Forever and Always

Excerpt:
“The priest has arrived,” Sir Richard added with a frown.

“Nay,” Errolyn gasped, stepping back until she nearly stumbled over Stone’s armor. Her cold fingers closed around the hilt of his sword as he took a step toward her. “Nay,” she said a little louder, dragging it around then upward, holding on to it with both hands. “I refuse. ‘Tis a union not of my will and therefore not sanctioned by the Church.”

The sword drooped a little and she gritted her teeth with the effort to keep the heavy weapon between her and her antagonist. Her heart leapt into her throat when Sir Richard took a menacing step toward her.

“Hold,” Stone stated, motioning for his friend to stay back.

Errolyn repeated her refusal. “Never will I agree.”

“Oh, but you will change your mind, of that I am sure,” he warned with the same smile she remember he’d used by the river when he pretended to be a monk—a smile so confident that it filled her with dread.

“Never,” she hissed, making little jabs with the sword. She cast a frantic glance at Sir Richard who was carefully working around from the other side. “Continue your headway, sir knight, and I shall skewer your lord.”

“Leave us,” Stone ordered, his eyes dancing with what, she could not tell. Her arms aching, she watched as the two men exchanged glances, then she nearly sagged with relief as Sir Richard ducked out of the tent.

Once alone, Stone no longer crouched as if to attack. To her astonishment, he simply poured a goblet of wine, took a long drink before he deftly undid the laces of his doublet.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a breathless whisper, her grip faltering under the weight of the sword. To her increasing horror he continued to undress.

With his back to her, he tugged off his doublet and dropped it on the floor with his belt. Next came his tunic and when it landed on the doublet, she couldn’t take her eyes of his muscular torso. Golden and smooth in the flickering light, his back was the broadest she’d ever seen. The muscles of his shoulders and upper arms were massive, and no wonder if he had to wield this monstrous sword.

Slowly the point sank down to the tent floor as she gaped at his back. Only when he turned did she find it difficult to swallow as a strange, painful knot formed in the pit of her stomach. A half-heeled wound extended from under his arm to just below his ribs. By the fading bruise surrounding the wound, ‘twas barely a fortnight old.

She nearly forgot to breathe when the sound of his boot dropping snapped her gaze back to lock with his. “Please,” she whispered meekly. “Stop.”

“Nay. If you will not marry me of your own free will, then you leave me no other choice than to make it where you must marry me to give our child a name.” His eyes mocked her, dashing the spark of compassion she had only a moment ago felt. It was quickly replaced with outrage. Up came the sword.

“Our child ... a name?” she repeated in a strangled whisper, advancing a step. “There is no child, for God’s sake.” His sly smile sent shards of panic shooting through her limbs and hot color to flush her cheeks.

“Aye. Not yet.” His other boot was next to drop.

Errolyn licked her dry lips frantically trying to find a way out of her predicament. She had neither the strength nor the will to run him through. Even the thought of such a foul deed made her shiver as she imagined inflicting further injury to such a magnificent body.

He must have read her mind. His eyes narrowed, and clad only in his chausses, he took a step closer. She took one step back, the sword swaying from side to side as her arms cried for relief.

“My lord,” came Richard’s booming voice from outside. “Do you wish the priest to enter or should I send him back to the warmth of his tent?”

“‘Tis your choice,” Stone stated to Errolyn, raising one dark brow. When she couldn’t find her voice, he reached for the laces of his chausses.