With pride, she studied the intensity on her son’s face as he bent over slightly to receive final instructions from Grayson. Her heart tightened at the sight of their heads almost touching—dark brown against pale blond. Soil against wheat.
With a final nod, Johnny beamed and straightened. Grayson patted his knee before stepping back and lifting Micah onto his shoulders. Even though Micah would not participate in the tournament, he proudly wore a surcoat bearing the simple coat of arms they’d wanted: a red cross.
Abbie took Lydia’s hand and squeezed lightly as Grayson strode toward her.
“Don’t look so worried, Abbie,” Grayson scolded.
“I’m not worried.”
“The lad will do fine.”
Johnny did more than fine. On his first pass he caught three of the six rings, on his second pass he slipped four onto his lance, and the third pass found him carrying five rings to the judges. None of the other boys matched his efforts. Amid cheers and clapping, he was announced the winner.
“Hey, English,” Andy called out, grinning, “think you could take on a Texan born and bred?”
“Without a doubt,” Grayson replied, lifting Micah off his shoulders.
James stepped out from the crowd. “Andy, if you’re gonna challenge one, you gotta challenge them all.”
“What will you wager?” Harry asked as he came forward.
“Ain’t winning enough?” James asked.
“No,” Harry answered. “In England, if a knight was challenged and he lost, he had to forfeit his armor and his horse to the victor. We’ll settle for your horses.”
James rocked back on his heels. “What do we get since you don’t have any horses?”
“Credit for all the cotton we pick the first day,” Grayson said.
Abbie grabbed his arm. “Grayson—”
He slanted his gaze toward her. “Have you no faith?”
“You don’t know how hard it is to pick cotton—” The look in his eyes stopped her. “You don’t know how well they ride.”
He merely lifted a brow.
“Men are so stubborn,” she muttered as she reached into her pocket, withdrew a lace handkerchief, and held it toward him.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking it from her.
“Isn’t a lady supposed to give her knight a token of her affection?”
The molten heat of his gaze almost turned her knees into jam.
“Am I your knight?” he asked quietly.
She backed up a step. “You’re going to work too hard for that cotton. Don’t let them win it.”
“My lady, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He walked away with a careless stride, and she wondered how he could appear so relaxed. Johnny gladly handed over the horse he’d used, along with his lance. A lump rose in her throat as she watched Grayson tie her handkerchief around the end of the lance, a flag in the breeze.
Johnny rushed up to her. “They’re gonna do it like a team—just one pass each—but everything will add up. Gray’s gonna go last. He’ll make ’em win.”
She didn’t think anything except all of them pulling together would make them win. The Englishmen didn’t have any trouble deciding who would ride because there were only seven of them, but her brother and his friends were having a difficult time trying to decide who would have the honor of accepting the challenge. For a moment, the men reminded her of the way they’d been before the war: eager to prove themselves, excited, laughing, anticipating the opportunity to win. She hoped her sons would never have to answer the call to arms.
They had no trumpets so someone blasted a sound from a harmonica. The Texans removed their shirts and hats. The Englishmen quickly followed suit. Tanned skin against golden. Not at all what she’d expected. The English looked less like nobility every day.
But then they lined up their horses, shifted in their saddles, and hundreds of years of ancestry were reflected in their proud and magnificient posture.
Her brother went first, releasing a rebel yell, snagging four of the rings. After that, she paid no attention to the riders, but kept her gaze focused on Grayson as he apparently discussed strategy with his two friends. She wondered if she should have warned her brother that these Englishmen tended to be much better than they let on.
Then it was Grayson’s turn and she could hardly think at all.
“No one’s gotten all six yet,” Johnny announced, jumping up and down as though he were as young as Micah.
Abbie lifted Micah onto her hip. His face was incredibly serious.
Grayson’s horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Someone must have said something to him, offered advice maybe, because he gave a quick nod of his head.
“What’s the tally?” Abbie asked.
“He’ll have to get all six for the English to win,” Elizabeth said beside her. “Wonder what they’ll do if they tie.”
“Probably have a sword fight,” Abbie mumbled.
Johnny jerked his head around. “You think so? Gray would win. I just know it!”
Her son’s adoration for the man was touching and worrisome. How would he feel when Grayson left?
The harmonica sounded and Grayson kicked his horse into a gallop. She thought he looked magnificent, leaning low over his horse’s back, holding the reins with one hand, the lance tucked under his other arm.
She didn’t realize until he’d slipped the sixth and final ring onto the lance that she’d been holding her breath. The air filled with groans and moans as well as jubilant cheers. He was supposed to take the rings and present them to the judges.
Instead he guided his horse through the crowd and brought it to a halt before Abbie. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face and chest. She could hardly take her eyes off him. His gaze held hers as he slowly tipped the lance.
She thrust her hands out in time to catch the rings as they slid from the lance. When she lifted her gaze back to his, she read within his eyes a devastating truth.
He knew…he knew that he had not only captured the rings…but he had captured her heart as well.
They began playing the music at twilight, peaceful melodies that had not sounded since the war. Abbie had always listened to the gentle strains with longing because John had claimed to have two left feet—and they had never danced.
Out of loyalty to him, she had politely refused the few offers that came her way.
Tonight her only loyalties were to herself, and it somehow seemed appropriate—right—that when Grayson looked at her, a question in his eyes, she stepped into his embrace with her answer.
She had known, even though she had never before danced, that within his arms the movements would come to her, like the cotton growing from the earth with nothing but the sun, soil, and rain for guidance.
“Your brother has a fine horse,” he said quietly.
“He did have a fine horse. Now it belongs to you.”
He gave her a smile lacking in shame. “They issued the challenge. What could we do but accept?”
“You could have missed the last ring so it would have ended in a tie. Then no one would have lost.”
“I considered it, but with you watching I knew I had to give it my best.”
“So it’s my fault my brother lost his horse?”
“No, it’s only your fault that I wanted to show off.”
She allowed his words to wash over like the first gentle rain of spring.
“I was wrong about you Texans,” he said quietly as his steps followed the strains of the fiddles.
“In what way?”
“I thought you knew nothing about playing.”
She smiled. “We work hard. We play hard.”
“But you work more than you play.”
“We don’t have a choice if we want to provide for our families. I guess when you finish picking the cotton you’ll return to your life of leisure.”
“Not quite, although there must be an easier way to make a go of it here.”
She shrugged. “Cotto
n is all I know.”
“Did you enjoy today?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Very much. But it’ll be a long while before we have another day to play.”
“Then we should make the most of what’s left of today.”
She hadn’t paid attention to where he was guiding her, and she only now realized they were at the edge of the circle of dancers. Without a word, he stopped dancing, took her hand in his, and led her into the copse of trees.
She followed in silence, not knowing where the journey would end, but knowing with a certainty how it would end.
It ended in a clearing, where wildflowers carpeted the earth, and the sunset swept across the sky.
Releasing her hand, he turned to face her. Softly, he touched his fingertips to her hair. “Thank you for being such a good sport about the wager and keeping your hair down.”
“Thank you for giving my children as much attention as you did.”
“I would give more attention to you if I didn’t think it would cause you to retreat.”
She licked her lips, her heart hammering. “I wouldn’t mind a little more attention.”
His blue eyes darkened as he lifted his hands and cupped her face. “I’ll try to keep my distance,” he rasped as he lowered his mouth to hers.
Warmth. Wetness. Tenderness. Respect. They all flowed from his lips to hers. Even with her eyes closed, she felt the brilliance of the sunset, flowing through her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth. She felt his fingers clench, then relax as though he’d meant to pull her to him…and remembered the fears she harbored, the doubts that plagued her.
But the heat of his kiss sent the fears into oblivion, the doubts circling on the wind. With one hesitant, awkward step, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. Against her breasts, she felt the deep rumble within his chest as his fingers clamped her head and angled her mouth so he could delve more deeply into the kiss.
She’d never felt the flickering heat of desire, had never known what it was to want…to want…dear Lord, what was it that she wanted? She wanted to cry out from frustration, from ignorance, from this need that she didn’t understand. And she knew this man could provide the answer to the question burning deeply within her.
Breathing heavily, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along the column of her throat. “Damn the rogue in me,” he ground out as he pulled back and turned away from her.
Devastation swamped her. She wanted him back, wanted his arms around her, his mouth on hers. “Grayson?”
He held up a hand. “Give me a moment, sweetheart.”
She heard him release a slow harsh breath before he slowly turned and walked behind her. He wrapped his arms beneath her breasts and brought her flush against his body, laying his chin on top of her head. “The sun will be gone shortly, and we’ll need to leave,” he said quietly.
She nodded and placed her hands over his. “I’ll remember this day until I die,” she said softly.
“And I shall remember you.”
11
Abbie lay in bed, listening to the night, listening to her heart. She had bathed outside, hoping that Grayson might make an appearance. But he hadn’t.
She had slipped on her nightgown with thoughts of his hands skimming over her body filling her mind. The night was warm, but it was the fire burning inside her that was unbearable, that kept her from sleeping.
She had never before felt this…this urge to have a man’s body cover hers.
And she knew beyond a doubt that Grayson had a man’s needs. She had felt those needs pressing against her as he’d kissed her. She understood a man’s needs because John had explained them to her—the way a man’s body ached when he needed a woman and there was no woman about.
“I need you tonight, Abigail,” he’d say as he lifted the hem of her nightgown.
Her heart pounded with the memories, with the humiliation—
She squeezed her eyes shut and a solitary tear trailed along her cheek. She had never fought her husband, had willingly endured the mortification because he provided for her. Now she provided for herself. She didn’t need a man.
But perhaps, she thought, a man needed her. She would endure anything because she loved him.
She slipped from beneath the sheet. Quietly, she tiptoed from the room and looked in on Lydia. The bed creaked as her daughter rolled to her side. Abbie glided away and peered into the boys’ room—her knights. What a day Grayson had given them…and her. She’d never felt as cherished.
Closing the front door behind her, she stepped onto the porch. She saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of the barn. Even from the distance, she felt his gaze latched onto her. Her stomach knotted, and she swallowed hard with the knowledge that he, too, was unable to sleep.
Wearing only her nightgown, she stepped off the porch into the pale moonlight, knowing that she was sealing her fate. He would expect exactly what she was willing to give. She could only hope that he would never realize what it was costing her.
She strolled across the expanse separating them, surprised by the peace that settled over her as she grew nearer. He stepped out of the shadows, his unbuttoned shirt waving in the slight breeze like a flag of truce.
As she approached, he reached out, took her hand, and drew her against him. She pressed one hand against his bare chest while the other arm wound around his neck. His mouth swooped down to capture hers and she was lost.
Lost to the sensations swirling around her: hot mouth and warm flesh. She heard a throaty groan rumble deep within Grayson’s chest, felt the vibration beneath her fingers. He tore his mouth from hers.
“God, I want you, Abbie.” He blazed a trail of kisses along the column of her throat as she arched her head back.
Want. Not need. Had she ever been truly wanted? She didn’t know. She only knew that she had never felt as precious as she felt at this moment. His journey along her throat came to an end, and he straightened, capturing her gaze.
The desire burning within the depths of his eyes made her breath hitch. “If I could, I would lay you down upon silk, but all I have to offer you is straw. I will certainly understand if you decide against following me into the shadows of the barn.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The warm smile he bestowed upon her set her heart to racing. He touched a finger to the top button of her nightgown. “Yes, but I somehow sense that you are wearing armor.”
She felt the heat scald her face. “I’m not any good at this.”
A wealth of tenderness reshaped his features as he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. “I am.”
She slammed her eyes closed. “Grayson, I’m no good at the games. I can’t be like the other women you’ve known—”
“I don’t want you to be,” he said, skimming a finger along her cheek.
She opened her eyes.
“I want you to be only who you are—what you are. But I want you to understand that if you come with me, we’ll do a lot more than kiss.”
She nodded, wondering why it seemed that he was trying to talk her out of this. “I thought you were disreputable.”
“I am, but where you are concerned, I prefer not to feel guilty.” He intertwined his fingers through hers. “If you change your mind, simply release my hand, and I’ll continue walking without looking back.”
But she knew that if she released his hand, she would forever look back. Would forever wonder. He stepped into the shadows. Her hand tightened around his, but she knew no hesitation. He had given her the choice—follow or leave.
She found the knowledge liberating because in her marriage, she had known no choice. She did not consider her relations with John to have been forced. They simply were what was expected.
Moments with Grayson were filled with the unexpected.
He came to a stop beside the ladder that led into the loft. His lips found hers as unerringly as the
summer rain found the parched earth. When he drew away, he guided her onto the first rung of the ladder. She gathered the hem of her gown into her fist and clambered up into the loft, his hand resting easily against the small of her back, balancing her.
The fragrance of flowers wafted around her as she scrambled over the ledge. She stopped, sat in the straw, and stared at the blossoms strewn over the hay, captured by the moonlight. Grayson knelt beside her.
“How did you know I’d come tonight?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t.”
She turned her head slightly. He cradled her cheek within his palm. “But I hoped. I’ve hoped every night since the first time I kissed you.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “You brought flowers up here every night?”
“You deserve so much more, and I have nothing else to give you.” He led her to the feather pallet she’d sewn for him. Moonlight glided through the opening in the loft and created a halo that would circle them in its pale glow.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She had expected a darkened corner. She turned to suggest that they move to the far end of the loft. He took her in his arms, lowered his mouth to hers, and all thoughts save one flew from her mind: she loved the way he kissed her. Slowly, leisurely, as though time held no meaning, as though there were no crops to harvest, tools to mend, seasons for which to plan.
She twined her arms around his neck like a vine searching for a place to take root. With a throaty groan, he deepened the kiss and flattened her body against his. She felt the beat of his heart thundering against his chest, her breast, and hers answered in kind. All her doubts melted away. He wanted her, and if she were honest with herself, in spite of all she’d have to endure…she wanted him.
Desire was a stranger to her, but as it knocked with intensity, she warily opened the door and invited in the unknown.
Warmth spiraled through her, warmth that had nothing to do with the late August night. A thousand sensations sparked to life, flared, and slowly died.
Grayson’s kiss lost its patience, became demanding, his tongue sweeping through her mouth the way the first storms of autumn swept across the fields, clearing away the harvest that had come before. Surprising herself, she returned his kiss with equal fervor, hoping his mouth would never leave hers.
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