Brand stilled and lifted his head.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, almost angrily. “Do you, Carey? Because once my cock is buried inside you, there is no going back. You will belong to me, body and soul, for always.”
Catherine cupped his cheek. “And you’ll belong to me. Won’t you?”
“God help you,” he bit out. “Yes. When we’re back in London, I will find a vicar—”
“A priest.”
“Someone to marry us.”
She laughed, as momentarily all the darkness, her sadness and fear, were banished by pure joy. “Then make me yours, Brand. For always.”
“In my library you said fast. What about now?”
“The same,” she said softly, closing her eyes and grasping the quilt to ready herself.
“No, Carey. Open your eyes.”
Brand braced himself on his knees and elbow. One hand laced fingers with hers, the other took his erection and fitted it to her entrance. Seconds later he thrust hard and she muffled a shriek at the tearing pain.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over, utterly still inside her, his taut shoulders and sheened temples revealing the control he exercised.
“It is better now,” she whispered and, although she felt overwhelmingly stretched and full, it was.
He began to move, inching inside her then withdrawing, reaching down to fit her legs around his hips. The change in angle allowed a deeper penetration, and she moaned as their slick bodies slid and rubbed together, the promise of ecstasy so close she could almost taste it. Writhing, pleading, she ground herself against Brand and at last waves of bliss surged through her body. But Brand didn’t stop, just kept thrusting faster and harder, ensuring it continued on and on until finally he gasped her name, his huge body shaking as his seed gushed deep inside her. His weight was near-crushing as he collapsed on top of her, but she held him tightly, stroking his hair and crooning nonsense words. For hours they loved and rested, until dawn’s uncaring rays forced themselves through the small windows. Securely wrapped in Brand’s arms under the quilts, ignoring the soreness between her legs, a single tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto his chest.
The most perfect night of her life.
And now a day of reckoning.
Chapter Six
“Brand! Stop looking at me like that. I simply cannot, er…”
He grinned at Carey’s rosy cheeks, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching her perched on the end of the bed and attending to her hair, like a husband might do. “Thanks to a certain insatiable angel, I can’t either. Not so much as a drop left.”
“Brandon FitzAlan.”
“Ah, so that is how it shall be, hmm? Not even waiting until we are wed to be a scold?” he said, pulling on his boots and ducking just in time to avoid an airborne wooden comb. “Anyway, a man is well within his rights to admire his betrothed.”
Betrothed.
It shouldn’t feel so right when they’d only known each other for a few weeks, when they could be torn apart at any given moment, but it did. It felt right like nothing else in his world.
Fully unraveling his thoughts and emotions regarding Carey had been nigh on impossible at his home, even on the journey here. Strangely enough, it had taken succumbing to his basest needs, his guiltiest sin for all to become clear. But he had come to care deeply for this woman and would give up all he had, and then some, for her happiness. Should anyone try and harm her again, well they would swiftly learn the true meaning of hell unleashed. Arthur Linwood had cherished and protected Carey for the first twenty years of her life; Brand FitzAlan would do so for the rest. No longer would she be afraid or alone, and as his wife she would have all she desired and more.
Carey snorted and secured her plaited hair into a coil at the nape of her neck, then settled a simple hood on her head.
“There is very little to admire at the moment. I’ve sponged and brushed my gown twice already, but it still looks like I’ve been dancing in a mud puddle. And my hair…oh, what I wouldn’t give for a few of Papa’s soaps right now. He had a special recipe and would add different oils to scent. I especially loved the rose or lemon.”
“You shall have dozens of soaps. And new gowns. I’ll order so many bolts of silk and velvet that merchants will line up for miles to befriend you. Then you’ll need to select fur trims and hoods, the softest linen nightgowns, stockings, petticoats, pairs of shoes, necklaces and brooches—”
Her eyes widened so far he thought they might pop out of her head. “No! That will cost a fortune.”
“I am a wealthy man, Carey,” he said quietly. “Very wealthy. Not many people are aware, as unlike most at court it is not something I flaunt, but between the inheritance from my grandfather, the lands I hold, and more recently, the gifts from my noble father, you shall want for nothing.”
“I want you, not your bags of coins. Although I cannot wait to see your country estate and meet your mother. She sounds a wonderful lady.”
“She is to me what Arthur was to you. Now, do you want anything else to eat?” he said, gesturing to the remains of their breakfast. Wanting to prolong their time alone, he’d ordered the meal of chicken broth, bread with honey, and sweet ale brought early to their chamber.
Carey’s smile dimmed, the fingers of both hands twisting together as she stood. “No. Much as I wish to stay safe and warm in this room with you, we need to find the Blacksmiths as soon as possible.”
“Today we will knock on every door in Guildford if we have to. Let us away, then.”
Taking her arm and tucking it securely in his, Brand led her from the chamber and down the stairs toward the front of the inn. He was
