Page 57 of To Honor

He removed his hand, pulled her on top of him, and thrust so deeply into her that it was Gareth who called out her name as his entire body tensed, and then relaxed. He held her tight, Evie still clenching around him. He understood in that moment why it was sometimes named “la petite mort.”

After a time, he turned them so Evie lay beside him. Pushing a strand of her hair to the side, he simply watched her. Looked into her eyes. Kissed her softly.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you.” His hand grazed her cheek. “Did you enjoy it that way?”

“I did, very much. Did you?”

“Very much.”

“I can see why men like Roland are late to lessons. ’Tis quite pleasurable, indeed. Though men have an advantage, their bellies unable to swell with an unintended babe.”

“We do,” he admitted. “In many ways.”

“Aye, but certainly in this. I had no notion it would be this way.”

He kissed her again.

“You are sad,” she said, not as a question but he answered it anyway.

“Naught about this, or you, makes me anything but joyous,” he said. “But I do wish we’d been able to marry without having to hie away in the night.”

“As I’ve told you, Gareth, I care little about that.”

“Evie,” he said, wanting her to understand. “We may never be able to go back. At least, not without risking being torn apart.”

“You’d never allow such a thing to happen.”

“No,” he agreed. “I would not.”

They were quiet, both deep in thought. Tucking her head into him, Gareth wished he could remain there all day. It had been days since he trained, and since his friends had returned. Gareth would be forced to find a training partner lest his sword skills become ill used. When he told Evie as much, they agreed to rouse and break their fast.

It wasn’t until later that eve, when they were once again seated in the hall of their inn, that Gareth and Evie were able to talk more about their future. He’d thought long and hard all day, but there was no hope for it. For the first time since his family had been forced from their home, Gareth felt powerless. Something he’d vowed never to experience again.

He confessed as much to Evie.

“Then do not,” was her response. “You seek a sense of purpose but have already achieved it. By becoming one of the greatest tourney players England has ever known. By leading a charge”—Evie smiled, as if she held a secret—“that will have become the turning point in a years-long war to see the rightful leader placed on the throne.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully.

“So you do not know?” she asked. His wife was hiding something for certain.

“Know what, precisely?” This time, he did not ask if Evie wanted to taste his cabbage. He smiled remembering the face she’d made trying it.

“While you were training, I visited the baker. There was a couple in the baker’s shop, a nobleman and his wife, speaking of the siege.”

He listened and continued to eat. Before he’d left home, Gareth’s mother had had much to say about how much he ate—more than both of his brothers.

“Stephen was taken hostage.”

He froze.

“Did I hear you correctly?”

His wife innocently took a small bite of bread, blinking at him as if she’d just told him she did not care for cabbage. Had she just said . . .

“You did. After the siege was broken, the besiegers dispersed, Matilda’s forces—specifically Robert of Gloucester’s men—managed to capture the king.”