ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Wow, what great feedback you have been giving us! That really encourages us to keep going with this story. I apologize we can't update as often as you would like, but the quality of the story would suffer if we tried to go faster. Fear not, we DO plan to continue. Thanks to ALL of you!!! Fianna and I hope you enjoy this next chapter as much as the others.

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Chapter Seven

Elanor awoke slowly. What had she been dreaming? Oh yes, she had dreamed she was in Lothlórien of all places, and was Haldir’s ward! She groaned silently at the idea and rubbed her cheek against the pillow. And of course she was right here where she should be and always had been, quite comfortable on her own feather mattress. She stretched and smiled, feeling good, feeling completely rested and curiously joyful, as though for once in her life everything was fitting together exactly in the right way. The sheets were soft, the Rivendell air fresh . . . she sniffed the air. Fresh bread? Had Lana started breakfast?

Every muscle in her body went tense.

Lana could not cook. Lana seldom went to the bakery to fetch breakfast for the two of them. In fact, Lana had not done this in years . . .

Elanor’s eyes shot open, her heart skipping a beat as the memories poured back into her mind. It had no dream, but real—the journey, the goblins, Lothlórien! And here she was in Haldir’s room, in Haldir’s bed, wearing nothing but a thin nightdress. She remembered all too clearly how she had struggled in his arms as he had carried her in here and used his weight and strength on her, the bully!

Yet she also remembered how forlorn and lonely she had felt, and how she had yielded to her tears. She had tried to be silent, but Haldir had heard anyway. He could have ignored her, but instead he had come to her and been quite gentle and offered her the bed. It was the first sign she had seen of a softer side to him, and it gave her pause. And then he had lifted her as he had done before, as though she weighed no more than a mallorn leaf. Under other circumstances, it might even have been a bit romantic, to be carried like that. But he had made the decision to use that spell on her again, which she did not like at all.

She sat up and looked around, wondering if he had slept on the floor or in the bed. She saw no sign of him, but she smelled food. Setting her bare feet upon the smooth floor, she sat for an instant, wishing she had her clothes. She peeked out the door leading to the terrace, trying to see where Haldir was. On the other side of the terrace she could see the kitchen, but no sign of him through the window or latticed door. Perhaps he had left.

Rounding the bed, she headed for the door leading into the front room, the one though which he had carried her last night. She stopped dead, seeing Haldir sitting at the table sipping a drink of some sort, looking as though all was right with the world. On the table before him sat a partially eaten loaf of fresh bread, honey, cheese, and what looked like several berry tarts. He must have been to the main kitchens already this morning.

“Good morning, Elanor,” he said.

“Haldir, about last night—” she began, folding her arms over her chest.

“I said good morning, Elanor.” His voice now held an implacable note.

She lifted her chin. “Very well then, good morning. About last night, Haldir, I do not appreciate you using sleeping spells on me. I could have gone to sleep quite easily on my own.”

“In my bed?” he replied deliberately. “With me next to you? You showed signs of being troubled with that arrangement, although for one night I thought it practical.”

Elanor opened and shut her mouth. “You said you were going to sleep on the floor,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation.

“I did not say that. I offered it, and you rejected my offer.” His gaze swept over her as he sat back in his chair. “But as long as we are addressing such matters, I will tell you that I did not appreciate having sleeping powder put in my wine.”

Elanor moistened her lips, assailed with a stab of guilt. “Yes, well, I am sorry about that. But how else would they have gotten you to my home? I did not want them hitting you over the head or hurting you.”

“Your concern for my welfare is touching indeed,” he said in a dry tone. “As for last night, you needed rest. You were not going to get it on the floor, and you refused to admit you were uncomfortable. It is exactly like your stubborn and needless suffering while riding the horse. A simple request and I would have eased your pain for you before it grew to be so great. Besides,” he added offhandedly, “it was no great matter for me to see to your healing.”

Elanor stared at him in horror, suddenly realizing that her aches and pains were completely gone. Blessed Valar, had he . . . had he touched her in those places while she slept? The blood rushed to her face as she imagined it. Even worse, she could see his lips twitch ever so slightly, as though he knew what she was thinking and found it amusing.

“You had no right!” she burst out. Angered and embarrassed, she walked over to the table, fixing her gaze on him and wishing she could say something that would wipe that smirk off his face. Her hand itched to slap him.

He rose to his feet, looking at her in that arrogant way so characteristic of him. “So you would rather I left you to suffer for the sake of your pride? I have seen female bodies before, my dear. There is no need for all this foolish modesty. I see you and I treat you as I would any comrade. A comrade-in-training, that is how I view you. So there is no need for coyness and prudery.”

For a reason she did not pause to analyze, this speech sparked her fury more than anything else he could have said. “Oh, and do you bring your comrades here and force them to sleep with you?” she said with sarcasm.

“Do not use that tone with me, Elanor,” he warned in a low, formidable voice. “If you had asked me to allow you to sleep in my bed, I would have gladly given it to you. If you had asked me to sleep on the floor to give you your privacy, I would have done so. You must learn to ask for what you want. If I consider your request reasonable and beneficial, then I will grant it.”

Elanor’s breathing had grown shallow, so great was her annoyance. “I do not believe you. You are only saying that to justify your—“

“Quiet, youngling!” His command sliced into her, his grey eyes narrowed, his lips now set in a flat line. “For once stop and think before you speak. Control your emotions before they land you in trouble. With me, if with no one else.”

“I may not always think before I speak,” she tossed back, “but you . . . you think too much!”

“One can never think too much,” he snapped.

She lifted her chin, filled with a strange exultation. Haldir was intimidating, but something about him compelled her to defy him, as though some perverse part of her wished to see how far she could push him. “I do not think you have any emotions at all,” she informed him, though she knew she might be going too far.

“You do not know me well enough to make such a statement, Elanor. And do not even think about throwing that teacup at me.” His voice was calm once again.

Elanor glanced down, and realized that her fingers had wrapped around the cup he must have left out for her. “Oh really? And what would you do if I did?”

She picked it up and held her breath, not knowing why she was testing him, only knowing that she felt tempted to do so. Never in her life had she pushed anyone as she was pushing Haldir, and it felt exciting and dangerous and delicious and exhilarating. No one else had ever made her feel like this, not any of the males she had met in Rivendell.

”What would I do?” His eyes raked over her. “I would take you over my knee and give you a spanking you would not soon forget.”

“You would not do that,” she said uncertainly. The undignified and humiliating scene flashed through her mind, destroying her exhilaration.

“Try me. Throw the cup at me. Go ahead.”

She set the cup down, clattering it against the saucer, and found to her surprise that she was shaking. She was no match for him. What was she thinking? He was stronger, craftier, and more ruthless than she could ever be.

“Very wise,” he said. “You are learning.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, neither of them moving. He seemed to her at that moment to be beyond comprehension, a great wall of male muscle and resolve, a timeless dream created from her own wayward fancies.

Why had she behaved in such a childish manner? No wonder he was angry with her; she knew at that moment that she deserved his anger. But why? Perhaps it was because she wanted to see the aloofness disappear from his eyes. She did not like that coldness, and when he was angry, she saw his heat. How hard it was to believe he had actually kissed her in Lord Elrond’s garden, and yet he had done so, and with much passion.

“What did you do to my plants?” he asked. Both the question and his curious tone caught her off-guard; it was as if the preceding scene was already forgiven and forgotten.

Bemused, she shifted her gaze to the pots sitting on the cabinet. Last night, she had not taken a good look at them, but now she saw that one was a kind of ivy, one was a multi-leaved plant she did not recognize, perhaps native only to Lothlórien, and the third, the one in the center, was elanor. Her namesake.

“I gave them water,” she answered, “and I spoke to them.”

“You spoke to them? In what manner?”

“I gave them love. That is what I do with plants. I talk, and they hear me. Plants are living things and respond to encouragement just as people do. They hear me. And I touch them. They . . . react to me.”

He shot her a keen look. “Interesting,” he commented. “You have always had this ability?”

“As long as I can remember.” She looked away, all at once aware of him again in that way that always made her pulse quicken, even when she was angry with him. How did he manage to do this to her without doing anything at all? It was something indefinable in his eyes when he looked at her.

“The Lady wishes you to tend to her garden.” He paused. “That is a request, Elanor. Galadriel thought you might enjoy it. You are free to refuse, though I admit I hope you do not.”

“I would be honored,” Elanor said with surprised pleasure. “Where is her garden?”

“In the southeast corner of the city.” He walked to the door. “I will return later. You will stay here and eat or whatever else you wish to do.”

His autocratic tone nettled her. For a moment it had seemed that they were sharing a moment of harmony. “You are telling me I may not go out?”

His gaze passed over her, his expression enigmatic. “You will only get lost. I will not be that long and you have arrows to repair. Later, you may do my laundry. And I have some sewing for you to do also.”

He opened the door and left.

Extremely peeved, Elanor considered hurling the teacup after all. Maddening! Arrogant! Overbearing! And he had actually threatened to spank her like a small, disobedient elfling! The idea filled her with outrage.

“You may do my laundry,” she mimicked, trying to sound like Haldir. “Oh, Haldir, may I? I would be so honored!” She fell to her knees with a thud. “To carry your sword was one thing, but to be allowed to wash your clothing, now that is an honor to which I have long aspired! As unworthy as I am, I cherish the chance to beat the dirt from your tunics!” Bending forward, she clasped her hands together and pretended ecstasy, then lowered her forehead almost to the floor. “How I worship you, Oh Great One,” she gushed, “Guardian of Lórien and Provider of Chores for Elanor of Rivendell . . .”

A soft breeze brushed against her cheek . . . a breeze wafting through the now open door in front of her.

Elanor lifted her head in shock, then scrambled to her feet, shoving her hair from her face and blushing deeply as she met Haldir’s steady gaze.

“Is there something you wish to say to me . . . Elanor of Rivendell?” His eyes glittered strangely, but she could not tell if he was angry. Silhouetted against the light, he stood tall and still in the doorway, not threatening in any way, yet she instinctively knew this stance had served him well in many situations.

“No,” she said, wondering how much he had heard. She was suddenly very conscious of the thinness of the fabric covering her body. She had actually forgotten that she was still wearing her nightdress.

“Are you quite sure?” he said softly. He moved closer and lifted her chin with his fingers, his gaze sliding over her face, neck and shoulders as though he were seeing her for the first time. “You perhaps have some complaint you wish to make?” She still could not make him out. Was he angered? Insulted?

“Oh, I think I have made enough complaints for one morning,” she retorted, trying a little humor on him. She peeped at him through her lashes, and was relieved to see a tiny twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“Indeed you have,” he agreed, his voice smooth as silk. “Although I must say that having you on your knees is not without certain benefits.” He withdrew his hand, giving her a faint smile. “Two of them actually,” he added, and this time she saw the grey flash of amusement in his eyes as, once again, he turned away from her and departed the talan.

Elanor clenched her hands into fists and stared at the door, waiting to see if he was going to pop in again.

Not without certain benefits? What did that mean?

Turning this over in her mind, she moved to peer into the mirror that hung above the cabinet with the plants, inspecting herself critically. All at once she caught sight of her nightdress, noticing how widely the neckline gaped open when she leaned forward. In fact, from a certain angle, it exposed her breasts completely. Her eyes widened. Oooh, Rúmil was right about Haldir’s sense of humor! The wicked elf!

As discomposed as she was, she could not help wondering if he’d liked what he’d seen. Remembering how his hand had curved around her breast while he slept at the campfire that night, it suddenly dawned on her that she might have the means to make him as uncomfortable as he had made her. No matter what he claimed, she somehow did not think he really saw her as a comrade-in-training. It was an intriguing idea she would have to ponder while she took her morning meal.

Haldir headed toward Rúmil‘s talan, his lips clamped together in an effort to suppress his laughter. He could not remember a time when an elleth amused him as much as Elanor had just done. She seemed to fill a room with her essence just by being in it, though it would not do to encourage such blatant disrespect in one who was supposedly his ward.

He did not fully understand himself, and yet he did, for indeed, Galadriel had the right of it; he was not made of stone. In fact, the sight of Elanor’s rosy-tipped breasts had nearly done him in. Between that, and that saucy, impertinent speech she had just made, he didn’t know which he was more inclined to do—smack his hand against her comely backside or drag her into the bedchamber and kiss her until she begged him to take her fully. The latter was unfortunately not a course of action he was at liberty to pursue.

Yet.

Meanwhile, sleeping in one bed would definitely not do, nor was it what he had intended despite what Elanor might believe. He only knew he wanted her where he could keep an eye on her. She was in his charge, his responsibility, and he would not fail her. Thank the Valar he had gotten her to Lothlórien safely; she seemed to have the ability to get herself into trouble all too easily. But of course that was not the reason she was in his talan. She was there because he wanted her there where he could see her, where he could be with her and look at her. It was no more complicated than that.

It appeared that the Valar had smiled upon him after all. He would have a year with Elanor, and he was not going to waste it. How odd that such a foolish sequence of events could bring about such unexpected consequences. Before all this started, he had remembered her and been delighted to see her when she had appeared in Lord Elrond’s garden. Under ordinary circumstances, he would certainly have tried to steal a kiss or two, and perhaps a great deal more. Afterward, he would have left her and returned to Lórien, either to dream of her or to forget her as he had done with many others.

He smiled at the thought. No, he would not have forgotten Elanor. He would have been counting the weeks and months and years until his next visit to Rivendell. He might even have written her letters, something he normally disliked doing.

However, because of his brothers, and Telrion and Minden, and lying Lana, and Elrond, and even Elanor herself . . . another path had been presented to him, like an unexpected gift. A year with Elanor. A year in which she was under his authority. It was a two-edged sword—not the first he had encountered, nor likely the last, but it could well be the one that tested him the most.

To have control over others was not new to him; he had wielded such power for centuries. Many elves answered to him, including his brothers, and he was used to it. It suited him well. However, to have such power over Elanor presented him with a unique challenge. For now, he must try to set aside his personal inclinations where she was concerned—or at least to make them secondary. In theory it should not be difficult; he had made duty a priority all his life.

He thought then of Healea, a maiden with whom he’d once been fascinated. For a long time now he’d known that what he’d felt for her had been a humorless ardency, dull and lusterless as unburnished silver. In the end, he’d known he did not love her, nor she him, and she had gone on to choose another, one of Galadriel’s Sentinels.

He quickened his steps, admitting to himself that he was eager to complete his task and return to Elanor. He looked forward to teaching her how to repair arrows, to instructing her and watching her face as she learned this basic skill. Even more, he wanted to show her his city and behold her expression when she saw Galadriel’s garden for the first time. And perhaps later he might enjoy another shoulder rub from those talented and lovely hands . . .

Rúmil paced back and forth in exasperation along the small terrace of his talan, waiting for Haldir to put in an appearance. “What can be keeping him? We should have left for the border an hour ago, but his message said to wait and here we are. Waiting!”

Orophin lounged on a curving bench, chewing idly on the stem of a fallen leaf. “What difference does it make? If he said he will be here, then he will be. Why do you not relax? It will be our last chance for a long while. Months, probably,” he added gloomily. “Or millennia, considering how furious Haldir was with us. He has not forgotten what we did to him.”

“What I want to know is what he has in mind for Elanor! What can he be thinking, keeping her in his talan like that? It is most unlike him. Ever since that business with Healea—”

Orophin waved this aside. “That was centuries ago,” he said, “and he has never said one word about her since. I think he is very glad she chose another.”

“I agree. My point is that his interest in the fair sex since that time has been reduced to physical encounters and nothing more. There was a time when he had hopes beyond a bit of bed sport.” Rúmil’s voice had grown pensive.

“Are you interested in her?” Orophin inquired curiously.

Rúmil stopped pacing. “In Elanor? Well, she is pretty, of course, and she amuses me. I would not mind getting closer to her,” he added cautiously. “She has nice legs.”

“And when did you see her legs?” Orophin demanded with a snort.

“Just before she fell in the stream. She was holding her skirt quite high.” Rúmil smiled at the memory. “I think even Haldir enjoyed the view.”

“Well, if you’ve a mind to pursue her, do it warily. I have a strong feeling our brother regards her as his personal property.”

Rúmil’s brows rose. “Indeed. That is interesting.”

A sound at the door brought the conversation to a quick halt. Haldir strode across onto the terrace, his face set in its usual imperturbable expression. He looked from one to the other of them as though he knew they had been discussing him.

“Well, we waited,” Rúmil informed him, his tone demanding an explanation for the delay.

Haldir strolled over to the bench and sat down next to Orophin. “I know I said you were to go to the border until at least mid-summer, but I have changed my mind. I want the two of you to return to the city at the end of the month. I have several others who can take your place at that time.”

Both elves’ jaws dropped. “The end of the month? But that is only two weeks.” Rúmil and Orophin exchanged a quick, confused glance.

“You are referring to this month? Not some other month? Or some other century,” Orophin inquired, a bit jokingly. “What of our punishment? You are furious with us, remember?”

Haldir only smiled one of his irritating smiles. “I should exile you for a year or two, but I am prepared to forget what you did.”

“Forget?” Rúmil repeated suspiciously. “Is this some trick? We drugged you and tied you to Elanor’s bed. We stripped you and left you at her mercy.”

“So you did,” Haldir agreed. “Yet no real harm came of it except the temporary loss of my dignity. As to that, the two of you are always telling me I have too much pride so I suppose I can spare a little.”

Orophin shook his head. “This is unlike you, Haldir. What are you not telling us?”

“You are unhappy with my decision?” Haldir inquired in a languid tone.

Rúmil grinned. “Two weeks is long enough,” he put in hastily. “By then we will have fully repented our part in Elanor’s plans.”

“I do have another task for you,” Haldir added. “When next I go to the border, I want the two of you to keep watch over Elanor. I cannot be with her all the time, obviously. The pair of you can make sure she has all she needs, but you should take care not to let her twist you around her finger, which she will try to do. She must learn to communicate her needs in a non-confrontational manner or suffer the consequences.”

Rúmil shifted his feet. “I have no problem with that, but I have a question for you. What is your interest in Elanor? Why are you keeping her in your talan?” He frowned suddenly. “And where did she sleep last night?”

Haldir arched his brows. “Those are three questions, brother. I will answer only one and that is the first. My interest in her is as a guardian to his ward.”

“So Rúmil is free to court her if he pleases?” Orophin said slyly.

“I did not say that. I expect the two of you to treat her as you would a younger sister.”

“I might find that difficult,” Rúmil protested, “since I have never had a sister. And, by the Valar, I don’t regard her as a sister! And I will court her if I choose!”

Haldir slowly rose to his feet, facing his youngest brother with an indecipherable look. “If you do, you will remember that she is under my protection. You will be accountable to me for anything you might do. You are also charged with maintaining the discipline I have imposed on her. That is my command, and I mean it.”

A quick flush skittered across Rúmil’s cheekbones. “It sounds to me as though you want her for yourself!”

Haldir did not answer this. Instead he said, “Where is that cot you used to have? I wish to borrow it.”

Rúmil stared at him. “I . . . lent it to Ondion a few years ago. He never returned it.”

Haldir nodded. “I will acquire it from him. Until the end of the month, then. Farewell to you both.”

After he was gone, Orophin looked at Rúmil. “I think we have the answers to some of our questions. As for the rest, it is none of our concern. Do you really wish to court her?”

“Not as much as I wanted to know what he would say.”

“So I thought,” Orophin murmured. He cast the leaf aside and stood up. “Let us go, brother.”

It seemed to Elanor that Haldir had been gone a very long time. She had eaten, washed and dressed, tidied up, and laid out the damaged arrows upon the table. What was taking him so long? She had an urge to go exploring, and with the passing of each minute this urge grew stronger. True, he had indicated that she should remain here, but he had not actually forbidden her to leave. He simply must have been delayed.

Elanor tapped her fingers on the table, feeling restless and rather militant. Really, she saw no reason why she should not go out. His laundry could wait; she had seen that he had plenty of other garments to wear, although the same could not be said for her. She now regretted not bringing more items with her, but that could be rectified later.

Yes, she would go out. She would just take a short walk and then come right back and he need never know that she was gone. Heading for the door, she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her pale yellow gown and stepped outside.

For the first little while, she contented herself with just strolling around, working her way downward each time she encountered a set of steps. Now that she felt so much better, she could more fully appreciate the architectural splendor that had gone into this elaborate city in the trees. Just as in Rivendell, every minute detail displayed amazing craftsmanship, yet it was nothing like Rivendell at all. And just as the Sylvan elves had seemed more dangerous than the Rivendell elves, Caras Galadhon seemed more ancient and mysterious. It stirred something within her that almost gave her chills.

Eventually she reached the forest floor, and looked about, wondering which way was southeast. It might be nice to take a quick peek at Galadriel’s garden before she returned to Haldir’s talan. Choosing a path at random, she began to walk. The air smelled lovely, and for a moment she closed her eyes, smiling as a sense of peace crept over her. Perhaps her time in Lórien would be more enjoyable than she expected . . .

This was her last thought before she collided violently into a rock hard body that reminded her of Haldir. Shocked, Elanor stumbled back only to find herself held upright by a strong pair of hands.

“Forgive me, my dear,” said a deep male voice. “I seem to have positioned myself in an inconvenient location.”

Elanor looked up into a pair of blue eyes the color of a hot summer sky, eyes gleaming with laughter and wicked appreciation as they roved over her face and figure. Whoever he was, he had to be the most spectacularly beautiful elf in all Lothlórien. Striking features, brilliant white teeth, sculpted cheekbones and sensual lips vied with a physique that rivaled Haldir’s in muscular magnificence. His long hair hung nearly to his waist, its color closer to gold than silver, like the rays of the sun cast upon a smooth morning lake.

Elanor gulped. “Forgive me. I was not paying attention to where I was going.” She would have stepped by him, but he retained his hold on her arms.

“Don’t run off. You are not of Lothlórien, and it is rare for us to have visitors, or at least visitors of such exceptional beauty. May I have your name?”

Elanor nearly snorted at the fulsome compliment. “My name is Elanor. Excuse me, but I must go.” She spoke the words firmly, but still he did not release her. His raised brows made her clench her fists.

“A lovely name. It suits you.” He smiled. “Why must you go? Can I be of assistance? Perhaps a distraction from your . . . duties?” His smile increased, his partly lowered lids barely masking a gaze that gleamed with dark and sensual secrets. Something told Elanor that he had already known who she was, though why he had pretended otherwise she could not fathom.

“I need no distraction.” She twisted free and turned around, but he followed closely.

“Are you running away from me, Elanor?” Now he sounded concerned, his tone reminding her a little of Telrion. She halted her steps and turned to look at him. Had she been too abrupt? She did not want to hurt his feelings.

“Not at all. I appreciate your concern . . .” She wondered what his name was.

“I am Lurien,” he filled in helpfully. “A Sentinel for the Lady.”

Elanor glanced at him. “A Sentinel? What does that mean?”

“I am one of Galadriel’s guards.” He sounded very proud when he said it, and seemed to expect that she would be impressed.

“Oh, I see. You are one of Haldir’s Wardens.”

His golden brows snapped together. “I am not. The Sentinels are not under the March Warden’s command. We report to Lord Celeborn himself.” Something in his quick, almost affronted rebuttal pricked Elanor’s attention. Was there perhaps some competition between the two groups of warriors?

“Oh,” she said. “I did not know there was a difference.”

Lurien gave an elegant shrug. “There is no way you could know unless someone told you, which I am sure Haldir did not. He does not like knowing there are those who are not under his command who are as important-if not more important—than he is. However, you need not concern yourself with that. Are you lost, my dear? May I escort you somewhere?”

It flashed through her mind that she might ask Lurien to show her the way to Galadriel’s garden, but she found she no longer wished to go there, at least not with Lurien at her side. She shook her head, saying, “I must go back. Haldir will be wondering where I am.” In fact, she knew she was very nearly lost already, though she thought she might have been able to find her way back given some time.

“It would be my honor to escort you, and I insist. You could wander for hours otherwise. You are staying with Haldir?” he asked smoothly.

“That is correct,” she said shortly.“I am his ward, and I left without him knowing.”

“And to displease Haldir is to invite disaster,” he drawled, his tone a little too sarcastic for Elanor’s liking.

Elanor did not reply for in truth she did not know what to say. Her sudden and powerful urge to defend Haldir came as a shock, but she did not follow it. She decided not to question Lurien until she found out more about him from Haldir.

The climb to Haldir’s talan seemed to go much more quickly than it had the previous day. Soon, Lurien was leading her up the steps to Haldir’s door.

Before Elanor had time to thank the Sentinel properly for his escort, the door swung open and Haldir stepped outside. The two male elves faced each other, their gazes locked and none too friendly.

Lurien raised a long blond eyebrow. “I found this sweet maid wandering among the trees, March Warden. You might want to keep a closer eye on your pretty ward. Such flowers are easily plucked.”

Haldir’s eyes narrowed.

At the sight of Haldir’s icy mien, Elanor decided it was better to retreat. She slipped around Haldir and went into the talan, pulling the door shut behind her. Yet once she was inside, she stood quietly, longing to press her ear to the door, but not quite daring. What were they saying to each other? She could hear nothing; they must be speaking very softly.

Only a moment later, the door reopened and Haldir entered, closing it firmly behind him. He did not say anything, but only looked at her as if expecting her to be the one to speak first.

“What did you say to him?” she said finally.

“That is none of your concern,” he replied. “Why did you go out when I told you I would be back and that you might get lost?”

“Because you took so long,” she said truthfully. “I did not plan to go far. Are you angry again?”

“Should I be angry? Were you trying to make me angry?” He walked closer to her, circling her as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her face as he examined her from every angle. She wondered if this was a tactic he often employed, this catlike, penetrating appraisal at which he so excelled. She imagined him using it on some bound and trembling enemy just before ordering their execution.

She shook her head. “Of course not. I only wanted to see some of the city, and perhaps to find your Lady’s garden. I almost asked Lurien to take me there, but . . .” But I wanted you to take me there, she almost said.

“That would have been a mistake. Lurien is not to be trusted.”

She wet her lips. “What do you mean? Are you suggesting he will harm me in some way?”

“He will seduce you,” Haldir stated.

She blinked, taken aback by his harsh tone. “You mean he will try.”

Haldir looked at her. “He will succeed. He is experienced and cunning, and you, Elanor, are but an innocent babe. If he wants you, he will have you. And it will mean nothing to him.”

She stood very still, groping for hidden meanings, and finally latched onto the one thing that seemed meaningful. “You do not give me much credit, Haldir. Do you think I am so inexperienced? I can take care of myself in that respect.”

The tilt of his head changed. “Oh, Elanor,” he murmured, moving close to her so that his mouth hovered near her ear, “I think we have already established how naïve you are. Do I have to remind you?” His fingers traced the fine bones of her wrist while his warm breath ruffled a few strands of hair near her cheek. “Perhaps I should, just to convince you.”

A knee-weakening warmth shuddered through Elanor, but she raised her chin and tried to hide it. “Are you suggesting that you could seduce me if you chose?”

Several seconds slipped by before Haldir answered, with dangerous mildness, “Is that a genuine question or a challenge?”

Annoyed, she yanked her arm away, and spun around to face him. “You have said before that I misjudged you. Well, you also misjudge me if you think I am so easily taken in by the likes of this Lurien. Do you think that no one ever kissed me before you came along? Do you really think you are the first?”

If she had expected her vehemence to disorient him, she was mistaken; he only smiled as if she amused him. “I think I am the first to make you feel like you are on fire.”

Her eyes widened at his presumption and arrogance, not to mention his accuracy. “You are quite conceited,” she said unevenly, although she tried hard to sound cool. Suddenly, she caught sight of the mirror above the cabinet, which reminded her of his earlier comment, and her own resolution to use a different strategy with him. She drew a deep breath, determined not to give in to anger this time.

“What I truly think,” she added carefully, “is that you would like me to believe that I am weak and you are strong. In reality, Haldir, I think I have more strength than you realize, and that you have your share of weakness that you think to hide from everyone. Including me.”

For a few moments he fell silent, as though considering her words. “And I think this is going to be an interesting year for both of us. Now, come. We have arrows to repair. Perhaps you can mend their fletchings with as much skill as when you heal my plants and soothe the muscles of my shoulders.”

She glanced at him, flooded with a confusion of pleasure and surprise that fought to cast out her annoyance with him. “Perhaps I should warn you that I am not nearly so talented at laundry and sewing,” she said tartly. “You may be quite disappointed.”

He sent her an amazingly amiable smile. “Well, Elanor, I expect the chance to practice those skills will present itself later today as well as on many other days. One should always give attention to those activities requiring improvement.”

She made a small face, and then pondered the provocative implications of that statement. Silly Elanor, he surely was not referring to that sort of activity. She darted a glance at him, wondering whether he was thinking what she was thinking. If so, she could not tell, for he was taking feathers from a leather pouch and laying them out upon the surface of the table.

She studied him with conflicting emotions, observing the fluid economy of his movements, the fall of his beautiful silvery hair, the unerring focus he gave to what he did. He was a warrior, harsh and dangerous and ruthless, not to mention autocratic and infuriating. So why was it that when she was with him, she felt so fascinated?

She reached over and picked up a feather. “So what should I do?”

Haldir pushed a pile of feathers in her direction. “Sort them by length into similar piles while I mix a paste to apply them.”

They worked in silence for a time, then Haldir showed her how to pull the damaged fletching away from one of arrow shafts and prepare it for the fletching that would take its place. She watched him pick up a new set of equally-sized feathers and dip them into the paste, then carefully place them along the line of the shaft, smoothing with an expert stroke of his fingers. His well-shaped hands invited her notice, his fingers long and graceful, attentive and adept and as powerfully elegant as the rest of him.

He arched a brow at Elanor, challenging her in an unspoken way. Determined to do this, she picked up another shaft, this one free of any feathers, and copied his technique. He took it from her and examined it.

“Very good,” he approved. “Excellent. As I expected of you, Elanor.”

A warm glow grew inside her as they sat together, quietly working on the arrows. It was the happiest Elanor had been in a very long time.

[To be continued . . .] FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED!!!!!