“Do not favor the mare overmuch,” he instructed the two lads. “If she slows you too greatly, move these bundles to your horses and leave her.”
“Aye, milord,” Remy said, mounting his stallion.
“Sir? I am sorry that I—”
“Nay, Etienne, we have no time now to discuss your peculiar ideas of carrying out your duty—but we will speak of it later.”
The young man nodded, looking as if he wanted to sink into the forest floor. He mounted his horse. “Aye, milord.”
“Ride with all speed. The light is waning already, and we will have a storm to deal with before this night is out.” Gaston sent them away with a slap to each horse’s rump.
They trotted down the path into the deepening afternoon shadows. Even as the sound of hoofbeats faded, Gaston kept staring after them, not trusting himself to turn around and look at his wife.
Because he was shaking.
By nails and blood, he could not stop shaking. It seemed to be beyond his control. Everything seemed to be beyond his control. He had not been in command of himself or his life since the moment Yolande and Gabrielle had handed him that accursed, outlandish pink pouch and he had been forced to realize the truth.
Not only about Celine’s identity, but about himself.
He had been avoiding it all along. From the beginning, he had convinced himself that he would be able to keep his defiant lady with him somehow, and he had rigidly believed that he wanted only pleasure of her. But his unshakable conviction had begun crumbling even before he knew who she was.
And her disappearance today, that brief, bitter taste of what was to come, only served to make the truth agonizingly clear.
How could he not have seen it before? Even after they made love, while he felt guilty and furious at his carelessness, some part of him—some part buried so deep that he had not recognized it at the time—had been pleased.
Pleased that she was finally, truly his. Pleased that she was bound to him in that most elemental way, in every way. In ways that had naught to do with pleasure and far more to do with whispered words and the unsteady rhythm of his heart. Some secret corner of his soul had reveled in it: consummated vows could not be broken. She would be staying with him. She was his.
But all that had changed now. She was not his. She was leaving, and there was naught he could do to stop it. He had to let her go. It was beyond his control, and that infuriated him.
But what infuriated him even more was that it pained him. More deeply than any wound he had ever endured.
“Gaston, are you going to stay mad until nightfall or are you going to turn around and talk to me?” Celine’s voice sounded soft beneath the distant growl of thunder.
He remained where he was, staring up at the storm clouds, letting her believe he was refusing to look at her because he was angry. “Tell me, wife,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even, “what did you do today? That is to say, other than waste several hours and nearly break your mare’s leg?”
She was silent for a moment. “Don’t you think that sending our escorts off without us kind of defeats the whole purpose of having escorts in the first place?”
“Do not change the subject. Answer my question.”
“I left you a note.”
“Which was more infuriating than informative. What precisely was your ‘important mission’?”
“Please don’t say it that way. It was important.”
“So important that you rode off with only a squire to protect you?” He clenched his fists. “So important that you risked your life?”
“You sound as if you care about that.”
He jerked around and glared at her. “You act as if you do not!”
“I went to see Lady Rosalind.”
That blunt statement struck him dumb. If she had said she had visited a Saracen princess in the distant East, he could not have been more surprised. “Saints’ blood, woman,” he choked out on a suddenly dry throat. “Why?”
“Because you mentioned once that she didn’t want to marry you. You said she had so many suitors you weren’t sure she would wait for you. I ... I had to make sure. For the sake of ... for the future.”
Astounded, Gaston stared at her blankly. “And did you accomplish this important mission?”
Celine glanced away. The wind had strengthened, heavy with the promise of rain, and it played through the red-gold strands of her hair. “I told her that our marriage was going to be annulled, and that she was the one you really wanted—”
“I cannot believe I am hearing this.”
“She’s very beautiful, Gaston. And sweet and demure. Although I think she’s a little young for you,” she whispered, her voice trailing off.