She turned her face to rest her cheek on her knees, smiling in response to his touch. Even in the darkness, his face illuminated only by the light of the moon, she could see his concern.
“I know I cannot ask you to stay, but you must know I shall miss you. Already I feel an emptiness that threatens to consume my entire soul.”
He brushed away a lock of her hair that had strayed onto her face. “Such beauty should never know sadness. ‘Tis a crime.”
The way he looked at her, the way he caressed her face with his eyes, made her breath quicken.
He leaned close. “I wish that I could stay, but others are expecting my arrival.”
She nodded, speechless. She would not make it difficult for him.
He sighed and his gaze searched her face. “I ask that you believe that I will return, for you have my heart, fair lady.”
His lips were painfully close to hers. She leaned in ever so slightly, just to feel his sweet breath dance upon her lips.
Jonathan hesitated only a moment before he softly kissed her cheek. His fingers traced the softness of her lips, lingering on their fullness. “May I?”
She would not deny herself. “I pray that you wait no longer,” she whispered. Her belly tightened with the anticipation. She reached out and held his arms, feeling the hard muscles respond to her touch. His kiss sent her into a sweet darkness, which then exploded with heat that demanded more. His kiss was slow, deliberate, tasting her upper lip, then her bottom lip. She pulled him to her, craving more, anxious to feed this awakened hunger. A sigh of his name escaped her lips.
Jonathan suddenly pulled away, his own breath coming in short bursts, smiling as Catherine whimpered in protest. “I will escort you home, milady, before I can no longer call myself a gentleman.”
“But...”
He placed a silencing finger to her lips. “It must be so. You will be missed if we dally much longer.” He helped her to her feet. As they stood with just a feather of space between them, he slid her hands under the folds of his shirt, against the bare skin of his chest and held them there. “Take care of my heart, Catherine, for I give it to you for safe keeping.”
The rapid beating pounded against his warm, smooth skin, covered firmly by her hands. As his eyes penetrated her own, she tried to commit to memory every line of his face, the lush lashes that adorned his amber eyes, the curve of his lips, the straight line of his nose, the way he tucked his hair behind his ears. This is the way she would remember him. This is how she would dream of him.
They walked the short distance to her horse in silence, fingers entwined, savoring the last few moments before he would once again bid her farewell.
Chapter 29
“There’s no excuse. It was a big, fucking mistake.”
Bryce’s usually composed features had given way to lines of worry, his brows drawn together tightly over his steel blue eyes. Two days had passed since Eryn’s gallery showing. Two days that Bryce relived his betrayal over and over, with Brandi’s presence a constant reminder. The sun bore down from straight above, causing beads of sweat to form on his upper lip. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring into the pool.
“But you needed me, Bryce,” Brandi said soothingly. “You were hurting and you needed me.”
He turned to glare at her. “Yeah, like Eryn would understand that.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “No, it was unforgivable.”
Brandi leaned back in the lounge chair, turning her face to the sun, and placing her hand on her belly. “What if you got me pregnant? Are you ready to deal with that?”
He shot her a deadly look. His anger towards her now matched his anger at himself. “I should kick your scrawny ass out of here right now,” he threatened.
Her smile, one that had been hovering on her face for the last two days, turned smug. “Ah, but then I would tell her, wouldn’t I?”
“Tell me what?”
Bryce stood up quickly to face Eryn, a weak smile barely hiding his anguish. “Hey, you’re back.” He pulled her toward him, but she resisted.
“Tell me what?” Eryn repeated, looked expectantly from Bryce to Brandi.
“Well?”
Brandi slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked at Bryce and then laughed. “Big surprise.”
Bryce put his arm around Eryn and led her towards the house. She tried to shrug him off, but he held tight. Once inside, he turned her face towards him and kissed her, a gentle, lingering kiss that slowly deepened.
Something was wrong, Eryn thought. She could feel it in the way he kissed her. Pushing against his chest, she managed to break free and step back. “What surprise?”
She felt his hardness pressed against her belly as he pulled her closer to him again.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” he said, dropping light, feathery kisses on her lips. “Let’s go upstairs.” His fingers whispered a trail, starting behind her ear, down her neck, slipping her strap from her shoulder, his lips not far behind.
Gone was the coldness and demanding persona Bryce always wore as a second skin. Here, thought Eryn, was desperation and an eagerness to please. Did he feel that guilty about forgetting her art gallery opening?
He picked her up and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom, locking the door behind them. Two steps into the room and he stopped, closing his eyes for a long moment, but not before Eryn saw the anguish in his eyes. She started to ask what was bothering him, but his mouth crushed her question mid-breath.
He laid her gently on the bed, his eyes raking the curves of her body, before towering above her, his muscular thighs straddling her hips.
Eryn studied Bryce while his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes were intent on the slight tremor in his hands. Once or twice he swallowed as if it hurt, like tasting bile and forcing it back down before it could surface.
His shirt fell open, exposing his broad chest and hard abs that rippled towards his waistband. His chest heaved now with ragged breaths when Eryn stroked the length of his stomach.
Something about this was all wrong, she thought, her senses acutely aware of his unease. He was normally too confident to be fumbling with his clothes. Their lovemaking had always taken place on his home field, played by his rules. Now he just seemed lost, like someone had just misplaced the playbook.
“Hey, you guys?” The knock that followed was not a timid one, but one demanding attention.
Bryce cursed under his breath. “No!” That one word said more than “no.” It contained anger, frustration, hatred, and pain.
He leaned over her now, fisting her hair, and pulling her closer. His kiss was unforgiving. His other hand pressed unrelenting against her body.
This Bryce scared her. Only when he pulled away did she realize she had been lying there, not moving, and not kissing him back.
“I’d do anything for you.” He bent over her to kiss her again, his breath coming quicker. “We need it to be just us. No more Brandi. She’s ruining it for us. She always has.”
“I know, I know.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s not that easy though.” She wanted to say what he wanted to hear, but she had to fight with her conscience. “How can I kick her out now after I single-handedly ruined her life?”
Bryce let out a labored breath and rolled on his back, his voice now flat. “She did it to herself, Eryn. You don’t owe her anything.”
“She seems to think I do.”
“Christ, Eryn. She thinks everyone owes her.” He shoved his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“I know,” she whispered. She rolled on her side and placed her head on his chest. Her hands skimmed over the flat plane of his stomach. He felt good. Solid and strong. Maybe their definition of love wasn’t the same and maybe they had different ways of showing it, but it was all they had.
“I’ll help her get a place to stay,” she said. “Then she’ll be gone. I promise.”
His arms wrapped around Eryn, crushing her closer. “So
on, Eryn,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Chapter 30
“Our presence is required at Rynonshire.” Lord Roberts’ chair scraped the stone floor as he pushed away from the table. “There is a bit of unrest there. Some problem between the villagers and the steward.”
“Our presence, milord?” Galen tensed.
“I have been giving this some thought.” Lord Roberts crossed to the window, and stood looking out, hands held behind his back. “It seems as though our good steward is unable to maintain control. There is also rumor he is abusing his station.”
“How does this involve me, milord?”
“I am asking you to come with me, Galen,” Lord Roberts spoke again, not turning around. “You are my most trusted knight. If I must dismiss him, I would have you there in his stead.”
Galen could feel the blood fade from his face, his body suddenly cold. To oversee one of Lord Roberts’ many holdings was an honor any knight would embrace, but residing at Rynonshire would mean leaving Catherine behind. That is, if she did not agree to wed him.
Lord Roberts turned abruptly. “Prepare yourself and ten of your men. We leave immediately.”
“Is it necessary to leave so soon, milord?” Galen stopped himself from saying anything more. Never before had he questioned a command given to him.
Lord Roberts raised a brow at Galen’s objection. “Yes, it is. Either the steward has the spine of a grass blade or is deceitful. Either way, I must discover the cause behind the unrest.”
Lord Roberts studied Galen’s face with an unwavering gaze, and Galen returned it, his own eyes yielding very little.
“You worry about Catherine.”
Galen’s fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. What he truly wanted was Lord Roberts’ blessing to run his sword through the merchant.
Controlling himself with a deep breath, Galen spoke the truth. “Milord, I love Catherine very much.”
“The merchant. You’ve not been able to fend him off?” A hint of amusement quivered at the corners of Lord Roberts’ mouth. “You are slipping, Galen.”
“Milord, she is confused as to where her heart truly lies.” He let out a breath, defeat weighing on his shoulders. “I know she cares for me. I have been patient, milord. I have given her time. I believe she would have agreed to be my wife had this merchant not interfered.”
Lord Roberts slapped Galen on the shoulder. “Whether or not it is necessary for you to oversee Rynonshire, I will ensure that you and Catherine are wed.” He turned and walked back to the table to gather his papers. “It is long past time for her to choose.”
Galen nodded his head in acceptance, but had no feeling of elation in response to Lord Roberts’ declaration. He wanted Catherine to accept him freely, by her own decision. Still, he had no doubt she would be happy with their union eventually. He squared his shoulders and set his chin in determination.
“Thank you, milord.” Galen bowed and turned to the door.
≈
The courtyard was now quiet as the servants went back inside the hall to resume their duties. Catherine watched as Lord Roberts, Galen, Sara, Elizabeth, and ten knights rode out. Their journey would take them to Lord Oakley’s castle for a night, a fact that Catherine did not miss when her father insisted she stay behind. A fortnight they would be gone. A fortnight to be alone to think about her future.
Her father’s words before he left had settled heavily on her heart.
“This matter at Rynonshire will be laid to rest quickly, Catherine. I expect I shall be relieving the steward of his position.” He had looked hesitant and had then said, “As much as I loathe to lose his services here, Galen will be of great value to me at Rynonshire.”
“Galen is leaving Elderidge?”
“Not immediately, but very soon.”
The meaning of her father’s words shook the very foundation of her world. Could she so easily let Galen go? Could she wake up each day knowing she would not see his easy smile?
Out of the emptiness that poured into her heart, emerged the realization this perhaps would give her the time she needed. Time to be with Jonathan and time to convince her father of his worthiness.
Her elation quickly soured. She had no doubt Galen would ask her to accompany him as his wife to Rynonshire. He had selflessly given her the time she asked for and now he would expect her to accept his proposal. She could hardly believe he would so easily leave her behind.
She could deny him, of course, but there was no guarantee her father would approve of Jonathan. Could she defy her father and follow her heart, turning her back on the life she knew?
She looked around the courtyard. All was quiet. She headed towards the stables and ordered Jarrid to saddle her horse. There was no doubt in her mind where she would go. She would seek solace by the water’s edge.
As she and her mare neared the water, she saw a few ships lingering in the port, but La Helena was already making her way towards the open sea. Catherine wished she could reach out and pull the ship back to her, just to see Jonathan one last time.
She turned her horse to the path leading to the beach. The sun glared over the surface of the water, hiding the horizon from view. She filled her lungs with the salty air and then let it out slowly. Once on the sand, Catherine’s horse followed the lazy roll of the waves as they came upon the shore.
Shouts of men drew her attention back to the La Helena. Shielding her face against the sun, she squinted through the glare. The ship seemed to be hesitating, then her sails suddenly became limp, flapping loosely in the breeze. Catherine strained to make out the small boat that was being lowered into the water and the three men who were sliding down a rope into the boat.
What was amiss? Catherine wondered, watching.
Her heart began a slow pounding in her chest. Is it possible one of those men could be Jonathan? Using her heels and slapping the reins, Catherine urged her horse into a gallop. The boat made its way toward the shore, slicing easily through the water with the rhythmic pulling of the oars.
The steady pounding of her heart turned to a stutter when she saw one of the men was indeed Jonathan.
One of the men spoke to Jonathan, gesturing in her direction. He turned and looked at her, with a smile spread wide across his face.
She dismounted, unable to contain her excitement.
Just inside the wave break, the boat was pushed onto the wet sand by the churning water and the three men jumped out to drag it higher on the beach.
Letting it go, Jonathan turned and broke into a run and in a moment he was there. She screamed in delight as he lifted her and spun around, holding her tight to his chest. Barely letting her toes touch the sand, he buried his face in her hair, his lips brushing her cheek.
“Catherine,” he murmured. “I could not leave. Not yet.”
She eased her head back, savoring the tingling of her skin where his lips planted gentle kisses along her neck. Her hands tangled in his thick locks, pulling him closer. How could this be so wrong? Her breaths came in short bursts now, no longer able to deny what she needed. She slid her hands down to hold his face.
His eyes glittered with the same fever she felt rage through her blood. His lips parted in a slow, seductive curve.
Pulling him close, she pressed her mouth to his, seeking the intimacy and warmth of his tongue. She relearned the softness of his lips, savoring how they molded so perfectly to hers. She did not understand what possessed her when he was near. She was reckless in his arms and made bold by the freedom she tasted on his lips. She could not, would not, think of anything beyond this moment. She clung to him because that is where she belonged.
Shouts of encouragement from down the beach filtered through her haze.
Jonathan groaned as he pulled away and lowered her gently to the sand. “It seems that my men approve.”
“As do I,” she said weakly. It was as if she had taken a draught, one that would render her body unable to move, yet she felt incredibly alive.
His finger traced the delicate line of her jaw and down to the soft spot on her neck where her pulse gave away the intensity of her desire.
“Come with me, Catherine. Come sail with me.” He leaned closed, brushing his lips upon her ear.
His soft breath upon her skin sent a delicious chill along her spine. Visions of sailing the open waters, her hair catching in the wind, with Jonathan at her side, engulfed her. Then, other visions intruded: Elderidge on the distant horizon. Galen standing on the cliffs, wondering, searching.
Suddenly, the magic was broken. What was she thinking? She knew what her duty was. She drew a trembling breath and pressed her forehead against his chest. “I cannot. As much as I would so desire to sail with you, my destiny still remains here.”
His hands moved up and down the length of her back with soothing strokes. “Destiny is what we make it to be. It does not make us.” He drew back and lifted her chin. “It is a choice we all have.”
She shook her head. “No, you do not understand. You do not know what it is like to have such responsibilities. I am bound by my station. There are certain expectations.”
His eyebrows raised, he said softly, “I do understand. More than you realize.” He paused a moment before a gleam danced in his eyes. “Come, let us enjoy the day.” He laughed, taking her hand and running down the beach. His enthusiasm was contagious as he pulled her along with him.
She ran with him, her skirts clutched in her hand, squealing as she tried to avoid the water rushing upon the shore.
“Am I correct in assuming you have never placed your feet in the water, milady?” he asked.
She stopped, quite out of breath, her face flushed. “I most certainly have,” she said with indignation. “My mother brought us here when we were children.” She pointed down the beach. “I remember very well gathering shells and exploring the caves hidden in the cliffs.”
“Ah, but do you truly remember the feeling?” he challenged. His face was close to hers now, his breath sweet upon her face.
She lifted the hem of her dress and looked down at her slippers and hose, the only things that kept her away from the cool water.
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