“Thank you, Alissende,” he murmured after a deep sigh.
She thought she must be letting her imagination get the best of her, for she would have sworn he sounded as yearning, or perhaps even sorrowful, as he did content. Ridiculous, of course.
“You did far more than I, Damien,” she settled on saying, closing her eyes and gently stroking her hand over the expanse of his chest. She could not help but feel the scars there, and she knew without second thought that they did naught to alter his magnificence in her eyes. “For what could I possibly deserve your thanks?”
“For accepting me as I am…and for letting me back in, in this way.”
Ah, but you never left, Damien—not for me. Do you not know that?
That question echoed in Alissende’s mind, but she was too exhausted after the astonishing progression of events these past few days to find means to voice it or anything else aloud.
Sighing in a softer echo of the sound Damien had made a few moments before, Alissende snuggled closer, listening to the slow, steady beating of his heart against her ear. She wouldnotthink beyond this moment and the sweetness of it, she resolved, lest she dissolve into some embarrassing display of emotion; for now this would be enough. This sense of belonging, of reconciliation with Damien, was too new, and it would be too cruel to remind herself that it would pass eventually, leaving her alone once more.
Damien tightened his powerful arm around her, his warmth comforting and wonderful. Even this simple embrace brought with it a kind of bliss, after so many years of fruitless dreaming and regret. And so, reveling in the beauty of it, she decided to do just what he had suggested earlier; she surrendered herself to the delicious feeling of being wrapped in his arms and eased into soft, dreamless slumber.
Damien knew the moment she yielded to sleep. He could tell by the heavier weight of her head against his shoulder, by the slower, deeper, even breaths she took.
It was almost beyond belief, what had just happened between them.
He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think on the possibility of it as they’d retired to bed. He had simply done it, which was as unlike him as aught he could conceive about himself—responding to the deep and instinctive longing to reach out and stroke his hand up the silken length of her back without thought, without care of the consequences.
And it had felt wonderful.
Closing his eyes, he settled back onto the bolster; her delicate scent filled his senses, and he allowed himself to believe, finally, that this was true and not just another of the hundreds of tantalizing dreams he’d known in the past. Alissendewastucked against him, cradled in his arms. He had pleasured her in one of many ways he had been hungering to do. They had made love, by all that was holy, and she had yearned for it as much as he had, pleading in sweet, whispered urgings for him not to stop.
The memory of it wound through him, sparking the embers of his spent passion anew. It had been like a glimpse of heaven. Too much to withstand without losing control. She had been unbearably beautiful, writhing with the pleasure of their joining. Ah, but he could have watched her like that for hours, had he only been able to keep them both at the edge of completion a little longer.
Her second climax, when it had come, had shaken him almost as much as it had her. It had toppled him into his own release, brought on so powerfully not only from the exquisite sensations of their lovemaking but also from watching her face during those moments of ecstasy…from hearing her gasp his name in her bliss.
It had been worth it. And though he did not know what this would mean for them beyond now, he knew, at least, that it had been right. He did not regret it—he wouldn’t—and it would be enough. It had to be, for he had nothing else to give.
He could provide her with his protection for these six months. He could give her all that he was capable of feeling, and he could offer the physical release they both hungered for. But he could not give her his heart. It was not his to give any longer, for it had been lost along the way, damaged and charred beyond recognition in the flames of bitterness, hatred, and spiritual abandonment.
He sensed in her a longing for more, though it had been she who had cast him off those years ago. But even if her feelings had changed, and even if somewhere deep inside him he had forgiven her—even if he could find some means to earn the wealth and standing that would allow them to have a true and lasting future together—it still wouldn’t be enough. Nay, Alissende deserved a man who was whole, unspoiled, and accepted in the bosom of the Church. One who would not spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder to avoid rearrest and interrogation by the Inquisition. Who could give her all those things that he was incapable of giving now.
So this bond, this understanding between them, would have to be enough for now and for the months remaining in the agreement he had made to serve as her counterfeit husband and her protector against the many kinds of darkness of the world.
The irony of it, that he, the world-damaged former Templar Knight, was being trusted to protect her against the very thing that had nearly destroyed him, almost choked him. But as he tried to settle into sleep, he repeated in his mind what he needed to remember, knowing that he had to convince himself of its truth, lest he lead them both into certain doom.
What they shared now would be enough.
Heaven help him, it had to be.
Chapter 12
Three nights later
It was so quiet.
A cool breeze wafted through the shutter, awakening Alissende from the darkness of a dream. Opening her eyes, she tried to gain her bearings, realizing that she was in an unfamiliar place.Kentley Abbey. Aye, they had been on the road to Odiham Castle when darkness had fallen; she was in the chamber she and Damien had been given for the night. Her breathing felt shaky, and when she reached up she realized that her cheeks were wet. It had all seemed so real, the images still playing through her mind. Damien had left her, and she’d felt the heartbreak of it as if it had happened in truth, leaving her aching and bereft.
But it was only a dream,a voice inside soothed.Only a dream…
Tipping her head on the bolster, Alissende realized that dream or nay, Damien was not in their bed. She reached out and felt the sheets; they were cool to her touch. He had been gone for some time, then—but not before they had made love again, as they had each night since their first intimate reunion. Tonight, however, their joining had been slower, sweeter than ever before, and she’d felt like crying from the beauty of it as she’d shattered in his arms. He, too, had achieved bliss, but there had been a kind of darkness in his eyes…the shadow of something weighing on him.
Afterward he had held her close, propping himself up on one arm to look at her in silence, his gaze troubled, as he’d tenderly brushed his fingers along her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. Before she’d been able to ask him to speak of his thoughts, he had leaned down and kissed her. Then he’d rolled to his back, closed his eyes, and murmured a good night. After a time she had heard his breathing slow to what had seemed the deep, even cadence of sleep, and she too had allowed herself to drift into slumber.
Now he was gone.
