Watt nodded eagerly and fled. Rhys watched him disappear into the growing morning. When he finally turned to look at Elizabeau, he was struck by the beautiful picture she presented; he’d never seen the woman in the light of day. She’d always been wet, dirty, angry, or otherwise shrouded in darkness. As he gazed at her clean face of creamy skin, her pert little nose and her luminous emerald-colored eyes, he swore he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Her luscious golden-red hair was straight and thick, cascading over one shoulder. She looked like an angel and he was momentarily speechless.
Elizabeau could see that he was studying her. He had an odd expression on his face and she lifted her eyebrows in response. “Well?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Do you not like the dress you picked out for me?”
He shook his head. “No….”
“What?” she nearly shrieked.
He half-grinned, holding out a hand to silence her outrage. “I meant to say that no, nothing is wrong. The dress is lovely.”
“Oh.” She looked as if she didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t press. She opened up the cloak, showing him a full view of her glorious figure encased in the yellow lamb’s wool. “You might as well have a good look at it. You did select it, after all. See what manner of taste you have in women’s garments.”
He watched her twirl around and found himself front and center of an unobstructed view of her body. She had a gorgeous slender neck and shoulders, and a long torso with full breasts. She was, in fact, quite breathtaking, healthy and curvy in all the right places. He was staring at her waist as it flared into delicious hips when she stopped and faced him.
“Well? See what good taste you have?” she said.
He almost didn’t hear her. It took him a moment to realize she had said something and he tore his gaze away from her torso, vowing at that moment to never recall the most un-knightly thoughts that had crept into his mind as he had beheld her beauty. He’d had visions of sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of her buttocks, of running his tongue against her navel, and….
“Did you hear me?” Elizabeau’s voice broke into his turbulent thoughts. “What do you think of your taste in clothing?”
He realized his palms were sweating as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. “Only you could do them justice, my lady,” he said steadily. “It has nothing to do with my selection at all. I suspect you could wear a sack and still look like an angel.”
She grinned at him, revealing straight white teeth with slightly prominent canines. Her smile was as beautiful as the rest of her.
“Flattery, sir knight?” she teased gently. “Not too much or I shall become swell-headed. But tell me this; do you think my betrothed will be pleased? I mean, do you think I look presentable enough for a prince?”
He felt as if a bucket of cold water had just been thrown on him. Christ, what am I thinking? He silently scolded himself. Somehow, in the last few moments, he had forgotten why he was there. He had forgotten his mission as she had twirled before him and he had studied the outline of her round breasts. She was England’s next queen, destined for her Teutonic prince. She was not a woman to be admired as if she were something reachable to him. He suddenly felt very angry at himself, and frankly, very disappointed.
“He will consider himself a very fortunate man, my lady,” he replied in a strangely tight tone. “You have nothing to worry over.”
There was warmth in her gaze as she looked at him. “More kind words, sir knight. They give me courage.”
He didn’t know what else to say. He found himself wishing for the distraction of de Lohr’s arrival so he could focus on something other than the lovely young woman standing a few feet to his right. There was no way on earth he was going to admit that he was attracted to her, more than he should have been.
Elizabeau watched him as he appeared distracted, his gaze lingering on the yard beyond the door and the growing morning. Smiling at her just a moment ago, he now seemed to be reverting back to his cold persona again and she had no idea why. The man was moodier than a fickle woman.
“I fear that I have nothing to put all of my new garments in,” she said, hoping to distract him from whatever moodiness he was feeling. “Do you suppose our new merchant friend would have cap cases to store these in?”
Rhys didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I have already seen to that. I purchased one of Marchant’s larger satchels off of him last night. He needed to empty the contents before giving it to me but promised he would do so by this morn. In fact, perhaps we should break our fast now so that we may be ready to leave when the merchant’s caravan is ready to move out.”