Forever His(86)

“A virtue that has kept me alive through many years and many enemies.”

That sounded like his last word on the subject. Celine would have turned and started climbing the stairs once more, except that his eyes held her captive.

His potent gaze burned into her as he spoke again, his voice dropping low and deep. “But they said that you had no scar on your back. There was no accident. No mark. Ever.”

Hope blazed through her heart all over again. She could see him struggling with it, see him almost believing the unbelievable, his face cast into harsh angles, his jaw rigid.

He stared at her, as if he could know her true thoughts once and for all if he just looked long and hard enough.

She swallowed with effort, whispering, “My scar couldn’t be related to any sort of brain-fever. And it’s not something I could have faked. It’s not a clue, it’s the truth. It’s a bullet wound—from a weapon in the future.”

Her voice broke whatever spell held him there. He tore his gaze from hers, glancing upward as if pleading with God, then down at the stone beneath their feet. “Madness,” he muttered under his breath. Stepping around her, he led the way up the stairs. “We are leaving, wife. Follow me. Unless you wish to be carried.”

Celine followed. There was nothing more she could do to fight him. Or convince him. She had said all there was to say. He would have to believe her or not, trust her or not ... care about her or not.

But he would have to make those choices for himself.

She caught up with him and they walked in silence to the bailey, side by side. Celine squinted in the blinding light of the winter morning as they left the keep. Two dozen well-armed men awaited, some mounted, some leading packhorses. Etienne stood holding the reins of a dappled gray mare.

“I have made certain all your belongings are here, milady,” he said, patting the bundles tied to the saddle. “Gabrielle finished packing for you.”

“Thank you, Eti—oof!” Celine was caught unaware by Gaston’s hands closing around her waist. He lifted her into the saddle without looking at her. His touch didn’t linger a second longer than necessary. As soon as she was securely seated, he turned and stalked to the head of the line, leaving her to deal with a flush of sensual heat that warmed her body and a wildly erratic pulse. He swung into the saddle of his huge black destrier.

Royce saluted him from beside the gate. “Farewell, milord. Godspeed.”

“Keep a sharp eye upon your neighbors,” Gaston suggested dryly. “I am entrusting this keep to you, Royce—and I expect to find it in the same condition when next I see it.”

“The same or better,” Royce assured him with a rakish grin.

Acknowledging his captain’s salute, Gaston nudged his mount forward. The clatter of hooves and the jangle of weapons created metallic thunder as the riders crossed the drawbridge.

Just on the other side, Gaston turned in the saddle, taking one last, quick backward glance at the keep.

Celine felt a tug at her heart. Even from her position a few horses behind his, she could see in his eyes, in the tense set of his jaw, that he did not want to leave this place.

She had seen almost the same look moments ago, when he had gazed up at her on the stairwell.

But it lasted only a second before he turned forward and set his heels to his horse, his back rigid.

As her mare trotted along in the middle of the line, Celine noticed a sound coming from one of the baskets tied to her saddle. She unlaced the top and made a little exclamation of surprise when Groucho batted at her hand.

She bestowed a grateful smile on Etienne, who rode beside her. “Thank you, Etienne. That was very thoughtful of you.”

He nodded toward the head of the line and spoke in a whisper, as if revealing something he was not supposed to reveal. “It was not I who thought to bring along your kitten, milady.”

Celine followed his glance, warmth tingling through her as she studied the dark knight who was leading them into the forest, his black hair glistening in the sun.

But even while his kind gesture pleased her, she couldn’t shake the certainty that every mile they were about to travel would not take them farther from trouble, but deeper into it.

And God only knew what Tourelle was going to do when he found out they had left.

***

Trying to supervise both the preparations for supper and the moving of furnishings, Yolande had her hands full. Especially since a holiday mood had descended upon all and sundry once word came that they were moving to their grand new home earlier than expected.

At least the upper chambers were almost emptied. She bustled through the door of the last one, at the end of the corridor, past a man who was carrying out the footboard from a bed.