Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(50)
Even as his body hardened with desire, Robert’s heart went out to her. She had not come to him for lovemaking. She merely sought comfort and reassurance.
Giving her hand a squeeze, he scooted over and folded back the blankets. “Come.”
Some of the tension in her face eased. Placing one knee on the side of the bed, she hesitated. “We’re only going to sleep, right?”
He doubted he would sleep at all with her sensuous body so nigh, but smiled nevertheless. “Aye, Beth.”
Offering him a faint smile of her own, she climbed in and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Mmm. I’m warmer already.”
He grinned. “Let me have those fingers and toes.”
Rolling onto her side to face him, Beth offered him her hands. Robert hissed when her icy toes made contact with his shins, but spoke not a word of complaint. Instead, he sandwiched her hands between his much larger ones and warmed her feet with his own.
His heart began to pound.
’Twas different tonight. More intimate.
Instead of being squeezed into a tent with his men sleeping just outside, they were alone in his chamber, in his big sumptuous bed, with a cozy fire burning in the fireplace. Where last night, both had been fully clothed, now Beth wore only Robert’s thin shirt and Robert…
She cleared her throat. “Umm, Robert? Are you naked?”
“Aye.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Robert waited for her to protest, to express shock or dismay.
When she didn’t, he blew on her hands. “Is the rest of you this cold?”
“Aye.”
“Come along then. Let me warm the rest of you.”
Curling his arm around her, he lay on his back and encouraged her to snuggle up against his side.
She rested her head upon his shoulder, draped one cool, smooth thigh across his.
If his arousal surprised or alarmed her, she made no comment. What she did instead was steal his heart with two featherlight touches.
Reaching up, she brushed his hair back from his forehead, then oh-so-gently trailed her fingers down one bristly cheek in a brief caress.
“Thank you, Robert,” she whispered.
She sealed his fate in that moment. An innocent caress before she wrapped an arm around him, burrowing closer as she abandoned herself to slumber, and his heart became hers.
“Damn you, Marcus! Pay attention!” Robert growled seconds after the tip of the blunted training sword he wielded struck his squire’s shoulder with enough force to knock him to the ground.
A flush mounting his cheeks, Marcus scrambled to his feet and stuttered a hasty apology. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“Had this blade not been blunted I would have taken your bloody arm off! The moment your concentration wanes, your life is forfeit!”
The boy nodded, shamefaced. “Aye, my lord.”
Marcus had not erred so gravely in a long while. He had a true talent for the sword, rarely made the same mistake twice, and strove for perfection in all that he did.
Robert enjoyed training him. “’Tis the first time in months your diligence has faltered. What distracted you?”
Marcus swallowed miserably. “’Twas Lady Bethany.”
Robert quickly looked around, but did not see her. “Lady Bethany?”
“Aye, my lord. There.”
Robert looked in the direction Marcus pointed and found Bethany sitting on a bench that butted up against the keep on the far side of the practice field. Her long hair cloaked her shoulders and back in rich brown curls. A dark green kirtle borrowed from Alyssa fit her alluring curves snugly and fell a bit short, exposing her odd mannish boots.
Something that looked like her sellfone lay beside her on the bench.
“Hie yourself over and train with Michael and Ned for a time,” Robert murmured absently as he sheathed his sword.
“Aye, my lord.”
Robert approached Bethany slowly, noting her pensive expression. She had been his shadow for a fortnight now, following him everywhere he went, watching him train or work on the wall or perform any duty that did not take him far enough away that he must ride.
She had not yet confessed her troubles as she had promised she would that first night. Nay, she had told him naught in the days since, though she continued to ask him questions about himself and his past. Though he became more accustomed to her accent and learned more of her odd words every day, he was unable to coax her into speaking of her own past.
She seemed beset with melancholy whenever he wasn’t luring laughter from her with wild tales of his youth. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her hazel eyes, indicating how little she slept. She ate very little, as well. Already slender when he had met her, Beth had lost enough weight to leave her cheeks hollow and her arms thinner.
Robert had doubled the number of men who searched for her brother, but she had long since lost hope that they would find him. Robert knew not how else he might help her. He alone seemed able penetrate the fog of despair that enveloped her. And not just during the day.
Every evening, as the fire burned down and he lay sleepless, Beth would slip into his solar, climb into his bed, and seek warmth, safety and—he hoped—some sense of peace.
Though his body burned for her and he seemed to walk around in a constant state of arousal, Robert never pressed her for more. Nor did he implore her to fulfill her vow and tell him from whence she came, why her speech was so different, and all of the rest she was so reluctant to share. He feared if he did, she would cease coming to him.