Part 24 (1/2)
”You could if you married me.”
She turned away. ”We've already had this conversation.”
”It wasn't a conversation, it was a shouting match.”
She moved her shoulders uncomfortably. ”Nothing's changed since this afternoon.”
He chuckled. ”Oh, Alisoun.”
”Except Sir Walter!”
”I can't keep you safe here. I can't keep your people safe here. You have a market, and a busy town center. Peddlers come through, and country people and farmers who've heard about your prosperity and seek some for themselves. I can't keep track of every stranger every moment he's here. Neither can your men, and this vicious attack on Sir Walter is going to put your villagers at odds with the very people who come to trade with them.”
”I know that.” She placed one hand on her stomach and one on her head. ”I don't know what to do.”
He moved closer and pressed her hard for a decision. ”Can you take a chance with them?”
She didn't move.
”I've seen robberies and beatings on the road less vicious than the one inflicted on Sir Walter.” Laying his hand over the one she pressed to her belly, he asked, ”Can you take a chance with the babe?”
She looked up at him, and for the first time, her every emotion showed on her face-fear, distress, anguish. And he wished he had his old Alisoun back. He wanted that serenity for her. He wanted her to have the time to relish her accomplishments, her skills, her pregnancy. But he wanted her to do it with him, and she had to understand their marriage was no longer just an option. It was a necessity.
He hadn't intended to comfort her until she'd given in, but he couldn't bear to see her so upset. Wrapping her in his arms, he rocked her against him.
Turning her head into his chest, she wailed, ”I'm so embarra.s.sed.”
”Embarra.s.sed?” He moved her back a little. ”Why embarra.s.sed?”
”I failed in my responsibility to care for Sir Walter.”
”Corpus Christi.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her down in the middle, he leaned close and told her, ”If there's something keeping Sir Walter awake tonight, it's that he failed in his responsibility to you.”
”Nay, I-”
”Alisoun.” He kissed her.
”I should have-”
He kissed her again.
”I didn't-”
He kissed her again. And again. Soft, gentle kisses that cradled her senses and finally brought her relief from the endless round of self-recriminations. Then he tasted her tears and used his sleeve to wipe them from her cheeks. ”You're the best lady any demesne could have. You know you are.”
She pressed her lips together and sniffed.
”Admit it.” He kissed her. ”Admit it.”
”I am.”
He wanted to grin at her reluctant confirmation, but more than that he wanted to kiss her. She needed his kisses now, needed solace and security. With his tongue, he outlined her lips. When they parted, he ran his tongue along the b.u.mpy ridge of her teeth. She lay there, limp, and he thought she was doing nothing more than absorbing peace of mind from his embrace and affection, but when he thrust his tongue into her mouth she met him.
He pressed harder, sealing their lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He climbed onto the mattress next to her.
The pillows lay above them, and the blankets lay below. Their feet banged the footboard. He'd done this all wrong, but he hadn't planned to do more than console her. He hadn't planned on his rush of desire or her ready response. He still wanted to console her, but with his touch on her cheek, his kiss on her breast...and when she pushed her wimple off, he perceived she wanted it, too.
He lifted each individual lock of hair to his lips, then arranged it around her face like rays of the sun. Quiescent, her eyes half-closed, she let him do what he would. Some men might have been offended. He himself might have remembered his long-dead wife and the way she had lain like a limp fish when he touched her. But with Alisoun, her very lack of motion was a confession. She'd ceded her power to him and trusted him to not abuse that power.
”So you like to talk to me.” With his finger, he curled the short wisps of hair in front of her ears. ”You think I enchant you when I tell you what I think.”
She stretched, adjusting her shoulders. ”You don't say the things other men say.”
”Like?”
”The other n.o.blemen always talk about themselves and how strong they are and how they killed a boar with their bare hands.” She blew a puff of air out and rolled her eyes. ”Like I'd believe that.”
Putting his fingers under her neck, he ma.s.saged the taut muscles. ”They just want to impress you.”
”Why? What makes a man think he can impress a woman by telling lies?”
”Some women aren't as discerning as you are.”
”Some women pretend to believe.”
He grinned and imagined the scene. A respected warrior, fabricating his strengths to impress the cool woman beside him. And the cool woman questioning him until he stumbled in his tale. No wonder she'd remained unmarried.
He looked down to see her staring at him. ”You don't tell tales,” she said.
He shrugged. ”I haven't killed any boars with my bare hands lately.” He trailed those hands down the front of her and loosened the laces that held her gown together.
As he widened the gap in her gown, his hands brushed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, still covered by her s.h.i.+ft. She s.h.i.+vered, and gooseb.u.mps tightened her skin. ”I doubt you've wasted time on something so trivial. You were too busy-”
He cupped her and she took a big breath.
”You were too busy becoming the legendary Sir David.”
Rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, he said, ”Not much of a legend anymore.”
She smiled. ”Your lance strikes ever true.”
He froze and searched her face for an explanation.
”What?” she asked. ”What?”
”You made a jest.”
”So?”
”A bawdy jest.”