Chapter 19 #2
wash day. The animals were all penned and fed, but he had no time or patience to admire her handiwork.
“Meg?” Out of doors, they agreed to use her alternative name.
Only the wind through the trees answered.
Saints, she wouldn’t have gone foraging alone, would she? Not without her basket. He ducked back into the house to check,
panic rising in his throat.
Her cloak hung by the door, and her basket sat on the bench.
“Marigold?” He barred the second door, pleading in his voice.
“Jask?” she answered from the loft. “What’s wrong?”
She was safe. Relief flooded through him as he kicked off his boots and bounded up the stairs, where he found his princess
knuckling her eye.
“Did I burn supper?” she asked. “I fell asleep while reading.”
“I’m sorry.” He hauled her to him, needing her body close to his to prove she was here and whole. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Her eyes flew open. “For what?”
“Last night.” He cupped her cheek and searched her eyes. “And leaving you alone today.”
She knit her brows together. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Her pinch was sharp on his chest.
“Ow. I believe you’re supposed to pinch yourself.”
“This way’s better.” Her arms were caught between them, and she slid her palms up to his shoulders.
“Why did you ask if you were dreaming?”
“Because . . .” She traced the line of his collarbones. “I’ve dreamed this scenario several times now, and then I wake up
before . . . Well, you don’t need the details, but it’s getting a bit . . . frustrating.”
Desire pooled between his hips. He was desperate for her, but he needed her to take the lead. Yesterday he’d botched their
encounter and would not repeat that mistake.
“I do need the details.” He brushed her curls from her forehead. “To help ease your frustration. Tell me, what happens in this
dream?”
“First, you kiss me,” she said.
“Like this?” He curled forward to brush his lips against hers. A tease, then more. She tasted of mint and honey. Of promise.
This wasn’t enough—small bites and nibbles of her were never enough. He swept his tongue across her lips, and she opened for him.
Merciful heaven, she was his favorite flavor.
The vibration of her soft moan set his blood aflame. His daydreams had hardened him, but this turned him to rock. With her
arms locked around his neck, the soft mounds of her breasts flattened against his chest as she lifted herself on her toes.
He dropped his hands to her rounded ass, pressed her close so she could feel her effect on him.
He broke the kiss, desperate for his next instruction. “Then what?”
She shivered as he licked the delicate shell of her ear. “You lift me, then carry me to the bed.”
There was never an order in life he’d wanted to perform more. With an easy bend and scoop, he carried her to his generous
bed. There, he knelt on the edge and laid her gently down upon it. The unabashed desire in her eyes momentarily stole his
breath.
“And then?” He kissed her again.
“That’s the frustrating part.” She slapped the coverlet. “Barnaby normally wakes me before we go further.”
He trailed his finger against her neck. “What do you wish happened?”
“I wish . . .” She caught his hand and kissed the palm she’d healed. “I wish you’d untie my garters.”
To himself, he thought, It would be my everlasting pleasure.
Slowly, he slid his hands under her skirts.
Up the smooth swell of her calf, then tugged at the thick ribbon holding her hose in place above the knee.
The bow slipped cleanly free. He savored the slide of his skin against hers as he repeated the job on the other side.
With great care, he peeled the hose from her, then dropped everything on the floor.
“Next?” he prompted.
“You take off your shirt.”
The linen joined her hose on the floor before she finished the sentence. Through the window, the setting sun beamed on him,
giving her a chance to see him plainly. He stilled, silently offering her a chance to back away from this, from him.
She raised herself onto her elbows, then raked her gaze down his body, then back up to his eyes. “I thought yesterday, while
you were chopping wood . . . or last night, when you were soaked . . . I thought you couldn’t be more beautiful, but I was
wrong.”
Her admiration choked him. His highest hopes had been that she wouldn’t be frightened by him. But to find him beautiful . . .
It didn’t resolve all that tightened his chest, but it was a good start.
Marigold swiveled her legs to the floor. “Help me from my kirtle?”
She caught his hands, then pulled them to the lacings that ran up the garment’s front. Blue like her eyes, this fashion offered
tempting peeks of the tops of her breasts. Especially when she kneaded bread dough and they swelled against the fabric as
she moved. One of the reasons he’d happily handed over that chore to her. With trembling hands, Bram slithered the silk ribbon
free from the eyelets.
As the panels splayed open, the tight rosebuds of her breasts peaked the thin shift she wore underneath. He slipped his hands
beneath her kirtle’s shoulders, then pushed. The blue wool pooled at her feet, and saints, now she wore naught but the shift.
In fading gold daylight, the outline of her body was clear.
All that stood between him and glory was a thin shield of linen.
She reached behind her neck and unfastened the clasp of her locket. Gently, she laid the necklace on the bedside table, her fingers lingering briefly, then turned to him.
He kissed her forehead. “Are you sure?”
“More than I am of my own name.” She reached for his belt, then unfastened the buckle.