Forever His (21 page)

“And I’m not going to answer to someone else’s name anymore,” she said stubbornly, teeth chattering.

Gaston frowned at her defiance. But his first concern at the moment was getting her warm and dry before she caught her death in this frigid air. “Very well. Come here to me ... Celine.”

Instead of the gloating he had expected, she simply nodded in weary gratitude. She came to him, timidly, shivering but trying to look brave.

He felt that odd, tight knot inside him loosen another notch. Sweeping off his cloak, he held it out to her.

“You can’t take that off,” she said, though she looked longingly at the thick lining of silver wolf fur. “
You’ll
freeze to death without it.”

“
I
am not the one who decided to take a midnight swim. And I have suffered worse weather than this for days at a time with less to wear.”

“Right. The great warrior. So tough he doesn’t feel anything as mortal as cold or pain or bad weather. How could I forget?”

He stepped toward her, keeping his eyes on hers. “I promise that if I feel I am starting to ‘freeze to death,’ I will take it back,” he lied.

That seemed to placate her. Cheeks red—whether with cold or embarrassment he couldn’t tell—she finally let go of her sodden clothes and hung them on branches near the fire. When she had finished, she did not turn around. She stood with her back to him, as if she could not make herself face him, arms wrapping about herself, firelight dancing over her lush curves.

She went very still when he came up behind her and gently enfolded her in the heavy mantle.

God’s breath, but she felt soft and fragile and slender in his arms. Her body fitted so perfectly against his, the top of her head just brushing his chin. As if she had been made for him, made to fill his arms, in exactly this way. His cloak was so large that it covered her from neck to heels and trailed upon the ground. He wrapped it snugly around her, his heart beating strangely at the small sound of relief and pleasure she made when she felt the fur, still warm from his body heat, against her nakedness.

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the fire. She uttered a little gasp of surprise but offered no other protest.

He meant to set her down on the soft bed of evergreens he had made.

Meant to leave her there and sit on the opposite side of the fire.

He truly meant to.

“Gaston,” she muttered tiredly, “it’s really not necessary to keep carting me around like this.”

He settled himself before the fire, sitting cross-legged with the saddle at his back and Christiane sideways in his lap. “Walking in the snow with bare feet will not improve your health.” He held her still when she tried to pull out of his arms. “And neither will getting that cloak wet. It is the last dry garment we have.”

“But I ... I don’t think ... this is a good idea.”

He heard the soft, nervous waver in her voice, heard her feminine awareness of him, and it sent a new flash of desire through his body. “It is warmer,” he pointed out, trying to convince them both that he was acting in a perfectly logical, rational manner. “And the sooner you are warm and dry, the sooner we can return to the castle.”

That made sense. Perfect sense. He tucked the cloak more closely around her and held her against his chest, adding his body heat to healthful qualities of the fur and the fire.

“I guess th-that’s true,” she agreed, still holding herself stiffly.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. After a while the heat seemed to thaw her a bit, for she relaxed against him. Then, with a weary sigh of surrender, as if she were tired of fighting and arguing, or simply tired, she laid her head on his shoulder. In silence, they watched sparks from the fire swirling upward into the night sky.

Slowly, Christiane’s eyes drifted closed.

Glancing down at her, Gaston felt the knot of desire and concern and attraction unravel even more within him. She looked so sweet, so lovely and pale, wrapped in his black cloak, the silver fur tickling her chin, her cheek resting on his shoulder, the gesture one of ... complete, trusting innocence.

Innocence. Was it possible that she truly
was
innocent, as she said? A helpless pawn caught in a battle between two men?

Had he misjudged her from the beginning?

“Gaston, are you sure it’s safe to have a fire out here at all?” she whispered sleepily. “I mean, there are wolves, and maybe bears. In fact, I think it was awfully dangerous of you to come after me alone—”

“Is that concern I hear in your voice, wife?” he asked softly.

She opened her eyes, and for a moment he was certain she would deny it. But she did not. “I just don’t think you should take unnecessary—”

“You should be more concerned about your own health,
ma dame
, wandering through the forest alone.” His voice dropped to a husky note. “Defenseless against wolves ... and other predators.”

She did not seem to catch his meaning. “The wolves won’t bother
me
—it’s you I’m not so sure about. How
did
you find me all the way out here, anyway?”

“When I came to your chamber this morn, I found Royce asleep. He explained what had happened. Your tracks were clear at the edge of the wood.”

“You came looking for me this morning?” She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed at him in surprise. “Why? You swore you weren’t going to have anything more to do with me.”

Gaston stiffened, chastising himself for speaking so heedlessly. It was all too easy for her to make him drop his guard. In truth, he had merely wanted to see her, just
see
her, even for a moment. He had thought it best to do so while she was still asleep.

But how could he possibly explain his irrational behavior to her when he could not explain it to himself?

“I rose early to see how Royce was faring,” he lied. “It appears I cannot trust my men to guard you. I am the only one who recognizes you for the enemy that you are.”

“I’m
not
your enemy,” she said through gritted, perfect little white teeth, “and I’m really getting tired of—”

“Do not annoy me further,
ma dame
. I am already most displeased that your disappearance forced me to interrupt my plans for the morning.”

“What plans?” she asked tartly. “Playing footsie with some little blond serving maid?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What is ‘footsie’?”

“It’s ... it’s what you were doing with that tavern wench a few days ago.”

The jealousy that sounded so clearly in her voice almost made him laugh. In truth, he had planned to spend the day with his hunting falcons, but it was better to let her believe what she wished to believe. “I had planned to spend the morning relaxing with
several
females.” He smiled wickedly. “But not one of them was a blond.”

He was not lying, exactly. His best falcons
were
females.

“Several?”
She blinked at him in shock, then tried to get off his lap, a task made difficult by the tightly wrapped cloak. “Let me go. You are disgusting! Impossible! Absolutely unredeemable!”

“A sinner to my black depths, I confess.” He tightened his arms around her. “Cease your wriggling, Christiane.”

“My name is
Celine
. And I’m not wriggling, I’m getting away from—”

Suddenly her struggles brought her beautifully rounded derriere fully up against his arousal. The friction made him inhale sharply, though his leggings and the mantle separated them.

She tensed, blushing crimson, and her voice dropped to a squeak. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Do not fear, little wife, I have no intention of attacking you,” he assured her darkly.

“How could you be so ... after you were planning to be with another woman—other
women
—just this morning ... and now you ...”

“It is a physical response,
ma dame
, common to all males when they have a female wriggling in their lap.”

“Is that so?” She gave up her battle to be free, apparently realizing that he was not going to let her run off into the woods a second time this night. “So it has nothing to do with me or any other woman. We’re all interchangeable to you. You’re just another typical male—hot and bothered at the drop of a hat.”

Her words made little sense to him. “You are far heavier than a hat, and it was the forcible way you dropped into my lap that caused the problem. I do have some measure of control, however. You are in no danger, Christiane.”

“
Celine
,” she corrected, recovering some of her ire. “I just don’t want to be accused again of trying to seduce you.”

“I cannot accuse you of that, because no seduction is taking place. Merely a physical response, which will no doubt subside as you keep chattering.”

“I do not chatter.”

“You do, and it is a most unappealing trait in a wife.”

“Just like unfaithfulness is most unappealing in a husband!”

She suddenly blushed and bit her lip, looking mortified that she had said that.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You find my behavior disturbing? You said before that you do not care.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s—it’s your
thinking
that I find disturbing. You seem to believe that men should be allowed to do whatever they please. You really think men are superior to women, don’t you?”

“In all the ways that matter,” he said honestly. “But I suppose that you would disagree?”

“Yes! Being bigger and stronger and taking territory and ... and making
conquests
are not all there is to life. Women at least think before they act, especially when it comes to ... to ...”

“Lovemaking?” he finished for her with a mocking grin. “Do you mean to say that women do not get aroused with passion as men do?”

“Not the way you think. Women don’t just ... just throw themselves at everything that moves. Maybe tavern wenches are different, but most women need to be
in love
before they make love.”

He laughed. “My inexperienced lady, you must be as innocent as you claim if you still believe in so childish an idea as love.”

She gazed at him blankly, her expression filled with genuine amazement. “You don’t believe in love?”

“It is a woman’s word, not a warrior’s,” he said dismissively. “It is not something a man can claim with his sword or hold in his hand or own. It is not something solid, like land and walls, to build a future upon. My brother thought it real, and he is dead.”

He regretted letting that slip as soon as the words had passed his lips.

A gleam of feminine understanding came into her eyes. “Your brother fell in love with someone ... and died because of her?”

“He allowed himself to be softened by a female,” Gaston said tightly. “I’ll not make his mistake, ever.”

To his irritation, she would not let the subject drop.

“But haven’t you ever
felt
love?” she whispered incredulously. “For anyone? Not for your mother and father? Or your brother—”

“My mother died soon after I was born. My father and brother held my respect for their honor and skill as warriors.”

“So you ... grew up without love?” Sadness clouded her blue-gray eyes. “And you’ve never known
anyone
who truly loved someone else?”

Gaston clamped his lips into a thin line. He thought of Gerard and Avril, who had paid far too high a price for what they had called “love.”

And he thought of his friend Sir Connor of Glenshiel and his wife, Lady Laurien. They had been married for five years now, had two sons and a daughter. In letters, they, too, spoke of love.

But mayhap it was merely an extreme form of passion between them, one that a noble, honorable knight such as Connor could indulge in, without the weakness it brought to lesser men.

But that could never be true for him.

“Love is naught but a word. A false word some men use to entice gullible females into bed,” Gaston said with a steely edge to his voice. “I prefer more honesty in my dealings. I do not use falsehoods, nor do I need them. Pleasure is what is real. Pleasure is enough.”

That comment made her eyes fill until they were shining with such deep pain that it was almost more than he could bear—and worst of all, he could tell she was feeling that pain for
him
, not for herself. She did not argue with him, only shook her head, speechless.

“Save your pity,
ma dame
,” he snapped. “
Love
is the last thing I would want from a woman. It is a tether women use to keep their men close to hearth and home—and I have no wish to be tethered. Or so weakened that I am rendered useless.”

“But that’s not—”

“I do not wish to discuss it further.”

“But love isn’t a tether! It doesn’t restrict you, it frees you. It isn’t just
something
to build a future on,” she insisted with the unshakable faith of a believer, “it’s the
only
thing.”

“You are wrong,” he said simply. “Someday, when you have greater experience, you will understand that.”

“Never. I’ll
never
understand that. And you don’t ever have to worry about me trying to seduce you,
because I would never make love with a man I didn’t love
.”

“Truly, milady?” he said with soft mockery. Her stubborn, unyielding insistence ignited a need in him to prove her wrong. “Do you believe that you have such control over your passions? Are you made of ice?” He lowered his head to hers. “Have you forgotten so quickly how you responded to
this?
”

W
ithout warning, he took her mouth in a kiss that was as slow as it was deep. A ravishment that had naught to do with so childish a notion as
love
. An embrace meant to disabuse her of that naive idea and replace it with a woman’s experience of unmistakable
pleasure
.

He moved his mouth over hers with relentless purpose, urgent, demanding. Christiane stiffened, making a sound of protest in the back of her throat, but her efforts to push him away were futile. He held her locked against him, and her arms were wrapped in his cloak.

And her resistance was as brief as it was useless. After only a moment, the ice in her melted away and she began to respond, kissing him back.