The Unveiling by Tamara Leigh (beach read book .TXT) 📖

betrayal, regardless of what the eyes told.” She took a step nearer Garr, so near he could smell the warmth of her skin. “He let another make his way for him, and for that he died.” Tears brightened her eyes. “Nay, you are not responsible. Jonas and Lavonne and Sir Merrick are to blame. Regardless of your anger, you could have done no different.”

Could he not have? Mayhap. “Still, that does not excuse me for being blind all these years. So blind I could not see the murderer in my midst. Near every day since, Merrick has been in my company, and all that he revealed in behavior and the depths of his eyes I named all but the guilt it was.”

Annyn shook her head. “You were wrong about Jonas’s death, but no more wrong than I was in believing you murdered him—far less wrong than I who sought your death.”

Though Garr longed to accept what she spoke, he struggled with all Drogo had taught him.

She cupped his face between her hands. “’Tis over. No more will I allow my brother’s death to cast me in darkness. I want light, I want laughter, I want tomorrow. I want you, Garr Wulfrith.” She leaned in and put an ear to his chest. “Even when your heart whispers, it speaks most loud.” She peered up at him. “Will you say it, Garr? Though I feel it, I long to hear it.”

He knew what she wanted—one last unveiling. Words for which he had received no training. A declaration of emotion that, until Annyn Bretanne, had been but something at which to scoff. It was true he loved her, but surely it would make him vulnerable to speak it. And a warrior—

By faith! Despite having had a sword to hand since the age of four, he was first a man. A man who loved this woman. But before he could speak the words that shied from his tongue, Annyn lowered her gaze.

“One day you will tell it to me.”

Garr caught her chin. “I will not.” Putting his father behind him, letting himself feel what was real and true and good, he said, “This day I will tell you. I love you, Annyn Wulfrith. If you will have me, I will pass all my life with you.”

Eyes sparkling, she touched a finger to his lips. “I will have you.”

Though it was too soon to ask her to be one with him again, Garr touched his mouth to hers. A kiss will suffice, he told himself, but when she sighed into him, he pulled her nearer and deepened the kiss. Later he would go slowly. Later—

He drew back. “Do you want this, Annyn? Mayhap ’tis too soon.”

“I do want this.”

“As do I.” He freed the belt of her robe and slid the garment off. It fell to the rushes, revealing the woman that Annyn was. Perfectly formed.

“You do not mind that I am not comely?” she asked.

“Not comely?”

She averted her gaze. “’Twas not difficult for me to play the man.”

Considering her upbringing, he was not surprised that she doubted her femininity. Forsooth, one did not have to look too near to know she was less than comfortable with the things of women. “A man you played, but a man I more than once bemoaned for being too pretty.”

“You did?”

He drew her to the table on which the basin sat and retrieved the mirror there. “Look.” He stepped to her back and lifted the silvered oval before her face. “There was but one thing you lacked, Annyn, and now you have it.”

She searched her features, touched her mouth, nose, and cheeks, and saw what Garr saw. She was not and would never be Lady Elena, but she did not need to be now that she possessed that of which Garr spoke. “Love,” she said softly and met his gaze in the mirror.

“Aye, love.” He pulled her around. “There is none more comely than my lady wife. And never will there be.” He returned the mirror to the table, swung her into his arms, and carried her to the bed where he made love to her.

How much time passed before he turned with her onto his side, Annyn could not have said, but it was with obvious regret that he did so.

“I must go to Henry.”

She had forgotten about the duke who would be angered at having been kept waiting all these hours.

Garr must have sensed her dismay, for he said, “All will be well, Annyn. Henry needs me nearly as much as the Wulfriths need him.”

“And Stephen?”

“If England is to ever again prosper, Stephen must surrender the crown. There is naught else for it.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be.” He kissed her brow. “It brought us together.”

She threaded her gaze through his. “Am I worthy, my lord?”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “So worthy, my love.”

EPILOGUE

Stern Castle, November 1153

“I am summoned.” Garr looked up from the missive delivered minutes earlier.

Praying the tidings were favorable, that at long last there would be an end to this war, Annyn crossed the solar to where he stood alongside the table. “And?”

He let the missive roll back on itself and pulled her into his arms. “Stephen has agreed to negotiate.”

She dropped her head back and met his gaze. “Then ’twill be over soon.”

“Does the Lord will it.”

She smiled. “Most assuredly He shall.” Of course, she had thought the same at summer’s end when word came of the death of Stephen’s son and heir, Eustace. The count having choked on an eel while dining at Bury St. Edmunds with his father, it was whispered that it was the Lord’s vengeance upon Eustace for plundering those abbey lands the week before.

“I would have you go with me,” Garr said, “but ’tis best you do not.”

Especially now. Hopeful, she slid a hand between them and splayed her fingers across her abdomen. “Where do you go?”

He looked to the hand she laid upon herself. “The negotiations are to be held at Winchester. I leave on the morrow.”

So soon? And for how long? He had spoiled her terribly since their marriage, rarely leaving her side. Though she had expected to see little of him once he returned to Wulfen to resume training boys to men—and where he had sent Rowan to replace Sir Merrick—he had not returned. Indeed, within a fortnight of their marriage he had determined to give the castle into Everard’s care that he might be husband to her and father to their children when they were so blessed.

She caressed her abdomen. Though she knew the answer, she asked, “You really must go?”

“I have forsworn my allegiance to Stephen, but he tells he will come only if I am present.” He tilted her head back and kissed her. “Upon my vow, I shall return anon.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do not make vows you cannot keep—lesson seven, is it not?”

“Aye, and I shall keep it.” He laid a hand atop hers on her belly. “Still your menses have not begun?”

It was the same he asked at least twice a day since she had told him her flux was late. Unfortunately, there were yet no other signs to confirm her pregnancy, so it might not be at all. “They have not begun, but neither does there appear to be any swelling.”

He laughed. “As my mother told, ’tis often months ere a woman’s belly boasts its prize.” He tucked a tress behind her ear, her hair having grown these past months such that it now fell past her shoulders. “Patience, Annyn. We shall know soon enough.”

She drew her hand from her belly and laid it to his chest where his heart beat with hers. Aye, soon they would know. Soon they would be three, mayhap four.

Dear Reader, I hope you enjoyed Annyn and Garr’s love story. If so, I would be grateful if you would consider posting a review of the book, even if only a sentence or two. Thank you for your consideration. Wishing you many, many hours of wonderful reading.

Amazon

B&N

iBooks Store

Kobo Books

EXCERPT

THE YIELDING

Book Two in the Age of Faith series

Available December 2012

She had killed a man. Or so it was said.

During the ten days since her awakening, Beatrix had tried every locked door within her memory. Some creaked open wide enough to allow her to peer inside such that she now remembered her flight from Stern Castle with Gaenor, Sir Ewen’s death, and Sir Simon’s face when he sought to violate her. Though she remembered little beyond the hands he had laid to her, she was fairly certain he had not stolen her virtue. But there was that gap between her flight from Sir Ewen’s side to the fall.

Suddenly light of head, she lowered to the chest at the foot of the bed and breathed deep until the feeling passed. Then, as she had done time and again, she struggled to fill the gap preceding her return to consciousness in the ravine when she had rolled the knight off her. But once again, the memory she needed to defend against the charge of murder was denied her. However, that was not all she needed. She required words to tell what had happened, words that too often teased her tongue, the absence of which made her seem a simpleton.

Four days past, when she had first recalled Sir Simon’s attempt to ravish her, she had begged an audience with Baron Lavonne. He made her wait two days and, when he finally appeared, it had been for naught. Like a moth straining to light, she had tried to voice the terrible memory, but the head injury had bound her tongue and incurred the baron’s impatience. That second visit to her chamber was his last.

Thus, she would soon be brought before the sheriff, but even if she could tell what had happened, there seemed no outcome other than death—unless her family delivered her. Each day she set herself before the window to watch for them, certain they would come, but they did not. Why? The castle was not barricaded, the folk allowed to move freely within and without the walls. Surely she would not stand alone before the sheriff and her accusers?

She touched a finger to her lips in anticipation of what she would say, but even when she thought the words through before speaking, her tongue and lips faltered as if she were empty of mind. She was not. Of course, one would not know it to be near when she opened her mouth.

She felt the place where her hair had been cut away to stitch up her scalp. Though she might never again be as she was, she was alive thanks to the elusive Sir Michael D’Arci who had yet to appear though he had surely been apprised of her recovery.

Dreading his arrival that the curt chamber maid who attended her had told would be this day, Beatrix stood and once more crossed to the window. Shivering in the cool air that her removal of the oilcloth allowed within, she watched the lowering sun draw shadows across the castle walls. As always, her gaze was tempted to the wood and, leaning forward, she stared at the bordering trees and wished she could reach them. Of course, what then? She might once have been capable of finding her way back to Stern, but now…

She lowered her gaze to the inner bailey. It bustled with those whose work for their lord was done for the day. Now they could return home, break hunger, and