“You must have played here as a boy,” she said as she paused to look at some early wildflowers.
“As much as I could.” He grinned. “Too many girls at the house.”
“I’ll bet,” she said with a laugh.
He took the long path, letting her exclaim over a patch of mushrooms and speculate over some young shoots. And as she delighted in every corner of his inheritance, he remembered the magic he’d once felt running through this place as a boy. He’d fought dragons here and even developed a ritual for knighting his friends. Some days he defeated pirates, and others he was the pirate. And every crack, every shadow held a surprise.
“You know, my father views this as nothing more than an enormous financial drain. We don’t pay much for upkeep, but he resents even that little bit.”
She straightened up from another set of interesting shoots and looked about her with a narrowed gaze. “I suppose even minimal work would be expensive.”
“Very.” But thanks to her joy, he was feeling that same magic from when he’d been young. “I want to restore it,” he said. “Someday. After my sisters are launched. At a minimum, it should be safe for boys to run around in as they defeat dragons and rescue damsels in distress.”
“Or you should teach the damsels to defeat the dragons on their own.”
He nodded. “They can learn about the rare and exciting plants that grow here, too.”
She looked about, perhaps seeing children at play here. He certainly did. He saw her pregnant with his child as she taught their other children the workings of the natural world. He, of course, was pretend fencing with their oldest, but when everyone had finished learning, they would run inside for a proper medieval feast. Or a good English picnic. Whatever his wife desired.
“Do you want to wander some more?” he asked, his voice thick from the need to create that future for himself and her. “Or would you prefer to eat?”
“I’m a contrary creature. I want to do both.” She turned to him. “But that basket must be heavy. Let’s set it down in the chapel, then you can show me all the things growing in there.”
“Your wish is my command,” he returned. And together they entered the chapel.
The roof was half-gone along with one wall, so the result was a kind of covered porch. Several years before, a child had broken his leg while exploring through the fallen timbers. Jackson had insisted that they clean up as much as they could and shore up the remaining structure. The stone altar remained, as well as a small archway the led to the main castle. But what had once been pews were now dirt. If there had been any stained glass, it was long gone. Instead, they enjoyed the shade of a pair of large oaks while the remaining structure blocked the wind.
As for the growing things, she’d already found what he called weeds. He pointed to where there’d once been a rabbit’s den. She saw the squirrel nests, as well as a bird’s nest. She climbed on some tall rocks to inspect them both. She knew the species of bird by the color and size of the eggs. Of course, she did. And he enjoyed the sound of her voice as she talked about driving her nanny to distraction one summer because she was always climbing trees to watch the baby birds grow.
Meanwhile, he spread the blanket and set out the food. He’d brought everything he could think of to tempt her, including the best wine bottle in their cellar, but he’d forgotten that she was tempted by their environment much more than any food. So he enjoyed the wine while she continued to poke at things and talk. And the whole time, he imagined many days spent doing just this: listening to her talk about her passions. And many nights exploring passion together. By the time she declared that hunger was overcoming her botanical interests, he was desperate for her love. Not just her physical passion, for which he was painfully hard just from his imagination. But he wanted her heart, too, and the life they could have together.
“Have I talked too much?” she asked as she knelt on the edge of the blanket.
“Not possible. I like listening to you talk.”
She looked at him in that odd way of hers with her head tilted and her nose slightly wrinkled. “I cannot tell if you are teasing me.”
“Why would you think that? It is the God’s honest truth. I swear!”
“But you haven’t the least interest in botany, except for the daffodils, of course. No one cares about what I say except other scientifically minded people.”
“I care.” And when she would have argued, he passed her a glass of wine instead. “I love hearing about what you love. I don’t listen as much to the words as the joy in them. It is the most beautiful sound in the world.”
“Now you are definitely flirting.”
“Perhaps. But you are worthy of a little flirting. And maybe a lot more.” He reached out his hand but didn’t connect. Not until she shifted to sit closer to him. He let his hand settled on her forearm before stroking up to her elbow. “Would you like some chicken?”
She did. And some winter apples which he sliced up for her. And while she ate, he talked about his plans for restoring the castle. It was all pie in the sky right then, but it was glorious to talk to her about it. And then when she was leaning forward for the wine bottle, she overbalanced. Or perhaps he helped her overbalance such that she tumbled into his arms.
She laughed as she landed on his chest, and he was pleased to feel her body stay relaxed in his arms. She didn’t flinch from him. Didn’t even tighten. Instead, she stretched forward until their mouths were close enough to kiss.
“Lord Sayres?”
He rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, Gwen, call me Jackson.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. He meant to say something more, but he lost it in the texture of her mouth and the nearness of her.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, as her eyelids fluttered down.
“You’re always thinking,” he teased.