Shana Abe (34 page)

“You are incredible,” he said, pulling her off the table to stand in his arms. She had no reply to this but to shake her head, smiling in a bemused sort of way that made him kiss her once more.

“Come, I don’t want you to take a chill.” He took her to the bed and left her half buried beneath the largest fur he could find while he gathered up her clothing. She looked ridiculously young, with flushed cheeks from love and sparkling eyes; she reminded him vividly of the girl he used to know who thought nothing of stealing out at night to count the stars, or climb the highest turret, or whatever it would have been at the time.

But she was different now. She was his, for one thing, and only his. No man could pull them asunder again, only God, and Damon hoped the Lord had seen enough of his misery without her to take pity upon him and not separate them again.

“Here.” He handed her the crumpled clothing and she burst into laughter.

“Oh, dear. I suppose I could tell people I fell asleep in them, or perhaps became caught between two very large stones while wearing them …”

“Put on a fresh gown if it matters.”

“Yes. I think I should.”

But she didn’t move out from under the fur, only peered up at him owlishly. He realized, uncomfortably, that she was waiting for him to leave, or at least move away from her.

Ever since he had discovered the faded scars marking her, she had gone to great pains, he perceived abruptly, to ensure he did not see her body so plainly again, except when they were making love.

And since they usually made love at night, he had not noticed any flaws on her. He always insisted upon keeping at least one candle lit, true, but it was a
timid glow by any means, and afterward he extinguished it with no thought at all, only utter exhaustion and satisfaction.

A flash of guilt streaked through him. This was his fault. He was doing this to her; he was the one making her pull into herself because of his anger at another person. She should not have to hide herself from him. She should be able to trust him at least that much. His guilt grew.

He joined her on the bed. “Solange. I want to thank you for what just happened between us.”

She was all blushes and modesty, ducking her head. “You don’t have to thank me, my lord.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I think you are wrong about that. It is the greatest honor and privilege to be able to make love to the most beautiful woman in the world. Therefore it would be a gross insult to you if I did not thank you.”

Her look said she couldn’t decide if he was teasing, and that gave the guilt another spurt of growth. He pretended affront. “Do you mean to suggest by your doubtful silence that I am anything less than a gentleman? Although there are numerous persons who would agree with that assessment, I would hope that my own wife would see through to my heart of gold.”

Her face cleared, the shadow of disappointment so fleeting, he almost didn’t see it. “Oh, you are joking. How silly you can be, declaring me beautiful.”

“Nay, my lady wife, I am sorry to point out that you are wrong once more.” He searched her eyes, willing her to believe him. “I said you were the
most
beautiful woman, and I by my honor I mean that. No woman on earth compares to you, Solange.”

To his consternation, her lower lip began to tremble, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “You are mocking me,” she said. “I will not be mocked.” She struggled to free herself from the fur. Damon was appalled that she had misread him so completely. He moved to keep her beside him.

“Solange! No, no! I would not mock you, how could I? How could you even think such a thing? How could you, when you are my life, when you are all that’s rare and precious and good to me? You are a drop of perfection in this imperfect, sorry world, don’t you see that? You are all that has haunted me, and all that has sustained me in my own weaknesses.” He took her hands and would not release them. “When I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, I say it with all the truth I can find, and I know I must say it poorly, to have you take me so wrong. I will show you, then.”

He let go of her long enough to take up the jeweled stiletto she kept close on the table by the bed. Her breath drew in sharply, but she didn’t cower from him, not even when he took her hand again.

He turned the knife around, closing her fingers around the hilt and raising her arm, pointing the razor-sharp end into his bare chest. “By my vow, and my oath, by my honor and my love for you, fair Solange, I speak the truth. Never have I broken my word, my lady. You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me, in all of creation, and nothing, not time, nor place, nor man nor woman shall ever change that.
Your body is but a small part of your beauty, and I cherish it. God, I cherish it. You should know that by now. Sometimes it is all I can think of, the joy of making love to you. It consumes me; I cannot think or eat or sleep until I am with you again. You must know this, how could you not?

“But the rarest thing you have is the depth of beauty that lives only in the best of us, and usually only in scant portions. In you, however, it lives with vibrancy, in you it overflows into all that you do, into all that you choose to touch. It is this beauty I truly treasure, my love, for this is the best gift of all. Your sweetness, your goodness, your wit and virtue and all those things you are blessed with bless me also, because I am the man you are with. I am the man whose life has been permanently intertwined with yours. And I am the man who has always loved you, Solange.”

Her tears were unchecked now, silver trails of silent passage and a message of eloquence in her eyes.

“I have always loved you,” he repeated simply. “If you still doubt me, my life is better ended now. It is up to you. I cannot live without you again.”

She pulled her hand out of his and flung the dagger across the room to clatter against floor.

“Stop,” she cried, and buried herself in his arms. The love came fiercely upon him, a fiery need and a comforting relief to hold her like this, to have her cry into his chest, to rock her and never let go again.

“I cannot bear it anymore, I cannot,” she hiccuped against him. “I love you. I love only you. And I don’t care about beauty, or goodness, because if any of those
things mean I have to give you up again, I won’t do it! I’ll be wicked and sinful and selfish, I don’t care.…”

An amazed laugh rumbled in his chest. “My tigress,” he said, half stunned by what had happened.

“Yes! I’ll be a tigress. Tigers are never afraid, and neither shall I be.” She raised her head. “I love you, Damon of Lockewood.”

“And I love you, Solange of Lockewood.”

And for a short while, just a glinting bubble of time, there was nothing else in the universe, and there was no reason to stop the kiss between them that mingled their tears and set their hearts to beat as one once more.

I
prefer apples to garlic, Lady Solange.”

Since this was at least the third time she had been informed of the seven-year-old’s culinary preferences, Solange merely smiled as she stepped over a dry clump of grass and replied, “Yes, Miranda, I know.”

“Apples go in tarts,” the girl continued thoughtfully. “I like tarts.”

“I like tarts too,” her younger brother piped up anxiously. “Can I have tarts as well, Lady Solange?”

“Yes, William. I believe that when we are finished, there will be enough tarts for all of you.”

“Garlic is nasty,” said another girl. “Why do we have to have garlic at all?”

Solange had to pause to lift her skirts over a low stone wall that had long ago crumbled to its base in the pasture. “Well, Jane, we need garlic for lots of things.” She began to aid the children over the wall, one by one, with the help of the two other women in the group. “The marquess uses garlic in some of his medicines. And I think garlic tastes rather nice with some meats.”

“Me too! Me too!” said William.

“And I like it roasted with butter, on bread with supper,” Mairi volunteered.

“And in stews,” added Carolyn, the mother of two of the children.

“There, you see? Garlic can be quite nice.” Solange surveyed the meadow with a practiced eye.

“I prefer apples,” Miranda said stubbornly.

“Yes, I know.” Solange walked over to her and pointed to one corner of the field. “That is why you are going to have your very own apple tree, right over there. What do you say to that?”

“Oh, yes! My own tree!” The girl clapped her hands together and began to race to the corner. The other children scattered after her in a ragged tail.

Only William remained with the three women, looking forlornly after the others. He shifted his weight onto his good foot, using the small carved stick he had been given as a cane.

He had been born lame, Carolyn explained earlier, the physician had said it was because her pregnancy had been cursed.

“Cursed or no,” she had said, “William is my delight, and he does so want to be a part of the garden project like the other children, my lady. Could you not find a little something for him to do? He is very quiet and won’t be a bother, I promise.”

The “garden project” had rapidly grown beyond a simple field of herbs, due much in part to Mairi’s very vocal enthusiasm for the plan. One by one the other ladies at Wolfhaven had offered to become involved, and this often meant their children had asked to help as well.

Solange had not the heart to turn away a single one of them, especially since it seemed to be the perfect way to get to know the others, a way that she had been seeking for some time. Soon she had more help than work, and that had led to the discovery that Wolfhaven had no formal orchard to speak of. Most of the old trees had grown heavily gnarled from the years of neglect and died in the ground. Creating a new orchard seemed a natural extension to the herb garden, and Damon had reluctantly approved, unable to deny that they could always use more fresh fruits. But, he added, she would not plant too far from Wolfhaven.

His determination to keep her close to home filled her with a kind of amused exasperation. Nevertheless, she didn’t want him to have to worry about her. The strip of field by the forest she had first noticed, she had argued, was the ideal solution, being neither too small nor too far from the castle. Damon had been forced to agree.

Now Solange knelt beside the lame boy, giving him a cheerful smile. “What kind of tree would you like, Willie?”

“A garlic tree?” he suggested hopefully.

“Hmm, that might be a bit difficult. If you like, you may help me with the regular garlic in the herb garden though.”

“Yes,” he said promptly.

“But I was thinking of something special for you. Do you see that little mound of grass over there, right next to this wall?”

He nodded his head.

“Well, I was thinking that it would be the perfect spot for a cherry tree.”

“A cherry tree,” he echoed worshipfully.

“I found a beautiful cherry sapling in the old grove, growing right where no others could grow. As soon as I saw it I knew it was yours, since it must be a magic tree. Your own magic tree, growing out in the old orchard.”

The little boy’s eyes were wide with wonder. Solange leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a secret too,” she said conspiratorially. “I much prefer cherry tarts to apple tarts.”

“Me too!” William exclaimed.

“Me too,” said Mairi.

“Me too,” whispered Carolyn, and then gave her son a hug.

There were children running rampant over the wild field, shouting out questions to the women and instructions to one another, each eager to discover the perfect spot for their own part of the orchard.

Mairi shook her head, smiling. “Good gracious, what have we done?”

“I only hope they’ll be so enthusiastic when it comes time to do the real work,” Solange said.

“Oh, no, my lady,” Carolyn said. “I don’t think you need worry about that at all. They are good children, all of them, and eager to please. There really isn’t enough for them to do at the castle yet, since the boys are too young to be pages still, and the group of them too young for more than the briefest of instructions in the schoolroom. This will be a wonderful lesson for each of them. Although,” she added ruefully, “I do fear they will require rather strict supervision. If we are
not careful, we shall end up with a forest of fruit trees instead of a grove.”

“Yes, Mairi, I believe that will be your area,” Solange said casually. “You have such a way with the children, plus you know the lay of the land. And, of course, Sir Godwin will need someone here to tell him where to plow.”

Not surprisingly, Mairi colored up to the roots of her hair. It hadn’t taken Solange long to notice how her friend grew awkward and stilted whenever Godwin’s name was mentioned in conversation, or how she tended to follow him with her eyes whenever they were in a room together. She had not broached the subject with her yet; she didn’t want to intrude on what might be a sensitive subject to a woman who had been widowed not that long past.

But the romantic in her had been delighted with the discovery. Godwin was unattached. Mairi was unattached. Solange liked them both very much, and hoped there might be a match for them somewhere in the future. No, she would not intrude. Well, she would not overtly intrude. But since the opportunity had presented itself …