Yet to give up the chance of being the lord of Dunborough! He had yearned for that for as long as he could remember.
Gerrard abruptly rose and started for the door, grabbing his cloak from a peg before he went out. It did no good to sit and brood. That was the sort of thing Roland would do. Better to be doing something—anything—than mope.
He’d go to the tavern in the village. It was always lively, even at this time of night. There were other places a man could find companionship of a different sort, but he’d given that up along with too much ale.
Gerrard stepped into the yard. A quick glance confirmed that the watchmen were on the wall walk and two guards stood at the gate.
A cold Yorkshire wind sent clouds scudding across the half-moon and he sniffed the air, wondering if it would snow before morning. Hard to say.
How much he hated winter and the cold that forced him to spend too much time indoors! He felt imprisoned when the weather was too bad to ride. Perhaps that was what being in a convent was like, and not only in the winter. Considering that and celibacy, he knew he could never stay in such a place. He would flee at the first opportunity.
A movement near the large oak beside the inner wall caught his eye. Someone clad in a long dark cloak was moving in the shadows near the kitchen.
“You there, what are you doing?” he demanded as he hurried forward.
Celeste—Sister Augustine—stepped out of the shadows. At the same time, one of the soldiers appeared on the wall walk above and the guards at the gate charged toward her.
“All’s well,” Gerrard called to them. “You can go back to your posts.”
They obeyed and he turned to face Celeste, trying not to notice her large eyes or full lips. “You had better stay inside at night. My men are all trained archers. You might have been mistaken for an intruder and shot.”
“Fortunately, I was not.”
Her voice was as placid as her expression. Where had that lively, daring girl gone? He would have wagered much that even the nuns couldn’t stifle her vivacity, although apparently they had.
“Is anything the matter?” he asked. “Is there something you require?”
Dolt! If she wanted something, she would go to the hall and summon a servant, not wander about the yard like a lost soul.
“The chamber is very comfortable, thank you,” she replied. “I simply couldn’t sleep. And you?”
“I often check to make sure the watch is awake,” he lied. He never did that. He didn’t have to. His father had severely punished any man caught sleeping at his post, and it was still too soon after his father’s death for the men to realize neither he nor Roland would ever be as cruel.
Celeste nodded at the oak tree. “That’s the tree we climbed that All Hallow’s Eve, isn’t it?”
The memory rose up as vividly as if it had been yesterday. He and Roland had gotten out of the castle by climbing the oak, then slipping out a postern gate, one All Hallow’s Eve. They’d wanted to go to the village to see the bonfire. Audrey and Celeste were already there when they arrived. Audrey claimed she didn’t believe they’d done anything so bold as climb over the castle wall like thieves. Sir Blane must have let them come.
Determined to prove her wrong, Gerrard had suggested that she return with them the same way and spend the night in the hayloft. Roland had been against the idea from the first. It would be too dangerous. She surely couldn’t climb as well and they’d all be caught and punished.
Audrey had laughed at Roland, and Gerrard and she had called him a grumpy old woman and a host of other unflattering names until he gave in.
Celeste had begged to go along and finally they had let her. She had kept up with them, and never made a whimper, even after they were caught, as Roland had predicted. Audrey and Celeste had been escorted home, for their father was too wealthy to offend, while the twins had been beaten and forced to stand until dawn.
“I was so afraid I’d fall,” Celeste murmured, moving back into the shadows.
“You never gave any sign you were afraid,” Gerrard replied, following her. “I thought you were very brave.”
She laughed softly, a sound that roused more memories. Of chasing her through the forest, but never quite catching her. The admiring look in her eyes when he told a funny story. The time he’d suggested they play a kissing game and she had laughed and blushed and run away.
He wanted to kiss her now.
She is a nun, he reminded himself, even if she’s also a beautiful woman. “I was afraid, too,” he confessed.
Glistening in the moonlight, her large eyes widened with a look of wonderment. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
She is a nun. “I was afraid of many things, my father most of all.”
“So was I.”
“Everyone was frightened of him.”
“I meant my own. He used to fly into terrible tempers. Audrey and I would hide, and she would tell me stories to make me feel better.”
“I never knew that.” Even as a girl, Audrey had seemed too cold and calculating to offer a younger sister comfort.
“I realize she had her faults, but I loved her very much,” Celeste whispered, her voice full of sorrow.
Nun or not, there seemed but one thing to do. Gerrard put his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace.
He meant only to offer comfort, yet heat coursed through his body as her breasts pressed against his chest. He thought of her full lips so close to his own. All he need do was put a knuckle beneath her chin and tilt her head up to kiss her.
They were in shadow. No light shone from the narrow windows nearby. No one could see them.
She is a nun! She is a nun!
“I’m sorry I broke your collarbone that day, Gerrard,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry I cut off your hair,” he replied just as quietly.
If he were wise, he would move away. Leave her. Go to the farthest corner of the castle. Or the village.
He wasn’t wise.
Celeste knew what Gerrard was going to do before he did it. What he shouldn’t do, especially if he thought she was a nun.
She also knew what she ought to do. Stop him. Move away. Leave. Go back to her chamber.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. For too long she had dreamed of being in Gerrard’s arms. For too many years he’d been her idea of a hero, the ideal man. Of all the worldly longings she’d sought
