Page 42 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

H e woke with her in his arms. Gareth thought to allow her to sleep, but when he stirred, Evie did as well. Pulling him toward her, Evie’s hand on his chest, Gareth no longer had a desire to get up from the bed.

Instead, a very different desire prompted his hands to set out exploring the curves he’d begun to learn and love.

From the curve of her hips to the sides of Evie’s breasts, every bit of her felt welcoming and soft.

When she began to moan under his ministrations, Gareth lifted his wife above him.

It was the first time for this particular position, and he was happy to show her how to ride him.

No words were exchanged.

Reaching down between them, Gareth slipped his fingers inside her, and found his wife already wet for him.

A good thing, because he wanted her. Needed her.

Pulling his hand away, he guided himself into her as Evie sat atop him.

Guiding her hips, he watched as Evie’s mouth opened.

Watched as she slid up and down as he reached for her, using his thumb too.

“Mmmm.” She smiled, but otherwise said nothing.

Their lovemaking was unlike any other time. Slow. Deliberate. With the weight of yesterday’s news, maybe she wanted this in the same way as he did, the two of them knowing they very well may be alone in the world.

Gareth would do it all over again and again to have this moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head that said he’d let down his family. He’d completed just one mission as a part of the Guardians knightly order.

Do not think of that now.

Instead, he concentrated on giving his wife pleasure, though it was hardly possible he could give her as much as she did him. Reaching up with his free hand, he cupped her breast, unable to resist touching. Teasing.

She moved more quickly, and Gareth responded. Together they moved up and down, his thumb circling more quickly now.

“Gareth.” Her breathing was getting heavy. She was close.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, using everything he had to ensure Evie would cry out his name. Touching her, loving her.

“Gareth,” she said again.

He removed his hand, pulled her on top of him, and thrust so deeply into her that it was Gareth who called out her name as his entire body tensed, and then relaxed. He held her tight, Evie still clenching around him. He understood in that moment why it was sometimes named “la petite mort.”

After a time, he turned them so Evie lay beside him. Pushing a strand of her hair to the side, he simply watched her. Looked into her eyes. Kissed her softly.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you.” His hand grazed her cheek. “Did you enjoy it that way?”

“I did, very much. Did you?”

“Very much.”

“I can see why men like Roland are late to lessons. ’Tis quite pleasurable, indeed. Though men have an advantage, their bellies unable to swell with an unintended babe.”

“We do,” he admitted. “In many ways.”

“Aye, but certainly in this. I had no notion it would be this way.”

He kissed her again.

“You are sad,” she said, not as a question but he answered it anyway.

“Naught about this, or you, makes me anything but joyous,” he said. “But I do wish we’d been able to marry without having to hie away in the night.”

“As I’ve told you, Gareth, I care little about that.”

“Evie,” he said, wanting her to understand. “We may never be able to go back. At least, not without risking being torn apart.”

“You’d never allow such a thing to happen.”

“No,” he agreed. “I would not.”

They were quiet, both deep in thought. Tucking her head into him, Gareth wished he could remain there all day.

It had been days since he trained, and since his friends had returned.

Gareth would be forced to find a training partner lest his sword skills become ill used.

When he told Evie as much, they agreed to rouse and break their fast.

It wasn’t until later that eve, when they were once again seated in the hall of their inn, that Gareth and Evie were able to talk more about their future.

He’d thought long and hard all day, but there was no hope for it.

For the first time since his family had been forced from their home, Gareth felt powerless.

Something he’d vowed never to experience again.

He confessed as much to Evie.

“Then do not,” was her response. “You seek a sense of purpose but have already achieved it. By becoming one of the greatest tourney players England has ever known. By leading a charge”—Evie smiled, as if she held a secret—“that will have become the turning point in a years-long war to see the rightful leader placed on the throne.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully.

“So you do not know?” she asked. His wife was hiding something for certain.

“Know what, precisely?” This time, he did not ask if Evie wanted to taste his cabbage. He smiled remembering the face she’d made trying it.

“While you were training, I visited the baker. There was a couple in the baker’s shop, a nobleman and his wife, speaking of the siege.”

He listened and continued to eat. Before he’d left home, Gareth’s mother had had much to say about how much he ate—more than both of his brothers.

“Stephen was taken hostage.”

He froze.

“Did I hear you correctly?”

His wife innocently took a small bite of bread, blinking at him as if she’d just told him she did not care for cabbage. Had she just said...

“You did. After the siege was broken, the besiegers dispersed, Matilda’s forces—specifically Robert of Gloucester’s men—managed to capture the king.”

“Impossible. We’d have learned of it already. ’Tis no small matter, the king being taken hostage.”

“Of course I did not comment on the timing of it, not wanting to reveal too much, but I did ask when it occurred. It seems they may have kept the knowledge secret, though I know not why. The news spread when he was transferred to Bristol Castle.”

“That does have a ring of truth. Bristol is known to house the highest profile of prisoners. Did they say aught else?”

“Aye, that Stephen’s brother Henry summoned a council at Winchester to involve the clergy.

He will, of course, need their support, though none know if Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury will give it or side with Matilda.

Either way, the siege of Lincoln Castle will have been the catalyst for Stephen’s downfall.

And you, my husband, made such a thing occur. ”

If true, the news could change everything.

“Not I,” he said, lowering his voice, “but the Guardians of the Sacred Oak and Empress Matilda’s many other supporters.”

Evie said no more as she began to eat her meal in earnest.

The king had been taken captive. They’d wondered if he was with his men that day, the standards giving no hint either way. He would not be released easily, but would it be enough to turn the tide completely in Matilda’s favor? That would depend on public opinion and, more importantly, the church.

“I hate waiting, doing nothing,” he said, more to himself than anyone.

“Perhaps we should not.”

Their eyes locked across the table. Evie’s resolve was admirable.

“What would you have us do instead?”

“You know the story of King Arthur and Elara?”

“I do,” he said. “When I first met Lady Elara at Castle Blackwood, I remembered it.”

“Surely she was named after the fierce woman who defeated a dragon and saved her village.”

“With the help of Merlin’s amulet.”

“Not entirely,” Evie said. “Some believe Merlin’s amulet contained no power, but that Elara, in seeking courage and strength from the wizard, was imbued with her own.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “What idea does the story give you?”

“Just that the courage and determination we need is already inside us. I should have told the man who raised me long ago that his treatment was unacceptable.”

“And you think to do that now?”

“I think he will never listen to Eamon. But I know him, better than most. And would like, at least, to try to get him to see reason.”

“If you’ll remember, we did speak to him once.”

Evie reached across the table and took Gareth’s hand. “Aye. But I did not have the amulet then. Nor did you.”

He was about to remind her that she did not believe in the amulet’s power until Gareth belatedly realized the meaning of her words.

They’d be taking a risk, to return. But she was right. They could not sit here and allow others to decide their fate. And she was also right in believing that he’d never let her go.

Let Ashford try to separate them.

He nodded. “We leave on the morrow.”