Tempest Heart - Paula Quinn Page 0,76
darkness to the horses. “There is an inn about a half-mile west of here. There is no reason why your bride should spend her wedding night on the hard ground.”
Rose blushed but thanked him. She didn’t like sleeping outdoors.
When they were alone in the dark, Tristan put his arm around her and pulled her close as they reached his horse.
“Ye are weary,” he noted, helping her into his saddle.
She loved his voice. It was deep and soothing, mesmerizing in its lyrical timbre.
Was he giving her a way out? If she was too tired, he would not force her.
“’Twould not be right for me to withhold my affections from my husband.”
He leaned forward. His deep laughter tickled her ear and sent heat down her spine. “I think the good Lord knows how difficult yer life has been these last days.”
That was how long they had known each other, and they were already wed.
But why wait? They could be dead tomorrow. At least Tristan had made her his wife and did not disgrace her. She loved him. She thought if he left that nothing in her life would ever make sense again.
She wanted to tell him she loved him tonight.
They found the inn a short while later and Tristan paid for a room. He carried his weapons and bags up the stairs, behind her.
She felt his eyes on her buns in her well-fitting trousers and covered herself with her hands. “You must think me odd.”
“I think ye magical…or somethin’ that explains why I want to be with ye all the time.”
“I feel the same way,” she whispered as the innkeeper showed them to a door in the middle of the hall. He worked the key and then pushed open the door.
Rose stepped inside first.
There was one narrow bed by a window, a chair, and a small table. Rose didn’t care what the room looked like, or if the wood on the headboard was polished. When the innkeeper lit all the candles, the room was cozy and perfect.
When the innkeeper left, Tristan bolted the door.
She stood by the chair trying not to look nervous then realized she was twisting her shirt.
He smiled warmly and she thought she might not be able to sleep with him looking so fine in the candlelight.
He walked to the bed, kicking off his boots.
Rose watched him, breath held, nervous and thrilled to see what he would take off next. “Tristan,” she spoke his name softly. “I do not know anything about what we are to do.”
He looked at the bed, and then at her again. “Ye know nothin’?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. After all of this…” She laughed at herself, but the sound was more one of disgust than amusement.
He pulled off his léine and tossed it over the chair. She stepped back. She’d seen his bare chest before. It was most pleasant to gaze upon, shaped more like a “T” with a carved belly. He fell into the bed and groaned with pleasure. She was tempted to follow him.
He yawned and closed his eyes. It calmed her nerves a bit and emboldened her to remove her belt, her hose, and then her boots. Beneath them, she wore hose. She didn’t want him to see her scarred legs, but she remembered that he’d seen them already and he never mentioned them again.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. He pulled on the coverlet and invited her in.
She didn’t hesitate but leaped into bed and sank down into it beside him.
With one flick of his wrist, he went under the coverlet on his side and pulled her into his arms.
“Ye have my thanks fer not killin’ de Caleone. Ye are beautifully pure and killin’ him, no matter how much he deserved it, would have darkened ye.”
“It has not darkened you,” she told him.
“Aye,” he nodded, holding her. “I can never undo what I have done, and I’m hardened enough not to care.”
“You care, Tristan,” she whispered against his skin. “You are a good man.”
“Until only recently,” he let her know. “And doin’ a few good things doesna make ye good.”
“You saved Mary.”
“I almost didna save her,” he confessed into her hair. “I didna want to use precious moments when I could have been lookin’ fer ye.”
“But you did anyway. Only a good man would do that.”
“Or a fool.” He offered her a sympathetic smile and ran his palm over her hair. “This will all come to an end and all will be well.”
It might have been the tenderness