Forever His (31 page)

The grueling pace he had set had taken far too great a toll on her, though she had never complained. Like an idiot, he had not noticed for the first few days. He had been too angry with her, determined not to look at her, determined to keep at least one vow in his life—that she would not confuse him further with her mad tales.

But his will had weakened, and his gaze had wandered to her once ... twice ... constantly. He had seen her fatigue. The way she rubbed the small of her back after the long days in the saddle. The way she shifted uncomfortably on her pallet at night, when they had to make camp in the open because there was no inn or abbey nearby. She would lie awake, unable to sleep because of her sore muscles. He lay awake a few paces away, unable to sleep because of a far different sort of ache.

As soon as he had noticed her discomfort, he had slowed their travel to avoid tiring her. With four weeks’ riding behind them, they should have already reached their destination, but Chateau de Varennes was another five days from here. At this pace, the servants would reach their new home before their lord.

As the last of the little caravan rode past him, he nudged Pharaon back into line, and found his gaze again lingering over his wife. She was so tired that she swayed in the saddle, practically asleep. He had to fight an urge to sweep her from her horse and carry her the rest of the way. The thought of touching her ...

He gripped the reins so tightly that the leather cut into his gloved hands. He had not touched her since the morning they had left his castle. Not even a casual brush of his fingers over hers, or an accidental contact as they passed each other.

Though he had considered that. Plotted it. Imagined it until his body and his brain were fevered with wanting it.

She sighed, her slim shoulders rising and falling beneath the soft outline of her cloak. She pushed back her hood and turned her face to the right, closing her eyes at the touch of the breeze. He almost thought he could see the outline of every dark lash resting on her ivory cheek. Her lips parted as the last rays of the sun caressed her coppery hair with golden light. The breath-stealing vision lasted only a second before she turned away again.

Just long enough for Gaston to feel something inside him wrench painfully. Questions clawed at him again, as they had during too many tormented nights while he watched her sleep:
Who are you? Why are you here? Who has sent you? What do you want with me?

What had she intended when she came to him in the orchard that day of Tourelle’s visit? Was revealing her orders a daring act of bravery, in utter defiance of her overlord, or a smoothly cunning trick?

Did she seek to save him, or to trap him?

And what of her strange attacks of panic, which had become more frequent as they had left his castle farther behind? Were they reality or ruse?

He had no answers. She had led him in such circles that it was impossible now for him to sort truth from lie. And more difficult still to untangle any of it from desire.

His throat was dry, even as he looked at her and thought the word. Desire.
Need.
Night by night, hour by hour, he had constructed a wall of defense against it, refusing to think of her as aught but
she
or
her
or
wife
. He had told himself that she was merely a woman, no more and no less attractive than any other he had known.

But when he looked at her, even the briefest glance, the others he had known merged into naught but a vague memory of curves and smiles and silken hair and fleeting pleasures.

She was more than that. So much more. She was the stormy clash of gray and blue in sea-deep eyes. The scent of thyme and lavender and roses. And a troublesome kitten, and odd hats. The mutinous tilt of a feminine chin.

She was a blaze of sweet passion in his arms.

She was the sound of giggles in his kitchen.

And she had entwined herself through his life so deeply that he could not tell where the connection between them began or ended.

Or whether he wanted it to end. For in a way that no other woman ever had been, she was important to him. He should want her out of his life, more than ever, yet he wanted her with him. More than ever.

And it was because of her, because he was concerned for her, that he found himself at this keep that he had never wished to look upon again ... steeling himself to face a woman who liked him even less than his wife did: his
belle-soeur
, his sister-in-law, who might well greet him with an arrow through his throat.

If she was in a good mood.

***

Lady Avril’s brown hair hung down her back, unbound and tangled. It made her look younger than her twenty years. Gaston found her where the servants had said he would: in the solar, seated before the window. In Gerard’s favorite chair.

She was staring down at her needlework, though her hand rested upon it unmoving and the sun’s light had long since faded. The fire on the hearth had burned low.

She had been in here the entire day, they had said, but even from where he stood, Gaston could see that she had worked only a few stitches.

“Avril?” he said softly.

She did not reply, or acknowledge him at all, and he did not know what else to say. Her guards and retainers had been overjoyed to see him. Their mistress, they revealed, was still deeply depressed over her husband’s death, she had not been eating well, and they were most concerned.

Especially since she was with child.

Gaston could still barely believe that stunning news, but beneath the folds of the loose-fitting black gown she wore, he could see the roundness. She was well along. Her maid had said the child was expected in another three months.

His brother’s child.

The idea brought a strange, tight feeling to his throat. What was it he had thought?
Life in the midst of death.

Yet he had stepped into this chamber expecting to be greeted by an earful of curses, not by this wan, silent ghost. Looking at her now, he found it impossible to picture the fire-tempered lady who had so captivated his brother. So changed him.

“Avril?” He took a step toward her. “Why did you—”

“If you ask me whether the child is Gerard’s, I swear to God I will strike you dead.”

She had not moved, or even lifted her gaze, but her words stopped him in his tracks. And made him feel a bit better. Though the tone was lifeless, the threat was pure Avril.

“I do not question the child’s parentage,” he assured her immediately.

“Ah, but you cannot claim it did not cross your mind,
beau-frère
. Is it not what you have demanded that I do? Replace him? Find another man?”

“I have
encouraged
you to marry again,” Gaston corrected quietly. “For your own sake. Have you not given thought to what I suggested when I saw you last?”

“Nay. Have you given thought to what
I
suggested?”

“Since I am standing here before you, it should be obvious that I have not thrown myself into Hell’s deepest pit to burn for all eternity.”

She lifted her gaze to his at last. There was only the smallest spark left in her green eyes. “The suggestion stands.”

Gaston held his temper in check. “Avril, why did you—”

“Have you come to tell me that I must leave here?”

That struck him like a blow. How could she believe him capable of such cruelty? Did she actually think that he would throw her out? In her condition? “Nay,” he grated out. “We are on our way to Father’s keep. This is your home, and shall be for as long as you wish. As I told you before.”

“You will pardon me,
beau-frère
, if I doubt you.” A haunted look misted her eyes and she dropped her gaze back to the unfinished tapestry. “It would not be the first time you have broken your word.”

Her whispered accusation knifed through him, stabbing into an unhealed wound deep inside. The pain made him clench his fists. He quelled the feeling, the guilt, tried again to pose his original question. “Why did you not send word that you were with child?”

“Because I did not think you would care.”

That knocked the breath from him. She said it without ire, as a flat, certain statement of fact. How could she think that her pregnancy would not matter to him? She was the last of his family, she and the child she carried.

Had he truly been so harsh with her? So cold and heartless? He had merely offered suggestions as to her future. Perfectly logical, reasonable suggestions. Avril needed a stern hand. Someone had to look to her best interests.

“Regardless of what you thought my
feelings
might be,” he said tightly, “you should have sent word. I am responsible for you now.”

“Aye, you have pointed that out many times,
beau-frère
. Along with the fact that I am to follow your orders.” She returned to her needlework and took a stitch. “Will you allow us to stay here or not?”

“I have given you my word.” He was rapidly losing his temper. “I have three chateaux now. I certainly cannot live in three places at once.”

“Then I shall stay here. Where he is.”

“Where he
was
.”

“And I shall stay
alone
,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “I do not intend to remarry. Ever.”

Gaston slanted a grimace heavenward. Was it not enough for God to plague his life with
one
stubborn, unreasonable, emotional female? Did he truly need two? Precisely what had he done to deserve such women in his life?

“Avril,” he said patiently, “you clearly do not understand your situation. You are but hours from the Flemish border, and the skirmishes have become more serious. Mayhap you cannot imagine what will happen if Flemish raiders sweep through this region—but I can. You are directly in their path. And this keep would make an irresistible prize. What do you plan to do? Don armor, take to the battlements, and defend it yourself?”

She shot him a flashing emerald glance.

“God’s breath,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You would.”

“I have defended myself before.”

“By nails and blood, you are a
woman!
A woman alone. It is dangerous for you here—and do not boast to me about your skill with a crossbow. Killing a man is far different from shooting a partridge.”

“I have my guardsmen. And I am confident that you will protect me,
beau-frère
. Killing and destruction have always been among your finest skills.”

He swore vividly. “Having guardsmen is not the same as having a husband to see to your lands and your safety. And I shall be five days distant—this entire chateau could be in ashes before I ever received word that the enemy was at your door.”

“I will not remarry,” she said simply.

Her calm made
him
sound like the one who was being unreasonable, which made him all the more angry. He gave up trying to argue that women needed male protection from the violence of the world. Reason was clearly doomed to failure here. Instead he tried another tactic. A new one. “Think of your child.”

She straightened as if he had slapped her. “I
am
thinking of the child!” she said furiously. “I will not have Gerard’s son or daughter grow up with a stranger for a father. I cannot simply replace my husband because you tell me that I need a new one. Take your practical reasons and be damned! I
love
Gerard! You are incapable of understanding that, but
I love him
. As I will never love any man again!”

Gaston winced. There was that female word again. The one that had driven more poor fools to commit more mindless mistakes than any other. “You are only twenty, Avril. The rest of your life is a very long time to spend alone.”

“Do you not think I know that?” She thrust herself out of her chair, her eyes suddenly bright. “Gerard and I were married little more than a year and a half. We had but a handful of days of happiness,
and you ask whether I know how long I must live without him?
” She choked on the question, then whispered, deadly calm, “I count the hours with every beat of my heart.”

She turned her back, and after a moment Gaston realized she was crying.

He stood paralyzed. He had never seen her cry before. Had never even thought of Avril—strong, independent Avril—in such a vulnerable state. He did not know whether to reach out and comfort her, or walk out and let her grieve in private.

And so he stood there and felt awkward and did neither.

She leaned her forehead against the window, pressing her hands against the glass, staring down into the darkness of the empty courtyard. “He would not allow me to say farewell, that morn when he left.” Her voice was hollow. “He made light of my concern. He said, ‘It is but a tourney, Avril, an amusement. I will be home before you have time to miss me.’ ” Her hands slid down the glass. “Before you ... have time ... to miss me,” she repeated softly.

Gaston took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the cold lump of pain that filled his own throat, closing his eyes against the strange burning in them. “Avril ... a memory cannot protect you. Or hold your lands. Or be a father to your child.”

“You blame me,” she said suddenly, tearfully. “Do not deny it. I know that you blame me somehow for his death! But ask yourself this,
beau-frère
: Where were
you
when he most needed you? You with all your battle-skill? Why were you not there that day?
Why did you break your word?
”

***

Celine let out an exclamation at that. She had been there for several minutes, standing just inside the door of the darkened solar, unsure exactly how to interrupt the shouting match. The servants had suggested that she play peacemaker when it became obvious from the volume that things were not going well between Gaston and his sister-in-law.

Poor choice on the servants’ part, she thought miserably. Because she made a lousy referee, and Gaston and Avril had both just turned to stare at her.

“How long have you been standing there, wife?” Gaston demanded angrily.

“I ... I’m sorry. I thought ...”

He took a step toward her. “I trust you have found it all entertaining,” he snapped.