Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,134

Hawisa to me as you said you wished to be. Nicola being Nicola to me. Simply—and boldly—Nicola.”

She gulped. “’Tis not right I should be so happy, but I am. And so glad I am here with you.” She sat up, placed her hands on either side of his bearded face. “Will you make love to me?”

He hesitated. Not because he was averse to her invitation, because he was as eager to accept it as she was daring to issue it. And more daring in sliding her fingers into his hair, drawing his head down, and whispering at his lips, “Now, Husband?”

Ardently, he kissed her. Ardently, she returned his kisses. Reverently, he caressed her. Reverently, she returned his caresses. And just as he took all his wife offered beyond the shedding of clothes, she took all her husband offered—every sweet and beautifully desperate embrace.

Afterward, suspended in the silence of lost breath amid tangled sheets, the last of day’s light creeping out the window, Vitalis wanted only to hold her through the night. He might have slept then, but he felt her chest expand against his side and knew that breath would be spent on words.

“Oh, my heart,” she said. “It has never strummed nor beat so beautiful a song. Has yours?”

“Never.”

She eased up and, leaning over him, hair pooling on his chest, said, “I love every bit of you. And I do not yet know every bit of you. But I shall—as you shall know every bit of me.”

Though certain he was now more than acquainted with her every bit where her body was concerned, not so her mind. But perhaps that was best known little by little.

“As it would be good to birth a babe very close to nine months,” she said, “we have made good progress.”

Not wishing to share this chamber with William who was led to believe this would not be the first time they knew each other, Vitalis said firmly, “Let it just be the two of us this night—every night—Nicola.”

He felt her hesitation, then she said, “You are right. I just worry you will regret whatever may come of this eve.”

Knowing she referred to a son who might too soon be fostered away, he said, “Though I did not come to you this night intending to know all of you, every moment I was aware of what I did and the consequences. I may not like them, you may not like them, but I have lost enough allowing circumstances and threats to dictate what I do and do not do. I want a life with you and our children, whether nine months hence or years. Mayhap William will change his mind and see the benefit of any son of ours receiving training here. Mayhap not. But God knows, and I am determined to trust Him ere being anxious over what the mortal he allows to sit the throne may do.”

“I am glad still you have faith, Vitalis.”

“It has its wounds, ones I thought would bleed out, but it heals. And I believe it began with you.”

“Me?”

“The day I confronted William in the cave, I was weary of everything, even life. It seemed all that lay ahead was the darkness of more failure and the trampling of whatever worthiness I yet possessed, that were I even to imagine light it would drop me on my face.”

“Just because you fight on the side that does not triumph does not mean you are unworthy, Vitalis—or even that you have lost.”

“You have shown me that. Your light has kept my head up, Nicola. You are the long-awaited answer to prayers I could hardly speak.”

Her breath caught. “Truly?”

“I asked the Lord to give you a man you could not only love but whom you would allow to protect you.”

“And He gave you to me.”

“It would appear.”

“It more than appears.” She kissed him, eased back down, and reached behind and drew his arm around her waist. “Should we sleep?”

Setting a hand on her abdomen, wishing a child soon there, he said, “As there will be many other nights and we are travel-weary, we should.”

She gave a little laugh. “Then sooner the morn comes.”

Vitalis frowned. “What excitement this?”

“The hanging of the morning-after sheets,” she said as if speaking of flowers she would cut and arrange in vases.

Having begun to draw her hair through his fingers, he stilled. “Not only do most women find the tradition of displaying proof the bride was virtuous uncomfortable, but word could reach William, and he would know he