Irontooth crossed his arms and glowered at me. “I changed my mind.”
I didn’t want the prisoners to perish either way. But at least in the sea, they’d have a fighting chance of escaping. “Give me a few more days.
“You’ve had long enough. Tomorrow they die.”
With increasing desperation, I descended into the dungeon, carrying what could very well be Mikkel’s and Gregor’s last meal.
Earlier in the week, I’d felt guilty for keeping Mikkel so heavily bound and had Tommy unshackle his hands. Now while he ate, my mind spun. I needed to increase my efforts at getting him to talk, even if that meant I must bind him again and scare him with threats.
As soon as I entertained the prospect, I tossed it aside. He was too strong a man to capitulate under duress. He’d shown that by never once taking any of the pain medicine I offered.
From what I could tell, he had no weaknesses I could exploit. Not even a weakness for women.
When he finished his soup, he accepted my offering of bread, cheese, and ale. “You’re quiet tonight.” He paused in chewing to study me.
“’Tis your last night. Irontooth prepares to burn you at the stake on the morrow.”
“Has it already been a week?” He resumed eating, his expression unruffled.
Kneeling beside him, I sat back on my heels. “If you do not believe he will kill you, then you are wrong.”
Mikkel finished the last bite of bread, took a drink, and then leaned his head back. “Will my death cause you sorrow?”
There was something likeable about this man. And no matter his reasons for coming to the island, I couldn’t condone his death.
Mikkel’s accusation from earlier in the week came back to haunt me, the one about being under Irontooth’s control. Did I dare defy our daunting leader and insist he spare Mikkel and Gregor? But how could he spare them? Not when the other outcasts expected him to carry through with his word.
“Will you be sad to leave me, my lord?” I countered with a question as I oft did, forcing him to respond first.
“My lady, do you want the truth?” Though his posture was relaxed, his eyes swung to me, the light blue piercing straight to my heart, unsettling me and making my pulse patter faster.
“And what is the truth?”
He brushed back a loose strand of my hair, and the gentleness was nearly my undoing. “You are an amazing woman and have made this last week of my life one of the best weeks of my life.”
The sincerity in his tone and expression were more than I could comprehend. Did he truly mean that?
“Yes,” he whispered, brushing back another strand. “I mean every word.”
How could he read my thoughts so easily? I couldn’t keep from leaning into his touch, and I had the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.
He glanced over to Gregor, and I did likewise. The servant had finished his dinner and was resting with his eyes closed, as though attempting to give us a moment of privacy.
Mikkel turned his attention back to me. “Thank you for being here with me and showing me kindness, though you had no need to do so.” With one hand, he stroked my forehead. With his other, he slipped his fingers around mine.
The contact on both fronts set to flight a flock of finches in my stomach. “Since you have been honest, then I shall admit to the truth as well.”
“And what is that, my lady?”
“Yes, I shall mourn your death.”
His beautiful eyes held mine and searched my soul. I held my breath, hoping he’d see there what he was looking for. When he tugged my hand a moment later and drew me closer, I went to him willingly, settling against his side into the crook of his arm. I was careful not to brush his injuries, although most were healing well and not troubling him any longer. Even the bruises on his face had begun to fade.
He situated me, cradling me with one arm and still holding my hand with his other. I was so close to him, I could feel his warmth along with every rippling muscle in his body. Though I’d had more than my share of flattery and attention from men at court, I’d never felt this close to anyone before. And I couldn’t abide the thought that he would perish.
Maybe if I revealed some of the details about my situation, he’d open up about his. And maybe in doing so, I could glean enough to satisfy Irontooth.
I stared at his long fingers wrapped around mine, such strong fingers compared to my delicate ones. With my opposite hand, I tentatively touched him, tracing a path across his hand to his wrist, to his arm.
I felt him tremble—or at least I thought I did. His reaction gave me an ounce of courage. “Mikkel . . .”
The warmth of his breath against my temple sent the birds inside me fluttering once more. “Yes, my lady?”
I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensation but blurted the words before I changed my mind. “My real name is Pearl.”
He was silent for a heartbeat, as though digesting my revelation. What if he’d heard the name before in association with Warwick and Princess Pearl? As my fear mounted, I tried to silence it. Even if he had heard of Princess Pearl, he would assume, like the rest of the world, that the princess died last year in a hunting accident.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he whispered. “And it suits you.”
I released a tense breath I hadn’t known I was holding and relaxed into him. “I have always hated the name.” It reminded me too much of Warwick’s jewels and the gem mines and how consumed my mother was with gaining wealth.
“I have seen the beautiful woman you are on the inside. And that is truly what matters most.”
He’d misunderstood me. He assumed I was deformed and that’s why I hated my name. Should I tell him I had no blemish and didn’t belong on the island any more than he did?
“Thank you, Mikkel.” Uncertainty welled within me. Irontooth wouldn’t want me to reveal it. As a condition for remaining on the island, he’d insisted I wear the veil at all times and let everyone assume I was deformed. If the other outcasts learned I had no blemish—was in fact known for my beauty—they’d despise me, perhaps even harm me.
“I mean it.” His whisper was warm against my temple.
I curled closer into his side.
At the gentle pressure of his lips against my head, I stilled, my whole body tingling with awareness of this man, of his strength, determination, intelligence, and sweetness. I couldn’t deny any longer that my attraction to him had been steadily growing. His kiss might be purely platonic, and he might not have any desire for me beyond friendship, but I liked him . . . much more than I ought to.
“You can tell me what happened to your face,” he said softly. “It won’t change how I see you.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I vow it won’t.”
I paused. Maybe I couldn’t take off my veil and show him my fairness, but I could tell him who I really was, couldn’t I? If I did so, would he finally share who he was? “Mikkel?”
“Hmmm . . .?”
“I am—a princess.”
Chapter
7
Mikkel
I froze. Pearl was a princess?
“My mother is Queen Margery of Warwick.” She whispered the queen’s name as if speaking of a deadly plague.