“Do you not think you have done as much for me?” he murmured, his tone urgent, for all its low timbre.
“Wolfram,” she whispered, and her voice caught in her throat. “No healer am I. Do not be deceived by what you wish to believe.”
“Nay? Feel it, Genevieve,” Wolfram urged as he flattened her fingers against his chest. “The warmth of a loving heart now beats where once there was the chill of stone. Even I thought naught could be changed, but your sweet love has proved me wrong.” Genevieve blinked back her tears as Wolfram urged her closer.
“I can take no credit for this,” she protested, wishing all the while that what he said would prove true. “‘Twas finding your mother that set your fears to rest alone.”
“Nay, Genevieve. I could never have spoken to her, were it not for you.” Wolfram’s lips grazed her temple and he bent to whisper in her ear. “This heart beats but for you, my own gentle healer, and none can tell me otherwise.”
“You have a task with the Order,” she argued. “Surely you cannot mean to leave their ranks?”
Wolfram shook his head sadly. “The Order of the Templars, for better or for worse, is no more. One cannot leave something that exists no longer.” His lips quirked with unexpected amusement, and Genevieve regarded him with curiosity. “And none too soon, I would say, for it seems that reclaiming some lost part of myself has made me lose my touch in certain matters.” He smiled then, openly, though Genevieve was not yet ready to share his confidence in their match.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes, certain she needed to warn him of her own lack of worldly ambition. “No interest have I in pursuing my family’s legacy of retrieving the crown,” she admitted hastily. “Times have changed, and such a feat is no longer feasible, if indeed it ever was. Do not imagine, Wolfram, that I will commit myself or my children to such a path.”
To her astonishment, Wolfram did not turn away. Instead, his arms slipped around her and he regarded her with an indulgent smile. “What then do you desire from this life, my Genevieve?” he asked. The way he said her name made her heart skip a beat, but Genevieve would not grant herself any false promises.
She looked past him to the windswept bailey with its soft new grass. “I would make my home here at Montsalvat,” she said quietly. “I would live simply here, raise my children and be safe from the troubles of the world.”
“None can make the troubles of the world go away,” Wolfram observed matter-of-factly. Genevieve smiled.
“Nay, but I would not invite those woes to my board.”
“As Alzeu did,” he offered. Genevieve nodded.
“Aye, I would be safe and untroubled.”
“Alone?” Wolfram asked, with a lack of curiosity that must be feigned. Genevieve flicked a glance upward to find a twinkle lurking in his eyes. The very sight emboldened her, and she forced a mock sigh.
“I know not who I might coerce to live in such a wild place with me,” she said coyly.
“Ah.” Wolfram leaned back against the wall and surveyed the bailey. “Mayhap you should consider one who might help you secure that safety you so desire,” he suggested with apparent idleness.
“Ah, but the only one who makes me feel safe is you.”
There, she had said it. Genevieve held her breath as she waited. Wolfram’s lips quirked but he was leisurely in meeting her eyes. When he did, she saw that mischief danced unchecked in those silver depths.
“Well it seems that a proposal might be in order,” he purred. Genevieve flushed, and Wolfram chuckled in response. He swung Genevieve so high that she squealed, then let her drop back into his embrace. His features suddenly sobered when she was trapped against his chest, her feet dangling in the air.
“I love you, Genevieve de Pereille,” he murmured as his gaze danced over her features. “Will you be my bride, my love and my partner for all my days?”
Genevieve smiled and reached down to frame his strong face within her hands. “Will you be mine?” she whispered hopefully in response. Wolfram smiled broadly then and let her slide down his chest so that their noses were almost touching.
“‘Twould be my utmost pleasure,” he whispered. Genevieve’s heart thumped in her chest so loudly that she was certain Wolfram could not miss its pounding.
“As ‘twould be mine,” Genevieve accepted with a shy smile. She caught but a glimpse of the exuberance that lit Wolfram’s features before his lips closed over hers purposefully. His hands braced her back and lifted her against him as she locked her arms around his neck and surrendered wholeheartedly to his kiss.
Bride, love and partner. Aye, there was a role she was more than willing to fulfill for this man. Genevieve’s heart sang with the certainty that here Wolfram would find the home he had lost and sought all these years. She closed her eyes and let his happiness flood into her, its warmth capturing her heart in an endless embrace.
Genevieve had helped Wolfram to heal and, together, they would seek out the greater mysteries of her legacy. Her blood rose to his touch and she leaned fully against him, her thoughts fading to one as sensation took the reins.
Wolfram was no longer alone.
And neither was Genevieve.
She fancied her grandsire would have been pleased with her choice.
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781408987889
Unicorn Vengeance
© Deborah A. Cooke 1995
First Published in Great Britain in 1995
Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
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