The odd hats. And strange foods stuck to the buttresses in his kitchen. And feminine giggles late at night echoing through his great hall.
The way she wiggled her toes. And the smoky gleam in her eyes when she kissed him so shamelessly.
And the fact that she fit beside him now, like she was meant to be there.
What sort of vengeful God could do this, give them this taste of heaven and hell? Bring her here, only to take her back.
Or take her life.
He felt an unfamiliar moisture on his cheeks. He could not reach up to wipe it away, did not want to take his hands from her even long enough for that.
God’s blood, was this what love truly meant? He had had illnesses that had not made him feel this bad—his stomach churning, his chest aching, his heart beating painfully against his ribs. Exhausted as he was, he could not sleep. He had not eaten since breaking fast yesterday morn, yet he had no appetite for food.
Was this what Gerard and Avril had felt for each other?
Was this what Avril felt every day—the anguish, the loss? By sweet holy Christ, how did she live with it? And how could he have been so arrogant to insist that she remarry?
He tightened his arm around Celine, knowing that what he felt now was a mere shadow of the agony he would feel in four days ...
Three, he realized, watching the sun’s first tentative rays seep in beneath the window.
Three days.
He buried his face in her hair, feeling a wrenching pain straight up the center of his body. What use was love, he thought angrily, if it would not prevent him from losing her? His wife, his lady of fire, his lioness, his love.
“I will not yield, ma roussette,” he whispered as dawn’s light burnished her tresses to brilliant copper-red.
His little redhead. The name seemed to sum up all the others, captured her fire and spirit, her sweetness and vulnerability, better than “wife” or “lioness” or “Lady Celine” or aught else he had ever called her.
He murmured it again, nuzzling her hair, unable to stop the tears on his cheeks. “I love you and I will not yield, my Lady Roussette.”
Chapter 28
A warm afternoon breeze wafted through the apricot grove, playing leafy music in the branches overhead.
Celine sighed and kept her eyes closed, almost dozing, enjoying the feeling of the fresh air on her cheeks almost as much as the glide of Gaston’s fingers through her hair. She sat curled up beside him, her head on his chest, while he leaned back against a tree trunk.
It felt like one of the lazy, summery days she had spent at her grandparents’ sprawling country estate as a kid. Snoozing on a grassy hillside. Nothing to do and plenty of it. Nothing to interrupt the perfect blend of peace and sun and endless time.
She wasn’t going to let anything ruin this day. Or the two more that were left.
Not even the dull, throbbing ache in her lower back.
She had first noticed it a couple of hours ago. It was similar to the nagging pain she had had once before, when they had been at Avril’s. Since that feeling had gone away after a couple of days, she wasn’t going to let it worry her this time.
No fear. They had promised each other that.
The pain wouldn’t have occupied her mind at all ... except that it reminded her of the secret bargain she had made with God. Her desperate prayer when Gaston’s life had been in danger.
“Are you enjoying your ‘ride,’ wife?” her husband asked with a soft chuckle, interrupting her thoughts.
“Very much,” she replied, eyes still closed. Their plan to test Gaston’s theory of lovemaking on horseback had changed as soon as Celine stepped outside and caught the scent of the apricot blossoms. Once in the grove, she didn’t want to leave.
Just sitting here with him as evening descended, amid the lush green scents of spring that carried on the gentle wind ... it was as exquisite, as wonderful in its own way, as making love to him. She found happiness in simply being here with him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
This, she thought sleepily, was love: that they found the same satisfaction in sharing the afternoon in quiet, companionable silence as they found in sharing their bodies with fiery, intense passion. That they were equally comfortable with silence or words, peace or excitement. That each hour seemed sweeter than the last.
Gaston had been in an exceptionally good mood all day, smiling, laughing, teasing her. Happy. She had never seen him quite so at ease before. After waking up very late, they had taken breakfast in his room, then he had left for an hour to see to some important business which he said couldn’t wait. He had returned as soon as he could, and after lunch had whiled away an hour teaching her the finer points of backgammon.