Page 118

“You did win –” she started to protest, but he interrupted her.

“Because of you. Because we were there together,” he reiterated. “It was the best time I ever had. In my whole life. Even though I lost both events,” he admitted with a slight shake of his head. “Looking back on it now, I feel benevolent toward everyone there. Even,” he added in bewilderment, “de Crecy.”

Aimee felt the smile spreading over her face before he had even finished speaking. He sounded so astonished by his own words. “Well,” she started, “I think it is only right that Beres Caple is your favorite tournament, considering you are their most popular knight there.” But it seemed Konrad had tired of the conversation, for his big hands were grabbing her about the waist and hauling her up the bed so he could rain kisses over her face and neck.

Aimee subsided against the pillows with a sigh. They could talk about it later.

Epilogue

Kellingford Tournament, October

“Oh, that feels so much better,” Aimee moaned, then fell disappointingly silent.

“Have you drifted back to sleep?” Konrad asked after a moment. He really should remove his hands from her delectable body. Her delectable pregnant body. Aimee had only just started to show, but already he was fascinated by the subtle changes.

Both Ingrid from their household and Old Janet from her father’s house had been consulted and had agreed the babe would be born in the spring. He ran his hand over the swell of her belly and told himself he needed to get out of bed.

What he really needed to do was prepare for the melee, not be lying abed unable to tear himself away from his wife.

“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Fast asleep.”

“Want me to wake you up?” he asked with a groan. Gods, what he really wanted right now was to lift up her shift and have his way with her.

Aimee frowned, her eyes springing open. “Why do you sound like you’re in pain all of a sudden?” she asked. “I doubt you’re saddle sore.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “I ache somewhere else entirely.” His hands roamed over her plump thighs. Unable to prevent himself, he leaned down to kiss her one shapely shoulder where her shift had slipped down.

“How were you thinking of waking me up?” she asked with drowsy interest.

“With my cock,” he answered raspily. “Or my mouth.”

Her breathing hitched a moment. She seemed to consider. “I really don’t wantto move though,” she sighed. “My backside is so stiff, Konrad.”

He snorted. Not as stiff as him. Aimee was still a terrible horsewoman. It should bother him more than it did, he realized dimly. Instead, he just added two days to every journey they made and a ridiculous amount of rest stops. “You don’t have to,” he promised, instead of telling her to stop her whining. He lowered his head, whispering in her ear. “I could just lift your hips and slide right in.”

Her eyes sprang open at that, a pretty color spreading over her face. “Konrad!” she murmured in reproach, but her breathing was coming fast. “Well, I don’t know. We would have to be quiet,” she said glancing around the fancy pavilion he was now obliged to travel to all his tournaments with.

The blasted thing was blue and yellow with a ridiculous number of trimmings and furnishings. He looked like a court jester emerging from it, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about that either these days.

Aimee shook her head, a look of determination on her face. “No, Konrad,” she said firmly. “I’ve just recalled that you blamed me for your losing at the autumn tournament because your legs were too weak after bedding me that same morn.”

Konrad snorted. “You were to blame, wife,” he said huskily as he swung his leg over her hips, bearing her back down onto the mattress. “You sapped all the strength right out of me.”

“So then, why are you looking now to repeat the experience?” she asked sounding nettled, even as she slipped her arms about his neck.

“Because,” he said huskily before he took her mouth. “I care more about conquering you than the competition these days.”

“Hmmmm,” Aimee hummed around his tongue. When he drew back, she was panting. “I am not sure I believe you, husband.”

“Believe it,” he growled, bunching her shift up. “Every time I bring you along, I simply resign myself to another loss.”

“What?” Aimee squeaked, sounding dismayed. “W-what do you mean?”

“Why do you think I only bring you to one in three tournaments?” he asked.

“Because I make you lose?” She sounded so stricken he almost laughed.

He lowered his brow to hers and gazed into her eyes a moment. “You like losers, remember? That’s why you liked me in the first place. You skew all my priorities, wife,” he sighed, aiming kisses at her mouth and missing as Aimee stubbornly turned her face away.