Wen Spencer - A Brothers price

“They’re going to see you and the boys!” Summer cried.

“Not if they don’t come into the kitchen,” Jerin said. “And you middle sisters handle the serving in the dining room.”

If Summer’s hair had been longer than the military crop, it seemed she would be pulling it out by now.

“How are we going to keep the royal guard out of the kitchen? They’re probably going to check the food for poison.”

Jerin got out their largest platter and dual meat forks. “Like we keep poison on hand to kill off visiting princesses.”

“Jerin!” Summer wailed.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Summer, the goose was going to burn if I didn’t get it out, and the youngest are hungry, and we have guests-royal guests. If Corelle did the cooking, truly we would be poisoning the princesses.”

“What if they see you?” Summer frowned at the door as if she expected the royal guard to burst through it any moment.

“Then they see me!” He lifted the goose out of the roasting pan and onto the platter. “She’s the crown princess. She’s not going to ride off with me.”

“One of her guards might grab you and desert,” Summer said.

“I’m sure the army knows where their families are located,” Jerin said.

Summer glared at him. “Jerin, will you take this seriously!”

“I am!” He drained the drippings into a cook pot and set it to boil. “Only the creme of military are picked for royal guard. If they see me, the worst that will happen is that they’ll offer for me-and frankly, I think that’s a better fate than the Brindles.”

“Don’t be naive, Jerin.” Summer crossed her arms and gave him a level look. “There are things to be done with a boy that have nothing to do with marriage.”

He stared at her, and then blushed hot. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Summer glanced at the little girls around them, listening intently, and whispered, “You wouldn’t have much of a choice. It’s why they call it rape.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “Trust me, if any of them were carrying crib drugs, our little sisters would know.”

As a distraction, it worked. Summer turned on the youngest in a full rage. “You little brats! You stay out of their rooms!”

Jerin moved on to the potatoes, which needed to be drained by now, and mashed. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes or so, though the sweet potatoes will be coming out later. The boys and I will eat in the keeping room, and then go upstairs right afterward. Heria can make sure the little ones eat, and Corelle can clean up with the girls.”

“I will make sure you have a clean kitchen for morning,” Summer said.

“Thank you, Summer. I’ll make sure our mothers know who acted the idiot and who didn’t today.”

Summer suddenly caught him into a hug. “Oh, Jerin, I was an idiot! I knew we were leaving you and the babies alone! I let Corelle bully me into going. What if they had been raiders? We could have lost everything.”

“I know. I know. Now, let me finish dinner.”

Jerin had picked at his dinner and then left the kitchen without thinking of taking a snack. Later, he found himself so hungry that he couldn’t sleep. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. The house was silent. No one was up. He could slip downstairs, he told himself, grab something to eat from the pantry, and return with no one being the wiser.

He crawled out of bed. and stood a moment in darkness. Normally he’d pull on his trousers in addition to his nightshirt before going downstairs. Tonight, though, his three younger brothers were in his room, restless in their strange beds. He would have to light the lamp to find his trousers. He could imagine a cascade of events, starting with the lamp waking the boys and ending with the rest of the house awake.

It would only take a minute to run downstairs and raid the kitchen. I don’t need trousers. My nightshirt reaches my knees – it’s nearly a walking robe.

The kitchen seemed huge in the darkness. Flames still danced in the hearth; Summer must not have properly banked the cook fires. He frowned, crossing to the hearth, not sure if he should take the time to settle the fire.

“So my sister isn’t imagining things,” a female voice drawled in the darkness.

Jerin startled backward, almost into the flames of the open fire pit. There was motion, and arms pulled him away from the fire with a low croon of “Careful, careful.”

“Your Highness!” His heart hammered in his throat as he recognized a gleam of red hair and delicate features before his body eclipsed the firelight.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the princess murmured, a dark form with strong arms about him. “My sister claimed a beautiful man carried her up from the stream, but I thought she imagined it. Who would let a man risk his reputation so?”

“A sister who will soon be in deep trouble with her mothers and older sisters.”

“Sister?” One arm lifted from his hip to run fingers through his waist-long hair. “You’re not a husband?”

He bit his lip. Husbands were more dearly protected by the law than brothers. He shouldn’t have spoken- each word he said was a danger to him.

‘’Come, come,“ Princess Rennsellaer coaxed gently, ”I’m not going to carry you off like some husband raider.“

“I’m a brother. I’ll be of age in two months.”

The princess turned him slightly so the fire was to her back, the light a gleaming halo about the nimbus of her shadowed hair. Her fingers touched his cheek, trailed down to cup his chin. “Your family runs to good looks.”

“Our grandfather was an exceedingly handsome man,” Jerin admitted, aware suddenly that he wore only one sheer layer of cotton, that she wore nearly the same, and then her left hand cupped his buttocks, pressing his body to hers. “I came down for a bite of something.”

“I have something here you can nibble on,” she murmured, catching his hand, guiding it under her sleeping shirt. Her skin was soft, warm, and firm. His body reacted to the touch while his mind floundered in panic. How much force could you use denying the crown princess without bringing trouble down on your head?

“Your Highness, please.” He tried to sidestep, but she moved with him.

“You desire me,” she noted, running her hand over his body.

“I desire to marry well,” he murmured hoarsely. “For fifteen years I have stayed chaste and pure. I would not like to fail two months shy of the goal.”

She chuckled. “I’m amazed that you’ve seen any women besides your sisters.”

“They take me to social events.” He was babbling now, unable to stop. “How else would families know we seek a marriage alliance? We go to fairs, festivals, and such. The girls compete in races and wrestling, and the boys talk about how their sisters make them crazy and how lonely it is, being the only man among so many women.” He moaned softly now, as her hand had not stayed idle. “That is nice,” he admitted,

“but I wish-” Truthfully he didn’t really want it to stop. “I wish-”

She stepped him back, pressing him against the stones of the hearth, and kissed him tenderly. Her mouth was sweet, and warm, and electric on his. He couldn’t find anyplace safe to put his hands; they tended to flutter like birds looking for a roosting place. He whimpered partially in delight of the many sensations bombarding him, partially in the helplessness of his situation.

“Highness-um-I don’t think-we shouldn’t be-oh, gods-I-” While his mind raced to form some sentence, any sentence, he stumbled on an awful thought. If not for this once, the only intimacy in my life will be with the horsey-faced, heavy-handed Brindle women. Who would know what we’ve done? Who would guess? Who would tell? Certainly not my sisters. With those thoughts, he allowed his hands to alight on her hips, then explore upward, under her nightshirt.