Page 50

Their eyes locked. Rory was reminded of the first time he lay atop her, in her bed at Edyington. Was it possible, all that had happened since?

You are mine.

He entered her fully, and then paused. She did not cry out, but he could tell by the way she held herself it had been painful. When Freya did begin to move, Rory gladly did so with her. Though slowly at first, not much time passed before he slid himself in and out more quickly. Frantic almost, the need to spill himself inside her like nothing he’d ever experienced.

She could be with child after this night. Indeed, she would be. Rory felt it. Knew it. Welcomed it. His betrothed moved with him in perfect rhythm, and when he kissed her, Rory did it in time to their movements down below. In, and out. Circling. The pace fast for a bit and then so slow Freya pulled from him to beg Rory to help her find release.

Now and always he would give her what she desired. “Let go,” he said, “let go, sweet Freya. Give yourself to me completely.” And she did. Rory thought to warn her then. “You will beget our first child from this coupling,” he said. “And I will love them as I do you.”

With that, Rory found his own release. It was only later, after he’d recaught his breath, after he scooped her into his arms and kissed her head, knowing their appearance in the hall was needed, that she said, “Only you would be so arrogant as to believe the first time we are together we would produce a child.”

“We shall see,” he said.

“If,” she said, clearly not believing him, “if such a thing were to happen, and he were a boy, I would call him Alymer, like my father.”

Rory tamped down his anger at Freya’s brother for what he’d done. There would be another time for vengeance. Tonight was for its opposite. “’Tis a fine name,” he said. “Alymer it will be.”

And then, flipping them over, Freya now atop him, he said, “Perhaps, to be certain it does happen this day, we should try just once more before sharing the news with the others.”

“Just once?” she said, giggling. He loved the sound, wanted to hear more of it. She’d endured so much pain, now ’twas time for pleasure. And if there was one thing Rory could do well, one thing he’d practiced his whole life for, it was giving pleasure.

“That, my love, sounds very much like a challenge.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“They are within?”

Freya knew as much, and though Lady Catrina had been very kind to her, she still worried. After all, their only son would marry a woman who offered no advantage to him or their family. Though titled, she held no land and very much doubted her brother would offer the dowry she was owed. The opposite was unfortunately true. He was just as likely to send the king after her in retribution for undermining him by marrying without permission.

As Rory had said from the start, she would no longer be a pawn. Not for her brother. Or her grandmother. Or even the king. But she’d also lost her past, her home, and her people. Those few that had escaped could perhaps make a home with her and Rory. And Loretta would at least be safe.

“There is naught to be worried for,” he said, reaching for Freya’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Rory had asked for his parents to meet them here, in the solar, before supper was served. He looked once again like a lord’s son, ever-present grin in place. Freya paused a moment to appreciate the man that would be her husband. Unfortunately, she may have appreciated him a bit too much. His expression instantly changed. His eyes narrowed. “If you look at me that way inside the solar, Freya, I cannot promise not to mortify you with my attentions.”

“What precisely would you do?” she teased.

Continuing to hold her hand, Rory pulled her close and whispered, “I would stand from my chair and stalk you like an expert hunter, claim your lips as my prize, and have you begging to continue what we ended earlier.”

She should not have asked. “I fear that would embarrass me quite a bit.”

He released her hand. “There is a tapestry on the wall behind where my parents will be sitting. Look at it when you are overcome with desire for me. ’Twill take your mind away from the memory of our lovemaking.”

Laughing, she shook her head. He did have a high opinion of himself, she thought as he pushed open the door, but it was warranted. Pleasantries exchanged, both she and Rory sat across from his parents in the most ornate wooden chairs she had ever seen. They were beautifully carved.

“Our daughter,” Lady Catrina explained. “She enjoys working with wood and made those herself. With assistance from Bristol’s master carpenter.”

“I’ve heard much of Rylee,” she said, “and look forward to meeting her.”

“You seem surprised, Lady Freya, by our daughter’s hobby,” Rory’s father said, the same smile in his tone that his son so often used.

“Freya, if it pleases you, Lord Waryn. And nay, I am not surprised. At least, not after many of the stories Rory told me on our travels. The Waryns seem unconventional in many ways. And I offer no disrespect in saying so.”

“We take none,” his mother said. “And please, we are Catrina and Bryce to you. After all, you will be part of our family, will you not?”

She glanced quickly at Rory, who seemed as surprised as she. He’d told her of the conversation he’d had with his mother before he had come to find her. But neither of them had spoken to her since that morn.

“My wife is as perceptive as any,” Rory’s father said. “Though I will admit, yours”—he waved his hands toward Freya and Rory—“is not much of a mystery to be solved. We know our son well.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, just like Rory. “So, son, how soon do you wish to marry?”

The way Rory smiled at his father made them appear more father and son than any two men Freya had known. ’Twas remarkable, the resemblance.