Ondine by Heather Graham & Shannon Drake

Author:Heather Graham & Shannon Drake [Graham, Heather & Drake, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780786217151
Google: sCkEAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0821754149
Barnesnoble: 0821754149
Goodreads: 2116022
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1988-01-02T10:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Ondine knew that she lay curled on the floor before the fire, a carpet their bed, her husband’s chest her pillow, her discarded gown of the night before a covering for her feet.

She was barely awake, drifting in some netherland of soft clouds and ease, when she was jolted to awareness by the heavy sounds of footsteps in the hall outside their door. Then horrendous pounding at that same door penetrated cruelly into her world of pleasant dreams.

Beside her, Warwick stirred abruptly, swearing out a ragged groan. “Damnation!” He rose, reaching quickly for his breeches.

Still dazed, Ondine stared up at him in confusion as he pulled on his pants. ” ‘Tis the king,” he told her, “and yonder door is not bolted; Jake stayed beyond it, and I did not think to come upon you, er, here, and remain here so!” Dear Lord, but she was beautiful! Soft with sleep, touched by daylight, her hair a gold and tawny cloak about shoulders as sleek as satin and pure as ivory. Her eyes were so like the sea from which an enchanting siren might well spring. Ondine, a mythical creature, granted eternal life through marriage to a mortal.

Aye, he’d granted her life. He could not take it, nor could he linger on thoughts of her now, for the door would surely spring forth, since it was unlocked.

He touched her chin, knowing he must repudiate her soon, unable for that moment to be anything but gentle and tender. “My love! The king is here. I was to have met him early, alas! I knew such comfort, I did not awaken. Ondine, the king comes; he’ll enter.”

“Oh!” she gasped, startled, realizing too late the import of his words. The door flew open as with an impatience of its own. Charles strode within, his retinue pausing behind him at the doorway.

Barefoot, barechested, but decently decked in pants, Warwick by instinct hunched to the floor, holding his wife to him in the gauze folds of her white gown.

Charles paused instantly at the sight. Not in apology, for Chatham had been late, and the purpose for such an outer chamber in a suite was so that a friend or advisor might have a place to greet company. Nay, he paused, touched, lowering his head with a smile, for it was such a lovely scene, the handsome knight shielding his lady-—a great beast protecting his delicate wife.

He bowed low. “Lady Chatham, my apologies. Warwick!”

“Sire!”

“You’re late! The lords of Sudbury and Wane await, and they mean to plague me regarding James. I’ve a need for your tolerance and your tongue; more of this bickering I cannot and will not endure.”

He turned, startled to find his small retinue of guards all staring into the room much as he had done. At his questioning gaze the fellows cleared their throats and stepped back. Charles paused then, a wicked grin curling his lip, for he knew the palace. Within a short time all would hear that the Lord and Lady

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