Free Nothing Else Matters by Susan Sizemore

floor beside her. Frustration and hurt made his voice rough. “Damn you.”
    Her dark eyes went wide with fear as he spoke. She squeaked with fear and scrambled away from the furs. She pul ed on a chemise while he sat on the
    floor of the cave. He fought down both arousal and anger as he watched her hasty movements.
    “Mouse,” he said, remembering what he’d cal ed her the day before. “Ugly little gray mouse.” By al the saints he’d been drunk indeed to see this lush-bodied creature as ugly.
    Stian’s words struck Eleanor harder than any blow could have. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Her throat clogged with tears she refused to shed. Al she could do was cover the body that she’d so recently displayed in the ful light of day as if it were worth looking at. She could only pray her husband would speak no more of how ugly he found her.
    She knew she was no great beauty like Edythe with her long slender waist and high round breasts. A Provencal poet had once compared Edythe’s
    breasts to apples he longed to taste. Other poets cal ed her an angel, a creature of air and light. Eleanor was brown as the earth under Edythe’s dainty feet.
    She was no mouse as Stian claimed but she was a creature of mud. Sometimes it was good for her pride to be reminded of her shortcomings. She
    would have to remember her husband in her prayers for that, she told herself as she laced up her overdress.
    Stian saw no more use sitting around the cave naked after his wife was dressed so he went outside to find his own garments. Once dressed, he saddled
    the horse. He swung onto the horse’s back as she came out of the cave.
    Stian was left shaken and breathless for a few moments as an image of the girl lifting her arms and letting the cape fal to the ground played through his mind. His body tightened with renewed need that he made himself ignore. Her face was expressionless as she came toward him. He tried not to let his
    hunger for her show.
    “My lord?” she asked, turning her face up to him as she reached the horse. She held up a hand in entreaty. “You would not leave me in this desolate place, would you?”
    Stian looked around him. Desolate? This was the most beautiful place in al the Cheviot Hil s. Where had this courtier woman come from to cal his private place desolate? And why would she be afraid he’d leave her? It wasn’t a long way back to Harelby but he hardly expected a stranger to know the path.
    He grunted and leaned down to grab her hand. It was easy enough to haul a smal thing such as her up behind him on the gelding. She waited until she
    was settled behind him with her hands firmly clutching him for balance before setting off for home.
    He spent the whole way back to Harelby trying not to think about the softly feminine body pressed against his back or the smal , clever hands at his waist.

    * * * * *
“You’re back early.”
    Stian ignored Lars’ cackle of laughter. “I’ve things to do.”
    “Wasn’t she worth your time?”
    Stian looked past his grinning cousin to where his wife stood with her sister and the other women, warming her hands by the hearth. He could stil feel the pressure of those hands against his flesh. The ride back to Harelby had been silent. She’d pretended he didn’t exist.
    Her wil ow-slender sister had run from the hal as the horse reached the inner bailey. The mouse was off the horse and in the wil ow woman’s arms before he’d even dismounted. The sisters had gone into the hal without giving him a backward glance. He’d been left to walk into the room ful of curious,
    amused castle folk al alone. He wasn’t pleased that his wife shunned his presence on their wedding morning.
    Lars’ question did nothing but rankle him more. “I’ve had her,” he said. That was al Lars needed to know.
    “Good.” Lars clapped him on the shoulder. He passed Stian a wooden tankard of ale. “Welcome to the marriage bed. Let’s go hunting.”
    Stian considered the suggestion while he