Page 121 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Framing his face, she kissed him, woke him.
Drew him down the long slow road that was now theirs to travel. To enjoy these sweet minutes that were solely theirs, to glory in the pleasure of their love.
She didn’t need to hear him claim the emotion; it lived in his heart, in his mind, his soul, and nothing, she felt certain, would ever mute it, much less cause it to fade.
Later, eminently pleased with this way of waking up, she lay boneless over his chest and listened to his heart thud.
When the beat had slowed sufficiently, she raised her head and looked into his eyes.
At her movement, he’d raised his lids. From beneath his lashes, he searched her face. “What?”
“I should go—I need to go—to the sacred grove.”
“To pray?”
When she nodded, he lightly shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs of sleep away. “What does it say that such a manic idea actually makes sense to me now?”
She was starting to love the way he made her laugh—usually at the most unexpected times. Growing serious again, she looked into his eyes. Held his gaze. “It’s tradition for the Lady of the Vale—or in my case, the Lady-in-waiting—to introduce her consort to the Lady in the grove. It’s also tradition—one my father keeps to this day—for a consort to keep watch over his lady while she prays.” She hoped he would want to do the same, but she wasn’t sure. “Will you come?”
“Of course.” He sat up, tumbling her from her position across his chest. “By keeping watch, you mean like Marcus was doing that day I came to plead with you to help the Bradshaws?”
Climbing from the bed, she nodded. “Just like that. It’s not as if there is any danger—it’s more symbolic.”
Thomas glanced at her lithe, naked figure as she walked to the washstand. Symbolic be damned. She was very real, and so was the protectiveness he felt—had always felt—for her. He tossed back the covers and rose. “I take it we’ll ride there.”
* * *
They did; through the freshness of a late spring dawn just breaking, they cantered across the fields—fields he found himself studying with a proprietary eye. He’d be working alongside Richard managing the estate, the Vale, from now on.
Upon reaching the sacred grove, they dismounted, leaving their horses in the same area he’d found her black mare and Marcus’s mount long ago. It seemed long ago—so much had happened since—yet in reality only six weeks had passed since he’d last walked down the winding path that led to the heart of the grove.
The experience, this time, was quite different.
He’d thought he didn’t believe, but somewhere in some long-forgotten, unrecognized corner of his soul, he must, because now, through Lucilla, through the ceremonial words she used, he could feel the power.
Old, ancient, it stirred—around him, through him.
And hehadto believe.
Closing his eyes, he swayed slightly, sensing that power washing around and over him, then sinking through his soul to anchor him.
Once the introduction was complete, Lucilla led him out to the stone at the entrance to the path. With a quiet word, she left him sitting there and retreated to complete her devotions.
He sat and stared out at the land spread before him and let his thoughts flow unfettered. Let appreciation of land, of place, of people, of family and clan rise up and claim him.
This was their future, his and hers, to protect and guide and nurture.
This was his place, here, beside her.
Finally, he’d found his true home, his true role. The life he needed to be all he could be—all he had it in him to be.
He breathed deeply; closing his eyes, he held the pristine air in his lungs and gave thanks—to Fate, to God, to the Lady—for all he had found, for all life had offered him.
For all he would hold to the end of his days.
EPILOGUE
After a noisy, boisterous breakfast, one blessed with a great deal of laughter, most of the remaining guests departed through the morning.
