Forever His (38 page)

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “Spare me. There’s no need for us to be dishonest with each other, Gaston. Not anymore. Just so I don’t go home with any foolish,
naive
notions and spend the rest of my life wondering about how you really felt, I’d like to hear you say it. Just once. Tell me the truth. All I’ve ever been to you is an annoyance, or an amusement.” Her back stiffened and her eyes narrowed. “Or a one-night stand. Do you want me to define
that
for you?”

He pierced his maddening wife with a stare. She was doing this to him apurpose, making him admit what he did not want to admit. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I allowed you to believe what you wished because it made it easier, that is all. There is no time to waste on this foolishness. Though it may have escaped your attention, I am attempting to save your
life
.” He turned away, heading toward the spot where Pharaon grazed in the clearing.

“Made what easier?”

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Made
what
easier?”

He spun on his heel. “Made it easier to convince myself that you mean naught to me!”

She gaped at him. That clearly was not what she had expected him to say at all.

“You wished the truth, milady? That is the truth.” He was breathing hard. “I did not correct you about the meaning of ‘playing tables’ because I did not wish you to know that
there have been no other women since I met you
. I tried to use the game to distract my thoughts, but it was of no use.
You
are all that I could think of. I have bedded no other woman since we said our vows.” His voice roughened. “Because I wanted no other as I want you.”

“B-but ... “ she stuttered, pushing herself to her feet and wiping her wet hair out of her eyes. “But that’s not true! What about the day you followed me into the forest? You told me you had planned to spend the morning with
several
females.”

“Hunting falcons.”

“What?”

“Female hunting falcons,” he snapped, his harsh breathing forming steam in the cold air. “You never asked what sort of females.”

She blinked at him, raindrops falling from her lashes. “But ... but there was still that tavern wench. When you and your men went hunting, and you came back injured, and—”

“I never bedded her. Royce leaped to the wrong conclusion and I did not correct him, because I could not admit that I had tripped on my own accursed
sword
because my mind was so befuddled with thoughts of
you
.” He swore, shaking his head, his arms tensing at his sides as he fought the desire to stalk over and kiss her senseless. “There have been no others since you. I do not want any others. I do not want Rosalind.” He let the heat he felt blaze through in his eyes. “I want you.”

She almost tripped over the fire as she stumbled backward. “Gaston, you can’t ... you don’t ...” With a small sound of distress, she turned away, lifting her hood and huddling into her cloak. “I-I don’t think we should be talking about this. It doesn’t matter what you want. Or what I want. Nothing we say can make any difference. We know what has to happen. You and Rosalind are meant to be together.”

Cursing, Gaston shut his eyes and lifted his face to the sting of the rain. For once, she was being practical and reasonable, and he knew she spoke the truth. Burn him, he
knew
. They could not change what was meant to be. Why did some reckless impulse within him keep fighting it?

Celine must return to her time, where she would be safe and well. Where she belonged. He must stay here, where he belonged. With his intended wife, and all the power and influence any lord could want, and a bold son who would one day save a king’s life.

And in that moment all the wealth and promise of his future seemed so unappealing that he would have gladly traded places with a peasant ... if it meant he could keep Celine.

He dropped his head, raking one hand through his dripping hair. “If you could stay,” he said, his voice almost lost in the wind and rain, “would you?”

A crash of thunder made her jump.

“Gaston ... don’t.” She hunched her shoulders. “Don’t ask that. It doesn’t make any sense even to think of that. Don’t you understand? It doesn’t
matter
what I want.”

“Is there so much in your time that you could not live without?”

“I-I used to think so. When I first got here, I thought I would just die without electricity and hot showers and my car and central heating and ...” Her voice faltered and she turned toward him, her lower lip quivering. “And my family. Sometimes I miss them so much it ... it’s like part of me is missing. I have a sister and a brother, and my parents, and lots of aunts and uncles and cousins ...”

He could hear neither
aye
nor
nay
in her broken reply. He started to walk toward her.

She did not move away. “But now I ... think that when I go back, part of me will still be missing. Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone.” Her lashes brushed her damp cheeks, and though her eyes were closed, she swayed almost drunkenly on her feet as he came to stand before her, as if she could sense how close he was. Her voice was a whisper. “I’ve never loved any man the way I love you.”

His heart pounding, he reached out for her, his gloved hands slipping inside her hood to cup her face. “If you stayed ... if you could stay ...” He brushed wet strands of hair from her ivory skin, “I would take care of you, Celine. And protect you, and keep you with me all the days of my life.”

There was no sound save the spattering of the rain through the trees, no movement save the slight parting of her lips.

Then she suddenly withdrew.
“No.”
She backed away, lifting her gaze to his with an expression of stinging accusation, rubbing her cheeks as if she could wipe away his touch as easily as water. “It’s impossible, Gaston. And what you’re saying to me now isn’t any different from what you said to me once before. When you returned from your hunting trip. You locked me in my room to keep me prisoner because you wanted me to tell you the truth—and you promised to keep me safe and feed me well and clothe me warmly. For you, nothing has changed!”

“God’s breath, woman, everything has changed! I want you so badly that I burn with it. You set me afire from the time I awaken in the morning until I fall asleep at night. And then you invade my dreams. You have taken possession of every moment of my life. What more would you demand of me?”

“If you don’t know, I can’t explain it to you.” She shook her head as if he were incapable of understanding. “You don’t love me. You’ll never love me.”

“Would you wish me to say words that have no meaning to me? Would you have me lie to you?”

“No,”
she said forcefully. “Because I’d always know it’s not the truth. You’re going to fall in love with
Rosalind
.”

He swore a short, vicious oath. “By all that is holy, I wish I had never heard her name!” He turned on his heel, then turned back again. “I will never love her.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you might feel for her. It’s like ...” She lifted her hands helplessly. “Oh, God, how can I explain something to you that you don’t even believe in?” She made a bitter, humorless sound that could not be called a laugh. “Think of it this way: if you had never seen a destrier or a trencher before, you wouldn’t know exactly what one was when you saw it, would you? You might be able to make a good guess, you might be able to describe it, but you wouldn’t use exactly the right word.” Her eyes melted into his the way the rain soaked into the ground, lush and deep. “Until someone who knew, someone who had maybe a little more experience, told you the word.”

Gaston scowled at her, unable to follow the maze of her female reasoning—especially when he was feeling such a rush of pure male possessive fury. He wanted to shout at her, at the storm overhead, at fate, at the fact that control of his life had been wrested from him.

Instead he spoke calmly. Too calmly. “
Ma dame
, you have spent this day persuading Lady Rosalind to accept my proposal of marriage. You assume that I will offer for her after you are gone.”

Celine went very still. “You have to,” she gasped. “It’s in the book.”

“Damn the book.”

“But the future—”

“I make my own future.” He glanced heavenward, repeating it to the thunderous clouds. “I make my own future!”

“But you can’t change what’s meant to be!”

He lowered his head, his hair falling into his eyes, and pinned her with an unyielding gaze.

Then he closed the distance between them in one stride, taking her in his arms. “
You
are my wife,” he said roughly, his voice sharp with all the ache that filled his soul, all the fury that God would dare take her from him. “You are the one I want, Celine.” He lowered his head to hers.
“You.”

“Gaston.”
She pushed at his shoulders, but she might as well have been trying to move an entire keep. “We
can’t
—”

He kissed her, deeply, pouring out the impossible longing he felt with ungentle motions of his mouth and hands. Her tongue was rough velvet against his. A sound began in her throat, protest ... that became need. Caught in the grip of feelings stronger than any he had ever known, he sank with her onto the damp leaves and soft grass beside the dying fire. They had no blankets, no furs, naught but nature’s bed beneath them, earth wet with the promise of spring, of
life
.

She uttered a sob and her fingers speared through his tangled hair. Rain pounded down on them as they consumed each other, mouths mating, her arms wrapping around him, his fingers tearing at garments, one hand lifting her hips against him. He ripped off his gloves. He had to feel her. The silk of her wet skin. The soft, strong grace of her legs as she arched beneath him.

Sweet violence swept them both as he drove deep inside her in one smooth, hard stroke. Ravening, groaning, they moved. Sensations he had felt uncountable times before astonished him with their fresh intensity, so real he must have only dreamed of them before. The lush petals of her mouth. The feel of her fingertips at the sensitive nape of his neck. The clinging feminine heat of her. She was a burning flame, all glittering contrasts, strong yet vulnerable, stubborn yet giving, and she cried out words of wanting as he took her hard and fast.

She was his.
His
. She was not Christiane, not a liar, not Tourelle’s ward. She was exactly what she had insisted all along: Celine Fontaine, from seven hundred years in the future. And she was a part of him.

And he was going to lose her.

The rain washed over them. The thunder could not drown out the pounding of his heart over hers. As their bodies entwined on the grass, steam from the dying fire swirled around them. A blinding stroke of sunlight broke through the clouds, danced over them, winked out as the storm consumed it once more.

For all the years of his life he would remember her this way: crying out his name as she found fulfillment, there among the earth and the thunder and his ungentle giving.

He wanted to make it last, on and on until now became forever and they both forgot the meaning of
time
. Embedded deep inside her, all he could think of was that he would remember her. His sweet Celine. All rain and tears. And he did not wish to remember.

For as release rushed through him, he knew he did not wish to live without her.

“A
nyone who would step into a metal box and let it be flung into the air is a half-wit.”

“Not a box. It’s called a plane.” Celine laughed. “And it isn’t flung through the air. There’s no catapult involved. It
flies
. Like a bird flies.”

“A metal bird filled with people?” Gaston asked dubiously.

“That’s right. And if we had one now, instead of having to ride Pharaon here, this trip that’s taken four weeks would have taken less than an hour.”

“You are making this up.”

Celine laughed again and shook her head, resting a little closer to Gaston, letting herself enjoy the strength of his hold on her, the way he made her feel secure in his arms even though Pharaon moved at a swift trot. The weather had been clear and warm since that rainy afternoon in the clearing two weeks ago, and they were making good time.

Etienne rode just a few yards behind them, but Remy had ventured so far ahead they couldn’t see him. Though Gaston had traded her lame mare for a sturdy little plow horse in a village, the poor animal had been pressed into service as a supply vehicle. It trailed behind Etienne’s horse, tethered to his saddle.

Celine had expressed concern that riding together would give an impression of closeness they shouldn’t give, but Gaston refused to take no for an answer. He had insisted, assuring her that his men would not find their merely riding or talking together worthy of mention to the King.

She rested her head on his shoulder, looking up through the trees, where the first green buds were just visible.

Gaston hadn’t let her out of his sight, or out of reach, since they had made love. Something had changed in him that day. In the past two weeks, she had seen a side of him she had only glimpsed before, a caring and gentleness and humor that made her fall a little more in love with him every day.

Which made every step of their journey all the more bittersweet. The eclipse was just eleven days away now. They were within hours of Gaston’s chateau. They would spend the night there, then go on to Paris to see the King.

And ask for an annulment.

They hadn’t argued over it again. They had come to an uneasy truce about it, a reluctant agreement that it was what must be, a silent accord not to speak of it anymore.

“Gaston, when we leave for Paris tomorrow, I probably should have my own horse.”

“Nay.” His arm tightened around her waist. “This is better for you. Using me as a pillow causes less strain upon the injury in your back.”

She wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but she wasn’t going to be stubborn about it. She was selfish enough to enjoy the chance to be near him during the day, since they were so careful to stay away from each other at night. “I just thought this might be ... uncomfortable for you.”