Back The King's Man
Chapters (30)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Also By Elizabeth Kingston
  4. The King's Man (Welsh Blades, #1)
  5. Historical Note
  6. CHAPTER 1
  7. CHAPTER 2
  8. CHAPTER 3
  9. CHAPTER 4
  10. CHAPTER 5
  11. CHAPTER 6
  12. CHAPTER 7
  13. CHAPTER 8
  14. CHAPTER 9
  15. CHAPTER 10
  16. CHAPTER 11
  17. CHAPTER 12
  18. CHAPTER 13
  19. CHAPTER 14
  20. CHAPTER 15
  21. CHAPTER 16
  22. CHAPTER 17
  23. CHAPTER 18
  24. CHAPTER 19
  25. CHAPTER 20
  26. CHAPTER 21
  27. Excerpt, Book #2: Fair, Bright, and Terrible
  28. Acknowledgements
  29. Don't miss out!
  30. About the Author

But later, in the dark of the room that had been prepared for them, he reached for her again like a starving man. She wound herself around him, her hands touching every part of him she could reach. She thought it must be a new kind of fever, or maybe a beast that lived within that could only be given free reign when the sun went down. She felt his mouth devouring hers, felt her whole body turn soft under his hands, and wished for the sun never to come up. That night she learned where to touch him to make him gasp, how to slide her body atop his and take her pleasure. They did not speak.

The next day, he was even more distant, though she had not thought that possible. Even to his own men, he barely spoke as they rode on. But the second night of their journey, in the dark, he came to her as hot as before. In the long night, she learned him with her mouth and took a lascivious joy in it. Sleep did not come to either of them, no matter how tiring the journey or how little rest they had enjoyed in these many long days. Instead of slumber, her body learned his. The taste of his skin, the warmth of his breath on her back, the feel of his nakedness pressed against the length of her. All in silence.

On the third day, the sun beat down on their little party and he was more remote than ever she had seen him. It was as if the air had shifted, and his men knew not to speak to him in this mood. With every mile that passed he seemed to withdraw further into himself. She would have tried to speak to him but she did not know how. However much they might know each other in the dark, they were entirely strangers when the sun shone.

She watched as he grew more aloof throughout the day. He was not foul-tempered, only drawn so deep inside himself that he was more like a ghost than a man. At nightfall when they reached the inn, he ate silently and quickly, then left the common room immediately. She wondered if he was ill, if she should bring a posset to the room for him, and had Davydd fetch her wallet of herbs in case it should be needed.