Page 7 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

“ S he oversaw the stonemason’s repair to the damaged wall near the west tower between meetings with servants.”

Rystan should not listen to gossip in the corridor, but as he made his way to Anwen’s chamber after what seemed like the longest day of his life, he could not resist, realizing they spoke of her.

“She questioned me earlier, asked if I enjoyed being assigned to the kitchens,” a second woman said. “Enjoyed? I’ve never been asked such a question before.”

“Would that she stayed on as Blackwood’s castellan? Some say she is here for only a short time.”

Only a short time? How did they know as much?

“Perhaps we can ask to return with her.”

They laughed at the jest, the servants' voices becoming more distant as they moved away. To have won them over in such a short time was a testament to Anwen’s skills. Always a clever woman, she now also possessed the maturity and experience to run her own home.

As he took the stone stairs two at a time, Rystan imagined waking up beside her in the master bedchamber at Delamere Manor.

Though not as grand as any of the three castles he’d have inherited as earl, it boasted more defenses than most manor houses.

Though he’d only stayed there in summers, Rystan preferred it over the others and would be pleased for Anwen to reside there with him as its lady.

An unlikely event since much still stood between them. Would she forgive that he’d not contacted her in all this time? Despite learning he had tried, the fact remained. . . Anwen had lived these many years believing he’d simply forgotten her.

Would her mother allow them to marry now when she had not then? It seemed as likely as Anwen defying her mother and doing so anyway. And what of the servants’ comment about her being here for just a short period? He was uncertain what to make of that.

Knocking, it was only a moment before Anwen opened her chamber door.

She’d changed from her earlier serviceable gown to a beautiful one of deep blue hemmed in gold thread. Plunging deep enough to give him an ample view of her bosom, the gown accentuated every curve before flaring wide at the hips.

“You are more lovely than ever, my lady.”

She stood aside.

“And you, a dashing knight this eve.”

He wore a fresh surcoat, one Rystan had reserved for his meeting with Blackwood’s benefactors. It bore the crest of his house, a screaming eagle with crossed swords sewn in silver thread.

“Our meal should be here straightaway. A wine while we wait?”

“Please,” he said, wondering where Anwen’s serving girl was as she poured.

“I dismissed the maid assigned to me.”

It was as if she’d read his mind.

“Why?” he asked as she handed him a pewter goblet.

“I. . .” She shook her head and sat, so he followed. “I am not ready to form another bond such as that.”

Sarah’s betrayal, as Anwen saw it, had cut deeply.

“She had little choice?—”

“One always has a choice. Hers was to remain silent even as I cried myself to sleep.”

The thought brought him little joy. “You cried yourself to sleep? For me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Many times.”

“Anwen—”

His words were cut off as a knock and Anwen’s bid to enter was followed by two servants carrying platters of food. For a castle with ‘little provisions as of late’ according to Fitzwilliam.

Thanking them as the servants placed roasted duck, fresh bread and more on the small table adjacent to her bedchamber’s entrance, the servants left.

It was a wholly more pleasant experience—sitting beside the fire with a woman he thought he’d lost forever in the privacy of her private apartments—than being in the hall with men such as Sir James.

“I’m glad you suggested this,” she began.

“We’ve much to discuss, it seems.” Anwen’s eyes shone in the firelight, so brown the whites shined around them. He had always been mesmerized by those eyes.

“You never married.”

It wasn’t how he’d prepared to begin, but the words flew from his mouth despite it.

“Nor did you.”

Touche.

“I’ve been on the front lines of Matilda’s war, one that is now half of England’s. There has been little time for courtship. Or little desire.”

“Nay?”

They’d wasted too much time already. “Nay. I’ve wanted to marry you since we were young and that has never abated, not even after your mother reversed course. No other could compare to you, Anwen. When I attempt it, they are found lacking.”

“You flatter me Rystan. But surely that is not entirely true. A man such as yourself?”

He would not mislead her. “I’ve had bedmates, Anwen. I’d not lie and tell you otherwise. But I’ve not once met a woman I wished to marry. Thankfully, without an inheritance, there has been little pressure to do so.”

“Is your father very angry?”

“He was, for some time. But Henry has taken on his new role reluctantly and will make a fine earl someday. I will still inherit Delamere Manor, and both my parents have since come to terms with my decision.”

“You adore Delamere,” she said.

He watched as she opened her mouth to take a bite of duck. How often has Rystan dreamed of those lips touching his own?

“I do. And someday, when Matilda once again takes her place as the rightful queen of England, I will retire to it happily.”

Their eyes met.

He should wait to broach the topic, but why tempt fate? They were here, together, unbelievably, and Rystan had little doubt what he wanted.

“Come with me. Live at Delamere as my wife. ‘Tis no earldom, but I offer you a comfortable life with a man who adores you. Who’s always adored you.”

Loved. Who loved her. He should say the words, but Rystan had little idea of how she felt about him after all this time.

“Until last eve, I’d thought you’d abandoned me.” Her voice was low. Quiet. Unlike her.

“I am sorry for it.” Rystan pushed up from his seat and went to her. Offering her his hand, he waited. Willed her to take it.

She did.

He pulled the seat out as she stood.

Rystan looked into her eyes and asked again.

“Marry me. We were destined to become man and wife, and were thrown off-course. Who are we to deny the fates having been thrown together, unbelievably, once again?”

Before she responded, Rystan leaned down, unwilling to live another day without the feel of Anwen’s lips on his. She did not pull away. Instead, she lifted her head and touched her lips tentatively to his.

Unwilling to leave it at such a chaste touch, wanting Anwen to understand what simmered below the surface between them, what always had, he slipped his tongue along the crease of her lips. Parted them. And then swept his tongue inside, demanding her own.

When she gave it to him, he was lost.

Hesitant at first, Anwen quickly caught onto the game as old as time. The one of tangled tongues and two mouths hungrily feasting on the passion of the other. He pressed her toward him as Anwen tilted her head to give him better access.

And he took it.

He took everything she offered, and more. Nipping at her lips, he showed his former betrothed a preview of what was to come. She would be his—fully and truly. Even if she’d not come to terms with the fact yet.

Rystan let her go once. He would not do it again.

At least, not permanently. Temporarily, unless he was willing to take her virginity this very eve, he had little choice.

Ending the kiss and breaking away, he watched her glistening lips as they tried to form a word, and failed.

“Become my wife, Anwen.”

He knew before she responded, by the look in her eyes, what Anwen’s answer would be. If he’d been run through the gut on the battlefield, it would have been less painful than the thought of her denying him.

But she would.

Her answer was ‘no.’