The Redeeming by Tamara Leigh Page B

back my heart, and upon my word, I shall.”
    Warring over relief that the specter between him and his future wife might meet its end, and regret that his deception was becoming increasingly difficult to explain away, he said, “What of your betrothed? Might he then claim your heart?”
    Her gaze faltered. “I shall wed the baron as is required of me, just as you shall wed your betrothed as is required of you, Sir Matthew.”
    “And if I did not—and you did not?” he asked, only to inwardly groan as his deception dug deeper. Now, when he had her to himself and there were no others she could place as a barrier between him and her outrage, he ought to tell her the truth. And he might have had she not dropped her hood to reveal the fall of her hair. Since only a fool would choose her anger over a taste of her mouth, especially as his deception was so dire it surely could get no worse, he drew her near.
    “Later we will speak of stealing me away.” Her breath fanned his lips. “Now I would have that kiss.”
    Ignoring the voice that urged him not to postpone the inevitable, he bent his head.
    Gaenor’s lips were soft and willing, and yet uncertain as if hers was an untried mouth. He was relieved, for though Sir Durand might possess her heart, that was surely all he had gained. Gaenor Wulfrith, soon Gaenor Lavonne, was his. Somewhere in the days remaining before their departure from Wulfen, he would find the right moment to tell her all.
    As the kiss deepened, so did the vibration beneath their feet until it was impossible to ignore the riders who rushed across the land toward Wulfen Castle.
    Christian lifted his head and glanced at a sky that was fast running toward night. “Riders.”
    Lips moist, cheeks flushed, Gaenor said, “You know who comes?”
    “Nay, though there is urgency to their ride.” Liking the feel of her, knowing too soon he must release her, he tightened his hold. “We should return.”
    “Aye.” Still, she did not draw back.
    Christian pulled a hand up her side, over her shoulder, and cupped her chin. “On the morrow, will you come to me again—here, in the wood, this same time?”
    “I shall be here.”
    He brushed his mouth across hers. “We will speak then of how I plan to steal you away.” And he would steal her away if it was required—at least, until she was reconciled to his deception. He released her. “Let us make haste.”
    Neither spoke as they negotiated the undergrowth, trees, and shadows. At the edge of the wood, Christian motioned her to go ahead of him.
    Dusk upon her face, she said, “On the morrow,” and dragged the hood over her head and set off across the field.
    When she slipped through the sally port, Christian exited the wood and began planning how he would tell her the truth.
    On the morrow he would do it, or the day after, or the day after that, but he would tell her before either of them left Wulfen Castle.
     
    “W e must depart this eve,” Sir Hector said.
    Girding the tidings like the oppressive weight it was meant it to be, Christian considered the older knight who, above all, had proved loyal to him these past years. “Aye, this eve,” he said, the hope he had felt with Gaenor a half hour past strewn in the dirt of his illegitimate brother’s escape from prison and the attack upon Broehne Castle—an attack that had left three men-at-arms dead, a half dozen injured, and his infirm father removed.
    Of course, he would be a fool to think Aldous had not gone willingly. Not a day passed that the old baron did not curse Christian for throwing the dagger that had injured Robert and seen him imprisoned for his attempt on Lady Beatrix’s life. Even he blamed Christian for his eldest heir’s death, though he could not know how near the blame truly lay.
    “I will have my squire gather your belongings,” Sir Everard said.
    Christian looked to where his host stood at the center of the solar in which he had received Sir Hector and two other knights. He nearly