Forever His (51 page)

“I will do my best, milady,” Brynna said with a smile, carefully placing each item into the embroidered cloth sack she held.

“According to what Dr. Ramsey and I figured out,” Celine added, “the years and the time-windows do seem to match up. He came here from 1989 and I came here from 1993, and he landed in 1296 and I landed in 1300. Four years’ difference, both ways. So you should appear in Manoir La Fontaine about seven months after I disappeared.” She felt a tug on her skirt and glanced down.

“Lady Celine?” Fiara asked, her laser-blue eyes wide and a little worried. “Will it hurt?”

Celine knelt and hugged her. “No, it won’t hurt, Fiara.” She smoothed a strand of blond hair back into the little girl’s braid. “It’s sort of like a dream—you go to sleep, and then you wake up somewhere else. Somewhere strange and wonderful. Except that it’s real. You’ll feel a little tingly and funny for a moment, but it won’t hurt.”

“And I’ll be a real moon-lady? Just like you?”

“Just like me.”

Fiara brightened and looked up at her mother, taking her hand. “Is it time yet,
maman?
”

“Soon,” Gaston said from his post near the window. “The dark of the moon has begun.”

Celine handed Brynna one last item: the roll of film from her camera. The first few pictures were shots she had taken of her family’s Christmas celebrations in 1993. The rest of the roll contained pictures she had snapped around the castle and grounds, and photos of an undeniably medieval wedding.

Those had been taken at the private ceremony in the chateau’s small chapel in the spring, as soon as she had been strong enough to walk. She and Gaston had renewed their wedding vows, with Royce as best man and Brynna as maid of honor.

“Give this to Jackie with the letter.” Celine smiled as she pressed it into Brynna’s hand. “She’ll have them developed. There’s a saying, in the future, that a picture is worth a thousand words. If nothing else convinces my family that I’m alive and well and head over heels in love in the Middle Ages, those should do it.”

Gaston came to stand behind Celine, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. “It is almost time.”

“Brynna, do you remember everything?”

“Aye, milady.” Brynna nodded, squinting at the two of them, as she always seemed to do when they stood so close together. “I will go first to your sister, and give her the letter and your other belongings, and speak to your family. Then I will find Lady Christiane, if I can, and explain to her what has happened to her.”

“Maybe she was meant to be with someone in the future.” Celine leaned into Gaston’s embrace, loving the feel of his strength surrounding and protecting her, his heart beating so close to hers, the little shivers she felt when he dropped a kiss on the bared nape of her neck. “The way I was meant to be here.”

“Aye,” Brynna agreed hopefully. “I will do my best to help her. And I will avoid the ... medium.”

“Media,” Celine corrected with a laugh. “Yes, it would probably be better to keep the whole thing in the family. I’d hate to see you subjected to battalions of paparazzi and reporters and TV cameras. Or end up as psychic-of-the-week on some talk show or infomercial.” She sighed. “As I said, there are going to be some things about the future you’re probably not going to like, Brynna.”

“But it will be an adventure!” Fiara said eagerly.

“Aye.” Brynna tugged playfully at her daughter’s braid. “An adventure. And we shall have a home where we can live in freedom instead of in fear. And the jewels and other items that the Duc has given us should allow us to enjoy many comforts.” She beamed at Gaston. “Thank you again, milord, for your generosity.”

“‘Twas naught but my thanks to you, Brynna, for all your help. Godspeed to you both.” Gaston glanced at the window and began to draw Celine away. “Roussette, it is time.”

“Good-bye, Brynna. Good luck!” Celine shared her friend’s excitement at all the wonders waiting on the other side of that window. She hoped the two of them would find the same kind of love and happiness she had found, with the help of a little moonlight.

Brynna scooped her daughter into her arms. “Farewell, milady. Thank you, milord. Farewell!” She went to stand in front of the window, and they could see her trembling just a bit.

Celine held tight to Gaston’s arm around her. He had walked her almost out the door, as if half afraid the moon might whisk her away. “I only wish everybody could be here to see this,” she whispered.

“I do not think this is a secret we can share with everyone,” Gaston said. “Or anyone. Remember what Ramsey told you about the importance of a ‘low pro-file.’ ”

“I know,” Celine agreed reluctantly. “The fewer who know, the better.”

The castle was almost empty but for a handful of servants and guardsmen. Royce was away at the summer tourneys, intent on making his name and his fortune. And Etienne—
Sir
Etienne, Celine corrected herself—had left for Paris, to find adventure of his own.

Gaston had knighted his squire in a surprise ceremony after their wedding, to reward him for so bravely risking his life for her. The teenager had barely paused long enough to put on his new spurs before galloping off to see the King, to ask if he might be considered a suitor for the hand of a certain beautiful and available lady by the name of Rosalind.

Celine leaned her head back and kissed her husband’s bearded jaw. “I know you’re right. It’s better if we just let everyone believe I’m exactly who they thought I was—Tourelle’s ward, from a convent in Aragon. A little strange, but definitely medieval. It’s just so darned difficult to keep a secret from friends. You know how I love to chatter.”

He chuckled ruefully. “Then I shall have to see that you have your fill of chatter, wife, when we visit Avril.”

Celine hugged his arms against her, eagerly anticipating their trip. They were leaving tomorrow morning, finally moving to their grand new home in the north, with a stop to see Avril and their six-week-old niece, and to pick up Groucho, whom they had left in Avril’s care. “I’m sure Avril will appreciate the company. From her letter, it sounds like her little Giselle is quite a handful even with—”

The light at the window suddenly grew brighter.

“Oh, Gaston,
look!
” Celine drew in a wondering gasp as Brynna and Fiara started to shimmer, like something out of a science fiction movie. It looked as if they were caught in a whirlwind of silver glitter. Fiara smiled at them over her mother’s shoulder, and raised her hand to wave goodbye.

The image froze, suspended in the beam of moonlight, like a freeze-frame. And then they were gone.

Vanished.

Leaving behind only the window, and the moonlight, and the empty room. Celine and Gaston were alone.

Neither of them spoke or even breathed for a second.

“Saints’ blood.” He exhaled slowly, his hold on her tightening.

“It’s all right,
mon cher
,” she said a little shakily. “I’m still here.”

He didn’t loosen his grasp one bit. “You will have to pardon me, Roussette, if I am careful to keep you far from all windows whenever there is a dark of the moon.”

She laughed. “But most of my belongings just went several hundred years into the future—I
can’t
leave now. You’re stuck with me, my Black Lion. For good.”

His reply was a possessive, throaty growl. “Mine forever.” He plucked her baseball cap from her head, releasing a cascade of red curls. “And I shall waste no time in ravishing you thoroughly.” Dropping the hat, he lifted her into his arms and nimbly opened the door.

“It’s our last night in your furs.” She sighed in agreement, twining her arms around his strong neck, curling her fingers through his hair.

He gave her a wicked smile. “I do not recall saying aught of my furs.”

He carried her outside, where Pharaon awaited in the bailey, already saddled and bridled. In a heartbeat, Gaston had mounted the stallion and settled her across his lap. “We have a bold son to make,” he said huskily.

He touched his heels to the destrier’s flanks and shifted her slightly, and Celine realized he was wearing the new leggings she had made for him.

The ones with the buttoned opening.

“Yes,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Tonight.”

Her husband sent the black charger galloping over the drawbridge, carrying her away into the warmth of the sultry summer night, sweeping her to heights beyond heaven in the moonlight.

(Historical Romance, Stolen Brides Series, Book 2)

In a realm of snow and ice, a mercenary is assigned to protect a princess on a journey that may prove deadly to them both.

Disgraced ex-knight Royce Saint-Michel was banished from his homeland because of an impulsive act that cost him all he held dear. Now, he has the chance to reclaim his birthright—if he escorts the lovely Princess Ciara to her royal wedding
and
ensures that she arrives untouched. The two set off alone on a treacherous journey through snowy mountain passes, but forbidden desire soon proves even more dangerous than the assassins on their trail. With the fate of two kingdoms hanging in the balance, will Royce and Ciara do as honor and duty demand ... or surrender to the longing in their hearts?

“A fun and erotic 14th-century romp ... loaded with non-stop adventure.”
Publishers Weekly

***

He was in love with her.
Princess Ciara. The King’s daughter. Daemon’s betrothed.
A lady who belonged to everyone else but him ...

H
e swore he could hear each drop of water as it glided down her body.

Seated on a stool in front of the hearth, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, Royce kept his back to Ciara and his gaze on the untouched trencher of food in his hands. And fought a desperate battle to ignore the liquid, sensual sounds just a few paces behind him.

He should have told the innkeeper and his assistants to take the hot bath away. The fire and the fur had clearly been enough to revive Ciara. She was in no danger.

But after all she had endured this day, he had found himself unable to deny her a few moments’...

Pleasure.

The word made his entire body go taut with strain. He realized he was sweating. The chamber that had seemed so cold just minutes ago now felt much too hot. Sultry. Confining.

Every splash of warm water caressing her naked skin made his heart beat harder. Each barely audible sigh that escaped her lips made his blood pound through his veins. He could not even draw a complete breath, longed to get up and pace—but that would mean turning around.

And seeing what he was hearing.

He grabbed a haunch of roast meat from his trencher and sank his teeth into it, struggling to remember that a great many lives depended on him doing what was right and honorable.

Including his own.

Wolfing down his meal, he resisted the urge to steal a glance over his shoulder ... and tried to keep his mind off the large, soft bed in the corner.

At least the arrival of the tub had spared him one bit of torture: having Ciara tend his injuries. He had seen to his own cuts and bruises while she had prepared for her bath.

The thought of what her tender ministrations might have been like, of her fingers moving over his bare skin...

He gnawed the last bit of meat from the mutton bone, unable to forget the way she had looked at him when he had stripped off his tunic and turned to face her. The wonder in her gaze, and the unexpected, unmistakable arousal, had hit him like a punch to the gut, reminding him of the sweet, feminine passion he had tasted so briefly at Bayard’s castle.

The passion that he had no right to taste or to take.

“Royce?”

He almost choked on his food. “Aye?”

“Could you ... mayhap hand me something to ... to dry off with? Please?”

His heart thudded. Her tremulous voice revealed that she was just as affected as he was by the heat sizzling through the room.

His gaze slid to the stack of linens on the table to his left. He wished fervently that she had thought of this before getting into the tub. “Of course.”