Page 54 of Hers To Command
“I hope you’re not letting Ranulf’s worries about possible consequences upset you, too,” he remarked. “Believe me, if Merrick and Nicholas and my sister say I acted without their knowledge, most people will believe it.”
“Yet I’m troubled to think that helping us has made for difficulties between you and your family and friends.”
Henry crossed one leg so that his ankle rested on his knee, then clasped his hands around his knee. “Oh, you need not concern yourself with that. I see little of my sister, who is busy with her husband and family, and my brother and I have never seen eye-to-eye. Indeed, he’s more like a critical parent than a brother, given that he’s many years older than I. As for Merrick…”
He put his foot down on the floor and stared off into the distance, as if he were no longer in that chamber at all. “It took very little to convince him that I’d betrayed him. I was imprisoned in the dungeon of Tintagel, where he beat me and told me I was going to be executed as a traitor.”
He rose and crossed to the window, and began to toy with the edge of the linen shutter.
“If you would rather not speak about it,” she said gently, “I understand.”
He turned back. “I think you, of all people,canunderstand how betrayed I felt, how upset and lost. You can comprehend my misery and shame.”
She nodded, her heart aching for him, knowing the agony he had felt, and still lived with every day. Some days would be worse than others, but those memories and the hurt was always there, haunting waking hours as well as sleep.
“Every moment I was in that hellhole, I was in pain and despair, afraid every sound, every footfall, meant I was about to die.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Even now, at night or when I smell damp stone, the fear and anguish and panic returns.”
Oh, yes, she understood that, too. She knew how the memories could come, strong, unbidden, horrifying, like an ambush in your mind.
He made a helpless gesture at the candlestand bright with little flickering flames, and then a sad, self-mocking little smile. “I’m even afraid to be alone in the dark.”
How could she not love him, this man who could be so strong, so confident, in spite of the secret terrors he fought every day and every night? How could she not admire his ability to still find room for humor and good cheer in his life?
She rose and went to him, wanting to embrace him, yet still fearful she might unleash the overwhelming power of her desire. And what then? What then for her, for him?
“I’m afraid of the dark, too,” she admitted. “And in the day, the memories of Roald and what he did come back to me, too, like a sudden slap.”
“I’m so sorry, Mathilde.”
“As I am for you,” she whispered as she reached up and caressed his stubbled cheek. “I don’t want you to die for me, Henry. I want you to leave here.”
His hand covered hers and he shook his head, his steadfast gaze resolute. “If I do die, I die as a knight should, with honor, chivalrously defending the lady I love.”
She cupped his face, willing him to listen and understand. “I know you’re a brave, good and honorable man. I know you will fight for us to the very death—but I couldn’t bear it if that happened. I have been the cause of so much trouble, so much sorrow. If I had your death on my conscience, it would be too much.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Please go, Henry,” she urged, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “Now. Tonight.”
As determined as she had ever been, he shook his head. “I can’t, Mathilde. I can’t leave you and the others to face Charles De Mallemaison and that horde of cutthroats.” He caressed her cheek, her chin. “Your men are ready for this. I don’t doubt but that we’ll win. And I’m here because Iwantto be. Never forget that.” He tilted her chin so that she was looking directly into his dark, questioning eyes. “Will you promise me you’ll not forget that?”
“I’ll try,” was all she trusted herself to say.
“Because I love you.”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t. It’s impossible,” she whispered, telling herself it must be so. He couldn’t mean it, not after—
“You think I don’t know my own heart, Mathilde?” he asked gently.
“I think you are good and kind and—”
“And stupid, that I don’t know what it is I feel?”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
He took hold of her hands. “I do know what I feel for you, Mathilde, and that it’s no mistake. Don’t you think it’s possible for me to love a woman whose determination and strength are more beautiful than any form or feature? That I can admire and desire a woman as brave as any knight, as shrewd as any scholar, yet whose kisses stir such a longing in me, I am nearly dizzy? Rather ask, how could I not?”
Her lips parted to try to protest again, to tell him he should go, but instead, she obeyed the command of her heart, and raised herself on her toes and kissed him. Oh, how she kissed him! With all the fervent passion she’d been trying to imprison and ignore.
This might be the last time they could be together. There might be only this night to be with him as she yearned to be. To give him her body as well as her heart. And she would. By all the saints, she would.
Yet even as Henry held her close, returning her kiss with heated ardor, she felt him holding back. She guessed he was concerned for her, afraid to upset her as he had the night of the ale, when she’d run away like a frightened girl.
