His voice sounded hoarse as he spoke the last part, and Alissende realized, suddenly, that he must dread the idea of this as much as she did—that sharing a chamber with her, of all people, would prove to be a curse for him far more than a long-awaited chance to wound her.
Aye, he wanted none of it.
Yet at the core she knew that Damien was a principled man. He had made a promise to protect her as a husband for six months, and he was bound to keep his word, no matter what it took.
In all honor, she could do no less.
The fight seemed to go out of her with that awareness, leaving her feeling more empty and exhausted than ever. She gently pulled her hand away, glancing down for a moment before lifting her gaze, trying to remain strong. “Very well, Damien. I concede your point and will arrange for my belongings to be secured here before nightfall.”
He nodded in a gesture that was as stiff as the strain showing on his face.
“Is that all, then?” she asked, finding it more difficult than ever to maintain her composure in the wake of this intimate conversation with him.
“Aye, Alissende, that is all. For now.”
She felt that little catch in her belly again. It disconcerted her even more than it had the first time, for now she felt the weight of what she had just agreed to pressing down on her. After a final, tense pause, she nodded. “I will return in an hour, then, with details of the pledging ceremony we must feign this afternoon.”
Then she stepped past and strode purposefully from the chamber—knowing that if she did not leave at that very moment, she might well do something in front of him for which she would never forgive herself.
For right now she wanted nothing so much as to bury her face in her hands and weep.
Damien watched the door click softly shut behind her before he allowed himself to exhale his first full breath since coming in here. If there had been aught left in the hollow, dark place where his faith in God used to reside, he would have fallen to his knees, praying for the strength to see this through. As it stood, there was nothing there to aid him but emptiness and a bone-deep hurt in his awareness of God’s absence from him. He was conscious of it more than ever, realizing that, as with the torments dealt him by the Inquisition, he would be alone in facing this ordeal.
And what an ordeal it was. His arrangement with Alissende was a trial the likes of which he had never known. A tender trap ensnaring him on all sides. He was bound by his word to protect her, which meant that his command for a shared chamber must be upheld. Yet he was also bound by his own tortured yearnings—taunted by desires that no longer had a place in his life, and which warned him to stay as far away from her as was physically possible.
They are naught but the carnal wants of a man who has been too long without the comforts of a woman. That phrase repeated itself over and over in his mind. He simply had to master his needs, as he had done during the years he served in celibacy with the Brotherhood of Templars, and all would be well.
But sweet heaven, he would be sharing a chamber—sharing abed—with Alissende…with the very woman who was his own personal temptation. He could not risk that she would compare the scarred, tortured shell of a man that he was today with the accomplished lover and noble knight he had once been.
He could not risk creating a babe with her.
And as sure as hell burned for the wicked, he would not risk his heart.
Nay, never again with anyone—but most especially not with her, who had held his love in her palms and then so blithely crushed it to nothingness five years ago.
He let loose a muted groan as he took the few steps to sink into the ornate chair in the corner of the chamber. He tried to cool the raging in his brain. But even with all the warnings abounding in his mind, his thoughts were already awhirl with tormenting images and relentless fantasies. He managed to shake his head ruefully, a rusty-sounding laugh escaping the tightness of his throat.
Only time would tell how foolish he had been to insist upon sharing this chamber with Alissende, and how long he would find means to resist touching her…how long he could go on playing at lovers with her, without making her his own in truth again.
He decided that he had to be the most ill-advised, daft, and reckless man in all of Christendom.
What in the devil’s name have I gotten myself into?The mocking voice kept up the challenge until Damien shook his head once more, closing his eyes and tipping his face into his hands.
For the sad truth was that he had no blessed idea.
No idea at all.
Chapter 4
Alissende paced the great hall nearly three hours later, trying to appear interested in the activity around her as servants set up and readied nearly two dozen tables for the feast that would take place after the feigned wedding ceremony. A serving lad unfolded a long, rectangular cloth to lay atop the wooden table nearest her, snapping it to remove any lingering wrinkles, before letting it waft down, releasing as he did the clean scent of the lavender sprigs that had been packed between the folds of fabric.
She watched his and the other servants’ progress, focusing on their efforts so that she could avoid thinking about what she and Damien were about to do…trying to forget that she would need take his arm soon and walk publicly with him from the castle to the stone church in the village; there, although it was customary to perform such vows on the steps, before the eyes of villagers and castle servants alike, they would retreat inside and shut the doors, presumably to pledge their troth in private. It was being done so, her cousin Michael had assured any to whom he spoke, out of deference to Damien, who after years of serving in the Templar Brotherhood, felt the need for personal reflection and confession prior to speaking marriage vows.
The excuse seemed to have been accepted, and so Alissende had retreated to what had formerly been her chamber in the guest wing, to begin the wedding preparations her mother had insisted upon. It did not matter that this ceremony was for naught but appearance sake. It had toseemreal, her mother had reasoned, and so Alissende had been bathed and scented, her long, dark hair brushed until it had shone before being artfully arranged with jeweled pins interwoven with flowers.
Then, without complaint, she had donned the lush, rose-hued gown her mother had produced from a dressing trunk, adding a delicate golden girdle fastened low on her hips. It was encrusted with gems to match the circlet on her brow, and the finished ensemble was as fine as what any noble lady might choose for her wedding day.
A grand deception, played to perfection.
