex’s body had been the warm thing pressed against her, and he’d been untied as well, and one of his long arms draped across her in a light embrace.

She blinked and gazed about the room, taking in all the things she hadn’t noticed in the dark of night. The sun filtered through a small round window built into the far wall, just bright enough for her to make out the bed and its rough linen and wool blankets, a commode, and a single chair. Her throat constricted as she realized what the small room, round window, and rocking motion must mean.

Glancing down at Alex, she found he still slept soundly, his lips parted, hair wildly tousled against the pillow. His bruises were even uglier in the daylight, as well as the evidence of the scuffle in the alley. His clothes were in shambles—the sleeve of his coat ripped at the shoulder seam, the expensive fabric ruined, his cravat dirty and wilted.

Lucille brought a hand down on his shoulder and shook it, trying not to jostle him too much for fear of hurting his injured ribs. “Alex, wake up.”

He made a little sound in the back of his throat, and turned his head, burrowing deeper into his pillow.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, his grip on her waist tightening. “Five minutes longer.”

With a huff, she shook him again, harder this time. “You must get up, Alex! We’re moving!”

He opened one eye and peered at her. The whites were bloodshot, his green and gold irises unfocused.

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