wcEND.rtf (27 page)

There was such hurt, such pain in his voice, Isabel's
heart constricted. "Oh, I am so sorry." She enveloped him in a comforting embrace. Sincere in her sympathy for his pain, she was nonetheless relieved his grief was not for having discovered Détra
'
s secret. Hunter remained stiff in her arms for a moment, then with a big sigh that came from deep within him he laced his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him.

They stood quietly embraced for several moments until Isabel broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hunter gently pushed her away. "Not now."

Understanding her silent support was all Hunter wanted at this moment, Isabel suppressed the many questions she wanted to ask him about Lord Reginald and their relationship. Hunter would talk if and when he was ready. She wouldn't push.

Maybe she could distract him. She pointed to the bathtub. "How about a bath? It is ready for you though I think it might need more hot water. I can ask Maude to get you some." Isabel knew Hunter was tired and dusty from the trip and emotionally drained with the recent news. A bath might help him relax. It sure had done wonders for her body, though her mind still swirled with worries.

Hunter looked over her shoulder to the bathtub, then nodded. "No need for more hot water."

"You may go, Maude. I will take care of my husband's needs." Before she left, Maude gave Isabel an encouraging smile.

Maude wanted Détra and Hunter to be together, Isabel realized. Maybe there was a way for Maude to help Détra adjust to a life with Hunter when she returned. And although she worried about Détra, the last thing Isabel wanted was for Hunter's heart to be broken.

"How is your hand?" Hunter asked, probably surprised at seeing her wrist wrapped with much less bandage than she had insisted at Windermere. Yesterday she had over-played her injury a little, wanting to find an excuse not to ride and therefore miss the trip, but today Isabel decided she'd have to be dead to make the journey back on that cart. The fact she didn't know how to ride a horse hadn't changed, however. Maybe, and the thought appealed to her greatly, she could ride back with Hunter.

"It is much better today." She moved her wrist in a few directions to prove her words. There was a slight discomfort but not much pain at all. Maybe the potion Maude gave her for her headache was such a great pain reliever that it had numbed her wrist as well. "How about yours?" she asked.

"It needs a change of dressing."

"I will do that after your bath."

He nodded, and Isabel watched as he undressed wi
th
an economy of movement most men were known to possess. Garments fel
l
in sloppy piles as he pulled them off his body on the way to the tub. In all his glorious nakedness Hunter stepped into the water. Isabel sat on a small stool behind the tub, the same one Maude had used to help her bathe earlier.

"Is the water warm enough?" she asked, making small talk to avoid the real issues hammering in her mind.

He sank down, resurfacing with wet hair. "Warm enough."

Grabbing a small measure of the soft soap from a small pot by her feet, she rubbed her hands together, then began washing Hunter's hair, enjoying its silky softness while her fingers massaged his scalp. He surrendered to her touch, breathing deeply, the silence in the room not heavy but complementary to their feelings. Having spent most of her life under the chaos of her parents
’
music practice sessions, Isabel appreciated the comfort silence could offer.

She tilted Hunter's head back a little, then taking care
no soap got into his face, she used water from an extra bucket on the floor to rinse his hair. With a soapy cloth she washed Hunter's shoulders and back, then kneaded the knots of tension that stubbornly resisted her efforts even as she lingered on them. She used the water from the tub for the rinsing of his back.

Pulling him against the back of the tub she reached from behind him to wash his wide chest and hard stomach. He leaned against her, his wet head soaking her as he watched her with those inscrutable dark eyes of his. Isabel went as far down as his navel, men made the journey back up his chest to his shoulders and arms, which he lifted for ease of reach. By the time she lifted from the stool she was soaking wet and wondering if she couldn't do a better job of bathing Hunter if she shared his bathtub.

She switched positions to the front of the tub, his gaze following her all the way.

"Is this a new manner of garment?" he asked eyeing the huge towel she had wrapped around her body.

Isabel held the sides, spreading them open like the skirts of a dress. "Simple, but comfortable," she said, kneeling down before him.

"Even rags would look ravishing on you." His dark eyes shone. With appreciation? Unspoken love? Unshed tears of grief?

Now facing him, Isabel massaged one large foot, then the other, surprised he was not ticklish.

"Have I ever bathed you before?" she asked as she worked her way up one muscular calf, then another.

He hesitated. "Never," he finally said.

Her hands reached his thighs and she had to lean forward over the tub to reach higher. "Never?" she asked as she massaged each thigh with circular motions, feeling every hard muscle underneath her palms.

"We have been wedded but for a short time."

Not so short a time that explained why Hunter and Détra hadn't consummated their marriage before Isabel appeared in the picture. What had Détra said or done to keep Hunter at bay for more than two weeks? And why had Hunter allowed Isabel to believe it wasn't their first time when they'd made love in the garrison's quarters?

Was it purely male pride? Or was it a deliberate gesture to bring about exactly what had happened between them? Not that she'd been an unwilling partner. But Détra would have been.

Isabel pushed aside such thoughts. Now was not the moment to bring the subject up, but if she remained in this body much longer, she would ask Hunter about it.

Her hands brushed Hunter's arousal. She lifted a questioning gaze at him. In response Hunter rose, pulling her up with him, her towel falling to the floor as his wet chest rubbed against her breasts. He kissed her hungrily, with a desperation she hadn't felt in him before. Still holding her, still kissing her, he stepped out of the tub, picked her up in his arms, and took her to the bed. His lips
l
eft her as he lowered her on the mattress and positioned himself between her thighs. She opened to him and he entered her with one deep thrust.

Understanding Hunter's need to exorcise his pain, Isabel was ready for him, lifting her knees and giving his thrusts greater depth. She could feel the violent beating of his heart against her breasts, the tension in the muscles of his shoulders her massage had failed to dissolve, and the pain in his heart as he desperately sought relief for his grief inside of her.

She nibbled on his chin, licked the underside of his throat as her hands stroked his back, and arched against him to meet his thrusts with her hips. His cry of release began as a rumble deep in his throat that intensified as
his strokes gained desperation. It finally exploded into a roar of such power, such anguish that the walls of the chamber vibrated with its resonance.

After the final tremble of unrepentant ecstasy rocked him, Hunter collapsed spent over her, gasping for breath. After a moment, aware of his great weight, he lifted, supporting himself with his arms against the mattress. He hovered above her, his forehead touching hers, his eyes closed for long moments. Then he rolled to her side and, taking her with him, tucked her head underneath his chin.

The moments strung along in silence for so long that Isabel thought Hunter had fallen asleep. And then she heard his whisper. "He might have been my father."

Isabel's heart began a staccato beating. She lifted from his arms and gazed at him. "Lord Reginald?"

He nodded.

Oh God, that was why he was hurting so much.

Isabel pushed her back against the pillows. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

He gave her a sidelong glance. Then, almost as if deciding that having come this far he might as well go on, he pushed himself up, sitting by her side. "There is not much to tell. I was born in the village nearby Hawkhaven Castle, and for all accounts should have remained there till the end of my days." He paused, looking at her as if to gauge her response, then continued, "One morning, when I was fourteen, days before my mother passed away, she packed my meager belongings in a cloth and sent me to the castle where Lord Reginald took me in and trained me into knighthood."

What was Hunter saying? Isabel was still unsure. "Was Lord Reginald your natural father?"

The intensity in his gaze made his dark eyes shine ebony. "I know not. He died before revealing the truth to
me. Now I shall never know who was my father." His voice choked with b
ot
t
l
ed-up emotion.

"Oh, Hunter. How awful! But maybe there is another way of finding out for sure."

He shook his head. "I am a lowborn bastard of unknown sire, Détra. And that shall not change."

There was such pain in his voice Isabel ached for him. He waited for her reply as if his world depended on it. Now she understood why Rupert kept calling Hunter a bastard. He knew it. And she hated Rupert for it.

Taking Hunter's hands into hers, she kneeled before him, praying she would find the right words to reassure him. "Being born a bastard—" Hunter flinched at hearing her say the word, but she needed to say it, needed to get this out into
the
open so he would never have to worry about it again. "—
i
s a matter of circumstance totally out of your control. It has nothing to do with honor. Behaving like a bastard is a matter of character and choice. You might not know who is your father, Hunter, but you never were and shall never be a bastard in the true sense of the word. You are the most honorable man I have ever met and I am thankful and honored to know you."

And then she kissed him with the desperation of having found the man of her life but knowing he couldn't belong to her. With the longing to give him the love that burned inside of her but she couldn't confess. With the need to erase his pain and sorrow.

And he kissed her in return. Their roles were now reversed. She was the one in desperate need of love. And he was the one giving it to her.

And she took it. Every drop of love he sent her way, whether she deserved it or not, whether it was intended for her or not, until they lay spent in each other's arms.

* * *

THE BLACK-SHROUDED COFFIN CONTAINING LORD REginald's body was carried from the death chamber, where he had been prepared for viewing and mourned, into the chapel of Hawkhaven Castle by an escort of four knights. Messengers had been sent to neighboring lords and friends, and those who lived nearby came to pay their last respects, joining Rupert, Hunter, and Détra inside the chapel for the mourning office.

After the mass was over the small cortege stepped into the bailey, where it seemed the entire village stood waiting, holding lit candles in their hands. As was custom, Rupert had given alms to the villagers to follow his father's coffin to Hawkhaven Castle's private burial grounds located on a small hill behind the chapel. Hunter recognized a few faces from his childhood spent in the village, though he had seen little of them while fostering at the castle and naught since he left Hawkhaven to follow King Edward on his war against the Scots.

None of the villagers acknowledged his presence and Hunter understood why. To them he was almost a traitor, having abandoned his humble origins to join ranks with the highborn, when in tru
th
Hunter had lived for many years in a limbo belonging to neither.

D
é
tra squeezed his hand and Hunter's heart filled with joy. With his lady wife's acceptance, he had finally found his place. His mother's chalice had indeed granted him his heart's desire. Even the pain of not knowing his father's name hurt less now that Détra stood by his side. He glanced at her, grateful for her presence, engulfed by her support and acceptance. Her devotion and concern elated him. Barely a week ago, this new Détra had come into his life and he already loved her more than the idealized image he had carried in his heart for so long.

And yet, the old Détra had despised the thought of being married to him; should he risk telling her the whole
truth about that? Would she repudiate those earlier feelings for him and continue to accept his lowborn status?

Hunter wanted with al
l
his heart to tell her the truth, to banish the shadows and subterfuges between them. But still he hesitated. Mayhap he would give them a little while longer.