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332 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 30, 2024
“For all my life, I have trained my sight on the empty space between what men of God have taught, and what they have done.”
“Say me what you want.”William, my man, can you be mine?
She turned her head to meet his gaze. “I want you will abandon this notion of crusade.”
“Then I will abandon it,” he said.
For a long moment, they only looked at each other. In the clear grey of his eyes she saw no amusement, nor any trace of deception. Not a careful absence of lies or a light twisting of the truth. Just him.
“So easily?” she asked, trying and failing utterly to lighten her tone.
He nodded.
“Why?”
His mouth curved just barely. “Because you ask it.”
“I know only that I have loved you,” she said. “And it has made a heaven of this earth.”
“To lose all your inheritance to my folly…” She swallowed, the enormity of it almost choking her. “I fear a resentment will take root in your heart against me, that you must give so much.”
Now his hands came to her face, turned her to face him and those clear grey eyes. “Do not think me some selfless martyr, Margaret. I am no less ambitious or greedy than ever I have been. I want not the world’s esteem, but yours. And there is little that has relieved me more than laying down the burden of Ruardean. It is as much a reward in this world as the next.”
He raised her skirt, pulled it up over her hips when she bent over the table and stopped her words. The book of hours was knocked to the floor as he shoved himself inside her. The string broke between her tight fists, filling the room with the sweet music of the beads rolling free across the floor as she gasped beneath him, all pretense burned away.
......
He untied the leather wallet from his belt. Within it, the crimson beads glowed next to the plain boxwood. He stared at the two, nestled so closely together.
Brilliant, calculated show or plain truth. What he wanted, or what she preferred. He must choose, for now.
“You will want these,” he said. He laid the string across her palm, impulsively covering it with his own. They stood that way, hands clasped, the beads nestled in a pocket of warmth they made together. “It is only boxwood. But they say it is a sacred tree.”
Her eyes lifted to his, startled, as if she did not expect him to know it. He meant to say it was replacement for the string that had broken, so that he might taunt her with a reminder of her own unbridled lust. But the words dried up as she looked at him.
“My thanks,” she said, and he knew there was no falseness in her. Not in this moment. She squeezed his hand tighter, pressing the beads into his palm. “My thanks, William.”
It was nothing. Bits of worthless wood on a string. But he did not say so. He only nodded in acknowledgement, and fixed his eyes on the tiny unbound curl at her temple until she turned and entered the chapel.