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Authors: The Wishing Chalice (uc) (rtf)
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exposed legs.
"Difficult thing to handle." She shrugged, letting her skirts fall and halting their progress, lest she trip on the length of cloth, no doubt. "I believe I need the use of both my hands." She shot him a beguiling smile.
Still unaccustomed to a smiling Détra , Hunter acquiesced, wondering about the odd rhythm of her speec h — full of melodious tones nonexistent before this morning's incident, full of words Détra never used before, full with a casualness he would never attribute to his lady wife. Wondering about her garmen t — w hy was she not wearing a shift and stockings underneath her gown and head covering she always wore before?
As soon as she gathered her skirts in a more demure manner, regretfully hiding her naked flesh to his view, Hunter repossessed her hand and resumed their walk.
Contrary to her usual self, Détra allowed his handling of her, but after only a few steps she halted again, this time warring against the unruly curls that refused to obey her commands. She flung her head back. "Da m —" She shot him a guilty look. "Blasted hair."
Détra' s annoyance at her glorious hai r — h er most cherished featur e — i ntrigued Hunter. He had noticed, since this morning's ordeal, she often rearranged her tresses in an annoyed manner. Could it be because she usually wore it in a tight plait or covered by veils unless in the privacy of her bedchamber? Hunter infinitely preferred her hair loose, falling over her shoulders in vibrant waves and flying about with the breeze. He could still feel the silky texture between his fingers when both he and Détra were lost in their embracing kiss in the orchard.
Hunter's senses, reawakened by the glimpse of flesh, immediately reacted to the memory of those kisses. His lust stirred impatiently. A lust he now would have to wait a week to assuage thanks to his promise to his lady wife. And yet, what was a week when he had been waiting for what seemed an eternity for her surrender?
Besides, he would not l ie id l e in the meantime. He would continue to seek the desire he glimpsed in his wife's eyes until he turned that flickering into a full-blown l ust for him.
Unbidden, memories of their disappointing wedding nigh t — a nd all the nights that followe d — c ame back to him. For years Hunter had dreamed of the day he would have Détra in his arms, in his bed. That fantasy had carried him through many a lonely night. And yet, when the time came for them to be together as husband and wife, Détra had rejected him.
But in the orchard this morning Hunter had discovered there was passion in his lady wife's heart, after al l . Passion that had been buried underneath the dislike she held for him. Passion that he fully intended to awaken by the time this week was over.
However, he must keep in mind Détra 's true feelings for him buried in the depths of her mind, feelings that would surely resurrect to life along with her memory. His only chance to entomb them completely would be to f ill her heart and mind with memories she would long to relive.
And to do so he would have to deceive her into believing a fantasy that never was. A sudden pang of conscience speared his heart. He ignored it. It was for her own good, for the good of them both. He would do whatever was necessary to prove to Détra and everyone who ever doubted his value that though a bastard of unknown sire, he was worthy of being loved and cherished by his lady wife.
As they resumed their trek, Hunter watched the su n —which had barely showed its face this mornin g — s uddenly surge from behind a dark cloud in a cheerful presage of good things to come. At least he hoped so.
"The first time ever I saw you," Hunter began, spinning his tale, "I thought the sun had descended upon the earth, just as it is doing now."
She turned her gaze back on him.
"You were radiant," he said truthfully. "Still are. The most beautiful lady I have ever laid eyes upon." And that was the truth. He never forgot
"Difficult thing to handle." She shrugged, letting her skirts fall and halting their progress, lest she trip on the length of cloth, no doubt. "I believe I need the use of both my hands." She shot him a beguiling smile.
Still unaccustomed to a smiling Détra , Hunter acquiesced, wondering about the odd rhythm of her speec h — full of melodious tones nonexistent before this morning's incident, full of words Détra never used before, full with a casualness he would never attribute to his lady wife. Wondering about her garmen t — w hy was she not wearing a shift and stockings underneath her gown and head covering she always wore before?
As soon as she gathered her skirts in a more demure manner, regretfully hiding her naked flesh to his view, Hunter repossessed her hand and resumed their walk.
Contrary to her usual self, Détra allowed his handling of her, but after only a few steps she halted again, this time warring against the unruly curls that refused to obey her commands. She flung her head back. "Da m —" She shot him a guilty look. "Blasted hair."
Détra' s annoyance at her glorious hai r — h er most cherished featur e — i ntrigued Hunter. He had noticed, since this morning's ordeal, she often rearranged her tresses in an annoyed manner. Could it be because she usually wore it in a tight plait or covered by veils unless in the privacy of her bedchamber? Hunter infinitely preferred her hair loose, falling over her shoulders in vibrant waves and flying about with the breeze. He could still feel the silky texture between his fingers when both he and Détra were lost in their embracing kiss in the orchard.
Hunter's senses, reawakened by the glimpse of flesh, immediately reacted to the memory of those kisses. His lust stirred impatiently. A lust he now would have to wait a week to assuage thanks to his promise to his lady wife. And yet, what was a week when he had been waiting for what seemed an eternity for her surrender?
Besides, he would not l ie id l e in the meantime. He would continue to seek the desire he glimpsed in his wife's eyes until he turned that flickering into a full-blown l ust for him.
Unbidden, memories of their disappointing wedding nigh t — a nd all the nights that followe d — c ame back to him. For years Hunter had dreamed of the day he would have Détra in his arms, in his bed. That fantasy had carried him through many a lonely night. And yet, when the time came for them to be together as husband and wife, Détra had rejected him.
But in the orchard this morning Hunter had discovered there was passion in his lady wife's heart, after al l . Passion that had been buried underneath the dislike she held for him. Passion that he fully intended to awaken by the time this week was over.
However, he must keep in mind Détra 's true feelings for him buried in the depths of her mind, feelings that would surely resurrect to life along with her memory. His only chance to entomb them completely would be to f ill her heart and mind with memories she would long to relive.
And to do so he would have to deceive her into believing a fantasy that never was. A sudden pang of conscience speared his heart. He ignored it. It was for her own good, for the good of them both. He would do whatever was necessary to prove to Détra and everyone who ever doubted his value that though a bastard of unknown sire, he was worthy of being loved and cherished by his lady wife.
As they resumed their trek, Hunter watched the su n —which had barely showed its face this mornin g — s uddenly surge from behind a dark cloud in a cheerful presage of good things to come. At least he hoped so.
"The first time ever I saw you," Hunter began, spinning his tale, "I thought the sun had descended upon the earth, just as it is doing now."
She turned her gaze back on him.
"You were radiant," he said truthfully. "Still are. The most beautiful lady I have ever laid eyes upon." And that was the truth. He never forgot
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