A Promise of Tomorrow

by Aston, Alexa

  He pushed aside her skirts to her knees and continued his examination. He started at her ankles, moving up slender calves. His groin tightened and he fought the flood of emotion that poured through him. Ashby gritted his teeth and swallowed hard, bending Marielle’s knees, finishing the last of the job with trembling hands.

  Assured that she’d suffered no serious injury, he scooped her into his arms and held her close, a prayer on his lips for her to awaken to good health. He took her to his horse and managed to mount it with her in his arms. Ashby looked down at her still face, the long lashes swept down over those magnificent violet eyes.

  Then succumbing to temptation, he bent and pressed his mouth softly against hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Ashby rode quickly but carefully back to Monteville, which he could see in the distance. He didn’t want to jar Marielle unnecessarily. He assured himself he’d seen men thrown in a similar fashion before. Other than the lump he’d spied upon her brow, she should wake with few problems. There’d been no broken bones and no bleeding. She would be fine.

  Suddenly, she sneezed. Ashby pulled up on the reins, stopping his horse. Marielle opened her eyes for a moment and gazed at him, a frown wrinkling her brow. She sighed and her eyelids fluttered several times before they closed again. He spurred the horse on.

  As he approached the chateau, he signaled to the man in the watchtower and the bridged lowered slowly. As he rode through the bailey, he cherished the last moments he held her close. He’d never been in love. He hadn’t really believed much in it until he’d witnessed Garrett and Madeleine together. Oh, he knew a handful of couples grew to love one another within their arranged marriages but he was used to more carefree emotions that he wore upon his sleeve. He rid himself of women and any feelings he had for them as easily as he changed tunics.

  He thought back to some of the women he’d been involved with over the years. Few liaisons lasted beyond a fortnight. He’d been physically attracted to many of them, making love to them as a lute player makes love to his instrument. It had all been in the here and now, taking what he could for his own pleasure and returning as much of that pleasure as he could. No lasting feelings—no regrets—existed for him.

  Until now. The woman in his arms held for him all that he ever desired. He enjoyed her mind as much as her beauty. She was someone he wanted to grow old with. Marielle was a woman who would never bore him. Why in Heaven’s name must she already be wed? It brought a turmoil he’d never known before, misery to a life which had experienced no heartbreak.

  Ashby dismounted and carried Marielle up the stairs to the chateau’s entrance. The steward met them.

  “La comtesse has taken a spill from her horse. Bring your healer to see to her needs.”

  Etienne nodded. “I’ll find the comte, as well. He has just returned from his trip. In fact, he may be in his solar. Why don’t you take la comtesse to her chamber?”

  Ashby carried his precious burden up to her room, the now-bittersweet taste of the brief kiss still upon his lips. He placed her on her bed and ordered a lurking servant girl to set a fire. He tucked a blanket about Marielle, hoping to prevent possible shock.

  Jean-Paul stepped through the connecting door, a glass of wine in his hand. He took a swig from it and belched loudly. “Good to see you, fitz Waryn. Thank you for bringing my errant wife home.”

  Ashby bristled at his uncaring attitude. He fought for composure before answering. “It could be serious, Comte. Mayhap you should come comfort Marielle in some small way.”

  Jean-Paul shook his head dismissively. “It’s not the first time she has been thrown. It’s merely another little mishap. Marielle takes far too many chances in the saddle. She has no more restraint than a child. I fear she will never mature.”

  His comments startled Ashby. How dare he talk about Marielle in such a cavalier way! She meant nothing more to de la Tresse than the plaything Ashby realized she must be to him.

  “Do you mind if I stay with her a while? I feel responsible for her accident since I saw it happen. We had become separated from the rest of the hunting party.”

  Jean-Paul shrugged. “Do as you please. Only make your way down by supper. Marielle has planned for a magician tonight.” His eyes lit up at the mention of that. “I would not want you to miss such grand entertainment. And then we will conclude our business on the morrow.”

  “As you wish.” Ashby kept his head bowed and his eyes lowered. He had no doubt of the rage that boiled within them. If he ventured to look at Jean-Paul de la Tresse, the man would be as good as dead. He was ready to strangle the nobleman at this very moment with his bare hands.

  He wet a cloth and placed it over the bump, now big as a small hen’s egg. Taking Marielle’s hand in his, he noticed how cold she seemed. He wished the fire would spread its warmth faster. He wanted the healer to hurry and arrive. Ashby thought if only Jean-Paul could fall into his moat and drown, all Ashby’s problems would be solved. He would sweep Marielle far away and keep her safe. Protected.

  And loved. He would never let her go.

  He took a deep breath and tried to still the tumult in his head.

  *

  Marielle coughed and noticed how it made her head ache. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, willing the pain to flee. It didn’t. Still, she realized she was warm and cozy in her own bed. Someone wonderfully masculine held her hand. She inhaled the air about her, picking up that scent she thought of as Ashby. It was full of the outdoors, clean and strong.

  And totally irresistible.

  His image filled her head. How unlike Jean-Paul Ashby was. She admired his strength and way of speech and quick wit. He displayed lovely manners and had a mouth that she longed to touch with just the tips of her fingers. Well, mayhap a quick touch of her lips to it, as well. She’d never kissed a man, though she’d longed for Guy to do so when she was young. The nuns would have called her longings wicked, but did not God bring into existence Adam and Eve to go forth and multiply across the face of His earth? If God invented kissing, surely He thought it fine to do so or He never would have created the idea.

  Drowsily, she opened first one eye, and then the other. She was right. Ashby sat in a chair next to her bed, his hand wrapped around hers. She looked at him and was rewarded with a tender smile.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She still wasn’t sure. She tried to remember why she would be here but for the life of her she couldn’t come up with a reason why.

  He must have read her mind. “You fell from your horse, Marielle. I fear a hoof hit a hole and the creature lost its balance. As it fought to keep on its hooves, it tossed you from the saddle.”

  She nodded slowly. Pain sprang to her head immediately and she winced. “Is Jezebel all right?”

  Ashby cocked his head. “If Jezebel is your horse, yes. The wicked little thing beat us back to Monteville. She’s probably chomping on sweet hay and regaling her stablemates about today’s adventure.”

  He grew more serious. “You’ll be up and about soon. The healer has come and gone and pronounced you fine. No broken bones. Just a tap on the head. But you will need to stay abed for a few days. You’ll need your rest.”

  She pushed her body back with her heels and gradually came to a sitting position. “I am a lost cause.”

  “No, you simply rode too fast. The rains from yesterday affected the ground. If you had it to do over again, I am sure you would slow down and pick your way more carefully.”

  Marielle thought how she’d been riding away from him, from all she longed for when she gazed at him. She’d been trapped in this mindless existence over seven years now. She tolerated it—until Ashby fitz Waryn arrived. With him came everything she’d ever wished for. When he left, and it would be soon, her life would become even more dull and dreary than ever.

  “I wish I had fallen and broken my stupid neck,” she told him, unhappiness washing over her in waves.

  Ashby looked at her sternly. “No, Mari
elle. You must not speak that way.” He tightened his grip on her hand and reached with his free hand to cradle her face with his palm. “You have too much to offer this world. Do not ever think of leaving it early.”

  She sensed a current running through them, binding them together for all eternity. His touch brought the same reaction each time. She knew in future nights when the loneliness hovered about her, she would remember this moment—their closeness, her hand nestled in his, his hand against her cheek.

  Slowly, his fingers came around and cupped her chin. His thumb ran sensually over her lower lip. “You sense what is between us, even as I do?” he asked softly.

  Marielle nodded. Her lips parted but no words came out. Ashby looked sadder than any man she’d ever seen, a look of pain and remorse that ran deep, etching lines into his face that hadn’t been there previously.

  As he brushed his thumb back and forth, he whispered, “And you understand much as I want to act upon this feeling, I cannot. For your sake.”

  Again, she nodded, her heart splitting in two. Minstrel’s tales told of love at first sight but reality never measured up to those songs. Yet here she was, utterly, desperately in love with a man she’d met only two days ago.

  “One kiss,” she whispered. She did not want to beg. “Something to be treasured on those nights my longing for you is too great to bear.”

  Ashby hesitated. Marielle knew he would never do as she asked. As sensual a man as he was, he hadn’t in him the ability to come between a husband and his wife, no matter how ravaged their relationship might be.

  Instead, she reached a hand up to him and placed it around the nape of his neck, pulling him close to her. The instant their lips met, her bones melted. A sweetness greater than any honey she’d tasted poured from him. Marielle hungered for it. Without understanding why, her lips opened in invitation and his tongue swept against hers, becoming as one.

  She became lost in the kiss, its warmth and desire enveloping her in a richness unknown until now. Time stood still. His fingers pushed into her hair, massaging her scalp, bringing a giddy tingling to her insides.

  Marielle wanted him. She’d never felt desire—but she would have this man. Her fingers locked round his neck and sought to bring him closer but he resisted. He broke the kiss and looked at her with remorse.

  “Alas, Marielle. I am contrite for my actions. Do not make me do something we would both regret.”

  “What might you regret, Ashby fitz Waryn?”

  Chapter Eight

  Marielle steeled herself and looked to the open doorway. Marc stood in it, his handsome face dark with anger.

  “Regrets?” Ashby asked. He shrugged in the Gallic manner of those he’d witnessed around him. “I try not to focus on the past, de la Tresse. It’s where all regrets hover like little hobgoblins. I prefer to look to the future.”

  He stood and bowed slightly to Marielle. “My only regret is challenging you, my dear comtesse, to race back to Monteville. I feel responsible for your unfortunate accident.”

  “No,” she said quickly, taking up his strand of thought. “It was no one’s fault but my own. I have won a reputation for being a bit too bold in the saddle. I thought I could win the dare. Please, rest easy, Ashby. I lay no blame at your door.”

  “Then I will bid you adieu until the morrow. I know the healer will not allow you from your bed for this evening’s festivities. I’m only sorry that you won’t see the magician you hired work his magic.”

  Ashby walked to the door and good-naturedly slapped Marc on the back. “Shall we leave la comtesse to her rest now?” As he spoke, he guided Marc from the room and closed the door behind them.

  Marielle’s heart refused to be stilled at their leaving. First, thoughts of the tender yet passionate kiss she’d shared with Ashby continued to enthrall her. Before, she’d possessed no idea how quickly desire could spark between a man and a woman. All her silly childhood daydreams of Guy and her lackluster love life with Jean-Paul seemed to pale beside the single kiss she’d shared with Ashby fitz Waryn.

  And what if anyone had seen them in their indiscretion? Marc appeared only moments after Ashby ended the heated kiss. Could he have witnessed it? The thought of what her brother-in-law would do or say to Jean-Paul caused her heart to beat erratically. Knowing Marc, he would simply use what he’d seen to blackmail her into doing the same with him.

  The thought of her lips next to Marc’s caused a deep disgust to rise within her. She loathed her husband’s brother. Despite Marc’s fine looks, he had a reptilian quality to him. He had annoyed her in the beginning when she’d first come as a new bride to Monteville. Now it ran much deeper. His penetrating looks greatly disturbed her. She would refuse to remain at Monteville once Jean-Paul went to meet his Maker. Already, she suspected her husband would not live many more years. He overexerted himself, working long hours. She’d seen his hands trembling at times, something he’d tried to hide from her. Once Jean-Paul was laid to rest, Marielle would have no reason to remain at Monteville.

  She had few options. Going back to her parents’ house and shop would begin a new nightmare, one she wasn’t willing to accept. Returning to Sisters of Merciful Heart would be a wiser choice, though not ideal. The convent’s abbess would take her in willingly, thanks to the wealth she would bring with her. Jean-Paul had gifted her with numerous pieces of jewelry over the years. The Sisters of Good Mercy would be more than willing to open their gates to a widow with such riches in her possession.

  Those gates would provide her protection from any trouble Marc might cause. The nunnery would become her sanctuary from the world in general. Marielle still felt no vocation to the Church but she knew she would be given a place to live comfortably within the convent’s walls when the time came.

  How ironic that the very place she’d been forced into by her parents so many years ago would be where she eagerly turned if Jean-Paul passed on without an heir. The thought saddened her, knowing it was likely that she would never hold her own babe in her arms. Instead she would spend her days living in a place that brought such miserable memories to her. Whenever she thought of the convent, Marielle couldn’t help but think of her twin.

  How she longed to make amends for poor Arielle’s death. Yet in all these years, no one had ever mentioned her sister’s name. Sweet, shy Arielle. Always wanting to be like her bold, brave sister. Always destined to remain a child in Marielle’s mind.

  She pushed aside the unpleasant memories. Her body throbbed still, as much from Ashby’s kiss as the bruises from her fall. She drew the bedclothes about her and escaped into sleep.

  *

  “I find that impossible, fitz Waryn. For Lord Montayne to even think I would part with a rod of Monteville is out of the question. I don’t care how much you’re offering to pay.”

  Ashby quelled the disappointment that inadvertently rose within him. Garrett wanted more land to produce a new variety of wine, combining the reds from Chateau Branais with a white he would grow on the additional tract. He envisioned a new wine, different from anything yielded before.

  Yet Ashby knew what Jean-Paul’s response would be before he extended the offer. It bothered him nonetheless. He rarely failed Garrett in matters of business. He would not be eager to return to Stanbury with this news.

  He took one more stab. “Lord Montayne is willing to part with—”

  “I care not what some English lord thinks he will give me in return. I would have to be dead and buried before I give over any part of Monteville.”

  Ashby sighed inwardly. At least he’d steeled himself for this expected reply. He was still tottering gingerly about on other matters. Try as he may, he had not discovered if Marc de la Tresse saw him kiss Marielle yesterday afternoon. He’d tried to guide his conversation with de la Tresse without revealing anything the younger man was not privy to. All last night as they’d dined on venison and mutton, on starlings and chickens, he gently probed and pushed.

  The Frenchman hadn’t budged. Even dee
p into his cups as the evening progressed and the magician cast a spell over his audience, Ashby still couldn’t guess if Marc had seen their kiss and was waiting to cause mischief later or if he’d arrived just after the kiss took place. Either way, it made Ashby uneasy.

  Yet the younger de la Tresse brother had been present all morning as Ashby outlined why Garrett wanted to add the small piece of land to his property that was adjacent to Monteville. If Marc had witnessed anything amiss, surely he would have revealed it to Jean-Paul by now. Maybe it was the guilt eating away at him but a sudden idea occurred to Ashby.

  What if Marc had seen their embrace and would continue to withhold the information from Jean-Paul after Ashby left Monteville? What if he used it to blackmail Marielle? The thought of her at Marc’s mercy turned his stomach sour.

  Ashby rolled up the scroll that Garrett had drawn upon, the better to show Jean-Paul his future plans for Chateau Branais and the new wine he wished to attempt using a part of Monteville land.

  “I’m sorry we are not able to conclude a fair price and make this exchange,” Ashby told the owner of Monteville. “Still, I must thank you for all your kindness and hospitality.” He indicated Jean-Paul’s vineyard manager. “Donatien has been most gracious in sharing his knowledge with me. I hope to implement several of his ideas in Lord Montayne’s vineyards here.”

  Jean-Paul burst out in raucous laughter. “You would change Pierre Bouchard’s mind on how to run Chateau Branais?” He slapped Ashby on the back. “That comment alone was worth your coming to stay at Monteville.”

  Jean-Paul looked to Marc and then Donatien. “Can you imagine Pierre altering his ways?”