The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (43 page)

He slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Aye, Daughter. I give my blessing. To all of it. With all my
heart.”

She hugged him, her joy spilling over. “I
love you, Father.”

“And I love you, my sweet girl.” He extended
a hand toward Royce, and the two men grasped forearms. “And you,
Royce Saint-Michel, prince of Ferrano.” His smile widened. “Welcome
home.”

C
iara stood at the
entrance to the palace’s chapel, feeling as if she were in a dream.
Hoping no one would awaken her.

Joy filled her heart to overflowing, the
feeling even brighter and more dazzling than the flood of morning
sunlight that lit the small sanctuary. She glanced over her
shoulder as Miriam gave the long train of her wedding gown a final
adjustment. Ciara had chosen white silk because Royce said the
cloth reminded him of snowfall.

After sharing a warm smile with her friend,
she waited for Miriam to rejoin the other guests, then turned and
started down the aisle toward the priest.

And her groom.

Standing beside her father, Royce gazed back
at her, his dark eyes brimming with so much love that it brought an
ache to the very center of her chest.

He looked so handsome, she had to keep
herself from sighing aloud. His dark blue tunic and leggings made
his hair gleam blue-black and set off the white ermine lining of
the royal robes he wore casually thrown back over his broad
shoulders. His new crown sparkled in the sun, as did his silver
spurs and the gold hilt of his father’s sword at his side.

Despite all the tingles coursing through
her, Ciara did not allow herself to rush, wanting to savor every
moment of this day. As she walked slowly down the aisle, the beams
of silvery brightness pouring in through the arched windows danced
between her and Royce—and she had a strange sensation that she had
been here before, walking through the nave of a small chapel toward
Royce and her father….

Then she remembered that she
had
experienced this moment before: on the day they had met in the
abbey. Almost every detail felt the same.

Except that this time, the look in Royce’s
eyes was one of love. His expression warmed the air all around her,
made her feel as if she were floating, and promised that the
feeling would last forever.

At the front of the chapel, she took her
gaze from his long enough to steal a glance at the friends who had
gathered to celebrate with them. She and Royce had decided to wait
a fortnight for their wedding so that everyone could join them.

The pews were crowded with pardoned rebels
and peasants and nobles from both Châlons and Thuringia. Including
Bayard and Elinor. Prince Mathias. Karl and Miriam and Landers,
whose arm was still in a sling. And Royce’s friends from France,
Duc Gaston de Varennes and his wife, Lady Celine.

And Thayne.

Or rather,
Sir
Thayne, she
corrected herself, giving him a quick smile as he bowed his head
toward her. Not only had the former rebel leader been pardoned but
Mathias and her father had offered him so many honors and
accolades, he had been overwhelmed and somewhat embarrassed by all
the attention.

In the end, he had accepted only two of the
rewards offered him: a knighthood and a small keep to go with
it.

With her last step toward the altar, Ciara
came to stand between her father and her groom. Royce took her
hand, and the sensation that glittered through her made her catch
her breath.

Shimmering rays of mountain sunlight danced
around them as they exchanged their vows.

And gleamed on the gold band that he slipped
on her finger, the same ring he had given her once before …
except that this time it was truly a wedding band, and truly hers.
As he was hers, and she his. Now and forever.

You and no other, the heart conquers
all.

When they sealed their vows with a kiss,
‘twas to the sound of the rebels cheering.

Ex-rebels
, she reminded herself
happily.

As her husband kissed her thoroughly, she
wrapped her arms around his neck and did not care that she was
making a shameless emotional display. Being a princess did not mean
she had to be proper
all
the time.

***

“Out you go, fierce little Hera. Your
mistress has no need of a protector tonight.” Royce chuckled.
“Besides, that duty was mine well before you came along.”

Dislodging the frisky puppy, who had chomped
onto his soft leather boot, he scooted her into the corridor. Then
he closed the door to his wife’s darkened bedchamber and leaned
against it, throwing the bolt with a happy sigh.

At last, he had escaped. The wedding feast
and dancing and revelry would have to continue without him. It was
already near midnight.

As tradition demanded, after the guests had
showered the bridal couple with handfuls of grain, the men had kept
him occupied with overlong toasts—involving copious amounts of
cassis, thanks to Bayard—while the ladies spirited the bride away
to garb her for her wedding night.

That had been two hours ago. His friends had
finally given up their mirthful efforts to pickle him, letting him
go after he vowed revenge on all future grooms in the group.

With a wicked grin, he tucked that vow away
in his memory and moved into the room, which was lit only by the
glowing embers on the hearth. He caught the scent of sandalwood
shavings that had been added to the flames, no doubt well over an
hour ago, before they had burned down to almost naught. A large
bathing tub filled with water had been set before the fire … and
a sheer cotton kirtle lay draped over a chair beside it.

His breathing became heavy as he glanced
around to see where his wife was hiding. Then he saw her: already
in the bed, almost hidden beneath the covers.

Asleep.

A groan escaped him and he frowned over his
shoulder at the door, thinking that revenge might not be enough for
Thayne and Karl and all the rest. He might just have to kill them.
They had kept him drinking in the hall so long that his bride had
fallen asleep waiting for him.

But a moment later, as he turned with a sigh
and walked closer to the bed, he did not mind so much after all.
Looking down at his lady, his wife, so pale and lovely and
innocent, he felt a warmth that had naught to do with the cassis he
had consumed. And he knew that he would cherish this memory as he
did all the others this day had brought him.

She lay on her side, snuggled beneath the
silky-soft white sheets, her hair damp and dark against the pillow,
a smile gently curving her lips. One of her hands curled around the
wedding gift he had left here for her.

He had placed it in the middle of their bed
earlier today, festooned with silk ribbons: a new mandolin.

His heart thudded against his ribs as he
stood there, silent, watching her sleep. She looked so sweet, she
reminded him of …

He smiled at the thought. She reminded him
of a princess in a troubadour’s tale, awaiting a kiss from her
prince to awaken her.

He unfastened the chain that held his
ermine-lined mantle in place, let it slide from his shoulders, then
shed his boots and belt and the rest of his garments.

And when he lifted the covers and slipped
into bed, he realized that she, too, wore naught but a smile. He
moved closer, gently draped his arm around her waist to draw her
against him, placed the lightest kiss on her shoulder.

She stirred, sighing in her sleep, then
shivered as the bristly hair of his chest touched her back and his
bearded jaw tickled the nape of her neck. “Mmmmm …” Her lashes
lifted. “Oh, saints’ breath … did I fall asleep?”

“Aye, wife,” he whispered, nuzzling her
neck, inhaling deeply as he caught the intoxicating scent of her
perfume.

She tilted her head back with a drowsy sound
of pleasure as he kissed his way along her throat. “I was waiting
for you,” she murmured, “and then I decided to wash the bits of
grain from my hair … and then I was just so … sleepy…”

“Fear not, my love, you can stay just as you
are for the moment. You do not even need to move.” He heard her
breath catch as she felt his arousal nestling against the lush
curve of her bottom. “I have no intention of leaving this bed for
at least two days.” He nibbled at her earlobe.

“Mayhap three,” she agreed with a soft
moan.

“And then we will find a creative use for
the tub….”

“And then in front of the fire?” she asked
hopefully.

“Definitely in front of the fire.”

She lifted her hand from the mandolin to
reach back and caress his stubbled cheek. “Thank you for the
wedding gift, Royce,” she whispered sleepily. “Wherever did you get
it?”

“I left instructions with Landers before we
left Thuringia. He picked it up at a little shop in Gavena that
Karl and I are familiar with.”

“It is beautiful.”

“No more so than its owner.” He kissed her
jaw.

“But I do not have a gift for you.”

Reaching across her, he set the mandolin on
the floor. “I am sure you will think of something.”

She grinned sleepily as he settled back
beside her, as he slid his hand downward to press her hips against
him. “Oh, aye,” she whispered. “Aye, I think I will. If I told you
some of the dreams I have been having the past fortnight …”

He groaned, his palm moving down her body in
a long, slow caress. “No doubt they would match the ideas that have
been running through my mind while I lay awake at night, in my
guest chamber on the opposite side of the palace, thinking of you
here … in bed …”

“What sort of ideas?” she asked huskily.

“Unspeakable ideas,” he growled, his hand
stroking upward slowly, over her knee, her thigh, her hip. “I was
contemplating another midnight raid through milady’s window, but I
discovered one problem.” He lifted his head just long enough to
shoot a glare at the thick panes of glass built into the window on
the opposite wall. “Whoever designed this keep intended to make
ravishing any damsels within damnably difficult.”

She giggled, and laughter rumbled from deep
in his chest as he brushed kisses through her hair, over her jaw,
his arm circling her waist again. “Of course,” he added, “when we
rebuild the keep at Ferrano, I will no doubt want to do the same,
to protect our daughter.”

“Our daughter?”

He smiled, remembering the dream he had had
in Gavena: of the two of them together, in front of the hearth at
Ferrano, watching their children at play … a little girl with her
mother’s eyes, and a dark-haired boy just learning to walk. “A
daughter first, and then a son, I think.”

“You are quite certain, my prince?”

“It is just something that I”—he paused,
tracing the curve of her mouth with his thumb—”wished. What is that
secret little smile, wife?”

“Oh, I was just”—she sighed, snuggling
closer to him—”thinking.” She closed her eyes with a look of bliss
as his hand moved downward again, over her flat belly, lower.
“About how long it has been since that night, that first time you
and I—”

“Five weeks, four days, twenty-one hours,
and fifteen minutes, more or less.” He nudged her thighs apart,
moving his hips to position himself against her feminine heat. “Not
that I have been keeping count.”

His fingers glided into her silky curls, and
he heard the soft music of her excitement as he stroked her.

And then there were no more words. Only her
yearning sighs and his deep groans as he pleasured and teased her
with his touch, drawing out the anticipation, the tension until
neither of them could bear it any longer.

And when he slipped into her from behind,
claiming her fully with a single, smooth stroke, the low sound that
dragged from her throat was a gentler echo of his own. He withdrew
slowly, only to push forward with swift, deep thrusts, rocking her
against him. His fingers sought the bud of her desire, massaging
until she bit her lip to hold back cries of abandon.

The two of them swept higher, faster, their
bodies ebbing and flowing together until they came to the crest
…

And plunged into the hot sea together.
Release swept down upon them both, rippling through them as one,
flowing on long after his essence spilled into her.

He lost all sense of time as they loved one
another again and again through the night, their breathing and
their heartbeats and their bodies and souls all joined. Made one.
Now and forever.

The darkness beyond the window began to
lighten, the stars winking out, and still they had not slept. Ciara
lay atop him, her cheek pillowed by his chest while his fingers
moved lazily up and down her spine.

Then she sighed and lifted her head,
crossing her arms to prop her chin up on her hands. “I have been
thinking, my love …”

“Have you any more dreams I can make come
true?” he asked in a low, wicked whisper.

“Later,” she promised. “Actually … I was
thinking that I do have a wedding gift for you. But my gift will
take a little longer to arrive.”

“Hmmm?” he murmured, his hand moving through
her hair, his attention distracted by the silky texture of her
thoroughly mussed curls.

“I was going to wait …” she said
haltingly. “It is too early to be certain … but I simply cannot
keep it to myself anymore.”

He shook his head in bemusement, not
understanding.

“Our first night together, Royce, that
magical night when you made me yours … it was almost six weeks
ago …” Her smile was a little bit shy. “And I have missed my
monthly time.”

His hand went still. His heart seemed to
stop, then started pounding.

“You …” He cupped her face in his palms,
stunned by her announcement. “I-I … y-you … I …”

“Aye. You. Me. We … are going to have a
baby.” Laughing, she reached out to trace the curve of his smile
with one fingertip. “What are you thinking, husband?”