She looked startled, then pleased, then somewhat flustered. He didn’t think he could adore her more. No, not adore . . . love. He loved her.
He almost took a step back at the revelation, so stunning was it. He loved Gwen. The word rolled around in his mind for a bit while he tried to get used to it.
“We will have to see how he shapes up as a husband.” Gwen’s second mother frowned. “We shall have to have the ceremony at home, though. I’ve always envisioned Gwen marrying her ideal woman at home, in a dignified, quiet ceremony.”
This newfound love was a strange thing to him. Oh, he’d felt infatuation before. Lust came with the territory of being male, but love . . . He narrowed his eyes as he thought about it. Love was new. Love was different. He hadn’t ever loved a woman the way he loved Gwen.
“In the bower!” the first mother said happily, clapping her hands in delight. “When the roses are in bloom!”
It was as if a warm burst of sunlight filled his chest, leaving him gently glowing with the wonder that was love for Gwen.
He looked at her again, wondering if she could see the love spilling out of him.
“Argh!” Gwen screamed, her hands making vague gestures of frustration. “No one is listening to me! Gregory, make them list—are you OK?”
He beamed at her. He’d never been one for beaming before, but all this love had to go somewhere, and although it wanted to go straight to his penis and get down to the business of lovemaking, he was a reasonable man, and he knew that Gwen would have an issue with him simply scooping her up and carting her off to the nearest bed. Therefore, the excess of emotion needed a target, and Gwen was the likeliest recipient.
She stared at him as if he was deranged.
“I’m in perfect health, thank you.”
“OK.” She gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s just that you have this pained expression on your face. I wondered if the lightning hurt you.”
“It’s not pain. It’s love. I love you, Gwen. Marry me so that I can take you off and make love to you for days on end without your mothers being upset that I’m male.”
She froze, her eyes huge. “You . . . what?”
“I love you. With all my heart.” Given the stunned look she currently wore, she needed that clarification.
“Glorious goddess!” Gwen’s first mother said, clutching the second mother. “Isn’t he wonderful? I’m not upset that you’re male at all, young man. And neither is Alice.”
“Well . . . ,” the second mother started to say, but at a look from the first, she added, “Gwen has clearly made up her mind, and since you make her happy, then we shall welcome you to our family without reservation.”
Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head, then opened her eyes to give him a steely look. He beamed more love at her. He couldn’t stop himself; it just seemed to keep welling out of him.
“Maybe we should talk about this later,” Gwen said, nodding toward the two men on the floor. “Things are a little bit hectic right now.”
“Life,” he said with as much sagacity as he could muster, “is never too hectic for love.”
“August!” the first mother said. “We must have an August wedding. The bower will be in full bloom then.”
“Consuela!” Ethan bellowed out the tent entrance. “Bring my datebook. What does my schedule look like in August? Can I get away for a wedding at a bower? No, I don’t know where it is, but clearly they need me. Diego, no!”
Holly reappeared, grabbed Ethan by his alien hand, and pulled him out of the tent. The faint cries of, “Holly! You’re hurting Diego! You know he’s just going to want more of that later—” trailed behind them.
“Gwen?” Gregory took her hand and pulled her against his chest. The mothers were busily planning what events would take place at the wedding, while Ethan could still be heard, arguing with Holly about whether or not he could leave Anwyn. He didn’t like the stressed look around Gwen’s beautiful eyes, and thought seriously of kissing her silly right there. “You do want to spend your life with me, don’t you?”
She wouldn’t look him in the eye. She stared at his ear, and a line appeared between her brows. The faintest shadow of doubt pricked his skin. What if she truly did not want to wed him? What if she couldn’t learn to love him as he loved her? What if he was just a number on a long list of men with whom she spent time?
Fear gripped him hard in the pit of his belly at her words. “I’m not sure what I want. Everything’s so confused right now, what with those men trying to hurt my moms, and Death chasing me down, and we have to find that bird or else Aaron won’t let us go, and . . . and . . . I just don’t know.”
She didn’t want him. He released her, wanting to stagger over to the nearest chair and weep as he’d never wept before.
She truly did not want him. How could that be? How could he love her so fully and deeply and irrevocably as he did—he ignored the fact that just a few minutes before he hadn’t the slightest inkling that such an emotion existed—and she not reciprocate those feelings?
He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell. He wanted to beg her to love him, even just the tiniest little bit. He’d be happy with just a tiny little morsel of love.
“That’s a lie,” he said aloud, despair swamping him. “I wouldn’t be happy with a morsel. I want it all. I need it all. If I can’t have it, then . . .” The sentence trailed off, unfinished.
He truly did want to cry.
“I’m sorry, Gregory. I just don’t know what I want—” Gwen’s gaze met his, and in her eyes he saw the only hope he had of happiness. And as her pupils flared with awareness of him, of what he hoped they had between them, she gave a little hiccuping sob and threw herself into his arms, kissing his jaw and chin and nose and finally his mouth, and with that touch, the love within him threatened to burst forth in a blaze of . . . well, love. He couldn’t think of an appropriate metaphor, not with Gwen kissing him like she’d been without his lips for a lifetime, and it would have been rude of him not to give that kiss all his due consideration.
“Of course I want to spend my life with you,” she said a few minutes later when he was forced to stop kissing her so they could breathe. “Even though you are the enemy, I want to be with you. But what are we going to do—”
He laid a finger across her mouth, stopping her from finishing the question. She bit his finger. “We’ll work something out. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me now how very much you love me? Perhaps a quick statement regarding how you can’t live without me, and how life would be bleak if you were forced to do so?”
She stared at him.
“Too soon?” he asked.
“Yes.” She reached behind him and pinched his ass.
He couldn’t possibly love her more than he did at that exact moment.
“What are you going to do about what?” her mother asked. “Is there a problem with you marrying? He’s not married already, is he?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “There are just a few people that must be taken care of. These two”—he nudged the man nearest him with his shoe—“and another woman who’s hanging around Ethan’s camp trying to find Gwen. Not that I’ll let that happen, but I’ll have to deal with her once and for all.”
“Not the reclaimer!” gasped the second mother. “She’s here?”
Gwen stared at them both, openmouthed with surprise. “You know about her?”
The two women exchanged glances . . . guilty glances. “Er . . . yes. Don’t you remember before we came to Anwyn how we hurried you out of that psychologist’s office? That Death woman had followed you there, and we felt it wiser to have you elsewhere.”
“Yes, I remember that. But what I want to know is why you are both looking so guilty now?” Gwen asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t do anything to her, did you?”
The first mother made a gesture that could only be described as wringing her hands. Their faces expressing their distress, the second mother blurted out, “It’s all our fault th
at she’s chasing you, Gwen. We weren’t going to tell you because you were safe here in Anwyn, but if you say she’s here now . . .”
“It’s not your fault in the least,” Gregory told them. “If anything, the blame lies with me, since I am the one who made sure that Gwen didn’t stay dead.”
The mothers gawked at him. “You mean she was telling the truth when she said that she died and came back to life?”
Quickly, Gregory explained the pertinent events.
“Honestly!” Gwen slapped her hands on her thighs. “What is the world coming to when your own mothers don’t believe you when you tell them you’ve died and been mysteriously resurrected!”
“The issue of the loss of time is why Death’s minion is after Gwen,” Gregory added when the two women looked doubtful.
“Er . . .” Once again the two mothers exchanged a telling look.
“Er what?” Gwen stopped looking annoyed and switched back to looking suspicious. “What aren’t you telling us? Does it have something to do with the reclamation woman?”
“We might as well tell them,” the second one told the first. “It’s better if they know, Mags.”
“Yes, but . . .” The first mother fretted with the apron she wore, giving Gwen a doubtful look. “Gwenny will be so . . .”
“Angry? Annoyed? Irritated? Because I’m quickly getting to all three,” Gwen told them sternly. “Spill.”
“The woman may say she’s coming after you because of dear Gregory stealing the time to save your life—and really, that was terribly sweet of you, and Alice and I will always be grateful to you for it, because we just couldn’t be without our darling girl—but it’s not exactly the truth.”
“What is the truth?” Gwen asked, taking his hand. He twined his fingers through hers, a sudden sense of contentment stealing over him. Whatever the problem was, he told himself, he and Gwen would handle it together.
“Well . . .”
“No.” Gwen shook a finger on her free hand at them. “No more of those pregnant looks you’re giving each other. Just tell us how bad it is so we can set about fixing the situation.”
He was even more pleased that Gwen now included him in the mop-up duties of whatever mess her mothers had created.
“I love you more now than I did five minutes ago, and that’s saying a lot,” he told her.
She squeezed his hand. “No distractions from the peanut gallery. Mom? Tell us.”
Her mother took a deep breath, and said so quickly that the words tumbled over each other, “Death is annoyed with us because about three hundred years ago we sold him a love charm that . . . er . . . went awry.”
“Instead of attracting the lady he desired, the spell was intercepted by a behemoth. One that had unconventional tastes,” the second mother confided to them.
“He enjoyed unsavory methods of sexual engagement,” the first mother said, waving vaguely toward her derriere. “Very unsavory when you consider just how large behemoths are. And when Death demanded that we fix the situation—you know full well we never offer guarantees when it comes to love charms because they are so unreliable—we tried to reason with the behemoth (his name was Carl), but he escaped us and locked himself in Death’s bedchamber with Death while he was sleeping in order to have his wedding night—did we mention that Carl wanted to marry Death? I thought that was sweet, really, although what Death said happened that night . . . Well, we won’t go into details because that sort of thing is better not mentioned in mixed company, and really, it wasn’t our fault, but Death didn’t see it that way, and he got a bit stroppy and said that he wasn’t going to rest until he made us as miserable as he was the morning after his . . . I suppose you could call it his nuptials, although he had another word for it, and we knew that he would target you once he found out you’d been born to us because you are so very dear to us both, my darling Gwen, and it was all very upsetting and we didn’t want you to know because you make the biggest fusses about things that really aren’t that dire, and you wanted to go back to the States so you could continue your work, so we didn’t tell you.”
Gwen stared at them for the count of seven before turning to look at Gregory. “I’m going to give you the chance right now to retract your offer of marriage. It’s the honorable thing to do, and I just want you to know that I wouldn’t blame you in the least for not wanting to be connected to my family.”
He flicked his thumb over her lower lip to keep from kissing the breath right out of her. “Not even a violated Death would keep me from your side.”
“OK, that’s going to win you some bonus swoon points,” she told him, her eyes warm with admiration. He wanted badly to get her into the nearest bed so he could show her just how much he appreciated that look. “As for you two . . . you are so grounded.”
“Gwenhwyfar,” the second mother said sternly, “I will not have you speaking to your mother like that. We are not children.”
“You sure act as irresponsible as kids sometimes,” Gwen said with a sharp edge to her voice that softened when she added, “Regardless of what you may have done—and don’t think we aren’t going to have a little talk later about hiding things from me—we can’t lay the blame for the reclamation woman on your heads. She’s here for me because she thinks I owe her my soul.”
“Don’t give it to her. You’re not done using it,” the first mother said, picking up a bottle from Ethan’s desk and giving it a sniff. “You’re going to have need of it when you marry dear Gregory. Alice, pink roses or yellow for the bouquet?”
Alice eyed Gwen thoughtfully. “White. With pale pink carnations. And perhaps a carpet of matching pink rose petals.”
“You have such a good eye for details like that.”
Gwen gave him a long-suffering look before turning back to her mothers. “That’s enough premature planning. And before you blast me, yes, I will marry Gregory, but we have more important things to do now. We have to find that bird.”
“What bird?” the mothers asked.
She turned to him, nodding again at the two men on the floor, both of whom were now moaning, fainting, and making jerky movements with their arms and legs. “Can you take care of them? And by ‘take care,’ I mean get rid of them in some nonlethal way so that they don’t come back and try to hurt my moms again?”
“Yes. Because I love you.”
She rolled her eyes, then leaned in and bit his lower lip. “You’re adorable when you’re being sexy. My moms and I will tackle the folks around the camp about the bird. Maybe one of them remembers it and knows where it flew off to. Maybe we can find a descendant of it, too.”
“We don’t have any time to go bird-watching,” the first mother said.
“The sooner we find the bird, the sooner we fulfill Aaron’s demands, and the sooner we can get out of Anwyn.”
“Who’s Aaron?”
As he was leaving to find a couple of strong-looking lads to help him truss up the two hit men, he heard Gwen explaining about Aaron and Ethan’s war.
Everything was going to be fine. He’d have to find a way to get rid of Death’s minion, but he had an inkling of how that might be accomplished, and he was never one to back down from a challenge. He’d make sure Gwen was safe from the reclamation agent, get rid of the two hit men, and then deal with the situation regarding her mothers and the Watch . . . and the vendetta that Death evidently held against them.
Yes, it was all going to work out to his satisfaction. Gwen might not want to admit yet that she loved him, but she did. She had to. He really didn’t think he could bear it otherwise.
SIXTEEN
The hunt for the missing bird didn’t go spectacularly well, mostly because my mothers were so excited about the thought of Gregory and me getting married, they couldn’t focus for long on anything else.
Married.
That word kept chiming in my head like the deep note of a large bell. Gregory wanted to get married. He loved me. And what was more, he wanted me to love him.
�
�Which of our wedding dresses do you think she should wear?” Mom Two asked Mom as we headed to their tent. “Mine was pretty, but I think yours would go with her coloring better.”
Men had said they loved me before, but with Gregory it was different. He wouldn’t say it unless he really felt it. And I had a feeling by the somewhat shocked expression that he had worn, it wasn’t something he’d felt very often.
“Yes, but yours was made of old lace, and that never goes out of style,” Mom told Mom Two.
That thought pleased me. I told myself to stop being idiotic—what Gregory did or felt before I knew him was absolutely none of my business—but all the same, I couldn’t help a smug little sense of pleasure that it was me he loved, rather than anybody from the great herds of women who I was sure had tramped through his life.
“It was my mother’s lace, too,” Mom Two agreed. “Lovely handmade stuff.”
When a squire bumped into me as he tried to get around us, I realized that I was just as guilty as my mothers of wasting valuable time.
“I repeat: the sooner we find the bird, the sooner we can leave Anwyn and I can wear the lace.” I grabbed a passing squire by the arm when he tried to sidle past. “Hi, there. Would you happen to know anything about a bird that Ethan stole several hundred years ago?”
“A bird?” The boy shifted the long mail coat draped over his forearms and scrunched up his nose. “What kind of a bird?”
“Lapwing.”
“Never heard of it,” the lad said, and wresting his arm away from me, he hurried off on his business.
I sighed. “Someone somewhere has to know something about that bird. It doesn’t help that I don’t know what a lapwing looks like. Do either of you know?”
The moms shook their heads. My mother took my arm and tugged me toward the tent. “But we have the books from the woman who used to live here, and they are full of all sorts of historical notes, so perhaps something is there about it.”
“All right, but while I’m looking at her books, I want you two to get packed up.”
Mom stopped dead. “Why should we pack? We aren’t done here. We have a batch of frogspawn potion evaporating down to just the essence, and you know how long that takes.”
The Art of Stealing Time t-2 Page 26