“That is the best thing I have heard from you this day, my lady.”
His voice was husky and edged with need. He leaned down and she felt his breath brush one puckered nipple. Sharp desire spiked through her and she arched up off the surface of the bed in her quest to feel his mouth on her flesh. Synclair pressed her back down, his lips closing around the puckered point as his tongue took a swipe across the very top of it.
A soft cry passed her lips and she heard him chuckle. “I believe we should conduct all of our conversations in bed, madam. We seem to agree often when we are bare and alone.”
“I think we need to stop talking completely.”
He lifted his head and brushed the hair back from her face. She couldn't suffer the distance between them and reached for him. He covered her body, her thighs parting to allow him to settle where she craved him. The head of his cock nudged against the opening of her passage, discovering her wet and eager already.
“Because it prevents you from thinking of the outcome of the trial?”
“Because I want you and I don't care what is happening in the world, so long as we may forget about it.” She gripped his biceps and lifted her hips so that his length filled her completely. “So long as you do nothing save shelter me, I care not what else is happening.”
“Exactly my plans, Lady.”
He pulled free before thrusting back into her. The bed moved along with their motions and Justina let the pleasure tear her away from every thought beside the hard body holding hers. Pleasure crested and they clung to one another for long moments until they began to tease and touch again. The sunlight reached in long fingers across the floor of the chamber before it faded completely, leaving them with nothing but the glow of the candles. Synclair never extinguished those flames. They flickered throughout the night while he held her, his embrace becoming everything she had told herself she might never expect from any man.
It was perfection.
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Dawn invaded their chamber and along with it came tension in the arms of her husband.
“I wish I might bid you remain in bed but I do not wish you to be seen by others as I enjoy you now.”
Synclair rose and began to dress. Justina followed him, taking time to pull a chemise over her head before she began to help him dress.
“No argument today?” He looked at her while she went to retrieve his doublet from where it hung on the back of a chair.
Justina offered him a smile. “The very first time that I laid eyes upon you, I was impressed with the fact that you were a true knight. It is part of you and something that draws me to you. I would not have us argue this day. Let us speak of love instead.”
He waited until she had buttoned the doublet all the way to his chin before slipping his hand beneath her chin and locking gazes with her.
“Because you fear that it might be our last day? Well, Lady, I am a knight and one who is willing to risk everything I have for victory.”
He was cocky and arrogant but she smiled at him even as she shook her head at his vanity. He chuckled and a solid smack landed on her backside when she foolishly exposed it to him.
“Get dressed, Wife! The day has broken and we've matters to attend to.”
Justina didn't get time to dress before there came a solid knock on the doors. She shrugged back into the dressing robe that was lying forgotten on the floor. The Duke of Portshire offered her a brief nod before Synclair strode across the chamber to join him. Her knight never looked back but faced his next challenge with every bit of courage and determination that she had come to expect of him.
Two maids filled the doorway once the men departed. They lowered themselves before entering on silent steps. They both had their arms piled high with items that they laid on the long table before one approached her with a silver comb and began to apply it to the tangled mess her hair had become throughout the night. She eased the comb through the knots until every strand lay smooth. The maid braided and pinned it up while her companion began to bring her stockings and garters, shoes and underpinnings. They dressed her in a warm, winter dress that was made of sturdy English wool. It was lined in silk to make it soft against her neck and arms.
The doors opened again and another pair of maids entered. One carried a small tray with dishes on it that were covered with newly pressed linen squares. The other girl held a kettle that she took to the fireplace and hung it over an iron hook that she then pushed over the newly rekindled flames. Justina felt her stomach knot with tension so tight, she was certain she could not partake of any of the food.
“Mistress?”
Justina turned and gasped. The tray did not hold food. The small box that she kept her herbs in was sitting there, the lid resting beside it and the wooden mug that she used to brew her morning drink in.
“The Lord Harrow instructed that this be brought for you.”
The tray held one last item and it was a small, folded piece of parchment. A wax seal closed it and she lifted it up to look at the crest of the Harrow family. Her fingers shook when she broke it and opened the letter so that she might read the message inside.
Trust is earned, Justina, and not by only one gender.
I will place my faith in you and hope that you will welcome our child just as joyfully as I will.
Tears welled up in her eyes, refusing to be held back. She pressed the letter to her lips before picking up the linen that had covered the box to wipe her face with.
“Take it away. I have no need of it.”
The maid lowered herself and turned to go, but Justina suddenly thought of Bessie.
“Wait. I have another use for that box.” The maid turned around to face her.
“I will take it to my friend. She may have need of it.”
There was a twinkle of understanding in the maid's eyes, but Justina didn't linger over it. Bessie needed the choice, and she would offer that to her friend.
For she was finished with taking the herbs. Fate had finally granted her the rarest of things, a husband she loved. But the day loomed ahead with dark fears of what the council would decide. Biddeford had been a powerful man but the duke was as well. There was no true way to guess at the outcome; there was only the solid truth that the issue would be decided over far more than just the facts of the matter.
Justina walked to the door and the men waiting to escort her to the privy council chambers.
“I am ready, Gentlemen, but if you please, we shall stop and collect Bessie Portshire along the way.”
Justina used her polished manners and meekest voice to convince the guards that she was nothing but a submissive woman. She lowered her eyelashes and peeked up through them at the senior guard. He crumbled in a moment, nodding agreement and gesturing her forward.
C
HAPTER
T
WELVE
T
he Duke of Portshire wore his formal robes with the white fur collar. Resting on top of that fur was his knight of the garter chain, the Tudor roses medallions linked together with knots, and suspended from the center was an emblem with St. George slaying the dragon. Every member of the privy council was dressed as finely and the room was silent in spite of the fact that every inch of space was being used. So many had arrived to hear the proceedings that many of the ladies' hooped slips were crushed, but still no one left.
“And so, my fellow lords, I say unto you all that Francis de Canis is a villain of the worst caliber! He has slain my son-in-law of a single day and left my only daughter a widow. Would that I might demand satisfaction from this assembly, but the man is dead by the hand of a fellow lord that I owe a debt of gratitude to.”
The duke paced along the length of the table, his cape flaring out from his ankles. “I entrust the fate of Lord Harrow to your noble charity but know this ...”
He held one hand up in the air. “I do applaud his deed, so condemn him and consider myself condemned as well. Francis de Canis murdered the Viscount Biddeford in front of my daughter, and I could no more have stayed my hand if I had been there.”
Bessie tightened her grip on Justina's hand. They stood together, watching the proceedings. The lords whispered among themselves but Justina didn't fail to notice the relief that crossed more than one man's face. Francis de Canis had worked for most of them, and they were happy to know of his death because it would forever seal his lips. The Earl of Hertford rose and the whispers died instantly.
“My Lord Portshire, we find your words moving and the Lord Harrow innocent of wrongdoing in this matter. Furthermore, I shall add my condolences to your daughter. The marriage is valid and shall there be any issue from the union, the inheritance conferred.”
Many of the lords pounded the table in agreement.
“There shall be no issue.” Bessie spoke in a soft voice but each word was solid. She was more of a woman now, hardened by the circumstances of fate. Ones that Justina knew very well. Synclair was released from the custody of the King's guard and stopped to clasp the wrists of many of the members of the privy council.
“Will you retire to the country now that you are wed?”
Justina heard the lament in Bessie's voice. “Yes, and leaving you shall be my only regret. But know that it is truly a large one.”
Bessie sighed. “I shall miss you but do not worry so much about me. I am no longer such a child and will not be taken in easily again. There is a blessing in this affair. I will not be forced to wed now. Everyone believes I had a secret love match with Biddeford and that gives me a shield to hide behind.”
She smothered a harsh sound of scorn. “I shall enjoy taking my pleasure from him.”
Justina clasped her friend's hand. “Love can truly be a blessing. I've discovered that recently. I hope you have the chance to learn that for yourself.”
Bessie shook her head. “I want naught to do with suitors. For the moment I must contend with the viscount's nephew. The man has sent word that he intends to claim the title. I expect him to be very unhappy to hear that I shall hold my widow's thirds from the estate.”
Bessie Portshire looked too pleased by that knowledge. Justina ached for her friend for there was bitterness burning in her eyes that she understood so very well. The girl was clinging tightly to her anger, just as hard as Justina had once clung to the notion of not trusting her heart to anyone.
She looked up to find her husband striding across the large receiving room toward her. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart fill with joy. She cast a last look toward her friend.
“Try and trust again someday, Bessie. If you find the right man, it will be worth your heart. I swear it for I have learned that lesson recently and I am glad of it. More happy than I ever believed possible.”
Justina felt Bessie watching her as Synclair took her hand and raised it to his lips. It was only a brief kiss, one that broke no rules of chivalry or even hinted at impropriety, but she felt it burn a path up her arm and into her chest.
“My lady wife, I believe I am about to give you an order that it will displease me very much to hear you object to.”
“And what might your will be, my husband?”
His eyes glittered with hard purpose. “To leave this court immediately.”
Justina smiled and sunk into a low curtsy. “As my lord does command.”
She didn't care about the roads, or the icy cold that made her nose hurt. Justina took to the road the moment Synclair and his men were ready. She looked back at Whitehall and the only thing that she found pleasing about it was Bessie.
“She will find her own way, Justina. That one has strength inside her.”
Justina kept her eyes on the palace. “I have never been so happy to leave a place that so many find the center of the world.”
“Change is coming to Whitehall, and I for one am glad to be gone before the storm breaks.” Her husband's voice was thick with emotion for the King he had served so long.
The wind blew in a strong gust and her horse danced nervously. Justina felt the chill penetrate the thick wool cape she wore and slip beneath the hood to raise the hair on the back of her neck.
“I am sorry, Synclair.”
He stiffened and tore his gaze off the palace. “Do not be. I have what I came here for.”
Her husband sent his stallion forward and Justina followed. They covered the distance between the palace and his house, eagerly anticipating a warm kitchen to warm their fingers. Arlene came out onto the steps when she heard them approaching and the housekeeper lifted her arm up to wave in welcome to them.
It was the most perfect greeting Justina had ever received. It lacked pomp and courtly flare and that pleased her greatly.
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Synclair lingered only a single night beneath the roof of the house. His holdings were further to the north and he patted her bottom, interrupting her slumber before sunrise.
“I am awake, sir, have done with tormenting me.”
His eyebrow rose and she scoffed at him. “Begin that conversation, sir, and we shall not be leaving this bedchamber.”
“I believe I shall enjoy a country life with you, Justina.” He reached out and hooked a hard arm around her waist to pull her against him. His breath was warm against her neck as he angled his head to press a kiss to the sensitive flesh.
“I will look forward to hearing you abandon those courtly manners in favor of a less restrictive lifestyle.”
Justina pressed her hands against his bare chest to push him away but he only allowed her a few inches. “Does that mean you have a taste for a wife who speaks her mind?”
“I enjoy hearing you demand what you like in our bed.”
She felt a soft shaft of desire move through her. “I shall remember that, unless you have forgotten your desire to leave so early this morning?”
“No, I have not, but I am sorely disappointed that I cannot enjoy your sweet body right this moment.”
He released her and stood up. Justina savored the heat in the bed for a moment more before she followed and shivered on her way toward the fire where the embers still glowed. She froze when she passed the table and saw her box sitting on it.
“I meant what I wrote, Justina. Would you like some hot water before we depart?”
She heard the need in his voice and her heart ached to fill it, just as he had filled so many of her own.
“No. That is not what I need or crave. Leave the box behind, it belongs at court.”
Synclair nodded, his eyes shining with satisfaction. “Get dressed, woman, we've ground to cover.”
It took them three days to reach his holdings. Justina gained her first look at Bentwood Castle by evening's light. The towers were ivory and rose four stories into the air. The lands that surrounded it were covered in snow now, but come spring there would be crops growing there to fill the place with life. When they rode into the courtyard, bells set along the walls rung out to welcome the lord home.
“Mother! Mother! I am very happy to see you!”
Justina gasped and discovered Synclair watching her.
“You said you sent him to Curan.”
“I couldn't risk having anything you knew becoming the truth, not when you left my side to go to the palace without me.”
There was a hard glint in his eyes that spoke of just how much he disliked the action she had taken to protect her child. Justina returned it with steady confidence.
“My trust was well placed, I see.”
He snorted at her. “That is most unfair, Lady. You know how much hearing you say that means to me.” He reached up and clasped her around the waist to lift her from the saddle.
“And you know how much I mean it.”
“I do, Lady, and I love you even more for it.”
Brandon pushed his way between them, his excited voice cutting through their conversation. Synclair hefted the boy up and placed him on one of his wide shoulders.
“Welcome your mother home, Brandon. She is now my wife.”
Her son hooted with glee. “Does that mean we are to be a family, Sir Synclair?”
Her husband reached for her hand and she felt his fingers wrap around her own.
“Indeed it does.”
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Henry the Eighth, King of England, died on January 28 in the year 1547. Synclair received word of the King's death a full month after the fact but he didn't lament the distance that had caused him to receive news so delayed.
Synclair offered the royal messenger a firm nod. “You have my gratitude for braving the winter chill to bring me this. Go to the kitchens and my staff will make you welcome.”
The messenger lowered himself before moving off toward the promise of a warm meal and a cheerful fire to melt some of the ice off his boots.
“What news did he bring?”
Justina appeared in the doorway, her nose wrinkling at the chill in the room. Synclair lifted his chin and offered her a grin, the one he always gave her when she tried to tell him that his solar was too cold. Campaigns in France had been far colder. His grip tightened on the parchment and he heard it crinkle.
Well, those campaigns were history now, and the woman in front of him represented a happy future that was all the warmth he would ever need.
“The only news that could have come from Whitehall. Henry has died and Edward is crowned King.”
Synclair stood up and left the message behind on the table. He walked across the room and pulled his wife into his embrace. She settled easily against him, her hands resting on his chest.
“I am sorry.”
“Do not be. Henry was my past and I am very happy in the future ... with you, my love.”
She smiled and stretched up to place a kiss against his lips. The motion pressed her body against his from foot to shoulder and he felt the gently rounding shape of her belly. Synclair reached down and smoothed a hand between them, stroking over the tiny beginning of what would be his child once summer arrived.
“My body seems to recall exactly what to do when I am with child.” Justina ran her own hand over her belly. “I swear that I did not grow so large, so quickly, with Brandon. At this rate, you will not be able to kiss me on May Day without leaning over to reach me.”
“I will suffer the neck ache gladly for I refuse to endure without your kisses.”
Justina smiled at him; it was radiant and emotion shimmered in her eyes. She lifted her hand and placed it on the side of his face.
“I love you.” She reached down and captured his hand and placed it back on her swelling belly. “I trust you.”
Her husband's eyes lit with satisfaction and victory. Justina only smiled, for she had finally come to understand. Fate was delivering happiness in large amounts and she intended to savor all of it. Her husband cupped her chin in his hand while his gaze studied hers.
“As I promise you, Justina, you will be mine but most importantly ... you will enjoy it.”
“You are arrogant, sir.”
He leaned down and placed a soft kiss against her lips. “I am in love, madam, and I know no other way but to pursue what I crave.”
“I pray you never change.”