“I do not know,” she replied after a moment. “We do not know where Rhys has gone. He thought you were assassins so he must be in hiding.”
Conrad nodded in agreement, kicking at the dirt again as the conversation lagged. “The lady… you have met her?”
Carys dumped the last of the grain. “I have. I like her.”
“She is beautiful?”
“Very beautiful. And she is very sweet.”
Conrad tilted his head as he gazed into her pale, porcelain-like face. “You are very beautiful also.”
Carys’ cheeks flamed a deep red and she averted her gaze. Conrad laughed softly. “You do not like to hear that, do you?”
Carys shrugged, keeping her head lowered as she turned for the house. Conrad followed. “I… I do not know.”
Conrad laughed again. “You should know. You will have men telling you this often.”
Carys shrugged nervously, setting the grain bowl aside and going in search of the broom to begin sweeping the steps. Conrad followed her around like a puppy. When he saw her collect the broom, he took it gently from her hands.
“Allow me, schönes mädchen,” he said, smiling at her. “You should not do such work.”
She was still blushing when he took the broom away and began sweeping the steps. “What does that mean?”
He looked at her. “What?”
“Whatever you called me. What does it mean?”
His gaze lingered on her before turning back to his sweeping. “It means beautiful girl.”
A bashful smile creased her lips. “Would… would you teach me your language sometime? I should like to learn it.”
He bowed gallantly. “I would be privileged.”
She fought off a wider smile, knowing the blush on her cheeks had deepened yet again. Carys watched him sweep the steps, an odd feeling blooming in her chest that she had never experienced before. It was warm and tingly and made her light headed. She felt as if her ribs were going to explode. Watching Conrad sweep the steps, she couldn’t help but smile.
He was fairly beautiful, too.
***
Elizabeau had awoken warm and naked in Rhys’ arms. She lay there for a few moments, orienting herself and remembering the events of the night with crystal clarity. She remembered every touch, every sensation as if it had only just happened. It brought a feeling of total comfort, total joy, and she burrowed in closer against him. Her face was pressed into the soft matting of dark hair on his broad chest and she inhaled deeply, feeling his scent wash over her. It was the moment she had always dreamed of with him and it was more, and better, than she could have ever wished for.
Rhys’ arms tightened around her instinctively as she snuggled against him. He had been awake for quite some time, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell between them. He had been sure he would feel differently about what he had done come the dawn, but in truth, he still did not regret his actions. They had been the most natural of things, as he had always been meant to have her. But he did breathe a prayer of thanks that he had still possessed the presence of mind not to take her innocence. It had taken nearly all his strength not to, but for now, the strength had held out and he was grateful.
When she burrowed into him, he pulled her close and buried his face in the top of her hair, smelling the soft strands. It was then he realized that she was doing the same thing to him; he could feel her breathing deeply against his chest. With his hands caressing her hair, her body, he spoke.
“Are you awake?” he asked softly.
“No,” she murmured into his flesh. “I am still asleep, still dreaming of you.”
He smiled. “As I am of you also,” he kissed the top of her head. “Did you sleep well?”
“So well that I cannot begin to describe the bliss. I never want it to end.”
His smile faded. “Nor I, but it is unfortunate that it must. It is shortly after dawn and we must get dressed and press on.”
She pulled her face out of his chest, gazing up at him with a delightfully sleepy face. “Where are we going?”
He smoothed the hair from her eyes. “Ogmore.”
Her first instinct was to cry and rage. After the night they’d spent together, she had convinced herself that the only thing that existed was their feelings for each other. No king, no Teutonic prince… but the reality was that their bliss was to be a stolen moment, never to come again. She struggled to be grateful for it.
“Of course,” she murmured. “How long will it take?”
He finished brushing hair from her eyes and was now simply stroking her face. “We should reach it by tomorrow.”
She looked at him seriously, knowing there was nothing more she could say or do to delay or otherwise alter her future. They had been through it, too many times, and they both knew what must be done. Strangely, after last night, she felt more fortified to face it.