Jane leaned back on her hands, feeling quite pleased at all this information. What a story. Too bad this footnote to history would never make it into anybody's monograph. Be a shame to wreck the romantic legends, anyway, she supposed. Not that it was possible to wreck legends, she thought. People believed what they wanted, despite what the thoroughly researched facts told them. Maybe you couldn't change history in some ways no matter what you did.
"About Passfair . . ." Sibelle drew her attention back to the original subject. "You must teach me as much as you can about running the household before Sir Daffyd returns."
When Sir Daffyd returns, Jane thought with a sigh. "Of course," she answered. She didn't want to leave here, she thought. What was she going to do at Lilydrake? Alone. Alone with Daffyd.
She was going to make the best of it, she thought with adamant determination. She'd learned at Pass-fair that her one special quality was making the best out of a situation. She knew how to cope. She could cope with Daffyd. And David. And anything else the world threw her way.
She just wished he'd come home so she could tell him.
"About the rest of the demesne," Sibelle went on.
"I think I can persuade my lord of the need to appoint
a new steward to oversee everything else. What do you think of Bertram?"
Jane nodded, adding with a pleased smile, "Who else?"
"I know he can't keep accounts," Sibelle went on practically, "but I can get Yves to send a clerk from Sturry to help him. And eventually we'll have a priest back. I'll want one with some learning. My children will need a teacher."
Sibelle looked very determined, Jane noted. She also looked very happy. She and Switha exchanged a swift, knowing glance. "Are you pregnant?" Jane asked.
Sibelle lowered her gaze demurely. Her fingers played with the berries. "I believe so," she said. "My lord will be so pleased."
The kids worked fast. "Yes," Jane said slowly. "Yes, he will. Congratulations." She swallowed hard. She almost whimpered, an awful truth having just dawned on her.
Pregnant. She had never thought about getting pregnant. Why hadn't she thought about getting pregnant? Neither of them had taken any precautions. She wasn't on anything. And even if David had had a contraceptive implant, it would have stopped working years ago.
"There's nothing to worry about," Switha said as if she knew what Jane was thinking. She probably did.
Jane got to her feet. "I think I'll go wait for Daffyd."
She heard Sibelle calling, "But he won't be back for—" as she hurried out of the chapel.
She didn't care. She still went to linger by the gate. She thought maybe wishing for him would bring him back to Passfair sooner.
She couldn't help but be frightened he wouldn't come back at all. The quest was over. The prize was won. Was there a new quest waiting for him beyond the horizon?
She prayed not.
She knew now he was all the prize she needed.
32
Two days crawled past before she saw David's horse approaching up the track leading to the castle. The day was harsh; a purplish-black mountain of storm cloud rode the sky at David's back. Lightning backlit the clouds. The wind whipped his pale hair; the light cape he wore around his shoulders stood out like black hawk wings. Jane watched anxiously from the spot by the gate where she'd spent much of the last two days. Villagers and castle folk were rushing indoors to escape the coming downpour, but she stood motionless as a statue, unafraid of the coming torrent. She had more pressing worries on her mind.
She hoped the things she wanted to tell him didn't come too late.
He gave her a disapproving look down his arrogant nose as he rode in the gate. He didn't pause but pointed at the hall without a word and rode quickly on. His actions didn't encourage her to think things were going to be settled between them. Her heart sank. She raced after him, skirts flying in the wind.
He dismounted and met her by the steps as a groom hurried the horse to the shelter of the stable.
"We have to talk!" she shouted, but a rising gust of wind blew her words away. He shook his head, grabbed her arm, and pulled her indoors.
He didn't stop until they reached the warmth of the hearthfire. Once there he threw back his cloak and shook raindrops out of his hair before turning to her. She held out her hands to the warmth and
waited.
"Hello, Jane," he said in English. "Greetings, my lord," she replied in French. Puzzled brows lowered over his brooding eyes. "Jehane?"
She reached up to brush strands of damp hair off his forehead. She brushed his lips with her fingertips as well. The room was full of people. She didn't see anyone but David. "Call me anything you like."
He looked around. The presence of other people seemed to bother him. A sharp crack of thunder rolled overhead, loud enough to penetrate the stone walls of the fortress.
He took her arm. She was used to it by now. "We have to talk." She let him lead her up to the storeroom.
"I'm packed," she said as he closed the door behind them. She went forward and struck flint to light the candles. It was early in the day, but the storm made the room dark as night. Rain hissed and beat at the outside stones. Water beat relentlessly on the thin-scraped oiled hide covering the window.
He took off his cape and the damp black surcoat underneath. She noticed he wasn't wearing mail, but
the black undercoat, braccae, and hide boots. He unfastened his sword belt and set it aside as well. It seemed like a symbolic gesture to Jane.
"Packed?" he questioned suspiciously. "Where are you going?"
She swallowed an instant of panic. Perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps he was abandoning her. The quest was over and . . . Don't panic, she told herself firmly. Talk to the man.
"Sibelle and Stephan thought you would take me to Lilydrake."
"I see." He leaned against the door, crossing his arms. It was a very familiar gesture. She had never seen him more serious.
She wanted to go to him, take his hands and pull them around her. The unreadable expression on his face stopped her for now. "If you want to go to Lily-drake, I'll take you there," he told her. "I'll take you anywhere you like." He spread his hands before him. "It's your call, Jane."
She didn't understand what he meant. "Daffyd," she began, "I—"
"I've been doing a lot of thinking the last two days," he interrupted. He looked her over, his eyes raking her from head to foot. She felt as if she were standing in the middle of some bright, hot spotlight, every flaw and every good point being scrutinized and carefully judged. The feeling caused a shiver to run up her spine.
"Two days alone," he went on. "Trying to decide what I was going to do about you."
"Me too," she admitted.
His lips twitched, just a little. "Decide on anything?"
"Yes." She licked her lips nervously.
"Me too."
She put her hands behind her back and looked him squarely in the eye. "You first," she said, chickening
out.
He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I decided," he said after dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, "that if Daffyd is what you want, Daffyd is what you shall have. I offer you his heart, his holdings, his person without reservation. You mean too much to me, Jehane, for me to lose you now. Try to forget who I was and I'll make you happy. Here and now," he vowed. "I love you."
She was beginning to have a suspicion of understanding of what he was talking about. His words, his fervent intentions, warmed her. His words were all a medieval lady could hope for. She knew they could build a life together that would be as good and fulfilling as this time and place could offer. But she wasn't a medieval lady. She wished he'd get the notion she was out of his head.
He was looking at her expectantly. Hopefully. "My turn?" she asked. He gave a slow nod. "Maybe I don't want to forget who you are," she began.
"Uh-oh."
"Listen," she ordered, pointing an admonishing finger
at him. "You seem to think I like you all butch and brawny."
"You do. Admit it."
"All right. I do." She kissed his cheek. "It was Daffyd I fell in love with. Daffyd is brave. He has a sense of justice. A sense of humor. He's strong—emotionally strong. He has charm. He's also the sexiest thing in or out of chain mail I've ever seen."
He inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, my lady."
"But David Wolfe's much more interesting. And just as difficult. Just as headstrong and sure he's always right."
"He is not!"
"Is too. Let me finish. It turns out this David Wolfe kid, whose guts I have every reason to hate, grew up into a pretty wonderful man. Seems he has a conscience. Seems he knows how to learn from his mistakes. Has the guts to try to fix things he's screwed up. He doesn't just live with his guilt like most people, he goes off and tries to make things right."
"Interesting assessment," his chocolatey voice rumbled. She noticed he didn't try to deny any of her praise.
"He has an ego, too. But all in all I think the kid turned out all right." She reached up to lightly slap one of the hands resting on her shoulders. "So get off the guilt trip, okay?"
"It's not so easy," he answered seriously. "I've been living with the guilt for a long time."
"You don't have to live with it anymore," she promised, and kissed him, her lips seeking his eagerly. He responded hungrily, but only briefly. It left her breathless and wanting.
"I love you," he told her, holding her close. "But Jehane—Jane—which one of you do I-love? Is it love? Or just a guilty conscience trying to make an honest man of me? I've spent the last two days going crazy trying to decide who I am, who you think I am, who you want me to be, who I want me to be. I am so confused," he ended on a deep, breathy sigh.
"Ah," she answered, relief making the sound almost a giggle.
He lifted her chin in his fingers. "Don't sound so cheerful, woman," he complained. "I'm baring my soul to you."
"And about time," she commented. "I already told you I'm in love with all of you, you silly man. And you're in love with all of me."
"I am?" His eyebrows disappeared briefly into his bangs. "You have an explanation, I suppose?"
She gave an emphatic nod. "You think I spent the last couple of days doing nothing but tending my embroidery? Of course, I did, actually," she admitted. "Sibelle's taken to running the place. So I got a great deal of thinking done while ruining a lot of stitching."
"I see. No, I don't."
She hugged him, laughing into his shoulder. Everything was going to be all right. She knew it. Life was going to be hard. It was going to be terrible food and itchy clothes and cold rooms and no medicines and skirmishes to fight off and sieges to withstand and every other inconvenience she couldn't begin to think of. It was going to be short, brutish, and nasty. But she didn't care. She had David. What more could a woman ask for? Especially when she couldn't have it anyway. She'd make the best of what she had and be deliriously happy.
It would be all right. They'd be together. Forever. What a concept!
But first, to correct his little misapprehension. "It's been three or four months for me, David," she pointed out, speaking slowly and clearly. He was listening, studying her face carefully. "You never knew Jane Florian in 2002," she went on. "But you got a crash
course in what she's like in the here and now. Time changed you, but it hasn't had a chance to get at me yet. And I know and love you. You. Not the twenty-year-old who's responsible for this mess."
The wind was setting up an unholy howling outside. Inside, in the romantic glow of the candles, David Wolfe pulled her into a tight embrace. "Three months. True. Hard for me to conceive, but true. You haven't had any time to change. You are just Jane. You are an amazing woman, Jane Florian."
"Yes," she agreed, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I have an ego, too."
"You're beautiful," he answered. "And absolutely right. Time." He sighed. "Time is a very confusing concept. For example," he went on, "the last forty-eight hours have taken at least ten years to creep by."
"For me, too."
"Happily ever after?" he suggested, tracing her lips slowly with the tip of a finger.
She considered very briefly, then shrugged. "Oh, why not?"
He swept her up in his arms and began to carry her toward the bed. She flung her arms around his neck. "Is sex all you ever think of?" she questioned with a delighted laugh.
"Yes," he answered. "Since I met you."
He set her on the floor next to the bed and they undressed each other slowly. It was a complicated process, and they made a long, sensually teasing game of it. They fell slowly onto the bed as they explored each other gently this time, trailing soft kisses and feather-light touches across naked flesh.
Jane knew she had all the time in the world. She savored every instant, every new discovery, as she learned the places where she could give him the most pleasure. He purred like a big cat when her tongue found just the right spot at the back of his neck, as it flicked across the palms of his hands, slid teasingly along the musculature between navel and thighs.
She worked her mouth along the hard length of him. He was smooth and hard and salty and sweet all at once. The smell of him excited her, as did every texture she encountered. The eroticism cleared every last doubt from her mind. She knew she'd never be able to give up the sensations making love to him brought her.
He groaned with pleasure, and she lifted her head to look at his face. Their eyes met. It was a transfer of heat, a jolt as powerful as the lightning dancing outside the window. He took her hand and drew her up the length of his body. She came, moving with slow sensuality, skin sliding over sweat-slick skin.
He turned her onto her back, taking his turn, his time, to explore her. She closed her eyes and gladly gave herself up to the heady sensations. He touched his fingers to her breast, stroking lightly. Excitement from his merest touch shook her. He suckled one nipple, then the other, turning them into hard points of fire. Then he moved down her body, moving slowly and thoroughly. Within a few minutes she was ready to scream with desire. She was so hot and throbbingly wet she didn't think she could stand any more.
When his head moved between her eagerly open thighs, she did scream. Scream, and arch hard against the tongue probing and lapping at the heated, swollen flesh. She screamed again, quivering body stiffening as a climax took her.
His mouth left her. She lifted herself to him, legs
wide and welcoming, needing him deep inside of her. He came into her, filling her as she strained upward to meet him. Their mouths met. She tasted herself on his tongue. His strokes were slow and steady, building the rising passion to a slow, devastating crescendo that took them together.
The world went away for a long, delicious moment. She soared. Coming down from the height of pleasure was a slow, sensuous glide.
Eventually she opened her eyes to look into his. He was a big, gold cat, looking smug and sated and thoroughly pleased with himself, the world, and her. She knew he was reflecting everything she felt. They shared one more gentle kiss. Then she curled up in his embrace, content just to be with him and drift in and out of light sleep while wind and rain continued to batter the castle walls.
33
Hours later, the rain was still pouring down, the wind howling just as strong. Lightning and thunder played across the sky. Jane lay on her side, tracing her finger down David's strongly beaked nose. He lay on his back, eyes half-closed, a contented smile tugging up his lips.
"You look like you need a dish of cream," she told
him. "Big old tomcat."
"That's me," he agreed, and propped his hands behind his head. "What are you doing with my nose?"
She rested her finger on the slight kink just below the bridge. "I've been trying to remember what you looked like."
"It was only three months ago," he reminded her. "I was young, but hardly dashing."
"Promise me you
won't shave your head again."
"It's hardly the current fashion."
"Thank goodness," she agreed. "If we'd been stranded earlier, you might have been stuck with the silly Norman soup-bowl cut. Of course, I would have
looked great in the tighter-fitting dresses of the period. The long line would suit my figure better than the drapery in style now. And it's only going to get worse."
"The woman's a clotheshorse," he complained to the ceiling. He held her face cupped in his hands. "You're going to be expensive to keep, aren't you?"
"Yes." She turned her head to kiss his left palm. "Unless you prefer a dowdy wife locked up in the bower in rags." She sighed dramatically. "Whatever my lord chooses, of course." She lowered her eyes in mock humility. Then she went back to stroking his nose. "This bump," she went on. "I don't remember it at all. It looks like somebody broke your nose."
He lifted her chin so they were looking eye to eye. "Someone did," he told her. "And I deserved it."
"Hmm." From his tone and serious expression, it sounded like quite a story. She ventured a guess. "King Richard when you turned him down?"
He shook his head. "Cold."
"Someone's boyfriend?"
"Not even close."
"Father?"
"Warmer."
"Who?"
"Your mother."
She stiffened in surprise. "What?"
"Your mother," he repeated. "Colonel Elizabeth Florian, U.S. Army, retired. Quite a woman." His arm came around her, keeping her half on top of him. "I think I had better explain a few things."
There were things he hadn't explained. She eyed him nervously. "All right." What more was there to tell? "Explain."
"It's a long story. How I found you is a long story. I think you're under some misapprehensions. Where do I start?" He caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, then cleared his throat. A crash of thunder punctuated his first words. "The explanation that was given for your disappearance was that you must have been lost in the earthquake. I kidnapped you on a Friday night. No one reported you missing on Monday. You and I were the only ones who knew you worked late the night of the storm."
Wings of the Storm Page 25
