Page 77

Snow Hill Castle

Three years later

I t was early in the morning, just before daybreak, the time of day that Tarran loved best. He could feel his wife sleeping next to him, warm and cozy, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the boys were awake and invading their chamber.

The day was upon them.

As he carefully moved to get out of bed, Tresta woke when his warm body moved away from her and she groaned as her heat source was removed.

“Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

He kissed her and moved to sit up. “I must find my clothes,” he whispered, spying his breeches on the floor where he’d left them. “I’m without a stitch on and so are you. The boys will be here any moment, so mayhap you should find your shift.”

Tresta blinked, rubbing her eyes as she looked around. The clothes had come off last night in the heat of passion, which wasn’t unusual with them. It had happened more times than she could count. But Tarran was correct; she was stark naked. She sat up, her arms covering her engorged, beautiful breasts that were located just above her equally engorged belly. At six months pregnant with her sixth baby and Tarran’s second child, she was round and rosy.

“God’s bones,” she hissed. “I do not seem to move very quickly these days. Can you hand me my shift?”

Tarran was fighting off a grin as she struggled to get out of bed. He came around the side of the bed and picked up her shift, handing it to her, but there seemed to be something criminal about covering up her gorgeous breasts. He forgot himself for a moment, burying his face in the delightful cleavage and pushing her back on the bed. She gasped, giggled, then groaned softly as he suckled gently on a peaked nipple.

“Tarran, not now,” she gasped, her face in the top of his head. “The boys will soon be here and they cannot catch us in such a tryst.”

He knew that but he didn’t seem to care. He lay on the bed beside her, kissing her lips as his fingers played with the nipple. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Actually, I am not sorry. Any moment I spend with you is the best moment of my life. Besides, we are to be separated for a few weeks and I cannot stand the thought of it.”

Tresta stroked his face, quickly feeling hot as he played with her nipple. She couldn’t stand the thought of their separation, either. It wasn’t so much a want for the man but a need; she needed the man more than she could comprehend. Her body craved him, evidenced by her second pregnancy in three years.

They couldn’t get enough of each other.

Throwing caution to the wind, her lips slanted over his, her tongue plunging into his mouth. Since her belly was large, making love the usual way had its challenges, so she climbed on top of him, straddling his belly as she ferociously kissed him.

Tarran could feel her naked body against him, her wet heat rubbing against his belly, and it drove him mad. He was drunk with the scent of her, his hands on her gently swollen belly, feeling the result of what he’d put into her. Nothing aroused him more than the feel of her pregnant belly and when his hands finally moved to the junction between her legs, he thrust a finger into her, listening to her groan into his mouth as she pushed her pelvis against his finger. Tarran groaned softly in return, wildly aroused by this woman he could not live without, and he removed his hand so he could lift her onto his erection. He could feel her warm tightness as she slid down over him, accepting his body into hers.

Tresta drew away from his mouth as she sat up, taking his hands and placing them on her breasts and belly as she began to ride him. She rolled her hips forward and plunged down on him again and again as he fondled her breasts. She watched him as she made love to him, basking in the power of the love between them, when he suddenly sat up and pulled her against him, suckling her nipples. With her big belly between them, it made for an intimate and cozy act, and Tresta was so highly aroused that in little time, she was climaxing as Tarran used his hips to thrust himself deep.

Feeling her climax, Tarran responded by releasing himself deep into her body, taking the greatest of pleasure with it. Tresta was boneless from her powerful climax so he eased her back onto the mattress, still joined to her, but making sure to keep his weight off of her blossoming belly. He continued to thrust gently, feeling her multiple orgasms that ended up reducing her to a quivering shell. Her entire body was throbbing against him and his hips moved slowly, deliciously, as the tremors eventually died away.

They remained joined together as he leaned forward, kissing her breasts, her shoulders, running a hand over that swollen belly that drew his hand like a moth to a flame. He kissed her neck, the swell of her breasts, and eventually a soft nipple. When he suckled her tenderly, she put up a hand to stop him.

“Nay,” she whispered. “Not again. The children will be here any moment.”

He grinned at her. “I know,” he said. “But this is my joy. You are my joy.”

She smiled, running her hand through his dark hair. “And you are mine,” she whispered, “but I do not want the boys to see us this way. Please, Tarran.”

He knew she was right. Sometimes they let their lust get the better of them, but there was something so completely overwhelming about their feelings for one another that it seemed to block out all else. Tarran sighed in disappointment as he withdrew his body from hers and went in search of the shift he’d tossed off somewhere. He found it at the foot of the bed and helped her pull it over her head.

Taking her by the hands, he pulled her out of bed and when she was steady on her feet, he pulled her shift all the way to the ground because she couldn’t bend over very well these days. The child in her belly was quite large already, something that puffed Tarran up with a great deal of pride. A beautiful wife, a healthy family, and he couldn’t have been happier. Marrying Tresta d’Mearc du Reims was everything he’d ever thought it would be and sometimes he still had trouble believing this was his life.

The best life a man could ask for.

Finished helping her with her shift, Tarran had just pulled his breeches on when there was a knock on the door, which promptly flew open without an invitation. Rhys and Jasper stormed in with a toddler between them in two-year-old Thaddeus du Reims. In truth, it was the toddler doing the storming, a lad who was his father’s clone all the way down to the cleft in his chin. Tad, as he was called, was very intelligent, and very vocal, and his older brothers adored him. When they made snow castles in the winter, it was Tad who kicked down the towers and loved every minute of it.

Tarran pushed through the crowd of children clamoring around Tresta until Rhys suddenly ran at him, stopping him before he could get out of the door.

“When are you leaving?” he demanded.

Rhys had grown up a great deal in the past three years. Now eight years of age, he was a very big boy. He was slated to leave for Chepstow to foster with Sebastian and Gabriel, who had been sent there about the time Tarran and Tresta married. It was decided that they needed to finish their education and, by all reports, Sebastian had matured a great deal and was well on his way to becoming an excellent lord. Tarran couldn’t have been prouder of the boy.

He knew Teague would have been, as well.

But he also missed him, and Gabriel, and the thought of Rhys going off to foster made him want to weep like an old fishwife. It didn’t matter that Teague had fathered Rhys or his brothers. Tarran had loved them as his own since before he married their mother. He’d been family for that long and longer still, something that no longer pained him to think about. In fact, he cherished it.

Family.

It was the only thing that truly mattered to him.

“I am leaving today,” he said in answer to the lad’s question. “I shall return in a few weeks.”

“Can’t I go?” Rhys begged.

Tarran smiled at the boy, but he shook his head. “You are the eldest son at Snow Hill these days,” he said. “I need for you and Uncle Hallam to watch over your mother while I am away. It is important, Rhys.”

Rhys wasn’t happy about remaining behind when there was an adventure to be had. “I suppose,” he said, frowning. “But why must you be away so long?”

“Because it is a long way to East Anglia,” Tarran said. “I must visit my own father, who has fallen ill, but I will return in time for the birth of your newest brother, I promise.”

Rhys didn’t care about that. He only cared that he wasn’t able to go along. Dejected, he left the chamber, followed by Jasper, who was so attached to his mother that he wouldn’t dare ask to go along with Tarran and risk being separated from her. As he followed Rhys from the chamber, Tresta pulled on a heavy robe and picked Tad up, holding the boy on her hip as she went to the door.

“Will you at least break your fast with us?” she asked.

Tarran took Tad from her because he didn’t like seeing her carrying around a heavy child with her rounded belly. “I will,” he said. “But then I must get on my way.”

“I know,” Tresta said. “And you have everything packed?”

“Everything.”

“Including my gift for your mother?”

“Including your gift for my mother. She will adore it.”

He was speaking of a delicately embroidered scarf that Tresta had made. “Good,” Tresta said. “Oh… wait a moment. I have something for you, too.”

As he stood at the door, holding Tad and pretending to bite his fingers as the boy squealed in delight, Tresta went over to her sewing table and returned with something in her hand. When she held it up for him to see, all of the humor left his face.

“A poppet?” he asked, reaching out to take it. “For me?”

Tresta nodded, watching him inspect it. “The last time I stood in this chamber with my husband leaving, I was pleading and begging him not to go,” she said, tearing up though she was trying to be brave. “This is a very big moment for me, Tarran. When Teague left, I did everything but throw myself on the ground to try and convince him not to go. You know of the poppet I gave him, the one with my hair and fabric from my wedding gown.”

Tarran nodded, the impact of the moment not lost on him. “I know,” he said softly. “It was buried with him. I know he would have wanted that, very much.”

She nodded, wiping at tears that were starting to fall. “I will not beg you not to go because I know you must,” she said. “I also know you will return to me. This is not like it was before, not at all, but I still do not want you to go. I will miss you every moment of every day, but mayhap this little poppet will remind you of me from time to time.”

Reaching out, he pulled her against him. “Time to time,” he scoffed softly, kissing the top of her head. “I will miss you with every breath I take and, every night, I will kiss the poppet good sleep and pretend I am kissing you. Thank you, my sweet. It was very thoughtful of you.”

Tresta was pressed up against him, her head on his chest, her arms around his waist. “You do not think it strange that I am giving you the same thing I gave Teague?”

“Nay,” he said. “You are giving me a piece of you and I shall cherish it. Just as he did. I think it is very considerate.”

She sighed, closing her eyes as she absorbed her last few moments with him before he departed. “I was so awful to Teague on that day,” she said. “I cursed Richard, the quest, and I very nearly cursed Teague. But he was resolute.”

Tarran gave her a squeeze. “I know,” he said. “I was there– remember?”

Tresta looked up at him, smiling weakly. “I do,” she said, her smile quickly fading. “I told you once that I think I knew he would never return home again. Something told me so. But as I look at you now, I know you will return. I have complete faith in that.”

“No following me?”

Her smile was back. “I swear, no following you.”

“No dying of a chest ailment while I am away?”

She chuckled. “It comes and goes,” she said of the cough that continued to linger, better at some times and then worse at others. “The same physic who thought you might never recover from your head injury before we were married is the same physic who told me the trouble in my chest might kill me. He was wrong. Or, at least, he has been so far.”

Tarran leaned down to kiss her on the lips, but Tad started whining so he was forced to let her go.

“The beastie is restless, Mother,” he said to his wife. “Let us break our fast so that I may get on my way. The sooner I leave, the sooner I return to you.”

Tresta smiled at him as he headed from the chamber, carrying Tad with him. She could hear him speaking calmly, sweetly to the boy all the way down the steps that led to the level below.

But, for a moment, she paused.

She looked around the chamber, the same chamber that she had shared with Teague. There were times after his death that she still felt him here, but no more. Now, this chamber belonged to her and Tarran. His mark was all over it, but it was right that it should be. What had once belonged to Teague had passed to Tarran, who had never shown anything less than the greatest respect for Teague and his legacy.

With a lingering smile at the memories, Tresta headed for the stairs.

It was possible to love two men in a lifetime and love them with all her heart. What she felt for Teague had been a warm and passionate thing, but that had ended over three years ago. Now, Teague was tucked away in a corner of her heart, a tender and sweet memory to visit now and again and nothing more. Tarran occupied every inch of her heart now, but he had always been extremely respectful of Teague’s little corner. That belonged to him and he never tried to erase it or change it. All he ever tried to do was remember Teague with her and speak of him fondly to his sons.

Teague, as Tresta had promised him, was well remembered to the young men who were growing up to look and act so much like him.

In large part, thanks to Tarran.

Her rock, her savior… her everything.

Tarran made it home from Thunderbey Castle in East Anglia with four days to spare before the birth of his second child and first daughter in the autumn of that year. A beautiful girl who looked just like his wife and he was smitten with her the moment he held her in his arms. They hadn’t planned on a girl, but he wasn’t disappointed in the least. They hadn’t selected any names until Tresta mentioned that Teague had always hoped to name a daughter Catherine.

Catherine du Reims had a beautiful sound to it, named by a man she would never meet.

It was one more example of Tarran’s respect for Teague and for his memory. In the years to come, both Teague and Tarran would be well-remembered by the children of Tresta d’Mearc du Reims. Two different fathers, but men who were intertwined by love and family and faith. In time, the children of the d’Mearc and du Reims siblings all knew of Teague and Tarran through the eyes of those who had loved them.

Memories and reflections that were carried through the ages.

Once, Tresta had embroidered on the body of the poppet she gave to Teague the following words– Remember me. Never could she have imagined just how well remembered they would all be.

A timeless tale of love, loss, and unexpected endings from the age of gods and mortals.

* THE END *