The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(87)

FEELING DIRTY AFTER a whole day in the dungeon, Reinhart bathed himself quickly, dunking his head in the washbasin and washing the blood from his hair. He was dressed and ready when he realized he hadn’t shaved. Ah well. The king wore a beard, so he could hardly be offended.

He glanced out the window as he rushed out. The sun was already nearly hidden behind the trees, indicating it was later than he might have hoped. He did not have much time before he would need to be in the Great Hall for the evening feast his cooks were preparing for the king and his men.

He hurried down the stairs and through the corridor and knocked on Avelina’s door. Every muscle in his body seemed to strain in anticipation of her opening it.

Finally, Avelina stood there, her face brightening when she saw him.

His heart pounded and he took her hands in his. “Avelina of Plimmwald, will you marry me?”

She gasped.

As a knight before his liege lord, he knelt before her, still holding her hands.

“As I have chosen you, will you now choose me? And will you forgive me for ever doubting that we should marry, for treating you unkindly when I learned of your deception?”

She was smiling. “Yes.”

He stood and put his arms around her. “If the king had not blessed our marriage, I would have married you anyway.”

Avelina shook her head. “No, you cannot say that. It is too easy to say that now that everything has changed.”

“It matters not if you believe me. You have agreed to marry me, and I shall not let you out of the agreement.”

She was still smiling, but she was staring at his lips. “I have little choice since the king thinks I’m clever and wishes me to marry you, to strengthen the margravate of Thornbeck.”

“You are jesting, but I don’t care, because now . . . I get what I want.” Reinhart bent his head nearer, his mouth hovering over hers, so close their lips were almost touching. Her hands slipped up his chest to his shoulders.

“And what is it you want?” Her breath caressed his lips. Her eyes were nearly closed, and she leaned her body closer to his.

“I want to see you laugh and smile every day. I want to hear you tell me you love me. I want to kiss you . . . every day.” He pulled her body against his. “Now tell me you love me.”

“You are very impertinent,” she said, her voice breathless and her cheeks turning pink, “when the king has given you permission to marry me.”

He pulled her even closer, looking deep into her eyes.

“You know I love you. But do you love me?” Again, her gaze focused on his lips.

“Yes. And kissing you.” He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her long and thoroughly, not holding anything back. Her hands’ grip went weak on his shoulders.

He pulled away. Her body was nearly limp and her eyes were slow to open.

“Are you well?”

Her lips lifted in a slow, languid smile. “I’ll be very well, if you kiss me like that every day.”



Avelina was dizzy by the time he ended the kiss. The intense smolder in his dark-brown eyes made her breath hitch in her throat.

His dark hair was damp and curling slightly, and the three days’ growth of stubble on his face increased his masculinity, if that was possible, and took her breath away. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she would forever remember him as he knelt before her and asked her to marry him.

“It is too much joy,” she said, relishing the feel of his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her cheek. “I don’t know if I can bear it.”

He pulled away slightly and lifted her chin.

“But is it truly possible that I shall marry you and that the king approves of me?”

“If you doubt it, you can ask the king yourself, for we must go to the Great Hall. It would not be good to keep the king waiting.”

“Oh. But my dress.” She glanced down at the maroon silk cotehardie that had belonged to Lady Dorothea. “Do you think it looks well enough?”

“It is lovely. Fit for a margrave’s wife. Now let us go.”

She gave him her hand and he started down the corridor, raising her fingers to his lips as he walked.

“You are not using your cane.”

For a moment he looked startled. “I forgot.”

“Do you not need it?”

“I don’t suppose I do.”

He was still limping, but only a bit.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lord Thornbeck was still holding her hand. The king called to them from above. “Lord Thornbeck. There you two are.”

The priest was standing beside the king.

“Since I am here to witness it, I thought you would like to have the priest speak the marriage rites over your union.”

“Now?” Lord Thornbeck’s face went slack.

“Of course,” the king boomed. “Sooner is always better than later. You can have the banns cried afterward, and in a few weeks you can invite the nobles and have a big wedding at the cathedral in town. Be sure and invite the Earl of Plimmwald. He definitely ought to be there.” He winked at Avelina.

Lord Thornbeck and Avelina looked at each other. “Do you have any objection?” he whispered near her ear.

“Are you sure you don’t have an objection?”

“I have no objection to marrying you, whether now or two months from now—although I had rather thought it would be two months from now.”