Chapter Twenty
Isobel saw the naked hunger in Stephen’s eyes. If she were going to refuse him, she must do it now. She took his hands. Today she did not care what was right or wrong, wise or foolhardy. This one time, she would take the man she wanted, not the man she must. She would allow herself this gift and not think about what came after.
There was no falseness between them. No pretense as to what they intended to do. Without a word passing between them, Stephen took the woolen blankets from the cot and folded them beneath his cloak.
They followed the stone walkway past the kitchen. Beyond the kitchen garden, they found the gate that led to the river path. Thankfully, it was neither the season for harvesting apples from the orchard nor the time of day for hauling in the fish lines for the monks’ dinner. There was no sign of another living soul on the river path.
Once they were hidden from view by the trees, Stephen put his arm about her shoulders. She sighed and leaned into him. It felt right, walking with him like this.
After the harrowing events of the morning, the chirping birds and gurgle of the river soothed her. The sun was out, and the air had none of the blister of March she was used to in Northumberland. Spring came early here. The trees were budding, and crocuses poked their bright heads out of the ground. An unexpected peace settled over her.
Neither spoke until they came to a fork in the path.
“Do we continue along the river, or go to the orchard?” Stephen asked, waving his arm first in one direction, then the other.
Stephen’s lopsided smile made him look so handsome that, on impulse, she reached up to touch his face. As soon as her fingers grazed his stubbled cheek, his smile left him. His eyes darkened, sending a rush of desire through her that almost curled her toes.
“Come,” he said and pulled her by the hand up the orchard path.
They moved with a sense of urgency now. As the trail went uphill, they left the scrub trees that grew near the river. They entered a field that would soon be planted with wheat or rye. Beyond the field was the apple orchard. An old croft stood between the two, its wooden door hanging at an angle.
“This is such a pretty spot,” she said, looking around her. “What would make a tenant abandon this croft?”
“Likely he had to,” Stephen said as he heaved the door open, “when his lord gave the land to the abbey.”
As Isobel stepped over the threshold, she saw that the croft had not been abandoned so very long ago. The sun poured in through gaping holes in the thatched roof, but the walls had not yet begun to crumble. There were piles of leaves in the corners where the wind had blown them.
Her heart rose to her throat as she watched Stephen clear debris from the earthen floor with his boot and spread one of the blankets. Knowing it would happen now, she was suddenly gripped by nerves.
Stephen turned and took her hands. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked in a quiet voice. “We can still go back.”
“I want to stay.” How like him to make her say it. With Stephen, she could never pretend to herself she was seduced against her will.
She saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. He pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, following it with his eyes. “I do not want you to have regrets.”
“I shall have none.”
When this did not seem sufficient to reassure him, she said, “If I died today…” She ran her tongue over her dry lips and tried again. “What I would regret is never knowing how it feels to bed a man I want to touch me.”
She could never have been so bold to say this to another man. Somehow, she knew Stephen would neither judge her nor make her feel bad for it.
When he still made no move toward her, she rose on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. His lips felt so soft and warm, the kiss unbearably sweet. She had expected lust, not this tenderness that welled up in her chest until she felt she might burst with it.
When she dropped back onto her heels, he held her face in his hands and ran a thumb along her cheek. “You need only tell me if you change your mind.”
Did he not want this as much as she did?
“But I hope to God you won’t,” he said before the uneasy feeling could take hold. Then he scooped her up in his arms and held her across his chest.
Their eyes were locked as he dropped to his knees and lay her down on the makeshift pallet. As his mouth met hers, she felt as though she were still sinking back. The kiss was warm and deep, their tongues moving against each other.
When he broke away, she would have complained—except that the kisses he ran along the side of her face felt so good. A deep sigh escaped her, and she gave herself over to following the course of his lips. He pressed kisses along her jaw and behind her ear. As he moved down her neck, he unfastened her cloak and pushed it off her shoulders.
“I love this spot, right here,” he said and ran his tongue along the hollow above her collarbone.
She forgot she wore her brother’s clothes until she felt the warmth of Stephen’s breath through the cloth at her throat. Wanting to feel his mouth against her skin, she began tugging at the tunic and shirt that were in the way.
“Let me,” he said, taking hold of her hands. “Please.”