Samantha James (38 page)

"Oh, but I am," Kathryn retorted gaily. "Though I did not know about Sir Michael and the manor."

Dawning realization crept into Gerda's expression. "Wait," she said slowly. "Was this your doing?"

'The choice was Guy's," Kathryn reminded her. A tiny smile twitched at her lips. "Although I did drop a hint as to my feelings in the matter."

"Granting my freedom—" Gerda shook her head. " 'Tis no small thing, to be sure." She knelt before Kathryn, her expression soft and dreamy. "He must love you very much," she murmured.

The happiness in Kathryn's heart wilted. Love was the one thing she could never even hope to expect from Guy. Yet Gerda's features contained such shining certainty that Kathryn could not find it in her to object.

Instead she said softly, "You and Sir Michael love each other. 'Tis only right that the two of you should be together."

"Milady, you have just changed my whole life." Tears sprang to Gerda's eyes. "How can I ever thank you?"

Kathryn laid a hand on her shoulder. 'You just have."

Gerda clasped her hand, her gaze fixed searchingly on Kathryn's face. "I—I cannot tell you the joy this day has brought me. And I long for nothing more than for you to be happy, too."

'Then set your mind at ease, Gerda, for I am happy." She told herself it was not an out-and-out he, for she was not unhappy. Indeed, she was as happy as she could possibly be.

For a woman whose husband did not love her.

November was wet and rainy, interspersed with brief periods of warmth and sunshine. Early December found winter dropping its chill upon the land. The stream froze solid and a glittering veil of snow softened the contours of the hills and valleys, but the bitter freeze cut to the bone. Those who ventured without did not do so for long; they soon returned to huddle around the roaring fire in the hall.

Throughout those long weeks, Kathryn found herself besieged by fear and doubt. She shared Guy's chamber and his bed—and the pleasure therein as well. But though her nights were spent in the warmth and comfort of his arms, her days were fraught with worry. She was well aware he hadn't married her because of any tender regard for her. Mayhap he only meant to make certain he had his heir and spare. After all, he had already fathered a son by Elaine, the woman he had loved.

And what of their child, the child whose life burgeoned within her? If their child was a girl, would Guy love her less than he loved Peter? Or because the babe's mother was her—Kathryn—and not Elaine.

All these thoughts and more disturbed her. Her restless soul found little ease from its torment. Yet she could not banish the frail seed of hope that took root within her, for Guy was so tender and sweet she could almost believe he did love her . Or was she only seeing what she wished to see?

She did not know. Heaven help her, but she did not.

She and Gerda spent much of their time sewing for Gerda and the babe, but there were times Kathryn chafed at the enforced confinement. When Gerda asked her to come along with her and Peter to the stream one afternoon, that was all the encouragement Kathryn needed.

They dressed warmly, layer upon layer. Just as they departed the gates, a sudden whirlwind slapped icy crystals of snow against her cheeks, making her gasp and inhale a stinging mouthful of air. But although the temperature was frigid, the sun shone glorious and bright, and the sky was a brilliant vivid blue. All at once Kathryn felt free and unfettered as she had not felt in months. Catching Peter's eye, she blew a huge puff of frosty air that sailed away with the breeze. Peter giggled delightedly.

At the stream Gerda tied horses' shinbones to her boots and Peter's; holding his hand, she gingerly led the boy onto the frozen surface of the stream.

Kathryn watched in fascination as she showed Peter how to skim the ice, pushing himself along with a stick. She began to glide faster and faster, her braid flying out behind her, her expression alive with excitement. Kathryn sighed wistfully, wishing she could join them, but she knew a fall might prove disastrous. With Gerda's help, Peter did quite well, but when he tried on his own he went sprawling across the ice on his belly. He ran crying into Kathryn's waiting embrace. She tenderly hugged and soothed him, then coaxed him back onto the ice with Gerda.

The brisk air tired Peter, though Kathryn needed no such excuse when she retired later that night. Guy had been gone for several days and had only just returned that evening. She readily admitted, at least to herself, that she had missed him sorely! She rose from the trestle table with her regrets, then laid her fingertips on Guy's shoulder. "Will you be long, milord?" she murmured.

He gave a slight shake of his head, twisting slightly and carrying her hand to his lips. His gaze spoke much more eloquently—and intimately, for within those silver eyes was a heated glow that promised much.

In their chamber she left but a single candle burning. She thought to disrobe quickly and slip into bed to await him, for she was still shy about Guy seeing her bare when she was so misshapen. Were she slim she was sure she'd not have felt her embarrassment so keenly, but alas, slim she was not! She felt the weight of her pregnancy more with each day.

But she had scarcely loosened her hair and shook it free about her shoulders than Guy made his appearance. Standing before the blazing fire in the hearth, Kathryn recognized the exact instant he stepped within. Though she could not see him, nor hear him move, her senses clamored an alert. A melting heat fanned low in her middle. His sheer presence made her quiver inside. Then she felt the sweep of powerful arms coming around her from behind, cradling her, cradling her womb.

His hands moved boldly, fingers exploring, tracing the swelling curve lightly. "Guy!" Her objection was feeble indeed. " 'Tis not decent that a man should want to touch a woman so!"

He closed his hands with deliberate possessiveness over the mounds of her breasts, grown delightfully full and ripe. His smile was utterly wicked. "It is when the woman is his wife."

The warmth of his breath rushing past her ear made her weak inside. But when his hands descended once more over her middle she moaned. "Not when she is with child and looks like a cow," she grumbled. With that she turned to face him.

Knowing she carried his child filled him with masculine pride. In his mind, the swell of her middle did not detract from her beauty in the least. With her hair tumbling like tousled black silk about her shoulders and hips, she looked young and appealing and incredibly lovely, a veritable feast for his eyes.

Husky laughter rumbled from his chest. "Despite this precious burden you carry, you are as comely as ever and well you know it."

Before she could protest he plucked her kirtle up and over her head, leaving her clad in only her thin linen chemise. Pulling her to the bed, he settled her on his lap, chuckling at the lovely tide of color that rushed to her cheeks. He'd have bared her completely were it not for the faint anxiety he glimpsed in her eyes. But he was not to be dissuaded, so he splayed his fingers wide against the tautness of her belly, slowly stroking, chuckling again as he felt an unmistakable kick beneath his palm.

His fingers lightly traced a tiny protrusion as he mused aloud. "What is this, I wonder? A foot? An elbow, do you think?" The jab came again, even stronger this time. His crooked grin was irreverent. "Ah, and this prodding here! Mayhap this proves the babe is a lad—his father's son, indeed!"

Crimson and mortified, Kathryn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for burying her face in his shoulder.

He gently brushed the hair from her cheek, then slipped his fingers beneath her chin, commanding her attention. Though he was smiling, he was no longer teasing. "I have no wish to embarrass you, sweet. But this is my child, too, and all of this is as new to me as it is to you." His tone grew husky. "I would feel him grow before he is born, as you do."

She spoke unthinkingly. "But—how can this be new to you when you already have a son? Surely before Peter was born you—" She broke off, stunned to find all expression wiped clean from Guy's features.

She heard his voice, hard and brittle. "I was bound for the Holy Land when Peter was born, Kathryn. And I learned of his existence while sitting in a bloody dungeon in Toulouse more than a year later."

Kathryn stared at him, half-afraid to even speak. "You were never with Elaine while she carried Peter?"

His silence was never-ending, the thrust of his jaw taut and unyielding. Condemning perhaps? Staring into his carefully controlled features, she sensed she had done something wrong, but what? When at last he shook his head, all at once she realized... this was the first time Elaine's name had passed between them.

Too late she realized her mistake. He put her gently from him and though his manner was not harsh, his tenderness was gone. An elusive hurt twisted her insides. She nearly cried out in anguish, for his pain—and hers.

Elaine was dead and gone. Kathryn did not pretend to misunderstand Guy's reaction to the mention of his dead wife's name. She tried convincing herself it did not matter that he cared so deeply after all this time. But it did. God help her, it did.

A hollow emptiness welled up inside her. She crawled beneath the furs and curled into a tight miserable ball. Guy had moved to stand before the fire. How long he remained there, she did not know. She tossed and turned in a vain attempt to sleep, but a nagging ache persisted in the small of her back. Her hand crept around to massage it.

She had scarcely begun than she felt Guy's weight settle beside her. His fingers brushed hers aside and pressed gently, kneading and stroking. Though no words passed between them, a feeling akin to relief seeped through her; she soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She woke in the middle of the night to find herself alone in the bed. Guy stood near the window. An errant glimmer of moonlight threw his features into stark relief. She sensed his distance and did not know how to breach it; it was as if he had retreated to a realm where she could never belong. Tears stung her eyelids, hot and burning. Stark yearning rose within her. She wanted his arms around her, not only in the heat of passion, but protecting her, soothing her, cherishing her... She longed to plead for him to sweep her in his embrace as he had done earlier. Pride alone crammed the entreaty back in her throat.

She must have made some small sound, for he turned his gaze toward the bed. In an instant he was beside her. His knuckles grazed the smoothness of her cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did I wake you?"

Kathryn shook her head. Her throat was clogged so that speech was impossible. She caught at his hands. "Please," she whispered, despising the betraying little quiver in her voice. "Come back to bed."

He slipped in beside her. Drawing her against his side, he ran his fingers idly over the curve of her shoulder, but his touch seemed absentminded, hardly the caress she craved. There had been other nights they had not come together in passion, yet somehow Kathryn had always thought he refrained in deference to her condition. Tonight, however, she felt the loss keenly.

Though the chamber was rife with shadowed darkness, she need not see him to visualize that splendid frame, lean and hard. Heart-stoppingly aware of his nudity, she drew a deep sharp breath.

His arm anchored her close, yet it was not nearly close enough. The need to touch him was overwhelming. She curled her nails into her palms but it was no use. She craved his nearness. Her fingers crept up to tangle in the hair on his chest. She pressed her naked breasts against him, uncaring if he thought her bold or wanton.

"Kathryn—" There was a deep, rough catch in his voice. He twisted his head upon the pillow, and she felt his eyes upon her, dark and questioning.

She made no answer. Instead she eased up over him so that she could reach his mouth. Her lips grazed his, the merest butterfly caress. When she met no resistance, she deepened the kiss further, letting her tongue limn the seam of his lips. A curious sort of power filled her, for she could feel his tension, the shudder that shook him as her tongue danced evocatively against his.

Courage bloomed within her, even as she grew heavy and feverish with need. With reckless abandon, she coasted her fingers down his chest, to lower regions, a tentative exploration that began with shy clumsiness. Feeling the ridged muscles of his stomach clench, she hovered uncertainly, her heart beating high in her throat. Her fingers uncurled slowly.

Straining heat surged bold and hard against her palm.

Guy inhaled sharply. "Sweet—" His hand clamped almost convulsively over her smaller one. He gave a shaky laugh, his heart about to burst through the wall of his chest. "You are nearing your eighth month now. As much as I want you, this may not be wise—"

He wanted her. He wanted her. His words thrummed through her mind, flooding her being like warm, sweet wine. A dark torrent of longing rushed through her, overriding all but the deep, driving need for him to make love to her.

She slipped her arms around his neck. "It will be weeks yet," she whispered. "And I am fine, Guy, truly."

Her lips hovered temptingly... ah, so temptingly, over his. Her hair swirled all around him like a dark cloud of midnight, trapping him in silken enticement. The cushioned fullness of her breasts was crushed against his chest, burning him like twin peaks of fire. Her unexpected offering was more temptation than Guy could withstand, the promise of ecstasy too much to withhold.