A WALK IN THE GARDENS
The next day saw Blaine waking early. He had barely slept. The whole night, he had tossed and turned, finding it impossible to let his mind slip easily into haze and sleep. He could not stop thinking about her.
Had she really meant it, when she said we could walk today? He shook his head, squinting at his reflection in the mirror as he sluiced icy water over his hair.
For all his comparative age – he was one and twenty – and his experience, he could not understand how she had changed so suddenly, seemingly overnight. Why had she suddenly consented to talk to him, to laugh with him, to deign to walk in the garden with him, by Heaven!
“It seems impossible,” he muttered to himself. He looked about the small space of his bedchamber, taking stock. His good cloak – a thick wool one of dark brown – hung over his chair, slightly creased. His tunics were hanging in disorder over the edge of a wooden trunk pushed up against one wall, one of three pairs of trews – all the trews he owned – thrown carelessly onto the nightstand in the corner. He lifted them, squinting in disapproval.
I suppose I shall have to make do.
He sighed. He wished he could be presentable and grand, like some knight or lord, but that was not who he was. He was the guardsman – well, the chief man-at-arms, when being picky – but he could barely afford the cloak and boots he had, never mind anything extra or fancy.
He ran his fingers through his hair, persuading it to dry, and donned the cloak. It billowed around him and he squinted in the mirror, assessing the effect. With his black hair curling slightly as it dried, dark eyes and square jaw, he had been reckoned handsome by several women. He prayed now that they were right. That he was handsome enough for her as well.
He was wearing a dark wool tunic – a green so dark it was almost brown – dark trews, and the cloak. The deep color seemed to make his eyes and hair look darker, the cragginess of his features balanced somehow by the rough texture of the cloak. The man who looked back at him looked firm and confident. This was, he had to admit, incorrect.
I'm bloody terrified.
He coughed, and then cleared his throat. He had faced battles, enraged boars, and being lost on the moorland. He had not felt half as scared in any other circumstance as he did right now. He suddenly felt like walking with her in the gardens was the worst thing he could possibly do to himself.
Why was he doing it? He imagined her body beside his, the sway of her hips as she walked. The way her breasts lifted and fell as she walked fast. His loins ached. She had such an arousing body! He longed to touch it. He longed to kiss her.
He shook his head. He was fantasizing, being unwise. As if she would really let him do such things! He was fortunate in the extreme to be walking with her. He should not allow himself to get flights of fancy, even here, alone in his bedchamber.
“Be reasonable,” he told himself crossly. “She asked you to walk with her, not to wed her!”
He chuckled. It would be hard to walk beside her without touching her, but he could do it. He wanted her to like him. He wanted her to trust him.
Drawing his cloak about himself, he walked briskly from the room.
Breakfast passed with little to notice and, as soon as he was done, he ran to the solar, feet clicking on the flagstones as he walked as fast as possible through the higher hallway toward it.
“Hello?”
He burst in to the solar, surprising Lord Brien, who was evidently finishing his breakfast. “Blaine! Come, man! Is the castle catching fire? Why the haste? Tell us!” He set down the knife he was holding, giving Blaine a mild raised-eyebrow.
Blaine looked around wildly. Besides the lord and two people he presumed to be his house-guests, there was no one else present. He couldn't have chosen a worse moment and he wished he could vanish.
“Um...I...” he licked dry lips, looking around and clutching for inspiration. “One of the men thought they saw something up here. A hallucination, I'm sure. Just proving it,” he said hastily. “Please, finish your meal...sorry to disturb, sir.”
Brien raised a brow. “Your men hallucinate often, sirrah?”
Blaine prayed that the floor would open and entomb him. It didn't. He looked at the hangings that covered the arches and got a burst of ideas.
“No, sir. Just this one, sir. He keeps on thinking there are troops infiltrating. He got hit on the head in a raid, sir. I'm just down to talk him out of it...don't want the nerves spreading around, sir. So to speak.”
“In the current circumstance, Blaine? No,” he said thinly. “I think not.”
“Quite, sir,” Blaine nodded firmly. “Right then, I think I'll go and assure him there's nothing up here to see. Yes, sir?”
“Exactly,” he said, giving him an ironic grin.
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your breakfast. Sir, madam.”
He bowed to the guests, who were looking at him as if he had just broken wind in a crowning ceremony, and exited fast. When he pulled the door shut he heard Lord Brien explaining to his guests.
“Our chief guard is quite excitable. Pray, ignore his...dedicated attitude.”
Blaine grinned and walked quickly away. He hadn't meant to do it. However, discomforting Lord Brien was an achievement. He was sighing with relief, laughing weakly to himself as he remembered the terror of earlier, when he walked up the staircase towards the topmost chambers.
She was coming down the stairs, light-footed, and he narrowly avoided walking into her.
“Chrissie!”
She looked down, then up at him. Her cheeks were paler from the recent illness, but flushed with pink. She had her lips parted, and the moist line between them made his whole body ache with wanting.
“Blaine,” she said softly. She stepped down one stair, her footfall almost inaudible even in the heavy silence between the two of them. She faced him, then, and neither moved.
Kiss her, his mind cried aloud. He leaned forward, wanting to do it, but at the last moment he tensed. Withdrew. Stood alongside.
“You want to visit the garden?” he asked politely. Chrissie giggled.
“I had hoped to,” she agreed.
He swallowed. The lilt of her voice was stirring enough to his blood, without being teamed with the scent of her or the sight of those pink lips, just parted, close enough to kiss.
“Well, then,” he whispered.
She looked at him quizzically and he shook his head to clear it. He held out a hand to her, indicating that she go first.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She walked lightly round him, her hip just touching his as she slid past him and went on down ahead.
He almost made an audible sigh. Even that harsh jolt of her against him made him want to cry out, to hold her close. How was it possible to want someone like this?
He sighed and followed her shadow down the long stairs and towards the great hall.
They crossed the flagstones in silence, her body beside his. Blaine looked about the hallway, noticing guards he knew on duty. Farrell and Kenneth both knew him. Both looked studiously away.
Blaine sighed.
“Yes?” Chrissie asked, looking up at him with those wide blue eyes. “You sound tired. What's troubling you?”
“What? Oh,” he sighed. “Nothing, truly.”
She gave him a disbelieving glance, but allowed him to stand aside as they left the hallway and entered the courtyard. Blaine knew his men were gathering, waiting for the morning practice, but he had thought to inform Brennan, his second in command, to take practice for him.
“Ah, how lovely!” Chrissie exclaimed as they walked into sunshine. They crossed flagstones and she did a little twirl, her cream skirts billowing about her ankles as she did so. She gave him a smile so happy it set his heart racing.
“Sunshine?” he queried mildly.
“Yes!” she gave him an enthusiastic grin. “I've been inside three days!”
He laughed. “That sounds terrible, the way you say it.”
“It is!”
They both laughed. She walked on and they continued, heading towards the garden.
The sun was indeed out, shining on the grass as they walked toward the kitchens. This was truly the nicest part of the castle holding, or so Blaine always thought himself. Here the paving stones of the courtyard proper gave way to soil and flowerbeds and grasses, the herbs for the kitchen all grown in good, honest earth.
“Oh, this is so nice!” Chrissie enthused.
Blaine smiled, enjoying how happy she was as she ran on ahead of him, dress flowing behind.
Her body was slim but had curves in lovely places – full breasts and, from the back, a narrow waist and wide hips. A pert backside that made a soft undulation as she ran. Blaine felt his pulse quickening and wanted to chastise himself.
Stop it, he scolded himself crossly. You're here to escort her on a gentle stroll. Not to get daft ideas of your own.
All the same, much as he tried to quell his rising wanting, he could not really do it. Especially not as she ran towards him, cheeks flushed, laughing, holding a flower.
“You have to do one too!” she beamed.
“One what?” Blaine asked, bemused.
“You have to make a wish and blow the thistledown,” she explained patiently, as if to a child. “If it all blows away, your wish will be true! See if it's not. Please?”
Blaine grinned. The flower, on closer inspection, was indeed a seed head. He held it to his lips and drew in his cheeks, preparing for a firm breath.
I want to show Chrissie how much I love her.
He blew out, exhaling in a great explosive out breath. The seeds scattered, all but one clinging to the stalk. He looked rueful. She smiled up at him.
“Not so lucky, then?”
“I suppose,” he sighed, feeling a bit downcast. He shook his head, grinning. Her eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, as blue as sky at morning. Blue as lochs in spring. She was looking at him and she hadn't moved.
He looked at her. He took a single step forward, all that was needed to close the gap between them. She did not move.
He bent down and, very gently, he kissed her.
Her lips were soft, so soft, softer than the finest satin thread. Her mouth was warm and when he probed against it gently with his tongue, lapping along the curvy line of her mouth, they parted. He shuddered and let his tongue slide in, just touching her teeth.
His tongue slid between her lips, he moved it slightly, and to his amazement her teeth parted, letting him enter her mouth. His blood flooded his body, making his groin tingle. He knew he was ready for her and steeled himself, knowing he could not touch her no matter how much he wanted to. She was leaning against him now and her mouth was soft, her lips tugging gently at his tongue. He groaned and held her close.
She looked up at him. He licked along her mouth again, squeezing her tight. Then stepped back.
Chrissie stared at him, lips slightly open. Her eyes were wide and shiny. Her breath faster.
“Chrissie,” he whispered. “I...”
“Hush,” she said lightly.
He smiled. She smiled back and her eyes were soft. He felt something move within him, something sweet and tender and quite wonderful flowing from his heart and suffusing his being. He sighed. He was irrevocably enchanted with her.
“Chrissie,” he sighed. “Forgive me?”
Chrissie stared at him. The lips, which had been slightly parted widened, then snapped shut as she spoke. “Forgive?” she laughed. “For what?”
“I was...improper. Wrong,” he added, shaking himself vigorously as if to rid himself of some terrible wrongdoing. “I shouldn't have touched you...Not that way,” he added lamely, running a distracted hand across his head in a gesture that spoke of tension.
Chrissie was still looking at him. She smiled. “Blaine,” she said softly. His name on her lips sent a jolt through him of almost-pain.
“What?”
“I'm glad we did.”
He stared. Blinked. Surely that wasn't what she really meant? What she really said? That she was glad they...
“Thank you,” he said, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Thanks.”
She laughed. “I don't think you have to thank me,” she said lightly. “Though I suppose it is good manners and I should thank you, too. Now, can we finish seeing the grounds?”
She stepped up beside him and laid a slight hand on his elbow, supporting herself as they walked. He looked down at her face, feeling bemused.
She was smiling serenely, her face a picture of peace and contentedness.
Shaking his head at himself, Blaine walked alongside her. Every time they jostled together as they walked a path, his heart missed a beat. He could feel the warmth of her body through the linen of her gown. He could see the light shining on threads of her curls.
“Chrissie,” he whispered, noticing his voice rasped and not caring.
“Yes?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“I...” he paused. He had actually no idea of what he wanted to say. He just wanted to convey to her somehow the magnitude of how he felt right then. “Thank you,” he said again, feeling a little lame.
“Thank me?” she asked again. “What are you thanking me for, Blaine?”
He sighed, hearing her say his name again. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart throbbing as her cool hand held his elbow. Here they were walking close as sweethearts, all alone in a garden that smelled of rosemary and other sweetly-scented herbs. He felt as if he had somehow just entered paradise.
“Thank you for...for this. For walking with me. For trusting me.”
She smiled. “I do trust you, Blaine. With my life.”
He closed his eyes. He couldn't quite believe she had just said that. His heart clenched and he thought he might shed a tear, which wouldn't have helped anything much. He blinked rapidly, looking at the clouds that scudded across the blue sky.
“You are very lovely, Chrissie,” he said quietly. “I love seeing you like this.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Blaine,” she said softly. “I like it too.”
He closed his eyes. His wish had not only been granted, it had been exceeded. He said a quiet prayer and hoped his life could always be so lovely.
He did not know when he had felt so blessed.