He had waited until they were all asleep to venture out into the garden. He had waited impatiently all day long for this moment to come. Finally! Finally, he would be alone with his precious Moonflower again.
Tonight, he was well-armed. He would not be felled by a rake again. He carried a blazing torch with him as he made his way towards the moonflower vine. His burning light illuminated the garden before him and gave him a unique perspective of this tiny paradise.
Tonight, he safely traversed the land which had held such pain for him last night. Now he walked unmolested by any gardening implement as his light burned the darkness away. But as he crossed that fateful garden spot, he smiled faintly as he remembered the moment he’d first heard her voice. And then felt her sweet breath passing over him. Her delightful presence had rescued that moment from one of pure agony.
He came upon her in the corner near the moonflower vine. She didn’t turn her head towards him as his light grew brighter as he neared her. He had expected her to look up. To notice the burning flame and run towards him. Instead, she bent over the tiny plant she was setting into a hole in the ground.
He stopped and watched her. She wasn’t even looking at what she was doing. How did she know where that tiny plant needed to go? He observed as her fingers grabbed a pile of dirt and pushed it in around the roots of the little plant. She tamped down on the fresh soil now filling the hole. Then she picked up a can and watered the ground. She kept her fingers on the earth surrounding that tiny plant, even as the water fell down to moisten her hand along with the soil.
Just then, he moved, and his foot snapped a twig underneath him. It was the first sound he had made since entering this section of the garden. Startled, she glanced up at him. He was only a few feet from her. In the light of his flaming torch, he could now see what he hadn’t recognized last night. Her eyes were opaque. The shock hit him like an ice bath.
Moonflower was blind.
He felt an intense sorrow swamp his heart in that moment.
No. No. No!
But then he remembered her concern of the previous night. She had been worried that the rake had blinded him. And she, better than anyone else, knew the agony of such a disaster. He recalled also her relief when she had learned that the rake had missed his eye.
He stood gazing at her beautiful face, marred only by the veil that covered each of her eyes. She was achingly lovely. Breathtaking. Far more captivating than he had realized in the semi-darkness of last night.
But now he saw fear mirrored in her countenance as well as great beauty. That terror made him question the safety of a blind girl gardening alone at midnight. Even within the palace walls. Had she ever suffered an attack in this place?
But if she had, would she have continued to find such peace here?
“Who’s there?” she whispered.
“It’s me,” he responded in that heavenly rumble she had come to love last night.
She scrambled to her feet so that she could bow properly to him. “Your Royal Highness,” she murmured.
Irritation warred with compassion in his countenance. “Get up!” he snapped. “Do not treat me like a stranger tonight!” Then his voice softened. “How did you discover my identity?”
“The entire palace is hopping with the news of your sword fight.” She couldn’t help it. Amusement cloaked her voice, and the corners of her lips quirked upward. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If any of that story was to protect me, then I thank you. I am most grateful to still have my plants.”
But he didn’t need to be blind to detect the sorrow that suddenly invaded her voice as she turned back towards her little garden plot.
“What is it? Why are you sad?”
“I thought…”
She fell silent.
“What?” he queried softly.
“I thought I had made a friend last night. But I awoke this morning to discover that I had simply met a king.”
“No,” he whispered. “You met a lonely man last night. Not a king.”
Tears began to slide down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees on the ground before her little plants. Her fingers began to reach for the next one.
“What do you want?” she groaned.
“I want to be your friend,” he uttered softly as he took another step towards her.
“Why? You feel sorry for the broken, little doll you found in a garden last night?”
“You mean the brave nurse who saved my face?” His gentle voice was growing nearer.
Please. Please make me strong to resist his allure. Please don’t let me fall into his arms. Please. Make the plants enough. Make me so I need no companion. Nor a man’s affection. Certainly not his touch.
His touch.
It had been so long since anyone had touched her. She was dying for lack of a hug. Fading away without the tender brush of another’s fingertips. When he had held her last night, it had taken all of her strength to maintain her composure. She had longed to lean into that strong embrace and bury her face over his heart. To let him hold her all night long.
Her prayers seemed futile. Especially as she felt him squat down next to her. And the next instant, she discerned his breath floating across her skin. She could feel herself melting.
“I came for you, Moonflower. I missed you. I waited all day, through meeting after boring meeting, to see your lovely smile. I wanted to see you. The fascinating girl who saved me last night. And who took such excellent care of me. Even my royal surgeon didn’t believe he could have done better. You saved my life, you know…” His low murmur was teasing her ears.
She shivered. Then she drew away from him. “Poppycock!” she exclaimed. “You suffered no mortal wound. I am not a hero. I simply disinfected your wounds.”
“And stopped the flow of my blood,” he muttered.
He was so close to her that he could smell her refreshing scent again. He wanted to pull her into his arms once more. And this time, taste her lips on purpose. But he didn’t dare. He had the feeling she might slap his face if he tried.
But he did lean closer. His lips nearly grazed her ear as he spoke. “Can I help you?”
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t block him out. She already couldn’t see him, yet she was so drawn to him. She wanted to turn towards that beautiful voice. To fall into those strong arms. To raise her face to his own. To brush her lips across his soft ones. Why was she so convinced that he was beautiful and owned a pair of fascinating lips?
