Читать книгу Medieval Brides - Anne Herries - Страница 25

Cecily pushed back the flap of the awning. Edmund was outside, arguing with Judhael.

‘It’s impossible, I tell you,’ Edmund was saying in exasperated tones. ‘So many are dead! And those that are left have fled or have no authority.’

‘What about old Morcar of Lewes, and Siward Edwardson—?’

‘You’ve just hit the nail on the head there, Judhael. They’re old. Both of them doddering, grieving for sons lost in battle. You’re mad if you think they carry any authority…’He caught sight of Cecily and lowered his voice, and Cecily could not catch the rest.

Sighing, she wrapped her arms about her middle and went to peer in Philip’s basket. The baby was awake, on the point of dozing, a dribble of milk at the corner of his mouth for the wet nurse had just set him down.

‘Thank God you found Joan,’ Cecily muttered to Emma, who was still watching the men by the campfire. ‘Otherwise we’d be in for a sleepless night. I only hope we can keep him out of the draughts.’ Impulsively, Cecily gave her sister a hug. ‘I love you.’

Emma turned, her eyes awash with tears. ‘It was not meant to be like this,’ she whispered, in a choked voice. ‘I—’

‘Judhael!’ A lookout cried out. ‘Prisoners!’

Cecily was on her feet in an instant, the hairs lifting on the back of her neck. No…no!

Four horses were being ridden into the encampment. Thank God, Cecily thought, on registering the riders’ flowing hair and beards, Saxons. No sign of Flame. For a moment she was giddy with relief. It was only Judhael’s scouts, coming home to roost for the night. There were no prisoners; the lookout had been mistaken…

As the cavalcade rode slowly through the thickening dusk towards the campfire it was possible to make out that two of the horses did in fact bear high-backed chevaliers’ saddles, with pommels at the front. Cecily froze. Her countrymen thought horses too valuable to risk in fighting; they only used them for transport. And since Saxons fought on foot they had no use for such saddles…

And then she saw him. Adam. Her heart lurched.

Adam and another man were bringing up the rear. They had rope halters around their necks, but that was not the worst of it. Thick branches had been lashed across their arms and shoulders like yokes. With their arms forcibly outstretched, and the weight of their burdens unbalancing them, they were slipping and skidding in the mire. George. The man staggering alongside Adam was George Le Blanc. Their clothes were plastered with mud kicked up by the horses; their heads were bowed; their faces hidden.

With a sob, Cecily gripped Emma’s arm and dragged her from the shelter. Gunni followed, close and silent as her shadow. The trees loomed up around the clearing, their trunks tall and dark in the twilight; the fire sputtered; torches flared.

One of the scouts unwound the leash tying Adam and Le Blanc to his pommel and tossed it to Judhael. ‘Found a couple of strays by the beacon,’ he said, jumping down from his horse with a grin. ‘Thought you’d like to put them out of their misery.’

Cecily stumbled nearer, but Emma hung on her arm like an anchor, and when their eyes met Emma gave her head a quick shake. Ignoring her, Cecily broke free and edged closer. She was not mad enough to think she was a match for Judhael and these men, but she had to get near Adam—she had to. There was room for no other thought.

The torchlight flickered on his dark, rain-slicked hair. Adam, Adam, look at me, she pleaded silently. Let me see you’re not badly hurt. And then, while one of the Saxon scouts was busy muttering in Judhael’s ear, Adam lifted his head, and the flames from one of the torches flickered across his face.

Her insides turned to water. Adam had been beaten; one of his eyes was swollen and half-closed, and those lean cheekbones were smeared with a dark substance that could either be blood or mud. His arms were stretched out, roped to the branch so roughly there was definitely blood at his wrists. Looking directly at her, he lifted his mouth in a lop-sided smile. He mouthed her name, ‘Cecily.’

Edmund muttered at Judhael and drew Adam’s gaze. A slight narrowing of the green eyes told her Adam had marked Edmund’s unsplinted leg.

‘Emma,’ Cecily whispered, desperation putting wild ideas into her head. ‘Give me your eating knife.’

‘Don’t be a fool!’

Cecily swallowed a groan. It was hopeless. What could one girl do with an eating knife? But she could not stand by and watch when—

‘Edmund tells me that you are Sir Adam Wymark,’ Judhael said, speaking in English. ‘The “hero” of Hastings and our self-appointed lord and master.’ He threw a disparaging glance at George Le Blanc. ‘This must be one of your Bretons. Only one? Odd—I’d heard you had a whole troop. Careless of you not to bring the rest with you today—have the others deserted?’

A lock of dark hair flopped across Adam’s unhurt eye. He tossed his head to clear his vision, but the yoke on his shoulders unbalanced him, and he struggled to keep his footing in the mire. Someone laughed. Cecily’s nails dug into her palms.

‘Lost your tongue?’ Judhael asked. ‘Or can’t you understand me?’

‘I understand you,’ Adam replied. His English was heavily accented, but his voice was strong.

‘My man tells me you ran into his arms like a long-lost lover,’ Judhael said, folding his arms. ‘Now, why should you do that?’

Adam stood as straight as a man could with his arms strapped to a wooden yoke. ‘I came for my lady.’

Tears stung at the back of Cecily’s eyes, and the scene blurred. Oh, Adam, you idiot.

‘Your lady?’ Judhael’s voice was harsh, disbelieving. ‘You came for Cecily Fulford?’

‘Yes.’

‘Liar—you think to trick me. The garrison at Winchester put you up to this. We know you were there this morning. You have come to try and discover where I have hidden the silver.’

‘No, but tell me where it is and I’ll be happy to pass the message on.’

‘Gunni!’

‘Judhael?’

‘Our guest doesn’t seem to realise he is in grave trouble. Bring it home to him, will you?’

Rolling up his sleeves, Gunni clenched his fists. Cecily clutched Emma, and when Gunni drew his arm back to strike she flinched and shut her eyes.

‘So you’re Gunni?’ Adam’s voice, almost conversational. ‘The shepherd?’

The thud of Gunni’s fist connecting with Adam’s stomach had her eyes flying open in time to see Adam double over with a grunt. As he toppled, one end of the yoke thumped into the mud, bringing him down on his knees. Cecily’s heart contracted. He looked weary beyond thought. How much of a beating had he sustained up on the hill?

‘You’re Lufu’s man?’ Adam gasped. A trickle of blood ran down from his hairline.

‘Lufu?’ Gunni froze in the act of aiming a booted foot at Adam’s ribs. ‘What about Lufu?’

‘She’ll be all right—’ another gasp ‘—we think.’

Reaching for Adam’s gambeson, Gunni hauled him to his feet, yoke and all. ‘What do you mean, you think she’ll be all right?’

Adam swayed under the weight of the yoke. ‘Le Blanc there found her.’ He paused to search for words. ‘By the little…shelter, I think the word is. Your shelter, I was told. She was unconscious.’

‘Liar! Filthy liar!’

Adam shook his head. ‘She’d been beaten and is in a far worse state than I.’

Abruptly Gunni released Adam and, horror dawning on his face, turned. ‘Judhael? Brun said you went that way. Did you see anything?’

‘No.’

Gunni’s gaze sharpened. ‘Judhael, you wouldn’t…?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ Judhael said, swift as an arrow. ‘The bloody Frank did it.’

‘No!’ Cecily burst out. ‘Adam would never do such a thing! But you…that bite…that bite on your hand…’ Across the clearing, a corner of Adam’s mouth lifted. It was the smallest of movements, virtually imperceptible, but Cecily was absurdly alert to everything about him—from the bruising on his face, to his empty sword scabbard, to the mud on his boots…

Judhael stalked across the boggy clearing, elbowed Emma aside and towered over her. ‘Soft, is he?’

‘Not in the least,’ Cecily said. Her skin was like ice, but she refused to quail before him. ‘But nor is he cruel. Adam had his man punish Lufu for laziness, but he only put her in the stocks. He wouldn’t have her beaten. None of them would. But you…your hand testifies to what you have done.’

Emma’s breath hitched, and Cecily realised that Gunni was not the only person to be watching Judhael in appalled disbelief. Emma and Edmund wore expressions that must mirror her own. This was her father’s housecarl, Judhael, but he was not the honourable man of old. He had become a tyrant.

‘Brun? Stigand?’ Edmund gestured at two of the men by the campfire. ‘You went out with Judhael earlier. What have you got to say?’ The two looked uncomfortably at Judhael and clamped their lips together. Surely they would exonerate Judhael if he had had nothing to do with Lufu being hurt? Their silence condemned him. ‘Judhael?’ Edmund’s hand went to his sword hilt.

‘Sweet Christ—as if I would! Surely you don’t believe his word over mine? The blasted Breton is trying to divide us. Gunni, continue.’

‘He did it,’ Le Blanc said, his gaze pinned on Judhael. ‘I…how do you say?…I watched him.’

Gunni’s face suffused. ‘You bastard, Judhael!’ A large fist slammed into Judhael’s face and Judhael went down. Gunni looked at Adam. ‘At my hut, you said?’

‘Aye.’

Gunni snatched a horse from a scout, flung himself into the saddle, and was off, mud spraying in his wake. A skin-shrivelling silence gripped those who remained. Something cold was thrust into Cecily’s palm. Emma’s eating knife.

‘Emma?’ But Emma was not looking her way—she was staring at Judhael as though he’d crawled out of a cesspit.

Not stopping to think, Cecily hurled herself across the clearing to Adam. No one attempted to hold her back. She gave a swift, featherlight caress to his bruised cheekbone and swollen eye, and was rewarded with one of his lop-sided grins. And then she was sawing for all she was worth at the leather ribbons binding him to the yoke.

‘Hurry, Princess,’ Adam murmured, glancing over her shoulder at someone coming up behind her.

‘I know, I know.’ But the chill had had turned her fingers into thumbs, and the leather resisted Emma’s eating knife, and Cecily was terrified lest she slice through one of the arteries on Adam’s wrists, and…

‘Let me,’ a voice said, directly behind her. Edmund, with Gurth at his side…

Desperately, Cecily gripped Emma’s knife.

‘Gurth, the yoke,’ Edmund said. ‘Hold it fast.’ Gurth moved behind Adam.

‘Edmund, no,’ Cecily moaned.

Edmund grinned, and for a second Cecily glimpsed the old Edmund—the Edmund she had known in her childhood, before she had been sent to the convent, before the Normans had crossed the Narrow Sea. Edmund’s seax flashed, and the yoke dropped into Gurth’s waiting arms. Gurth hurled it to the ground with a thud.

Adam’s arms fell, and he blanched as the blood rushed back into them. Taking his hand, Cecily draped it over her shoulder. Adam gripped her to him like a vice, their fingers entwined, and suddenly, despite the mud, despite the damp and the cold, it felt like summer.

Le Blanc too was freed from his yoke. He stood, bemusedly rubbing his wrists, his eyes fixed on Judhael, who sprawled in the mud with Stigand’s sword at his throat. One hand over his nose, Judhael attempted to rise, but Stigand’s sword, a slim silver line in the firelight, held him down.

Pointedly, Edmund sheathed his seax. ‘I’ve travelled as far as I’m going with you, Judhael. You take roads that I’ll not walk on. Lufu…’ Wearily, he scrubbed at his face. ‘You should not have done that. Lufu is one of us.’

‘That trollop has a loose mouth. It needed closing.’

‘But to leave her unconscious and bleeding, out in this weather…! No, Judhael, that was ill done.’

Stigand allowed Judhael to struggle up on one elbow. Blood trickled from Judhael’s nose, his lip curled. ‘So, Edmund, you’re allying yourself with the new Lord of Fulford?’

‘I didn’t say that, but I’ve done travelling with you.’

‘And what about me? Do you hand me to the Frank, so he can dangle me from the nearest gibbet?’

Emma put her hand to her mouth and sucked in a breath. Leaving the shelter of Adam’s arm, Cecily started towards her. Faint hoofbeats could be heard in the thickets to the south of the clearing, from the direction of Seven Wells Hill.

‘Make your mind up,’ Judhael said, wiping the blood from his nose. ‘The Breton must have laid a trail for his cavalry—listen, they’ve tracked us down.’

‘Damn it, Judhael, you’re a brother to me. I can’t see you in your winding sheet.’ Edmund waved at Stigand, who sheathed his sword. ‘Go on—get out of here.’

The hoofbeats were getting louder. Scrambling to his feet, Judhael dived at a horse and threw himself into the saddle. Wheeling about, he offered Emma his hand. ‘Not the life I’d hoped for, love, but will you join me?’

Emma stumbled back. ‘I…I…no! I’m sorry, Judhael. I…I can’t.’ Blindly, she fled to the awning, cheeks glistening with tears.

Judhael’s jaw dropped and he seemed to age ten years. ‘Emma? Emma?’ He spurred after her, but Edmund snatched at his horse’s bridle.

‘Go, man, if you value your life. They’re almost on us!’

Judhael singled out one of the men by the fire with a look, and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Azor, are you with me?’

‘Aye.’ Slapping Gurth on the back in a gesture of farewell, the man grabbed a horse from its tether and vaulted up.

‘Eric?’

‘I’m with Edmund. When it comes to bludgeoning our womenfolk…’ Eric shook his head.

White about the mouth, Judhael directed a last frown after Emma, and clapped his heels to his horse’s sides. Mud flew. He and Azor thundered out of the clearing, heading north as the last rays of daylight gilded the tops of the trees.

A heartbeat later, Wilf and Brian Herfu cantered up to the campfire at the head of Adam’s troop.

Candles lent the loft room at Fulford a soft glow, and the braziers warmed Adam’s skin. Washed and stripped to the waist, he was standing on the rush matting, submitting resignedly to Maurice’s ministrations.

Naturally he would rather have had his hurts tended by his wife, but she was below, behind the curtain in the sleeping area of the Hall, caring for Lufu. He was only suffering from a black eye and a few cuts and bruises. True, his eye throbbed like the devil, and it had puffed up so much that seeing out of it had become impossible. However, he had had a black eye before, and in a few days it would be back to normal. He might yearn for his wife to take the place of his squire, but it would be churlish indeed to summon her when Lufu’s needs were greater.

‘Turn about, sir,’ Maurice said. Dipping his fingers into a pot of evil-smelling ointment, he smeared it onto Adam’s shoulder, where the yoke had left a colourful bruise.

‘I’m not a horse, man,’ Adam said, wincing as Maurice worked it in with rather more energy than was comfortable.

‘Sorry, sir.’

Adam wrinkled his nose, trying to see over his shoulder into the pot. ‘What in the name of all that’s holy is in that stuff?’

‘Your lady said it would reduce swelling and bruising. It’s got…’ Maurice paused. ‘Arnica in it—yes, I think that was what she said. Arnica.’

‘Arnica never smelt like that when my mother used it. What the devil’s mixed with it? Rancid fat?’

The door latch clicked and a draught whispered across his skin. Cecily. His mood instantly lifting, he smiled—or rather he hoped he did. The swelling on his face probably made it look more like a grimace.

‘It’s goose fat, along with a few other things, and it’s not rancid,’ she said, returning his smile. Advancing into the room, skirts rustling over the matting, she took the pot from Maurice. ‘My thanks, Maurice. I can do the rest.’

Taking Adam’s chin in gentle fingers, she examined his face, turning it this way and that in the candlelight. Maurice quietly let himself out.

‘I hope you’re not thinking I’ll let you smear that on my face,’ Adam said, watching her out of his good eye. Her skin was flawless, and her lips were an invitation to sin—especially when she was smiling at him like that.

‘No? You think it will mar your looks?’ she said. ‘Believe me, sir, you could hardly look worse.’

‘I dare say I’ll live.’

‘That you will, thank the Lord.’ She took one of his hands and traced her fingers over his bitten nails before applying the ointment to his wrist with swift, gentle strokes.

Adam looked down at the top of her veiled head, conscious of a tightness in his chest and the beginnings of that familiar stirring in his loins. She had no idea…She was no longer a virgin, but her innocence remained intact. She did not have the slightest idea that a look, a touch, and he was reduced to a quivering mass of wants and needs and…He sighed. He wanted her. He would always want her. But—he grimaced—he wanted more than her body, he wanted her heart; he wanted her soul. He had not intended that this should happen. He had thought to wed her and bed her, and that would be an end to it. No messy emotions. No pain.

But here, staring at her downbent head, with lust making him hard as iron, there was pain. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him back. This was just like Gwenn. This was worse than Gwenn. This was not meant to happen. She was here in their bedchamber, tending him in a loving manner that roused his every sense, and he knew she would not reject him, and yet the pain remained, inextricably entwined with lust, it would seem. He could not fathom it.

She might have rushed to his defence in the rebel encampment, but he had yet to win her complete trust. Was that at the root of it?

No one had confirmed it to his face, but Philip had to be her brother. If Cecily confessed as much to him, he would know he had won her heart and her trust. And, yes, her heart was what he ached for. He had fled Brittany for a new life, hoping to escape old memories. Not for one moment had he believed that he would find a new love in Wessex, one which burned every bit as brightly as his love for Gwenn had done. But it was too soon to burden Cecily with this. She would not welcome a declaration from him for awhile.

Eyes on that rebellious curl, gleaming gold in the candlelight, Adam cleared his throat. He could be patient. ‘How is Lufu?’

‘Like you, she is black and blue. I suspect she has cracked a rib, so I’ve strapped her up. She must have fallen and hit her head on a stone, which is why she was concussed, but it’s no worse than that.’

‘Thank God.’

‘Aye. Emma and Gudrun will watch over her tonight.’ She lifted her head and grinned. ‘And Gunni, of course. He is sticking to her like glue. Everyone’s come to see how she is—Father Aelfric, Wat, Harold, Carl—everyone. Our people are pleased to have her back in one piece.’

Our people. Our people. A shiver Adam recognised as hope ran through him. She continued to fuss over the burns the bindings had made on his wrist. Idly, he reached for her curl and wound it loosely round his forefinger. Shifting closer, he inhaled: rosemary, soapwort, Cecily. Her scent wrapped round him, befuddling him. His wife.

‘And your sister?’ he asked, managing to stop himself from hauling her to him. ‘What will she do?’

‘I’m not sure. Edmund has offered to help Leofwine and Evie build a new house in Winchester. She may go and live there with the three of them for a time.’

‘She’s welcome to stay here. As is Edmund.’

Cecily shook her head. ‘They won’t do that. Not at present. Maybe later, when memories have…faded.’ She hesitated, doubt in her eyes.

He tipped his head to one side. ‘Yes?’

‘They’ll never tell you where that silver is. They won’t even tell me.’

‘I realise that. My guess is that Judhael will have taken it. Cecily, I don’t care about the silver.’

‘Truly?’

‘Truly. Judhael’s fighting a lost cause. A cask or two of silver won’t change that.’

‘So you…you really aren’t planning to hand Edmund over to the garrison commander?’

Slowly Adam shook his head. He released the curl and watched it spring back into its natural shape. ‘As I said, he is welcome here if he is willing to swear fealty to me.’

‘In time he may.’ Cecily sighed.

‘Princess?’ He picked up the curl again, threaded it through his fingers.

‘I…I was talking to George Le Blanc while I looked at his hurts. He told me how you came to be captured…’

‘And?’

‘He says you lured the rebels up to the beacon with smoke signals. Why?’

Adam shrugged, freed his hand from the strand of hair, and made to turn away. He did not want her to read what was in his heart. She was not ready. He steeled himself to face the fact that she might never be ready.

‘Wait, Adam,’ she said, catching his other arm and applying ointment to it. ‘Why would you lure them like that? Did you think that you and George alone could protect your interests in Wessex?’

Her head remained downbent, she was entirely focused on his wrist, but something about her tone told him that her question was not an idle one. His answer was important to her. He tipped her chin up. A faint flush was staining her cheekbones. ‘Cecily, as I told Judhael in the clearing, I came for you.’

A tiny crease appeared between her brows. ‘Yes, I remember that is what you said. But surely…? M-me? You put yourself in mortal danger with only one man at your side—for me?’

‘I came for you.’ Removing the pot from her, he put it on the washstand and slipped his hands round her waist. She would not refuse him. If he could not have her heart, there was comfort to be found in her body—much comfort. ‘You are the most important of my interests in Wessex,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

‘I…I am?’

She wasn’t fishing for compliments. She really didn’t believe him. That father of hers—to thrust a loving, lusty girl like Cecily into the clutches of that cold-hearted Prioress…

‘Certainly. I’d like to say I had a plan for winning you back, but I’d be lying.’ He shook his head, his voice husky as he brought her body next to him. ‘When I returned from Winchester and found you gone I thought you had betrayed me.’

‘You were angry,’ she said softly. Resting her cheek against his chest, she put her arms about him and loosed a storm of lust and longing in him. It was enough to make him forget the aches in his back and shoulders and ribs; enough to make him forget the swelling of his eye…

He cleared his throat. ‘I was, but when we stumbled across Lufu I was obsessed by one thought—to get to you before Judhael treated you in the same way. I had no idea what I might do when I reached his camp. I just rushed in like a madman.’ He shook his head in self-deprecation. ‘Some strategist, huh?’ Her head shifted, and when she kissed his chest he nuzzled the top of her head.

‘I’m glad you did rush in,’ she said. ‘It brought home to Emma and Edmund that Judhael was turning into something…monstrous.’

Gently, he raised her chin. ‘Am I monstrous in your eyes?’

‘You know you are not. I…I have grown very fond of you.’

Fond? Disappointment engulfed him, but he strove to hide it. Would he always be the invader here? Would the true identity of her brother stand between them for ever? ‘That remark deserves a kiss,’ he said lightly. ‘I hope you like kissing ugly Bretons with black eyes.’

Her lips curved. ‘I do if they go by the name of Adam Wymark.’

‘That’s lucky,’ he said, smiling as their lips met.

It was a long kiss. Adam intended to keep it gentle, but her lips softened and parted, and her tongue met his almost eagerly, it seemed, and her body was warm against him, and her hands had somehow slipped under the waist of his braies and down over his buttocks, holding him to her while she pressed herself against him. A groan escaped him. She had no idea…When she moved like that he wanted to feel her breasts move against his bare flesh. He wanted…

Breathless, he drew back and looked at the bed.

She flushed and gave a shaky laugh. ‘Yes, it is late, isn’t it…?’

Smiling, he manoeuvred her towards the bed, and began pulling out the pins that kept her veil in place. So far there had been no mention of the snuffing out of candles, which was promising. ‘It is late indeed. It is time for you to show me how fond you are.’

She drew back, not meeting his eyes. ‘Adam, there is one thing…’

‘Mmm?’

‘A-about Philip.’

Casting aside her veil, he froze. Yes! Tell me—tell me now.

‘He…he…’ Distancing herself from him, she wrung her hands. ‘Adam, you say I am important to you—’ her voice cracked ‘—but I have something to say to you that will truly anger you.’

‘I doubt that.’

She twisted her head back and forth. ‘No, it will. You see, I have lied to you about Philip…’

‘I know.’

‘He…he’s my brother…’

‘I know.’

‘Not Gudrun’s son, but my brother—Wh…what did you say?’

Adam captured her hands, brought them to his lips. ‘I know. I know it all. I guessed it some while ago.’ Her eyes were wide and dark, her expression puzzled.

‘And you’re not angry? You’re not planning to send him away or…?’

‘Kill him?’ Adam’s lips twisted. ‘I hope you’d know I’d not harm a baby.’

Her fingers clung to his. ‘I do know that—yes, I do. You are a good man—how else could I love you? It…it’s just that—’

His heart pounded and he gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Say that again.’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘The part about you loving me.’

Shyly, her eyes met his. ‘I do love you. But I have already told you—’

‘You said fond.’ Throat dry, he swallowed, stumbling over the words. ‘Fondness is not love.’

‘I…I know. I…I thought you would prefer to hear that. I realise I can never replace your Gwenn, but—’

Heart swelling, Adam leaned his forehead against hers and gave a shaky laugh. ‘Oh, dear girl, of course you can’t replace Gwenn. No, don’t pull away—listen. Gwenn was Gwenn, and you are you. But don’t think I don’t love you. I do.’ Aware his fingers were boring into her shoulders, he slackened his grip and took a deep breath. ‘I love you, Cecily. I will never stop loving Gwenn. She was part of me, but she is in the past. You are my present. You are my future. You have become the wife of my heart. When you are not with me I ache to see you. When you are with me I long…’ He grinned. ‘You know what I long to do.’

Her blue eyes were fixed on him, soft and warm and loving. ‘Truly? It is not just carnal love?’

‘Truly. I love you.’ The look in her eyes made his bones melt. Cecily, his princess—his. Only now was he beginning to believe it.

‘Your brother will live here,’ he said, while he could still think. ‘And when he is older, if he wishes, I will sponsor him to become a squire. After that…’He shrugged. ‘The rest is up to him. His life will be his to make of what he wills.’

‘Oh, Adam.’ She offered him her lips. ‘Kiss me.’

Drawing her to him, he took the taste of her deep into his mouth, savoured it, wondered how he had ever lived without it.

‘Butterflies again,’ she murmured, her tone edged with wonder.

‘Butterflies?’

Shifting slightly, she pressed his hand to her belly. ‘Here. When you kiss me, butterflies start to dance here—countless butterflies, more than the stars.’

‘And that is a good thing?’

Gentle fingertips caressed his cheek, outlined his mouth, left fire in their wake. ‘Yes, indeed. And sometimes when you touch me…the merest hint of a touch…’ She sighed. ‘It is most strange.’

He reached for her girdle, smiled as simultaneously she reached for the tie at his waist. ‘It is the same for me.’

‘Really? We must be very odd. Adam…?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Tell me you love me one more time…’

‘Cecily, I love you. You are the sun and the moon to me. You are my soul…Will that do?’

Smiling, she fell back onto the bed. A small hand reached up to draw him close. ‘It will…for the time being…’

Shivering with delight as her hands ran up and down his back, he gestured at the bedside candle. ‘Do you want this out?’

‘No, my love. From tonight there will be no more dark secrets.’

Smiling, he caught her to him and brought his lips urgently to hers.