Page 42 of The Herald's Heart
“I understand. All the same, I will ask his forgiveness when I next see him.”
Talon shrugged. “As you will.”
“You could have sent Cleve or someone else. Why did you trouble yourself to find me?”
“I came because ...” Because of what? Aedwin? Because he feared for her life? For duty’s sake? All of those were true but so small a piece of what drove him that he could not say the words. In the end, he said the only thing he knew that might keep him sane and her safe. “You are my father’s wife and under my protection." He held his hand out to her. “Come, I will take you home to Hawksedge.”
Yes, Hawksedge was home for him as no place else had ever been, and he had longed for home since the day he left. The wrongs done him, like the wrongs done Larkin, would be put right. One way or another, he would gain Hawksedge to hold. He would not risk that even to have Larkin share his bed. Nor would he risk their souls. Maybe after all was settled, she in her home and he in his, if the decisions made about her marriage allowed, they might meet and decide to become lovers. For now, friendship and trust were the most they could have.
• • •
Larkin stared at him. He was not humming or teasing, nor was his reason in the least suggestive. She should be grateful. She was grateful, but honest enough to admit a small amount of regret. He would take her home, he said. All she had to do was trust him—this man whose very presence caused betrayal in her body and upheaval in her life. She could do without the upheaval and would be glad when she did not have to see him every day. But that time was not now. Her glance fell to the ground.
“The flowers.” She pointed at them.
He nodded, bent, and, with his outstretched hand, swept the blooms into his arms. “Come.” He turned and walked toward his horse, where he placed the blossoms gently into his saddlebags.
She followed slowly, careful not to trip over the trailing hem of his cloak. Before she had traveled halfway round the pool, he returned and scooped her up into his arms. She had felt his embrace before, but she had not known him then. Did not know him now, although she had seen his strength, his dogged pursuit of justice, his patience with the weak and powerless, his gentle care of all women, most of all herself, even when she least deserved such care.
He set her in her saddle, took her reins in his hand, and mounted his own horse. He did not speak, and she let the silence grow, uncertain of what she wanted, content simply to be with him.
Too soon, they arrived at the abbey. Talon dismounted and laid a hand on her arm. “Stay here,” he said. Then, lifting the saddlebags from his horse, he went to the abbey gate. His touch lingered on her arm like the warmth of his body held in the cloak that kept the cold of night and loneliness at bay.
Light spilled from the open gate where two nuns with lanterns and baskets accepted the flowers. Larkin watched him return, lithe and strong, supple like the mist. She thanked God for the weak moonlight that allowed her to feast her eyes on him but kept her longing gaze from Talon’s sight.
He replaced the now empty saddlebags and settled a hand at her waist.
“You told Albert you would rest the night at the abbey. If that is truly what you wish, say so now, and I will take you to the nun who waits at the gate. Someone will come for you on the morrow.”
Someone, not him, how very wise of him. She should not resent such care, especially when offered the escape she needed, the chance to contemplate her future and decide her course of action without his disturbing presence. “Yes, please. I will stay the night here.”
“As you will.”
He saw her to the gate, handing her into the nun’s care.
She entered and the gate closed. What would happen when it opened tomorrow? Would she abandon her pursuit of justice, of owning Rosewood Castle? Would she cast aside her marriage vows and risk her hope of heaven for the few days of loving she and Talon might share? Nay she would do neither. She had no need of contemplation to know what course was right. She did, however, need to seek the strength to resist temptation. She would spend this night in prayer.
