Love Above All (36 page)

“Sorry. I couldn’t hear you.” Quentin rose
from the tub, presenting Fionna with the truly magnificent sight of
his powerful, wet body. He grabbed a big linen towel and wrapped it
around his waist, leaving only his chest and arms, and his lower
legs and feet, visible. Moisture gleamed on his broad shoulders;
drops of water ran off his hair.

Stalking to the bed, he bent over Fionna,
sprinkling her with warm bath water. His sudden closeness was
unnerving her. She leaned backward, trying to put some distance
between them, so she could think.

“I said,” he told her, “that Cadwallon wants
to marry your sister. As her guardian, I intend to allow it.
Cadwallon has recently been made a baron, and will very soon
control the castle that goes with his title. And he loves
Janet.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, feeling
desperate.

“What did you mean?”

He was so close. She longed to touch him. She
didn’t dare. She’d loose the very last remnants of her wits if her
skin came into contact with his. She knew how warm and strong he’d
be. She saw how the muscles in his shoulders moved when he shifted,
lowering himself over her, coming closer still. His lips parted.
She could almost taste his breath.

At the final moment before his mouth made
contact with hers, she scrambled away from him, trying to reach the
other side of the bed. Quentin caught her, pulling her under him in
a welter of hot skin and dampness – and a twisted linen towel that
was suddenly inadequate to cover his thrusting, eager manhood.

“Don’t you know that I have never cared
whether you have a dowry, or not?” he said. “I don’t care one bit
about lands, or livestock, or portable wealth. You saved my life,
Fionna. You chose me over your brothers – over your blood kin. What
better dowry could any wife offer her husband than his own
life?”

“It wasn’t a difficult choice to make,” she
said, before she realized that she should have chosen her words
more carefully.

“Please, marry me,” he whispered, holding her
securely against the bed.

“What about Lady Eleanor?” she cried. “King
Henry wants you to marry her.”

“No.” Quentin shook his head, sprinkling her
again with the remains of his bath water. “While I was in Scotland,
Henry decided to give Lady Eleanor to another baron. As a result, I
am now free to offer an honorable proposal to you.”

“You are only asking out of obligation,
because you – because you—” She couldn’t finish the thought, so
Quentin did it for her.

“Because I took your virginity?” he finished
softly.

“You said you regretted what we did,” she
cried.

“I believe that I said I regretted hurting
you. I have never regretted making love to you. I wish I could be
as sensible about love as Cadwallon is, but my passion for you
overcame my better judgment. I wanted you too desperately to
wait.”

“Oh.” He was by now entirely too near, much
too close for her to think clearly. She placed her hands on his
shoulders, meaning to push him away. She stroked his hard muscles
and sighed.

“Don’t you understand?” he said. “You are in
my blood, Fionna. I much prefer to marry you, but I’ll take you any
way I can get you. I cannot live without you. In the name of
heaven, tell me you love me, too!”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do!” He sounded indignant. “I
have been saying it over and over for the last hour.”

“But you went away for weeks. You left me
without telling me how you felt.”

“I couldn’t say then what was in my heart. I
was honor bound to speak to King Henry first, to explain to him
that I could not marry Lady Eleanor. When he told me he had changed
his plans, I knew my prayers had been answered. And when Henry
asked what reward I wanted instead of Lady Eleanor, I told him that
the only treasure in all his realms that I needed or wanted, was
you.”

“You told the king that you love me?” she
whispered in amazement.

“It was easy to say. I love you above all
else, Fionna, And I need you most urgently.”

He moved against her in a way that left no
doubt of his intentions. Together, they tugged up her woolen skirt
until his hands stroked over her inner thigh.

“If we were wise,” Fionna said, making a
feeble attempt to fight her own raging desire, “we’d be sensible,
like Cadwallon and Janet. We would wait until our marriage
night.”

“I cannot be sensible, not where you are
concerned. If you make me wait one moment more,” he declared, “you
will have a dead bridegroom.”

Fionna laughed and lifted her head to kiss
him. Quentin pushed himself against her with a passionate
insistence that she felt no desire to resist. She was at the verge
of complete surrender when someone began knocking at the bedchamber
door.

“Quentin!” Janet called. “I know Fionna is in
there with you. I must speak to both of you at once. Quentin!
Answer me!”

With an oath that probably rattled Janet’s
eardrums as soundly as it rang in Fionna’s head, Quentin lifted
himself away from his love. He pulled Fionna to her feet, too,
before he headed for the door.

“Quentin,” Fionna cried, “you forgot the
towel.”

She snatched up the piece of linen and tossed
it to him. Quentin caught the towel with one hand and draped it
over his shoulder, while with the other hand he opened the
door.

Janet stood there, fists on her hips, fire in
her eyes, looking ready for battle. She spared only a fast glance
for Quentin’s nakedness before she pushed past him to confront her
disheveled sister.

“Did you know about this?” Janet
demanded.

“About what?” Fionna asked. “Quentin was
bathing. I was assisting him.”

“I can see what you were doing. He looks
clean enough to me.” Janet’s disapproving gaze ranged from Fionna’s
tangled hair to the disordered bedding, to Quentin, who was still
standing next to the door with his bath towel barely covering his
manly parts. He hadn’t bothered to wrap the towel around his waist
again.

“What do you want, Janet?” Quentin asked.

“Royce has admitted to me that you have been
named as my guardian.”

“It’s true,” Quentin said. “You didn’t need
to badger Royce to learn it. If you hadn’t stormed off, I’d have
told you earlier, down in the hall.”

“I do not accept your guardianship,” Janet
told him. “King Henry cannot force me to become your ward. I have
never sworn fealty to him, and I never will.”

“Be careful what you say,” Quentin warned.
“There may come a day when you are willing to be Henry’s
subject.”

“Never!” Janet cried. “Fionna, did you know
about this? Are you also to be Quentin’s ward?”

Quentin had heard enough. He caught Janet by
her shoulders and shook her hard, just once, to get her full
attention.

“Be quiet, you insubordinate child, and
listen to me!” he exclaimed. “I was thinking of your welfare when I
suggested the arrangement to King Henry. As your guardian and
future brother-in-law, it will be my duty to see you housed, fed,
and clothed, to provide a dowry for you, and to arrange the terms
of your marriage contract.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Janet cried.

“Am I wrong in thinking you want to marry
Cadwallon?” Quentin asked. “He is certainly eager to wed you. He
promised to ride to Alney as soon as possible, to lay his heart and
his title at your feet.”

Janet’s jaw dropped open. Using one finger,
Quentin gently pushed it back into place, shutting her mouth.

“You will be a baroness, Janet,” he said, and
kissed her on the cheek.

“You did that for me?” Janet whispered.

“Cadwallon did have something to say about
it.” Laughter danced in Quentin’s eyes. “But I couldn’t leave you
to wander the English countryside without a home until your wedding
day, could I?”

“After all the nasty things I’ve said to you,
you worried about my wellbeing,” Janet said softly. “You are not at
all like my blood brothers.”

“I hope I am not,” Quentin said.

“Thank you.” Janet gazed up at him as if she
was seeing him for the first time. Then she turned her attention to
Fionna. “If you are going to marry him, you must leave this room at
once.”

“I beg your pardon?” Quentin said,
frowning.

“You may not bed my sister until she is your
wife,” Janet told him.

“Heaven preserve me from interfering
relatives,” Quentin declared.

“She’s right, you know.” Fionna spoke
solemnly to cover her urge to break into laughter at the expression
on Quentin’s face. “We must be circumspect. We aren’t living in
tents any longer. You don’t want to give Wortham Castle a bad
reputation, do you?”

“You and your sister are trying to kill me,”
Quentin accused her.

Fionna saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew
he was only teasing. She did not doubt that he desired her, but
he’d wait if he must, if he knew waiting was what she wanted. She
shuddered in anticipation, just thinking about their wedding night.
From the way Quentin was looking at her, she knew he was thinking
of it, too. She allowed herself a long, regretful inspection of his
muscular body, noting how the towel slung over his shoulder really
didn’t cover him very well. There was so much of Quentin to cover.
And he belonged to her. She smiled into his eyes and Quentin smiled
back, offering a silent promise for all the nights to come.

“We have plans to make,” Janet said, blithely
interrupting the mood. “I never realized how many decisions a
wedding requires, until I spoke to Catherine. Come along,
Fionna.”

“Until later, Quentin.” Fionna paused at the
bedchamber door to look back at him before Janet could drag her
away.

“In the meantime,” Quentin said, eyeing the
tub, “the bath water ought to be cold enough to ease my present
discomfort. If cold water doesn’t work, I will simply run outside
and throw myself into a snowbank.”

Janet slammed the door on his wry
laughter.

“Since the wedding is to take place at the
king’s command,” Royce said when they were all assembled at the
high table for the evening meal, “you may dispense with the reading
of the banns. No one in England can possibly object to the
marriage.”

“Indeed not,” Quentin promptly agreed. He did
not mention the objections that Fionna’s brothers in Scotland would
have made, if they had known about her plans.

“So now we have only to await the arrival of
our guests,” Quentin said to Fionna, who was seated next to
him.

“Guests?” she repeated. “Who?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” Quentin leaned a
little closer to her and whispered, “It’s a surprise.”

“I never dreamed you would prove to be a
tease,” Fionna said. She was trying to appear annoyed by the need
for a delay, but she feared her attempt was failing. She was too
happy to be irritated and she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Considering how you tease me each time you
look at me,” Quentin said, his grey gaze resting on her lips, “or
how every word you speak and every movment you make torments me, I
believe you are owed this brief teasing. You will just have to be
patient. And so, unfortunately, will I. But it can’t be helped and
I do believe you will be pleased in the end.”

“Royce, do you know who these mysterious
guests are?” Fionna asked her host.

“I invited some old friends,” Royce said. “I
hope you don’t mind.”

“How could I possibly object to anyone you
choose to invite to your own castle?” Fionna asked. “I just hope it
isn’t the king and queen.”

At that, Royce burst into good-natured
laughter, but he refused to reveal the identity of the guests.

“Wait and see,” was all he said.

Fionna’s waiting didn’t last long, though it
seemed very long to her. Quentin was carefully keeping his distance
from her, accepting the restrictions Janet had placed on them.
Whenever they were both in the chapel or the great hall at the same
time, Quentin’s gaze always rested on Fionna, and the look in his
eyes assured her that he was finding the waiting every bit as
tedious as she was.

The only occasions when they were close
together came when they sat side by side at the high table, facing
Royce’s entire household. Still, Quentin managed to let his fingers
touch hers as he served her meat or pastry from the platters
offered by the servants. A few times his knee or his thigh brushed
against Fionna’s leg under the table.

And always, at the end of each meal, at
midday and in the evening, Quentin took her hand to help her rise
from her place at the table and to steady her when she stepped off
the dais. Then he would lift her hand to press his lips upon her
fingers. The look in his eyes and the warmth of his mouth on her
hand left Fionna trembling every time. Quentin had a way of looking
at her as if he saw into her heart and soul, as if he knew how she
longed to be alone with him.

At first Fionna thought she’d not be able to
bear the waiting, especially since she had no idea how long it
would last. She ached for the delight of Quentin’s arms enfolding
her, for the hot passion of his intimate embrace. If her erotic
imaginings about him made her a wanton, she didn’t care. Never in
her entire life had she allowed her thoughts to dwell in such a way
on any other man. Quentin was the first, and he was the only man
she would ever want.

Gradually, she began to comprehend that he
was deliberately, skillfully, inciting her desire. His heated
glances and his quiet words constantly drew her to thoughts of
their bridal night, until Fionna spent the slowly passing hours in
a trembling daze.

Meanwhile, Janet and Catherine were deeply
involved in preparations for the wedding feast which, from the
hints Janet let drop, was going to feature a remarkable example of
the pastry cook’s art. Fionna wasn’t sure what was planned; she
couldn’t get a serious word out of Janet about the menu, and
Catherine was equally tight-lipped.