By Grace Possessed by Jennifer Blake

Author:Jennifer Blake
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2011-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

11

Cake woke in her own bed, in the chamber she shared with Marguerite. It seemed wrong. Lying there, staring at the ceiling, she could not remember making her way back through the sleeping palace.

Ah, yes. That was because she had not.

In a wash of sudden heat, she recalled Ross sliding from his bed the night before and padding to a basin, returning with a cloth. He had cleansed her with such thorough care that she’d almost moaned with the arousing nature of it except she feared he would think her in pain. Afterward, he had found her shift and straightened it before putting it over her head. That process had taken some time, as he seemed reluctant to actually cover any important portion of her body. He had dressed her completely once, only to strip everything away again and pull her into his arms.

They had slept the sleep of exhaustion afterward, slept until cockcrow. In the gray dawn, he had thrown on his own clothes, then tossed her shift and gown over her head, flung her cloak around her in haste and carried her back to her chamber. He’d kissed her and left her there, left her to slip into bed beside Marguerite where she belonged.

Where she belonged? It did not seem so, not any longer.

Cate stretched in the bed, easing muscles she had not known could become strained. She felt exquisitely tender in myriad places, sore inside yet replete. She should feel some shame for what she had done, or so the nuns would surely tell her, but she could not. She was fiercely glad she had gone to Ross. She knew now what passed between a man and a woman.

Yes, she knew, and the thought that she might never have it again was so painful she turned to her side, drew up her knees and pulled the coverlet over her head. Tears burned behind her nose, but did not seep under her tightly shut eyelids. What prevented them was the sudden realization that she could be with child. As with Isabel, a new life could be quickening inside her.

Ah, no, not like Isabel. In contrast to her sister with Rand Braesford, Cate did not love Ross, nor did he love her. What lay between them was lust of the kind the priests railed against. It was a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, of bodies aflame and hands touching and grasping; of kisses so deep they were an exchange of life’s breath, and of purest animal coupling. There was nothing of the distant worship of the knight for his lady as was described in the annals of courtly love.

No, indeed not. They were neither of them in love.

“Are you still abed, Cate?”

Marguerite banged into the chamber as she made that inquiry, bringing with her a rush of cold air that smelled of the fresh outdoors. Cate moaned a little at such rude energy.

Quick footsteps approached the bed, and the curtains were flung open. “The morning is half-gone, and a fine one it is, with promise of sunshine.

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