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“Very well.” He handed her the bloom. “I never want us to be apart again.”
She took the daisy. Elation filled her eyes, but also painful doubt.
“Never again,” he whispered, reaching for her.
She hesitated, her eyes brimming with tears. Then, with a sobbed sigh, she melted into his embrace. His lips found hers, and he kissed her, deeply, urgently, starved for her essence.
Placing her hands on either side of his face, she kissed him back. Without restraint. With a hunger that roused his to a fever pitch. Groaning, he urged her down to the ground. She lay on her back, while, careful of his wounds, he reclined beside her, one hand clasping hers. “I love you, Gisela.”
She gazed up at him, tears shimmering on her lashes. “As I love you.”
“Marry me.”
She froze. Her throat moved with an awkward swallow before she said, “’Tis impossible. I am a commoner.”
“I care not. Neither does de Lanceau. He is in favor of our marriage. As a wedding gift, he will award me one of his small estates.” He kissed her hand. “My mother would be proud.”
“Aye, she would.” Gisela’s lips formed a shaky smile. “So, I vow, would your father.”
Indeed, he might. But, at this moment, Dominic had more important matters to consider.
A dull ache spread through his chest. Gisela hadn’t accepted his proposal. Did she not wish to wed him?
“Please, Gisela, marry me. You are the mother of my son. The woman who saved my life.” He pressed her fingers. “I want no one else.”
“Oh, Dominic.” She sniffled. Gently touching his bruised face, she whispered, “How many nights I dreamed of lying with you again. Of being together.”
His brow creased in a mock frown. “Hmm. Are you saying ‘aye’ to my proposal?”
“Hmm…” she repeated, mischief in her eyes. “I believe… Aye.”
“At last,” he murmured, sweeping his lips over hers.
Gisela smiled up at him, joy in her eyes. “Ewan will be so excited.”
“I cannot wait to tell him he is my son.” Dominic imagined the little boy’s face brightening when they told him the news. How Dominic looked forward to embracing his son. To teaching him the nuances of swordplay, archery, and…
“Imagine,” he said. “A family of warriors.”
She giggled, and he kissed her again, with all the love pouring from his soul. His hands trembling, he removed her garments until she lay naked before him. With a coy smile, she helped him remove his tunic and hose. Then, the linen bandages still wrapped around his ribs.
As the extent of his beatings was revealed, concern filled her gaze, but Dominic firmly shook his head. “Our lovemaking may not be quite as… lusty on this occasion”—he winked—“but my wounds will heal quickly.”
“They will,” she agreed, “for I will ensure they do.” While she spoke, her fingers brushed the swollen heat of him, as though discovering him anew. Closing his eyes, Dominic shuddered with pleasure. How he had missed coupling with her.
Leaning forward, he kissed her throat, shoulder blade, and the valley between her breasts.
Her hands flitted up to cover her scar.
“Gisela.” He nibbled her fingers before drawing them away. Anguish clouded her gaze, but he kissed her scar’s ragged line. “You are more beautiful to me now, Sweet Daisy.”
“Really?” she whispered.
He nodded. “This scar is a mark of honor. Proof of the dragon you battled—and defeated.”
Kissing her again, he moved over her. When their bodies touched, she sighed and arched up, answering the bold insistence of his manhood. “Aye, Dominic,” she whispered. “Aye.”
He slid into her. Groaned.
Ah, God!
A ragged cry broke from her. “Dominic,” she whimpered.
And he was lost.
As he surrendered to the rhythm of long ago, he savored the joy of pleasuring Gisela. The relief they would never again be apart. The knowledge that, at long last, she belonged to him.
The greatest reward of all.
