“Alensson!” Jianne gasped with emotion, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears. He reached up, fixing his hands around her waist, and helped bring her down gracefully. Her hair was windswept, her hood hiding the mane that he longed to see. Her cheeks were a pleasant pink despite her dusky skin. He enveloped her in his arms in front of everyone and kissed her soundly on the mouth, the act bringing a chorus of cheers from a group of soldiers who happened to be nearby.
She returned the kiss in an almost greedy way, not caring if the world saw them. Then she pulled back and stroked his cheek. “You need to shave, my lord husband,” she said, running her fingers through his shaggy hair.
“I’m too poor to afford a barber,” he said with a smile, “but if you’d do the honors?”
She nodded eagerly and then hugged him close, pressing her cheek against his chest and squeezing him so hard he felt little tremors in her arms. He held her like that for a long while, stroking her hair.
“Now I can kiss you properly,” Jianne said, wiping the last bit of lather away with a towel. With all the commotion going on in the castle, they had been interrupted at least a dozen times by knocks and servants asking when the duke would be able to join his lord down in the war room. He was hungry to see her again, hungry to be alone with her again, anxious for the noise to fade and the night to fall and for the blissful silence that would eventually come.
He kissed her again, feeling his heart burning with unquenchable love. Soon he would leave again. Too soon. After a lingering kiss, he pulled away. “I must go.”
“Before you do,” she said, catching his sleeve.
He looked at her curiously. They were sitting side by side on a small sofa. He took her hands and gave her a probing look. “What is it?”
She looked down nervously before looking back up to meet his eyes. “Alensson, I think I’m with child.” The words were spoken almost fearfully, as if she wasn’t sure how he would react.
He was unprepared for the news, which made him feel as if a lance had struck his shield in the perfect spot, hurling him from the saddle and down on his backside in the dust. He was speechless, shocked, and then his insides roiled with delight and feelings he had never experienced before, feelings so pure and tender and bright it was like staring too long at the sun.
“Are you, dearest?” he asked breathlessly, cupping her cheek. Was it a dream? Would he suddenly awaken back in his tent amidst a war camp? “I could not imagine . . . I dared not hope so soon!” He felt a fiery intensity inside his chest and he pulled her close to him, kissing her neck, kissing her cheek.
“I’m not . . . absolutely certain,” she said with worry in her voice. “I could be wrong.”
“But you think it’s true,” he said, shaking his head, smoothing hair from her brow. “I’ll not second-guess you. A woman should know these things better than a man! My love, I cannot tell you how happy I am. My heart is fit to burst!”
She winced at his words. “But you are going away,” she said, taking his hands into her lap and squeezing them hard. “You must go. I’m not trying to stop you. But I know so little about childbirth. There is no midwife we know or trust. There may be troubles. And I’ll worry about you.” Her eyes filled with tears and several streaked down from her lashes. “I’m grateful, so very grateful to have you.”
And it was at that exact moment a knock sounded on the door. Alensson gritted his teeth, preparing to curse at whoever was disturbing this moment. If it was the prince himself, he’d earn a scolding that would blister his ears.
“Be patient, they don’t know,” Jianne said worriedly, seeing the frustration in his eyes.
Alensson marched over to the door and yanked it hard by the handle, ready to spew out oaths that would make the intruder shrink and cringe.
Genette was standing at the doorway, no longer in her full armor, but wearing a chain hauberk beneath a royal tunic the prince had brought for her.
His mouth was open, the words ready to tumble out, but he slowly shut his jaw.
“Gentle duke,” the Maid chided softly. “The prince commands you to attend to him.” Then she looked at Jianne and a tender, sympathetic look rippled across her face. “Greetings, sweet duchess. I congratulate you on the news.”
Jianne looked momentarily surprised, but she had been an ardent believer in the Maid from the beginning and her look shifted to gratitude. “Thank you, Genette,” his wife said, rising from the couch. She reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand. “You have a duty to the prince,” she said.