by Scott, B. J.
Stunned, Franc glared back at her. “Why did you wait so long to tell me this?”
“I wanted to tell you, in France, and hoped you would be as happy as I was to know our love produced such a gift, but I was waiting for the right time to share the news.”
“The right time? You were with child and dinna tell me.” Anger at never knowing he had a son, and elation upon learning he sired Jean battled for his heart and emotions. “How long did you know?”
She lowered her gaze and twisted the edge of her arisaidh around her finger. “When my courses did not come the month after we made love, I wondered if I was breeding, but I wanted to be certain, so decided to wait and make sure,” she explained. “I was anxious to tell you, but after that wonderful day in the meadow, you were distant, and seemed preoccupied with leaving. It was all you talked about, and it felt like you were going out of your way to avoid being alone with me. I began to think that my feelings for you were stronger than yours were for me.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. While tempted to speak, Franc decided to wait until she was finished all she had to say.
“Suzanna knew, and that is why she came to visit. I had to tell someone, and was not sure if my father would understand. She convinced me to tell you, but was unable to find you,” she said. “That was the day that King Philip’s men murdered Papa, my cousin was executed in my stead, and I thought you had perished too.” She buried her face in her hands and began to sob.”
Franc took a step in her direction with his hand outstretched. He was a fool for questioning her love, and hated that she doubted his. Knowing he was responsible for her tears tore him apart inside. He’d never intentionally hurt her.
“I am sorry you had to deal with that alone. But why did you not tell me that Jean was my son when we were reunited in Finlay’s shop, or until now?” Franc asked. “When you told me about your husband, I just assumed he was the lad’s father.” He reached for her hand, but she dodged his grasp.
“Jean had already suffered the loss of one father, and I had no way of knowing if you still cared for me,” she blurted. “Fergus was a good man and a dear friend of my uncle. When I came to live in Scotland, he offered to marry me, even though I was round with another man’s child. He promised to raise the babe as his own, but sadly, he never really got the chance.” She muttered a soft prayer, then continued, “As I already told you, Fergus was killed not long after our son was born, but Jean loved and idolized him anyway. I could not take that away from him unless I knew for certain you wanted us both.”
“But you never told me the truth, so how were you to know if I wanted you or not?” Franc asked.
She sniffled, then swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, catching a stray tear. “After you rescued us, you were so angry and distant. You wanted to leave us behind, and implied we were a burden, so I did not feel the time was right to tell you about our son. Nor was I convinced that you would welcome the news.”
“If I had known you were with child when we were in France, I would have married you. Instead, you said naught and wed another,” Franc said. He wanted to say more, but found himself at a loss for the right words.
“I did not want you to marry me out of obligation, Francois,” she replied. “I loved you with every fiber of my being. When I heard you were dead, my heart was broken, my emotions were raw, and my life was in a shamble. To make things worse, Papa was gone, and I was forced to leave the only home I had ever known.” She paused to gulp in some air, then went on to explain, “I had to think of my babe, so accepted Fergus’s proposal.” She twisted the silver band she wore on her left hand around her finger. “We were wed in name, but not in heart or soul. There was not a day when I did not think of you. I liked and respected my husband, but I did not love Fergus. I could never love anyone the way I did you.”
“If I had known you were still alive, I would have come looking for you,” Franc said, his voice thick with emotion. His heart gave a tug. He was a father, and Giselle had only married Fergus for the sake of their child. “Believe me, mon amour, I meant it when I told you that I loved you then, and have never stopped.” He hooked her waist, drew her against his chest, and captured her lips, plundering without mercy. “I was a jealous fool. When I learned you’d married and had a son, the thought of you lying with another man gutted me. I—”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, silencing him. “If what you are saying is true, then none of it matters. We have found each other again and that is all that counts,” she muttered softly against his mouth, then nipped at his bottom lip. “I have missed you so and wish I could show you how much.”
Overcome with desire, Franc scooped her into his arms and carried her to a small copse of trees at the edge of their encampment. Certain they were out of sight, he set her down on her feet and slid his hand beneath her skirts, his featherlike touch trailing along her inner thigh and settling in the nest of curls covering her most intimate place. “I want you, Giselle.” He dipped his fingers past feminine folds that were slick and ready to welcome him. He inhaled her lavender scent, finding it more intoxicating than any spirits. His head began to swim as all thought and reason faded into a euphoric fog.
“And I want you, Francois,” she gasped and leaned into his caress. “Make love to me.” Standing on her tiptoes, and with her body molded against his, she cupped his face with her hands and directed his lips to hers.
Without further prompting, Franc loosened his trews, released his burgeoning shaft, then lifted her so she straddled his hips and her back rested against the trunk of a tree. He’d dreamed of her so many times and always imagined if they’d ever had the chance to join again, it would be slow and gentle, like their first time. But right now, he was like a man possessed, his body ablaze with lust and desire. All he could think about was claiming the woman he loved both body and soul.
He entered her with one quick thrust, her body sheathing his shaft like the Almighty meant for them to fit together as one. She looped her arms around his neck, their hungry mouths devouring each other’s moans of pleasure. She rotated her hips, setting a rhythm that he quickly took to a fevered pitch, pounding into her with reckless abandon until her body began to quiver and he pushed her over the edge. When she whimpered his name, he swallowed her cry, and followed with an earthshattering release of his own.
Fully sated, he lowered her to the ground, but her knees gave out and she swayed into his arms. “I am sorry if I hurt you,” he murmured in her ear. “I did not mean to be so rough. But I got caught up in the passion and lost myself in the moment.”
She struggled to catch her breath, but finally manage to speak. “You have naught to apologize for. It was amazing.” She rested her cheek on his chest and drew in a slow, deep breath.
Not wanting this moment of bliss to end, he lightly stroked his hand down her back. “Now what?” His mind was reeling. So much had happened in the space of a few minutes. He’d learned he was a father, that Giselle had never stopped loving him, and he had just experienced a sexual epiphany. But what had not changed was the fact he was supposed to be keeping watch while Lazarus slept. And while he had no doubt his friend would be thrilled to know they’d joined, if anything happened because he was shirking his duty, he’d never forgive himself.
He eased her out of his grasp, then brushed her forehead with a kiss. “The sun will soon be up, and we must prepare to leave. I wish this moment never had to end, but alas, we must go.”
She offered a hesitant nod and gazed up at him. “What happens next is up to you,” she whispered then headed toward the campfire which had burned down to ash.
“Mama!” Jean raced to his mother, scrambled up her leg and into her arms. “I was worried when I woke up and you were gone. Where were you?”
“I had to tend to my needs.” She kissed his brow, then set him on the
ground. She cast Lazarus a quick glance, but he said nothing.
Franc entered the encampment and caught Lazarus’s discerning stare.
“Is everything secure?” Lazarus asked. “I heard what at first sounded like a bit of a ruckus, but given you are both fine, it must have been my imagination playing tricks on me.”
Franc nodded, then straightened his trews and tunic. “I saw no sign of the king’s men, but think we have tarried long enough.”
“Good, and I must agree. But best you eat first.” Lazarus tossed Franc an oatcake, then handed one to Giselle. “I hope you are well rested, m’lady. We have a hard day’s ride ahead of us.”
“I slept fine,” she answered as her cheeks flushed red.
To his credit, Lazarus did not comment further. “I have packed up our things. Once you have eaten, we can be on our way.”
“What about you and Jean?” Giselle asked. “Are you not hungry?”
“We already ate when you and Franc were playing in the forest,” Jean announced. “Were you playing tag?”
Lazarus shrugged. “From the mouths of babes,” he said coyly then shot Franc a knowing glance.
Giselle tugged Jean into her lap and hugged him. “We were not playing. I thought Franc might be cold, so took him a plaid.”
“Your mother is most kind,” Franc interrupted, hoping to defray the conversation away from their dalliance.
“Where is it?” The lad peered up at Franc.
“Where is what?” Franc asked.
“The plaid Mama brought you.”
Realizing she must have dropped it by the tree in the heat of passion, Franc again tried to change the conversation. “If you have already eaten, maybe you can go with Lazarus to the stream and help him fill the wine skins.” He was hoping to speak to Giselle privately about what happened between them before they headed out for the day.
“We did that when we first woke up,” Jean said proudly. “We washed up too.”
“You two have thought of everything.” Franc peered at Lazarus.
Lazarus laughed and lifted the lad from his mother’s arms. “Mayhap you could help me ready the horses. Once your mam has had a chance to break her fast, we can be on our way.”
“Can I ride with you again today?” Jean tugged on the hem of Lazarus’s tunic. “Can I?”
“Of course.” He tousled the lad’s hair, then patted him on the behind. “Get your sword, and I will meet you by the mounts. And mind you dinna get too close to the beasts,” he called after Jean when he scampered away.
“I would wager when we were in the Holy Land protecting religious pilgrims from murderous thieves, and battling hordes of Muslin soldiers, you never thought you would find yourself playing nursemaid to a three-year-old, Lazarus,” Franc said, grinning.
Lazarus thumped Franc on the back and laughed. “Nay. But I nary thought I would be married with bairns of my own either.” He wiggled a brow, then lowered his voice so only Franc could hear. “Keep that in mind, my friend. Anything is possible if you want it badly enough.”
“Are you sure Jean is not being a bother?” Giselle asked Lazarus.
“He is a good lad, and I enjoy his company,” Lazarus replied. “He is welcome to ride with me.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the horses and frowned. “But I best go and see to your son afore he feeds my mount an entire meadow of flowers,” he said then trotted off.
“Lazarus is a fine man,” Giselle said. “Jean is quite smitten with him.”
“Aye, and he is a good friend too,” Franc added, then extended his hand to Giselle. “If the boy rides with Lazarus, I guess you are stuck riding with me again. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all,” she cooed sweetly, and playfully brushed her palm over his groin. “As long as you behave yourself.”
“If you would like, I can escort you to the stream so you can wash up before we depart,” Franc stammered. She was fortunate they had to leave, or he would drop her to the ground and make love to her until she cried for mercy.
“Thank you. I would appreciate that.” Without warning, she kissed his cheek, then headed toward the water.
Chapter 17
“The water looks so inviting,” Giselle said as she approached the stream. “I wish I could dive in and wash the dust and grime from my body, then take a minute to clean my soiled gown.”
Franc grinned and lifted a brow. “I would be happy to stand guard while you disrobe, then watch over you while you bathe.”
She playfully thumped his chest. “I have no doubt you would be happy to oblige. But Lazarus and Jean are waiting for us and we really need to go.”
“I am sure they would not mind delaying our departure a little.” He tugged her into his arms, holding her close. “We have been apart for so long, a few minutes to make up for lost time should not matter.” He dipped his head and playfully teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue. “Or maybe we could take a bit longer than a few minutes,” he groaned against her slightly parted lips, then kissed her soundly.
After enthusiastically returning his kiss and melting into his embrace, she hesitated, then pushed him away. “Nothing would please me more than to spend some time alone with you, but we really should not keep them waiting. We told Lazarus we would come anon.”
He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, then nibbled on her earlobe. “Are you sure we cannot steal a few minutes alone?”
“Positive. Your nearness stirs an insatiable passion within me, but our son is waiting for us.” She took a step back then moved around him, heading for the stream. She squatted, dipped her hand into the water, then brought it to her lips. After taking a drink, she repeated the act, only this time she splashed the water on her face and neck.
Franc watched her every move and gesture, his groin aching, his desire mounting. “If you insist on going back, we best do so now, while I still have the will to resist temptation,” he cautioned. “Otherwise, I will tear off your gown, lavish your naked body with kisses, then make love to you until you plead with me to stop.”
Her cheeks reddened and her eyes widened. “Keep talking like that and it will be you who loses their clothing,” she cooed, then darted by him and sprinted up the hill toward the clearing, with Franc on her heels.
He caught her around the waist as they reached the top of the hill and hauled her backward until she rested against his chest. He buried his face in the fragrant curve of her neck and inhaled deeply, her intoxicating scent causing his blood to heat and his mind to flood with lustful thoughts. “You have me so drunk with desire, maybe I am the one who needed to take a dip in the stream.”
She moaned with pleasure and closed her eyes, as he feathered kisses along the side of her neck. “I hate to stop you, but we must go, Francois.”
“And where might you be going?” a man with a thick French accent growled. “I hate to interrupt, but we have some important business to discuss.”
Franc’s head jerked in his direction. After seeing a dozen French soldiers milling about their camp, he quickly shoved Giselle behind him, shielding her with his body. He drew his sword. Not that he imagined he could compete with the odds so stacked against him.
His gaze darted toward their horses, searching for Lazarus and Jean. His gut twisted when he noticed a French Guard ushering his friend toward them, but there was no sign of the boy.
“Jean.” Giselle gasped, and clutched Franc’s arm. “Where is he?” Panic laced her voice.
“I am not sure,” he whispered. Another desperate search around the clearing for his son turned up empty. Franc prayed that Jean knew enough to hide. Not that he believed a child of three years stood a chance of making it alone were he left behind.
“So, we finally meet again, Monsieur de Valier.” One of the agents stepped forward. “Perhaps you
do not remember me. My name is Louis Bateau and I am under the direct orders of his majesty, King Philip V of France.”
“I know who you are.” Franc rubbed his ribs, remembering the brutal beating at the hands of Bateau and his men.
“You led us on quite a chase, monsieur, but that has now ended. Rest assured, you will not fool us into thinking you are dead this time. Once we have what we came for, we will make sure of it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, then peered over Franc’s shoulder at Giselle. “I see we also have the niece of Harold Finlay. This is a day of good fortune. For us, that is,” he added.
Franc stiffened and pinned Bateau with a stare of contempt. “She has naught to do with this. Nor is she privy to any information passed between her uncle and me, so I ask that you let her go.” Franc knew full well the likelihood of that happening was next to none, but he had to try.
Bateau tossed back his head and laughed. “Do you think me a fool?” His expression darkened as he leered at Lazarus. “Who might you be? My guess is another Templar.” He answered his own question before Lazarus had the chance.
“We found him by the horses,” the man escorting Lazarus said.
“Was he alone?” Bateau asked the guard.
“Oui.”
“I heard de Valier hooked up with another fugitive knight, a Scotsman. Two for the price of one.” Bateau narrowed his gaze on Lazarus and stepped forward. “Are we acquainted, monsieur? You look familiar.”
Lazarus stiffened and scowled back at the man. With his fists balled, he lunged forward, but halted his advance when two of Bateau’s men each grabbed one of his arms, holding him in place.
