Forever His(32)

She hoped he couldn’t see her blushing in the low firelight; she could feel a wash of color chasing down her body, all the way from her cheeks to her belly.

Moving quickly—but trying not to look as if she were moving quickly—she picked up her yellow velvet gown from where she had tossed it last night and pulled it over her head. She did her best to appear casual, as if she got dressed in front of a strange man every day.

Her hands felt awkward as she wrestled with the dress. Her clumsiness was caused by last night’s dish-washing, she told herself, not by her silent male audience. She tried to fit into the too-snug gown, but getting it over her bust and hips required a bit of wriggling, which only made her blush all the more furiously.

The entire time, she was intensely aware of Gaston’s gaze on her back, tracing over every bare inch of her. Damn the man, anyway. He was enjoying this. It only made her that much more determined to ignore him.

“How did you come to have the scar on your back?”

Celine flinched, froze, then continued dressing. “You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you.” She finally had the gown on, and laced it up the back, at least most of the way. She sure as heck wasn’t going to ask for help.

“You have lived all your life in a convent.” He persisted. “How did you come to be injured? An accident of some sort?”

“Yes, you could say that. An accident. Nothing that need concern you.”

“I am not concerned, little wife,” he replied quickly. “Merely curious.”

Putting on her red slippers, Celine turned around, her chin raised a notch. Gaston hadn’t moved an inch. He was still draped across the bed. That grin—she was starting to find it arrogant—still teased at his mouth.

But his body had gone taut, tense, utterly still.

And his eyes ...

His dark eyes held that potent look again. As if he were made all of flame, as if anything that chanced to touch him would be burned to a cinder.

Celine’s knees felt weak. She barely managed to remain standing.

She supposed she had realized what was happening to her, at some point, she wasn’t sure when: all these funny tingles, the flutters in her stomach, the way she blushed at the drop of a hat, the unsettling warmth that melted through her at one brush of his fingers. Much as she hated to admit it, she was attracted to her macho medieval husband on some deep level that was beyond her power to control.

But she hadn’t believed that she affected him in the same way, until now.

Until she saw it etched so clearly in the way he held himself. Saw it blazing so fiercely in his eyes.

It all lasted only a breathless second before he relaxed, the heat vanishing beneath cool control. He stood up, moving silently and easily as he picked up something from the floor beside him. Another cloak. He must have carried it in with him.

“You will need this,” he said in a low tone that played over her nerves. “Today you work outside.”

That snapped Celine out of her daze. Outside? In this weather? Forcibly suppressing a groan, she squared her shoulders and tried to take the cloak from his hands.

Instead he took a half step around her and settled it over her shoulders himself. When he fastened the silver chain beneath her chin, the back of his hand brushed the sensitive skin under her jaw. She shivered.

“Are you cold already, ma dame?” he whispered teasingly. “You may change your mind at any time.” He lowered his cheek to hers. “Save yourself from me.”

“That, monsieur, I can’t do.”

He chuckled, low and confident. “Then follow me.”

***

The first hint of dawn faintly lit the eastern sky as Celine followed her tall, dark, and irksome escort out of the castle. Her muscles ached with every step, and her breath formed a frosty puff of white as she yawned.

Even though she had been outside briefly last night, gathering rushes, it still made her feel disoriented to see how different everything looked. In her time, there had been floodlights, garages, ornate little gardens, walkways, paved drives; now nothing but snow and a scattering of hand-hewn buildings of various sizes loomed out of the darkness.

Even the air felt different. Tasted different. Clearer. Colder. Every time she inhaled, the sharp bite of it filled her lungs. It almost made her dizzy, as if it contained too much oxygen or something. Even when she had gone skiing with her cousins at Chamonix or Val d’Isere, she had never breathed air this clean. It was a far cry from the diesel-and-lead-flavored stuff she was used to in Chicago.

All right, score one for the Middle Ages, she thought grudgingly.

Huddling deeper into her cloak, she trudged after Gaston. She didn’t comment on the fact that she hadn’t been offered any breakfast. She could hold out until lunch, for one of the meat pies she had slaved over last night.