Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  “Of course. What is it that I am to see?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  With another grin, he guided his steed toward the wide, leafy fringe of the forest. They left the clearing, ducking into the cool recesses of the wooded path. She gazed around her as they traveled, feeling as if she’d entered a magical land.

  The season was full upon them, and sun peeked through the intertwined branches and leaves overhead, painting the thick canopy with strokes of brilliant orange, red and gold. Pockets of warmth lit her head, and the branches dipped and swayed in the breeze, making the air smell fertile and ripe.

  She breathed in the fragrant, almost smoky scent, savoring the crackling of the leaves under their mounts’ hooves. Though the day was sunny, the air was crisp, reminding them that winter’s breath would soon frost everything in glistening layers of white.

  After several minutes of riding, Gray pulled his steed up short and twisted to look at her. “We leave the path here. Do you need to rest before we go on?”

  “Nay, I feel fine,” she answered, realizing that her training had done more than just help her to wield a sword. Only weeks ago such a jaunt might have tired her, making her long for the comfort of her chamber, but now she felt exhilarated and ready to ride all day. She patted her mare’s neck to make sure she fared as well. “Bella feels warm, but she’s not sweated yet. She’ll need to take water and rest soon, but I think ’tis safe to go farther for now.”

  Gray nodded and pushed off the path into the woodland, picking his way through the brush and holding back large branches so that Catherine and her mount could pass by unhindered. Their travel slowed here without the trail. The horses stepped carefully to avoid tripping on uneven ground or stumbling on a rock. But Catherine enjoyed their leisurely pace, as it gave her more opportunity to study her husband without his knowing it.

  She watched him riding in front of her, forging the way for them with his own body and the movement of his steed. The sun winked through the trees, burnishing his hair to blue-black and dancing over the broad, well-muscled expanse of his back and shoulders. Every now and then she heard him murmur something to his steed, talking him around a treacherous root, or guiding him under a low-hanging branch with soothing tones.

  ’Twas his way, she realized, feeling a ribbon of warmth unfurl through her. Gray took others into his care and tried to calm and settle them. It seemed as natural to him as breathing.

  She’d seen him do it countless times during the weeks she’d lived at Ravenslock—with the children who played round the castle like happy ants, with his men, who respected his command and authority as if he were a brother rather than their lord…and especially with her. He’d worked with her every day, helping to make her stronger, to make her feel worthy.

  To make her feel safe.

  And many nights he’d come to their bed and simply held her close, telling her with his actions far more eloquently than words ever could that she mattered. That her feelings and needs meant full as much as his.

  “We’re here,” he called to her, interrupting her thoughts as he reined in his horse. He turned in his saddle, his eyes alight with pleasure. Whatever he wished her to see was making him as excited as a little boy.

  Was it ground for a new castle, perhaps? Or the site of an existing ruin that he wished to show her? Regardless, she realized that his desire to share his excitement with her pleased her well.

  Dismounting, she tied her mare and approached where he stood waiting for her. Gray took her hand and led her the last few paces through the wood to the edge of what seemed to be a clearing.

  “Come, lady. I discovered the spot this morn, during my ride.”

  Pushing aside a thick bough that blocked her view, Catherine stepped into the clearing and gasped. A broad, green field sprouting with thousands of slender willows stretched before her. Swelling hills rose on three sides of the flats, providing the wetland with the protection and water needed to nurture the growth.

  Speechless with pleasure, she stepped forward into the clearing. Her foot promptly squelched into the soft earth, and she jumped back with a shriek.

  “Careful,” Gray said, laughing as he reached to balance her.

  She stilled, suddenly aware of the way his palm cushioned the small of her back, supporting her. Warmth radiated through her clothing and sent a heated shiver up her spine. He was so good to her. His eagerness all during the ride hadn’t been over something he’d found for himself, but for a gift that he wanted to give her.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled through them. “This field is large enough to supply the castle for an entire year’s weaving.” Swinging her gaze to meet his, she was surprised to see an answering tenderness that made quivery feelings settle in her belly. “Thank you for this,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything you’re doing—everything you’ve already done for me.”

  He was silent as he gazed down at her, his eyes soft with some nameless emotion. “’Tis nothing, lady. I’m happy to have pleased you.” He cleared his throat and stepped away, breaking their physical contact. “But tell me, how do you judge these withies for their quality and readiness for culling?”

  A sudden sense of loss overwhelmed her excitement for a moment. Yet it bubbled up again when she envisioned all of the beautiful pieces she would be able to weave from the harvest of this field—chairs and tables, baskets, platters, bowls. ’Twas a dream come true. More carefully, she took a step onto the field, motioning for him to follow as she picked around the lesser of the soggy spots.

  “Here,” she said, reaching for a supple strand. She bent it in toward them, pulling and testing its strength so that Gray could see it as well. “See the texture?” she asked, holding it for him to touch. “’Tis nearly ripe, and yet it must grow longer before ’tis ready for cutting. Then, once the strands are harvested, they must be boiled and peeled, which leaves them a deep golden color as they dry.” She let the rod go, and it swung back to dance gracefully with the others in the breeze.

  “How much longer?” Gray murmured. “Until they can be cut, I mean.”

  “Another week or two, when they reach above our heads. Willow ripens last of all, so that when the farmers are sitting back and surveying the wealth they’ve worked from the land, weavers are just beginning their harvest. ’Tis difficult, oftentimes cold work, with winter nipping at your fingers.”

  “And yet you seem to relish the thought of doing it.”

  “Aye,” she smiled as they walked further along the edge of the field. “Though ’tis not the harvest itself that I take pleasure in, but the fruits of that labor. I can spend the winter months creating beautiful things, thanks to it.”

  “You’re quite skilled, from what I’ve seen of your work at the castle,” he said, stepping closer to inspect another frond.

  “I love to weave. I’ve been practicing since I was a child.”

  “Ah. No wonder you seemed so amused, then, when I asked if you possessed skill enough to repair my basket that first day I took you to train.”

  Heat rushed to Catherine’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be so obvious. I hope you don’t think I was making light of your request. In truth I was pleased that you asked me to help you.”

  “’Twas not your fault,” Gray said, smiling and shaking his head. “You masked your reaction well. I, unfortunately, have the galling habit of watching people too closely. I seem to do it without even trying, most of the time.”

  Catherine nodded, glad that his perceptiveness hadn’t revealed some of her other secrets to him. Not yet, anyway. He would learn about her sins against him all too soon, she thought—as soon as she could muster enough courage to tell him. They were alone here, after all. No servants, no knights or ladies…no spies. ’T was the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth. But a part of her held back, craving just a few more moments of happiness with him.

  At his suggestion, they began to make their way back to where they’d left their horses tied. Anxiety tigh
tened her belly. ’Twas almost time, then; she’d have to make her confession before they rode away from this solitude and back into the danger-filled community of the castle. They’d reached within several paces of their mounts, when a flutter of red-tipped wings startled them.

  “Look!” Gray called, pointing to follow the silk-tail’s path. It flew into a tree just past the field’s edge. Nestled in a deep crook there, the bird had built a shelter of twigs and leaves. It was unusually late in the season for chicks, but peeping over the top of the nest, Catherine could see two shiny heads; the nearly grown birds were so plump that they filled their modest home to bursting. At their mother’s approach, they still craned their necks up greedily, their beaks gaping open for food.

  “Oh, look at them,” she said, trying to creep nearer for a better look. She walked slowly, keeping her gaze trained on the birds to avoid startling them with her movements. As she stepped on the edge of the swampy field, her foot slipped and she began to pitch headlong into the muck.

  Her eyes shut instinctively, her arms flailing as she fell, when she suddenly felt a strong grip on her elbow, swinging her around. She slammed into Gray’s chest, and the force of her momentum toppled them to the ground.

  When she opened her eyes, she realized that she lay atop him, her face hovering inches above his. It was the reverse of how they’d fallen on the bank of the river during her fishing lesson, but the effect of his body pressed to hers was the same. He gazed up at her, his eyes beautiful, clear green and fringed in those impossible lashes. Their breath mingled in the chill air, and his chest rose in opposite rhythm with hers, making her breasts push against him with each inhalation.

  She blinked, and a slow smile lifted Gray’s mouth, sending a stab of longing through her.

  “We seem to be making a habit of this, wife. I trust that I make a useful cushion.”

  His comment startled her into action. She tried to scramble off of him, murmuring apologies about his getting muddy for her sake, but she stopped her squirming when she realized that she wasn’t going anywhere. His hands held her hips firmly to him, and her struggles only succeeded in causing delicious sensations to blossom, forcing her into unavoidable, teasing contact with the hard length of his body.

  Every inch of him seemed to touch her, tantalizing her senses and releasing a flood of warmth through her belly and to the tingling points of her nipples where they rubbed against his chest. When she stilled, his smile eased away, leaving his expression open, vulnerable and utterly sensual. His gaze flicked from her mouth to her eyes, and he shifted suddenly, dry leaves crackling as he rolled so that she lay half beneath him.

  Gray’s arm cradled her head, but when his thigh slipped between hers, she gasped. Need curled hot and sleek through her, swirling up to ignite a desire that rippled to the ends of her fingers and toes. Her eyes fluttered shut and then opened again as he cupped her face with his palm.

  His breath whispered over her jaw. Lifting one hand, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “There’s no mud here, lady. In truth, I’d wager our leafy carpet as soft as the finest bed of feathers.”

  Catherine couldn’t breathe for a moment. The very birds seemed to cease their chirping, the rustling of the leaves faded into silence. Everything seemed to still around them, all but for the warm flutter of Gray’s breath on her cheek, and the exquisite, gentle caress of his thumb on her skin.

  “The leaves are soft, my lord,” she managed to say, struggling to keep the husky note from her voice. “Yet the ground beneath is very…hard.”

  “Aye, lady. ’Tis hard, indeed.”

  Another wave of warmth swept through her; she couldn’t help but feel the swollen, rigid length of him that burned through her skirt against her thigh. A tiny moan escaped her before she could stop it, as with a tenderness that almost shattered her, Gray bent his head and kissed her.

  Then he rested his cheek on hers, closing his eyes and whispering into her ear, “’Tis a hard and soft that God made to fit together, lady.” He brushed his mouth over her again, this time tantalizing the delicate spot at the tip of her jaw. “Let me teach you how perfect it can be. Let me love you as a man is made to love a woman. As a husband is made to love his wife.”

  Desire curled up to surround her, filling her with cravings, with wants and needs she’d never known. “I wish it more than anything,” she whispered, caution fleeing under the heated onslaught of emotion. She broke into a throaty moan when he moved to tease the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Ah, Gray, teach me to be your wife in truth. To be yours in every way.”

  Catherine wound her hands round his neck, threading them into his hair, pulling him down to meld her mouth to his. With a groan he leaned into her, slanting his lips across hers with passion that left her breathless and hungry for more.

  He shifted over her more fully, and instinctively, she opened to him, cradling him between her thighs. Her breath came shallow, his kisses spilling across her cheek and nibbling down her neck. She clung to him, in turn raining kisses along the stubborn line of his jaw, reveling in the tickle of his stubble against her lips. His skin tasted faintly salty, his scent utterly masculine. Intoxicating.

  Vaguely, Catherine realized that she should stop; they were good and truly alone here in the glen. She should stop this now and tell him everything while she still had the chance, even knowing that it would enrage him and break her heart. And yet a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, would it? Not when she’d waited so long already. What he was doing to her felt so good, and…

  Another moan broke past her lips; the last of her rational thoughts fled as Gray sank his hips between her legs and moved against her slowly, emulating the act of love. Only their garments served as a cruel barrier to keep pleasure at bay. His motions teased her, making her arch against him with a need so new and sweet, she felt that she might splinter from the intensity of it.

  Breathing his name almost as a plea, she slipped her hands beneath his tunic and shirt, wanting more of him, needing to feel the heat of his skin next to hers. Gray loosened the laces at the neck of her kirtle as she touched him, pushing the edges down over her shoulders. He bared her breasts, easing her back onto the soft bed of leaves, and she sucked in her breath as her nipples tightened to scarlet peaks in the chill.

  But the cold vanished when he stroked his hand around her exposed flesh, gently teasing her nipples between his finger and thumb before leaning down to capture one of them in the wet warmth of his mouth. She cried out with the pleasure and pulled his head closer as he laved his tongue back and forth, never moving away from the sweet prize. He suckled and nipped at her other breast in turn, stroking his fingers around its fullness and keeping her warm with the heat of his body.

  Catherine reveled in the pleasure of his caresses until she could contain herself no longer. From somewhere deep inside her raged an urge to tempt him in the same way as he did her, to feel every inch of him and stroke and fondle him to a fever pitch that matched her own.

  She took his face in her hands, guiding his lips to her mouth and kissing him with all the longing and emotion that swelled in her. Loosening his shirt, she kissed down his neck and pressed her lips to the places she’d bared, even as her fingers stroked down his chest and sides to splay over the strong, warm contours of his ribs.

  “Ah, love, you’ll unman me,” Gray breathed in her ear, when she slid her hands down to his hips and around to the front of him. She brushed her palm over his rigid length, reveling in her new-found power as she grasped and massaged him firmly through the thin barrier of his breeches.

  As if in sweet retaliation, Gray shifted her skirts and slipped his hand beneath, stroking his fingers up between her legs. She opened to him without thought, her cry mingling with his groan when he found her slick, wet heat.

  “Elise,” he whispered, the muscles of his arms and chest corded with need as he stroked her, “God help me, but I want you. All of this time I’ve wanted you, even when I tried not to feel it.”

  Cath
erine’s heart contracted at the sound of her false name on his lips; it filled her with an aching sadness that made her turn her face away, even as her body responded with surging, traitorous rapture to his touch. But when he slipped his finger into her, she moaned aloud, unable to stop herself from pressing into his hand at the rush of pleasure.

  “I’ve dreamed a thousand times of touching you like this,” he murmured, gliding his finger in and out of her in an intoxicating rhythm, “but by God, I swear that none of my imaginings ever came close to the beauty of this truth.”

  Catherine gasped and writhed with the intense feeling; she struggled to keep control of herself, not to disappear into the swirling ecstasy that his stroking touch promised.

  “Now,” she begged, shifting desperately under him. “Take me now, Gray. I want to be yours, in every way. Please, I can wait no longer.”

  “Aye, love. We’ll wait no more,” he said, bracing his hands to lift himself over her. Then he eased himself into her slick opening and rocked slightly, closing his eyes and tipping his head back as he pushed gently into her.

  Intense pleasure rippled through her when he sank completely inside. The smooth, hard heat of him filled her, and, responding to instinct as old as the ages, she lifted her knees to coax him deeper, losing herself in the mindless ecstasy of motion. He rocked in and out of her, pulling back to the very brink, and then delving inside as deep as he could go.

  Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, her legs locked to his waist as he stroked into her. The seductive intimacy of their joining shocked her. Never had she felt such rightness—such sanctity—in this act. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes as she rose up to meet each of Gray’s thrusts, moaning the sweet music of his name into his shoulder. The salty taste of his skin was primal on her lips, and she nipped at him, writhing with passion and need beneath him.

  Just when she thought it was impossible to feel more, she began to tense with an exquisite tide that started to overwhelm her, a gathering storm of sensation that threatened to tip her over the edge and into mindless bliss. Her fingers clutched Gray’s back under the assault of this new and wonderful feeling. With a low cry, she arched up to pull him more deeply inside her.