Page 87 of The Captive Knight
“How could I despise you?” The sweet aroma of the sacred oil wafted toward her from where the bishop must have touched his brow. “You did it all for me.”
“I did it for the woman I love.”
She heard horses’ hooves clanking on the cobblestones outside the castle wall, carts creaking and swaying, peddlers calling their wares, wind riffling along the grass, birds twittering as they set upon the grain that had fallen off a wagon. She heard women laughing by the well, men boasting upon the ramparts, a pig squealing in a pen behind the donjon, and above all, her pulse pounding like a minstrel’s drum in her ears.
“Aliénor,” he said, uncertainty on his face. “I have nothing to offer you but that which you already consider your own.”
Something wet rolled down her face, despite the lack of rain. “You can give me your heart, Jehan.”
“It has always been yours.” He took her hand and flattened her palm on his chest. “From the beginning and now—if you’ll take me as your lawful husband—until the end.”
A husky sound left her throat, a half-laugh. The grass felt soft beneath her knees as she knelt before him. How sturdy his shoulders under her hands.
“Marry me,” he whispered. “Marry me and be my wife.”
“Yes.”
He captured her answer with his mouth. For long and breathless moments, she curled into his warmth, pressed against his familiar chest, and breathed in the scent of his skin while their kiss deepened.
When he finally pulled away, a smile broke over his face like sunshine coming from behind a cloud.
“Make me one more promise, Jehan.”
“Anything.”
“Once we’re wed,” she said, “take me home.”
***
Home.
Aliénor had not expected to feel like this, but the minute they rode over the last hill and she saw the rolling vineyards and watched the sunlight gleam upon the limestone walls of Castelnau-sur-Arrats, her heart swelled to the point where it hardly left her room to breathe.
“Was there ever such a sight, Jehan?”
“Never,” he said, with a knowing laugh. “It’s the finest castle in all of Gascony.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Although considering how often we’ve camped upon rocky ground these past weeks, I’d be transported by the sight of any place that promised a proper bed within.”
She smiled his way as the memory of the journey passed between them. Though they’d spent their wedding night proper in a fine room in the castle at Meaux, they took to the road the very next day. Since then, they’d made do under a linen tent, creating warmth where there was no fire. When necessary, they’d snuck away to quiet coves and the cover of the woods to indulge their urges.
A warmth rose at the memory of last night’s loving in particular. His kisses on her thighs, the intensity of the sensation, her fingers lost in his long, soft hair…
“Woman,” he growled, “if you keep looking at me like that…”
“Like what?”
“Up from under your lashes with mischief in your eyes.”
Her womb tightened as his gaze intensified. Her back might still be bruised from the hard ground—and his, too, she thought with a flush—but her body still throbbed, hungry at the pleasures to come.
“No more,couret. There’s a mile between here and the bed, and you’re making it uncomfortable for me to sit this horse.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” She leaned over her horse to kick it into a gallop.
He reached over to seize the reins. “We talked about this.”
“Jehan, don’t coddle me.”
“I’ll coddle you all I like.” His smile was wicked.
