He caught and held her gaze, and the impact alone nearly knocked her over. Love and desire shone bright and intense in his eyes. She couldn't have torn her gaze away had she tried.
Not that she would want to try, of course.
"You are passing beautiful, Andrea. I vow I am the luckiest man in the entire world—dead or alive."
He grinned, gave her a quick peck on the tip of her nose, and then lifted his gloved hand to her chin.
Tilting her head, he lowered and whispered words meant for her only. Warm breath caressed her ear.
"God, I love you." He stared a moment longer, then straightened and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. "Let's be off to the kirk, wench. I vow I am ready to wed you."
Andi grinned and looked up—and noticed for the first time just how many ghostly medieval knights could actually fill a great hall. They all stared at her and Tristan, some more fierce looking, a few no more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Jason, bless his sweet soul, stood close by. He grinned at the pair and led them through the gathering of men. "This way, my lord and lady. Move, you men there, and make way."
Jameson awaited across the great hall, door open and lanterns lighting the path outside to the kirk.
They passed through the doorway, followed by Tristan's garrison and no less than one hundred ghostly knights.
A slight salty breeze wafted across the bailey. Andi lifted the hem of her gown with the one free hand she had, praying she wouldn't stumble over anything. At the rate of speed in which Tristan pulled her, it was a miracle her feet even managed to light on the ground.
Maybe, he was in a big hurry.
Standing now at the front of the small chapel, Andi turned her attention to the priest waiting for them. He opened a large, leather-bound ledger and began to scribble. She forced herself to breathe.
A quick glance around the room proved all this was still happening—it really wasn't a dream.
Jameson stood to her left and behind her. Jason took a place beside Jameson. Kail stood on Tristan's right side. The rest of the Dragonhawk knights stood in a line behind them. Kate and her small family lined the wall on Andi's left. The small kirk was literally filled to the brim with the remaining ghostly knights and warriors who'd traveled to Dreadmoor.
The plain, weathered stone kirk suited Andi just fine. Torches lit the room, their flickering flames casting a warm glow. Tristan had her hand tucked safely within his own as they faced the priest. She held on to him so tight, she felt his mail pressing into her skin. Then, before she knew it, the priest started saying his part of the ceremony, in Latin. He turned to her and Tristan, repeating the words in English.
"Tristan de Barre, Dragonhawk of Dreadmoor, how take ye this woman, Andrea Kinley Monroe?"
Tristan cleared his throat, turned, and stared down at her. The dimples pitted deeply into his cheeks, although he didn't smile. There was that intense look, the very one that made her completely senseless. Her knees swayed a bit.
"I take this woman as my own, in the name of our Father." His deep voice washed over her like a wave. "Forever."
The priest nodded, then turned his dancing blue gaze to her. "And you, Andrea Kinley Monroe of Virginia, how take ye this man?"
Andi turned to Tristan, and as soon as she looked into his blue eyes, so full of love, the tears started to roll down her cheeks. "I take this man as my own, in the name of our Father." She sniffed.
"Forever."
Tristan reached a gloved hand and caught the trail of tears with his finger. When he lifted it to his lips she knew she'd experienced only one thing more emotional, and that was when Tristan came back to life. Her heart filled with joy.
The priest turned the ledger around on the table before them and nodded. Tristan took the pen, dipped it in ink, and signed his name. He dipped it once more and handed the pen to Andi. She watched her own hands tremble as she signed.
The priest nodded. "In the name of our Holy Father, and before these witnessing souls, 'tis done."
He turned to Tristan. "You, my lord, may now kiss—"
"I know that." Tristan grinned at the priest, then pulled Andi into a tight embrace, lowered his head, and captured her lips—then proceeded to kiss her senseless, right in front of the entire garrison and gathered ghosts. Shouts and cheers erupted around the small ancient chapel, but Andi barely noticed.
What girl in her right mind would have, while at the mercy of a chivalrous knight such as Tristan de Barre? The renowned Dragonhawk.
Her husband.
Somewhere in the back of her mushed mind, Andi felt something tugging at her finger. Tristan broke the kiss, gave her a quick peck on the nose, and grinned. She looked down at her hand.
On her finger sat the most beautiful wedding ring she'd ever seen in her life. A wide, silver band, with a lovely sapphire setting in the center. Her head snapped up. "This is from your sword."
"Aye." Tristan produced another ring, much larger than the one on her finger. "I had this one fashioned, as well." One corner of his mouth lifted in a charming grin. "So we would match."
Andi smiled, took the ring from his palm, and tugged off Tristan's glove. She pushed the ring into place and stared up at her husband. "It's beautiful."
"You, my love, are beautiful."
Before she could still her racing heart, Tristan swept her up into his strong arms and took off down the short aisle of the kirk, heading for the doorway.
Jameson hurried after them, Kate by his side, grinning and waving at the same time. "My lord and lady, wait!" He panted as he ran. "A feast has been prepared!"
"Well done, Jameson," Tristan shouted over his shoulder. "Have it sent up to my chambers, posthaste."
Andi turned and glanced behind her as they left the kirk. Jason laughed, a broad smile lighting up his face. Kail slapped Sir Richard on the back, sending him sprawling. Jameson simply stood in the aisle, grinning. Andi waved and held on to her husband for dear life.
He had a purpose; that much she knew. And she knew it, as he carried her across the bailey and through the great hall, without a shadow of a doubt.
Even as Tristan held the treasured bundle in his arms he could scarce believe his good fortune. Andi stared up at him with wide eyes as he climbed the staircase. He flashed her a quick grin.
"Lady Dragonhawk, I vow you'll force me to lose my footing if you do not cease looking at me with such affection. 'Tis unnerving."
Andi giggled. "You're full of it, Dreadmoor."
"Aye, for a certainty. Moon away, love." Tristan reached the top of the stairs and stopped. He studied every inch of his bride's lovely face, from her greenish-flecked eyes to her full, inviting lips.
When her hand snaked around his neck and pulled him closer, 'twas nearly his undoing.
He bent his head and brushed her lips with his. Her sweet mouth trembled, and his poor knees wanted to buckle from the emotions it ignited within him. His throat tightened, so he swallowed.
Twice. It did no good. Damn bothersome lump.
With long strides he started up the passageway and pulled to a halt just before plowing into his young knight.
Tristan glared. "Damnation, Jason. How'd you manage to get here first? Move you away."
Jason smiled at Andi and blushed. "Shall I guard your door, my lord?"
Tristan walked past the boy and opened his chamber door. "Aye, and guard it with enthusiasm, pup." He kicked the door shut with his foot.
"Aye, my lord!" Jason shouted from the other side.
Tristan glanced down at his lady, who gave him a bright smile. "He is very sweet," she said.
Tristan shook his head. "That sweet lad," he said, tossing his head in the direction of the door, "has killed more men in battle than you could fathom. I daresay 'tis best he knows you now, instead of when he was alive in the thirteenth century. The pup blushes at the mere sight of you." He grinned.
"You would have been the death of him, lady." He brought his head closer. "As you would have me."
Andi's breath rushed from her lungs. The hungered look in Tristan's eyes stirred her insides and warmed her skin. A shiver tickled her spine, her heart skipping several beats in its wake. She couldn't speak—she could do nothing but stare into the blue depths of his gaze and watch with anticipation as he brought his lips down to hers.
"Do not close your eyes, Andrea of Dreadmoor." His command whispered against her mouth. "I want you to see what you do to me."
She forced her eyes to remain open as Tristan brushed his lips across hers, their eyes locked. He pulled back, then softly brushed them again. Arms of steel tightened around her, his muscles tense.
He slowly set her on her feet, his eyes never leaving hers. Large callused hands skimmed her skin as he framed her face. Her heart raced out of control.
Her head held captive, Tristan lowered his mouth and kissed her, brushing his lips across hers over and over, his fingers kneading her scalp, tracing the shell of her ear as he deepened the kiss. Her breath escaped as he tasted her lips with his tongue, softly at first, then possessive, demanding.
Reaching up, she entwined her fingers in his long, silky hair and pulled him closer.
A low moan escaped him, his breathing harsh. "Help me out of this mail, woman, for I vow I cannot do it alone."
With trembling fingers, Andi helped him out of the heavy-gauge steel. Once free, he stepped toward her and in one swift move scooped Andi back into his arms. In two strides he stood at their bed, and he claimed her mouth once more.
Following her down to the softness of the duvet, he kissed her neck, her ears, her throat, her jaw.
Nerves she didn't even know existed tingled with sensation.
Tristan, breathless, lifted his head and held her gaze. "God, Andrea." A rush of warm breath sent a shiver across her skin as his deep, accented voice whispered against her ear. "I cannot get enough of you. I want to touch every place on your body that I've only dreamed of touching."
Andi stared back, unable to utter a sound. The truth of his words glowed in his eyes. For a moment his entire soul gaped, open and vulnerable, just for her, and she drowned in the depths of the love he offered.
And love he most certainly did offer.
Tristan's large hands shook as he unlaced her gown and pushed it aside. The fire in his eyes smoldered as he slowly removed each layer of lace. When not a stitch remained, he touched her with his eyes first, and the heat radiating from his smoky look made her skin warm, in some places scorched as she ached for him to touch her. A deep breath escaped him as his gaze moved from her face, to linger on her breasts, where he muttered something in French-Norman that Andi didn't quite catch. His eyes moved over her stomach ... and below, lingering again. Strong hands, roughened from swordplay, followed the same path, the pads of his fingers and thumbs grazing the skin over her hips, her ribs, and slowly up to her sensitive breasts. She couldn't help but close her eyes ...
"Open your eyes, wife. I want you to watch everything I do to you."
Andi looked, and Tristan's gaze bored into hers, dark and stormy and filled with anticipation. Her breath lodged in her throat.
"Thread your fingers through my hair and pull me close," he said, his voice heavy. "And breathe, for the saints' sake."
A smile touched his lips, and Andi took in a breath and did as he asked, just before Tristan's mouth teased the side of her breast, kissing every inch, his tongue as warm and erotic as the groan that escaped him. Or was that her?
"Tristan, now," she said. She didn't think she could stand another second.
He stood without a word and shed his own clothes, never once dropping his gaze. He came to her, stretched out above her, held her head between his hands, and kissed her until she couldn't breathe.
Scars and muscles covered Tristan's massive back as she ran her hands over him, felt his body tense beneath her fingers. His hands never stopped moving, touching every bit of her as though a newly discovered treasure. Skin to skin, body to body they moved, and then he shifted his mouth to her ear.
"Take me inside you, love," he said, his accent thick, his voice hoarse. "Christ, I want you now."
Andi thought she'd drown in the love she felt for Tristan at those desperate words, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped as he claimed her, filling her completely, heart and body. His gaze never faltered, not once, watching her intently as he moved with a desperation and fierceness Andi had never known. Possessive.
Just as spears of light burst behind Andi's eyes from the intense climax, Tristan groaned and covered her mouth with his and shuddered as intense pleasure crashed over him. Then he kissed her, erotically slow. Gently, he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, then lifted his head. The look of his own wonder of discovery turned his eyes a dark, tumultuous blue-gray.
With her heart beating wildly out of control, tears spilled over Andi's lids, and Tristan brushed them away with his thumb. Kissing first her jaw, then the tip of her nose, he whispered against her mouth, his voice gruff with emotion.
"I would gladly wait another seven hundred years for your love, Lady Dreadmoor." He caressed her jaw with his callused knuckles. "I love you, Andrea de Barre." He rested his forehead against hers.
"I will love you forever."
Andi's heart seized with joy and emotion. Her dreams had come true after all. She had her knight, who loved her and only her.
And boy, did she ever love him back!
Wrapping her arms around him, she smiled. "I will love you forever, too." She kissed him, deep and long. "My very own fierce Dragonhawk."
Read on for a sneak peek at Cindy Miles's next ghost story, due out in November 2007 ...
Northern England, Castle Grimm
Present Day
Gawan studied Ellie, scrubbed a hand over his chin, then gave her a nod. "Aye. If it will ease your mind a bit, I'll tell you what I can." He closed the door. "Mayhap you should sit."
Sit? Nothing good ever happened after the suggestion to sit before the Telling of Whatever. But since she'd asked for it, and she really didn't have a clue what was happening, or how she kept appearing in this man's bedroom, Ellie found a comfy window seat and sat.