Season of The Shadow. Bobbi Ph.D. GrooverЧитать онлайн книгу.
you, Queen Katharine." Turning on his heel, he left her room.
Kyndee knew the pattern: he had his answer, he had his solution, and the issue would be dismissed from his mind.
She looked to her bed with the still crumpled pillows, and knew he was there—the devil—sitting puffed-up on the coverlet. He was laughing at her; he had won. He had taunted her with the one weapon she could not fight and sneered at her hesitation. He hadn't even given her a chance to lunge and parry but had crudely driven home the blade for the kill.
She had agreed to marry Buck Bannistre—no, Buck Stedman. The thought of it sent a thundercloud hurtling through her brain. Propping her shoulder on the window casement, she sighed and gazed out. The leisurely pace of their lives would continue, totally unaware that until a moment ago, its very existence had been precarious.
Maybe the cloud wasn't as dark as it appeared. She didn't know why she had an aversion to Buck. He had always been polite and kind. He wasn't unattractive. He had even shown a degree of tenderness in those terrible months after Fletcher's disappearance.
"Fletcher." His very name on her lips was soothing to her. "I wonder what he would think of all this if he cared to look down from whatever cloud he sits upon." She giggled. "He'd swoop down with his fiery sword and challenge the Black Knight. He'd win the joust and carry me off to be his queen—"
Queen Katharine. Courage. Honor. Her smile faded. Yes. She would live up to her promise and become Mrs. Stedman.
Kyndee laughed, a painful melancholic laugh, at the irony of it. She would be a Stedman as she had always dreamed, but the man to be her husband was not at all the man she had pictured in her slumbers.
Physically, the two men were as different as the shadow of the night from the brightness of the day. Buck was strikingly innocent looking under a mass of blonde curls with dull tawny eyes, whereas Fletcher had had the grin of a rogue with his black mane and teasing blue eyes. Buck was tall, thin and wiry, Fletcher slightly shorter but broad and big-boned. Buck was safe, sensible, a planner; Fletcher had been reckless, untamed, and spontaneous.
Fletcher had been...had been...had been. My love.
But enough of childhood dreams. At stake was her family's honor and her duty, and she would not fail. No one but her father and herself would ever know the truth.
Kyndee splashed water on her face and combed her hair. Then, with calm resolution, she opened her door and went downstairs to tell her mother there was a wedding to plan.
* * *
Lying next to Sage's slender form in the wee gray hours before dawn, Fletcher shifted and stretched his corded muscles, unwilling to surrender his blissful hold on sleep. He lay still and pondered over the recent weeks.
Sage. He had slept with her—kissed and caressed her but not once did he try to fully possess her. He was afraid it would break the spell, and he was too content. He wondered if indeed he was dimwitted that he allowed such a precious jewel to pass unclaimed.
Just last night she had asked him about it...
* * *
"Zack?" Sage had whispered. She lay beside him and tangled her fingers in the curls at the back of his hair. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
He'd been nestled flat, with his face in the crook of his arm. He lifted his heavy head to gaze at her, his eyelids but half open. "Why do you ask?" he answered, calm and drowsy.
"I was only wondering," she said. "Hmmm? Do you?"
"Do I what?" he replied, casting her a devilish one-eyed grin.
She raised up and supported herself on her elbow. Her silky hair spilled over her shoulders creating an alluring picture. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Um hm, I think you're positively enchanting."
"Then why have you never made love to me?"
Fletcher turned over and linked his fingers behind his neck. He exhaled and studied the shadows on the ceiling. To possess her body as Zachary Brown would be the cruelest lie of all. Then she would become for him another face in a huge web of lies and deceit, and that he couldn't bear. He had too much respect and genuine affection for her. The only way out was to tell her everything. He held back from it because of another time and another place. He had once trusted another woman with his soul, and it had cost him nearly ten years of his life.
No, it's better this way.
As he lay still, not answering, she continued, "Do you have...a malady or affliction?" She quickly added, "I've heard the old matrons talking. They whisper about such things."
"How interesting!" He shifted himself onto his arm, his curiosity greatly piqued. "And what, pray tell, do they whisper?" The boldness of the woman beside him never ceased to amaze him. Malady? Affliction?
"Only that—" she stammered as if sorry she had begun. "Only that...sometimes a man cannot—" Her fingers splayed in exasperation. "Well...can before but cannot when—"
Suddenly realizing full well her direction, Fletcher was amused by her discomfiture. "Yes?"
"You see, Mrs....I shouldn't mention names...said that her friend's husband...that when they...when he—" Sage bit her lip. "She called it his 'affliction' and for the life of me I couldn't tell if she meant her friend was relieved or upset about it."
He tilted his head and squinted at her. "Because I have not fully joined with you, are you asking me if I fear that, at the precise moment, my...uh...manhood will cease to serve me?"
She nodded, reddening to the roots of her hair. "Well...yes. I guess so."
Fletcher fell back into the pillows, wheezing and choking with his laughter. "I've many imperfections, my sweet lovely Sage, but that, I can assure you, is not one of them." He cradled her and hugged her close, his lips caressing her brow. "My restraint is born of a sincere concern for you." And a selfish fear even I don't understand. "Now go to sleep."
That seemed to have pleased her and they had slept...
* * *
Now Sage stirred beside him and, sliding his hand around her waist, he drew her into his arms. "Go back to sleep, sweet thing," he cooed, giving her a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "It's not yet dawn."
His hard gnarled heart softened when she smiled a sleepy grin and snuggled closer to him. Touching his temple with her lips, she tangled her fingers in his beard. "You hairy old dog. This tickles me at night," she murmured with a giggle.
Fletcher smoothed his beard with his hand. "Tickles you? You should feel it from my side when you do that." He cupped her chin and covered her mouth with his, quenching his need with the delicious sensation.
After a moment, Sage pulled away. "Zack?"
"Hmmmm? He kissed her ear and nuzzled her throat.
"I saw you buying supplies yesterday." She ran her fingers up and down his spine, her feather touch tingling every nerve.
He groaned a low assent as his kisses nibbled at her other ear.
Her fingers stopped. "You're getting ready to leave, aren't you?"
He supported himself on one elbow and handed her his other forearm. "Would you massage right here for me, sweet? The muscles seemed to have gone into spasm after Whiz pulled on me yesterday."
She took his face in her hands forcing his complete attention. "Zack, talk to me; tell me. You're leaving aren't you?"
Fletcher moved away and lay back on the pillow. He exhaled a heavy breath. "I have to."
"When?" There was a crack in her voice.
Glancing at her sideways he murmured, "Soon."
He hated himself for the gloom he heard in her voice and the knowledge that he'd put it there. He rolled onto his side to face her and slid his palm along the crest of her shoulder. "I'd love nothing better than to stay here with you, but I have unfinished business which can't