Besotted (The Fairest Maidens #3) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,16
realized I was no longer on his heels. He halted and slowly pivoted.
Overhead, the thick leaves of yew, oak, and pine blocked the sunlight from reaching us, leaving Jorg’s face in shadow. But the tautness of his body was easy enough to see.
“What about the girl?” I asked.
“Leave her be.”
I bristled at his command. At times Jorg forgot I was the prince and he, my servant. Like now. Nevertheless, I blew out a breath and forced myself to remain congenial. “I like her, and I plan to see her again. What’s wrong with that?”
“A girl like her doesn’t deserve for you to toy with her.”
“I’m not toying—”
“Spare me. I was there. I saw and heard everything.”
“I treated her with the utmost respect. How can you say otherwise?”
Jorg shook his head, his body radiating frustration. “It’s not about respect, Kresten. It’s about the fact that you are a prince and she is a pauper. You will reside in a different country, and she lives here. You are worldly wise, and she is as innocent as a dove. Need I go on?”
“What harm is there in spending a few hours with her? I do so with Walter’s daughters, and you feel no need to chastise me for it.”
“That’s different. They’re simple and uncomplicated and amusing. But this woman . . . she’s not like them. You’ve never met anyone like her before.”
He was right. Rory was unlike any other woman I’d met—peasant or noblewoman.
“I saw the way she looks at you, the same way all women look at you. And it isn’t fair to allow her to think there could ever be anything between you.”
“I’m not leading her on.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Enjoying a friendship.”
Jorg released a humorless laugh. “If you witnessed what I did, you’d realize a great deal more than friendship was happening.”
If I was completely truthful with myself, I would have to agree with him. The feelings I had around Rory were intense and the pull to her strong. Even now, my pulse pounded with the need to spend time with her again, to watch sunlight glisten in her hair, to witness her eyes light up with joy, and to bring roses to her cheeks.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be mere friendship,” I said more somberly.
“And what hope do you have of anything more than that?”
I honestly didn’t know. Likely none. Rory and I hailed from two different worlds. Worlds that could never mesh. Even if by some chance, a peasant woman could wed a prince—which was impossible—my father and the Lagting had already entered into negotiations with kings of other nations with regards to spousal matches.
From what I’d heard during my last days in Scania, three royal women from various countries had already been selected. Mikkel and Vilmar would wed the princesses of most importance. I would get the leftover, the one who didn’t have quite as many advantages to offer Scania.
I’d have no choice in the matter and had always accepted that fact. I understood I must do my duty, and what did one strange woman matter over another? Except now, something inside shifted. Why must I marry a woman by default? Why could I not have some say? Perhaps I might suggest someone like Rory.
She was beautiful enough to be a princess, as well as poised, gentle of spirit, and a quick learner. Surely she could adjust to life at court.
I shook my head. I’d known Rory a total of two days. Why was I even thinking of marriage? “For the love of the saints, Jorg. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be. I want to spend time with a comely girl. You’ve never had a problem with me doing that before. Don’t read more into this than exists.”
“Be careful, then. I can tell she’s special.”
Rory was special. I sensed it too. Maybe it was because she wasn’t fawning over me like the women at court. Maybe because she held an air of innocence that was so fresh. Or maybe because she was so alive and vibrant. Whatever the case, I wanted—no needed—to see her again.
“I’m going back on the morrow.” I started forward, leaving Jorg little choice but to do the same, but not without an exasperated sigh. “I promise I shall be careful with her.”
He tossed up his hands as though in defeat.
Misgivings rose to make me second-guess my decision, but I hastened to stuff them away. I would be careful. I vowed that I would.