at the chapel steps and walked with him in silence, hand in hand, into the stables and waited while he checked his horses.
“How can I live without you?” she’d whispered when he was finished, resting her head against his chest. “Do not leave.”
Thomas ran his knuckles over her smooth cheek. “I must, my lady.” He kissed her forehead. “The king has summoned me directly. Not to answer would be an affront.”
“Can he not wait until we are married? The banns are posted.”
“My ship sails at dawn, Meri. I’ll be back within a year, I promise. We’ll make quick work of the French.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, then pressed her palm to his chest. “When I return we’ll have a grand wedding feast, with music, fine wine and sweet cakes in the shape of magic beasts.”
She stifled a quiet cry.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He could feel her heart beating hard against his own and the rise and fall of her chest with her every breath. God’s breath, she smelled like summertime and new wine and she fit him perfectly, her belly molded against his, her long legs the spanning length of his own. He’d loved her since he was a just a boy. And now her silken touch, her scent, the sound of her voice—all assaulted his senses, beckoning for more than just youthful and chivalric kisses. He ran his hands down her supple back, to the curve of her waist, cognizant of the effect she had on him. His heart raced. His breath quickened and the stirring in his gut ignited a man’s full grown desire.
’Twas worse than a sentence to hell, knowing he might never lay with his Meri, and know her the way a man should know the woman who holds his heart.
“Thomas,” she said, stepping away, loosening her hair from its long plait. “If I cannot have you for the year to come—” Her voice broke and she glanced to the loft above. “Then at least let me have you until dawn.”
Her gaze fixed on his face; she unfastened the laces of her kirtle and drew the bright yellow gown over her head. “Give me these last few hours before you leave. I have loved you since the day we met. Please…”
Standing there in her fine chemise with her long, wavy hair spread across her shoulders, her eyes pleading, asking him to take her—’twas enough to tempt a saint. And Thomas Addecker was no saint. What had he ever done to deserve the love of this vibrant, passionate woman?
He reached to run his fingers over her lips, across the small crescent shaped scar on her chin to the hollow of her neck. Through her thin chemise, her nipples rose erect. She raised her face to his and kissed him, tentatively at first, teasing, inviting him with
feminine softness. She threw her arms around him and grasped his nape, drawing his head closer.
He found himself kissing her back, hungry, his need burning with an urgency too long denied. Her lips parted allowing him to taste her. It took every ounce of self-control he could muster to break their embrace, and when he held her at arm’s length, with his hands on her shoulders, he was shaking.
God’s bones! He’d bedded a woman before. He was newly knighted, capable and proud of his looks. What virile man his age was not?
But this was his Meri…
He could not take her as he wanted to, hard and fast, with her legs wrapped around his waist while he pumped against her, thrusting until he came to his release and she to hers. But God, what exquisite torture it would be, to spend his last night on English soil loving Meri!
He groaned and shook his head.
“Thomas, what is it?” she asked, her breath raspy and quick.
Thomas flung his cloak over her shoulders and wrapped it around her. “I cannot do this. Should you get with child, ’twould be ruinous. And who knows when next I might return?” He looked away. “If I return.”
There. He had said it. Surely she could see he loved her more than a fighting knight should. He faced certain death long before he would grow old. He braced himself, expecting to hear her heart-wrenching sobs.
“You oaf!” She slammed her small fist into his chest.
He staggered slightly, completely surprised by her response.
“I care not if there are consequences from our loving. My father will force me to marry someone if you are given up for dead or gone too long, and no man would turn away my dowered lands, even if I bore and kept our bastard.” She attacked his chest again, beat against his chest as though hitting him could fight back her tears. When she was spent, she collapsed against him, her fiery anger melting away to the warmth and softness he found so alluring.
“I love you, Thomas Addecker, and no man will ever hold my heart the way you do. No man.”
He took her hands in his and kissed her temple. God in heaven, she was unpredictable and true, strong and feminine—exactly why he loved her.
“’Tis my desire you not go through life alone. Promise me you will marry if I am killed. Promise me that, my Meri, and I will grant you anything you wish tonight.”
She flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. “I promise, knave. Now grant my wish.”
Meriom shrugged her chemise from her shoulders and let the garment fall to her feet.
Thomas let his gaze travel upward, from the slim turn of her ankles to her shapely calves, to her rounded thighs and hips. He drank in the sight of her, the gentle swell of her breasts causing him to hold his breath. God in heaven, she was beautiful…beautiful enough to rob him of all reason—and restraint if he wasn’t careful.
She slipped her hands beneath his tunic, her slim fingers searching for the ties to his braes. Her fingers grazed his belly and he flinched, though not from fear…
Thomas grabbed her wrists. “Wait,” he said. “Are you certain you—”
Meriom frowned. “Are you certain, Thomas?”
He pulled her to him. An exasperated groan rumbled from his throat. “Hell to the devil, Meri. I have been certain for the last five years. Painfully so.” Without another word, he swept her up and climbed the stairs to the loft, bounding up two risers at a time.
He laid her gently in a bed of straw. “I’d hoped to lay with you on our wedding night in coverlets of fur and silk—”
Her slender fingers pressed against his lips. “Shhhhh, Thomas,” she whispered. “There will be time for that someday. Make haste. The meadow lark is calling to the rising sun.”
Thomas pulled his tunic and his shirt over his head, pausing long enough to watch her eyes widen as he rolled his braes below his hips.
Meriom sat up and ran her hand down his chest, tracing lines of muscle, stopping just above the thatch of hair between his legs.
He tensed beneath her touch, her fingers like fire against his skin.
“God’s breath, Thomas, you are handsome, so smooth. So fair.” She studied him, her gaze drifting lower. “I should not have let you—suffer.” She kissed his belly—soft, quick kisses
