“Did I sleep long?” he asked.
A softness came into her eyes, and a hint of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She shook her head a fraction.
“I am a lout to let you get chilled,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “Good Lord, you are covered in gooseflesh!”
He rubbed her back and arms until she laughed and begged him to stop. As he held her to him, he glanced up through the holes in the roof to judge the light.
She must have heard his sigh, for she asked, “What is it?”
“We must return to the abbey in another hour,” he said. “The monks have their supper early. If we are not back before then, someone is bound to notice we are still gone.”
She shrugged one fine-boned shoulder.
“Surely you do not want to be the cause of even more sinful thoughts among these poor monks?” he chided her with a smile. “You’ll have them doing penance for months.”
When she laughed at his joke, he had to kiss her. And just like that, he was hard again. From the way her eyes widened when he leaned back to look at her, she’d noticed. Her lips curved upward. A very good sign.
“You need do no more than look at me, and I want you.” He breathed in the summery smell of wildflowers in her hair and felt her nipples harden against his chest.
This time, he intended to take her slowly. He did not know when they might have opportunity to sneak away again, so he wanted to be sure she would not soon forget. As he kissed her, he wondered vaguely if the king would truly banish him to Ireland for this. If so, their next time together might be on a boat.
“Do you get seasick?” he asked between nips at her earlobe.
“Mmmm?” she asked, but when he stuck his tongue in her ear and pressed his shaft against her thigh, he knew she forgot his question.
When she reached down and took him in her hand, he forgot it, too.
He was a man who knew how to please a woman; usually he went about it with deliberation. This was different. With her, he went on instinct and emotion. From touch to touch to touch, he followed her sighs. He sought to make every inch of her his own.
There was no need for caution this time. When he finally entered her, he thrust all the way into her. She welcomed him, moved with him. This time, he made it last.
“You are mine,” he told her as he moved inside her. “Only mine.”
She was his. Now and forever.
After, he was flooded with such tenderness toward her that he could find no words to tell her. He could not speak at all, except to whisper into her hair, “Isobel, my love, my love.”
As they walked hand in hand back to the abbey, he felt relaxed, happy. Surprising, how content he felt at the prospect of being bound for life. “Forsaking all others” gave him no twinges of regret. Truth be told, he was relieved to have done with that part of his life. Isobel was all he wanted.
Stephen began to make his plan. To win the king’s blessing, he must have all his ducks in a row. It would be wise to have William with him when he approached the king. A shame Catherine was not here to play on her childhood friendship with King Henry. But Robert would speak for him, too.
The king would insist on questioning Isobel. That could not be helped, but he would prepare her.
All would be well. He would see to it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Isobel lay on the hard cot in the small, windowless guest room. The long night stretched out before her. At midnight, Stephen left for Caen, promising to return with twenty armed men two hours after first light.
She did not see him alone after they returned from the orchard. When they went to check on FitzAlan, they could hear him arguing with the old monk from outside the infirmary door. Reassured, Isabel left Stephen to spend the remaining hours at his brother’s bedside.
She was so exhausted she felt light-headed. But how could she sleep when the rough blanket still smelled of him? She held it to her nose and drew in a deep breath. She wanted to remember every moment of their afternoon together.
Every touch, every look, every word. The way her stomach fluttered as she watched him spread the blanket. The solicitude and longing warring in his eyes when he asked if she was certain. From that first soft kiss, there was no chance of her changing her mind. She brushed her fingers over her lips now, remembering it.
Though vivid, her memory after that was a jumble of sensations and emotion. She’d had no notion being with a man could be like that. It was a wonder couples who had that kind of passion between them ever left their beds.
Perhaps it was rare for it to be so perfect.
