Before she reached the top of the stairs, the door above her opened and Bernard appeared in the doorway. He was a large man, broad-shouldered and strong, his dark hair and beard, both clipped short in Legion fashion, salted with threads of premature silver. His strong, weather-darkened face broke into a wide smile, and he caught Amara up in his arms as though she weighed no more than a newborn lamb. She twined her arms around his neck and buried her face into the space between his throat and his shoulder, holding tight and breathing in the scent of him- leather and fresh-cut hay and woodsmoke.
He promptly carried her inside, into his spare, utilitarian office, and she nudged the door shut with her foot in passing.
As soon as they were alone, she caught his face between her hands and kissed his mouth, slowly, luxuriously, thoroughly. He returned the kiss with slowly building heat for several moments before breaking it off to murmur, “Are you sure this is the best way to conceal our marriage?”
Amara looked up at him, smiling, then nuzzled close and closed her teeth on the skin of his throat, a quick, delicate little bite. “What married couple,” she murmured, her fingers already undoing the buttons of his tunic, “behaves like this?”
His voice deepened into a rough growl, and she felt him shift her weight to hold on to one arm, while the other slid along her thigh. “But no one’s watching us now.”
“I like to be thorough,” she replied, lips moving against his skin, her breath coming more swiftly. “It’s the safest thing.”
Her husband’s growl deepened into a rumble, and he abruptly turned with her and sat her on the edge of his oaken desk. There was the sound of steel rasping on steel as he drew the dagger from his belt and set it beside her on the desk. She protested, “Bernard, not ag-”
His mouth covered hers in a sudden, scorching kiss that briefly silenced Amara. He opened the heavy jacket of her flying leathers, and one hand tightened on the small of her back, all but forcing her to arch her body to meet his mouth as he nuzzled her through the thin muslin of her blouse. His teeth scored lightly over the tips of her breasts, a sharp and sweet little agony, and the sudden inferno that the touch ignited erupted through her body, utterly robbing her of the ability to speak anything but a low and desperate moan of need.
She found herself squirming, hips grinding against his, as he took up the knife and with quick, certain flicks, cut the leather cords binding the seams on the outside of one leg of her leather breeches. Far from objecting, she urged him to hurry with her hands and body and mouth, and began tearing at his own clothing as she felt the air touch more and more naked skin.
Her eyes met his, and as she always did, Amara felt stunned at the depth of desire in them, that this man, her secret husband, actually
He made Amara feel beautiful.
He kissed her, hands and mouth roaming over her until she thought she would lose her mind. She let out a low cry, gave her desires free rein, and he took her there on the desk, his presence, his strength, his scent, his touch all blending into torturous pleasure she could hardly endure. Her desire to touch and to feel drove all thoughts from her mind. Nothing mattered but what she could taste, hear, feel, smell, and she embraced it with abandon.
Hours later, she lay with him in his wide bed, her long, slender limbs twined with his. She could not remember precisely when he had carried her into his chambers, but the angle of the sunlight striking one wall through a high, narrow window told her that afternoon was rapidly fading toward twilight. She was naked, but for the single silver chain she wore around her neck, and Bernard’s heavy Legion ring set with a green stone that hung upon the necklace. One of his arms was around her, and his body was a heavy, relaxed presence.
Amara lay there, sleepy and content, idly stroking one of her own slender, honey brown hands over the cords of muscle in one of his arms. She had seen Bernard casually lift loads that even a gargant would not consider a light burden, through the power given him by his earthcrafting, and she found it eternally amazing that so strong a man could be so very, very gentle, too.
“I missed you, my lady,” he murmured, his voice pitched low, a lazy, satisfied growl in his tone.
“And I you, my lord.”
“I’ve been looking forward to this trip.”
Amara let out a wicked little laugh. “If you had your way, we’d stay right here.”
“Nonsense,” he said, but smiled as he did. “I miss my nephew.”
“And that’s what you’ve been looking forward to,” she murmured. She moved her hand. “Not this. “
Her husband’s eyelids fluttered shut and he let out a low hiss. “Don’t get me wrong. Mmmm. I have no objections to that. None at all.”
He felt the soft, dark hairs of his chest brush against her cheek as she smiled. “I suppose it works out then.”
Bernard laughed, a relaxed and warm sound. He tightened his arm around her slightly and kissed her hair. “I love you.”
“And I you.”
He fell quiet for a moment, and she felt herself tense up a little. She could sense that he wanted to ask her, and that he was uncertain about whether or not to speak. His hand slid over her belly, strong and gentle.
She knew that he could not feel the scars that the Blight had left over her womb, but she flinched for an instant regardless. She forced herself to remain quiet and relaxed, and covered his hand with both of hers. “Not yet,” she said. She swallowed, and said, “Bernard…”
“Hush, love,” he said, voice strong and sleepy and confident. “We’ll keep trying.”
“But…” She sighed. “Two years, Bernard.”
“Two years of a night here, a night there,” he said. “We’ll finally have some time together in Ceres.” His hand drifted over her skin, and Amara shivered. “Weeks.”
“But love. If I can’t give you a child… your duties as a Count call for you to pass the strength of your crafting down to children. You owe it to the Realm.”
“I’ve done my part for the Realm,” Bernard said, and his tone became unyielding. “And more. And I will give the Crown its talented children. Through you, Amara. Or not at all.”
“But…” Amara began.
He turned to face her, and murmured, “Do you wish to leave me, my lady?”
She swallowed and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“Then let’s have no more talk of it,” he said, and kissed her rather thoroughly. Amara felt her protests and worries beginning to dissolve into fresh heat.
Bernard let out another low growl. “Think we’ve thrown off sufficient suspicion for this visit, my lady?”
She laughed, a throaty sound. “I’m not sure.”
He let out another low sound and turned his body to her. His hand moved, and it was Amara’s turn to shiver in pleasure at a touch. “We’d best play it safe, then,” he murmured. “And attend to duty.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Definitely.”
In the coldest, darkest hours of the night, Amara felt Bernard tense and sit bolt upright in bed, his spine rigid with tension. Sleep dragged hard at her, but she denied it, slipping from the depths of formless dreams.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Listen,” he murmured.
Amara frowned and did. Gusts of winds rushed against the stone walls of Bernard’s chambers in irregular surges. From far away, she thought she could hear a faint sound on the wind, inhuman shrieks and moans. “A furystorm?”
Bernard grunted and swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose. “Maybe worse. Light.” A furylamp on the table beside the bed responded to his voice, and a golden glow arose from it, allowing Amara to see Bernard dress in short, hurried motions.
She sat up in bed, pressing the sheets to her front. “Bernard?”
“I just have to make sure it’s being taken care of,” Bernard said. “It won’t take a moment. Don’t get up.” He gave her a brief smile, then paced out across his chambers and opened the door. Amara heard the wind slam
