Angel Of Fire by Tanya Anne Crosby

Author:Tanya Anne Crosby
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Avon
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Ten

The ceremony was over quickly as there was little need to celebrate with but the two of them present. The priest spoke the holy words, witnessed by the monks, then it was over and they were again in the saddle. The sobriety of the situation hung heavily in the atmosphere, mingling with the dark gray clouds overhead, their swollen bellies threatening to regurgitate their overflow. And it was not long after the couple left Caen that those clouds made good on their threat, drenching riders and animal in the tumultuous downpour.

The heavy feeling of despair had begun immediately upon entering the cathedral of St. Etienne. Its enormous rib-vaulted ceiling made Chrestien feel minuscule, unimportant… a prickle in Weston's side; so too did the many giant arcs—three tiers of them there were!

The rain went on for miles, sometimes slowing to a drizzle, but never ceasing, and Weston noted late in the afternoon that they were but a few miles from where he'd made camp the day he'd captured Chrestien. He made the decision to go to it, and his gelding struggled against the soft ground to do his bidding.

The forest floor was a carpet of muck, and Weston began to doubt his decision to make camp in the woods. But he pressed on and reached his destination within but a few more minutes. Reining in his destrier, he dismounted and aided Chrestien in doing the same. Then he led his wife and his horse through the thick underbrush and into the natural shelter.

A canopy of trees shielded the haven from the rain, and very little light pierced the foliage, giving the shelter an ethereal glow. Chrestien's eyes widened with wonder, and Weston thought she looked so like a little girl—a complete contrast from the vixen he'd thought her to be. Her wet hair hung in ringlets from her crown, and her cheeks were rosy against her ivory skin.

It was her wet gown that assured him she was no child. The sopping fabric hugged every curve of her body, and he noted that her nipples stood proud and erect against the now faded bliaut. His first task would be to remove her sodden clothing and warm her with dry blankets.

Taking two blankets from the saddlebag, he spread one upon the ground and dropped the other to lie on top of the first. Then he motioned for Chrestien to come to him.

Her teeth were clattering in her head and she thought any minute they would dislodge her brain, which seemed as saturated as her clothes. Taking tiny rigid steps, she made her way to Weston—her legs were near numb from the cold and she could walk no faster.

Weston frowned as he watched her amble to him. If he did not take the wet gown from her body soon, she would take ill. And at her slow pace, she would be within arm's length in another fortnight. Having made the decision to go to her, he took her into his arms and dropped her beside the blankets.

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