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He put a hand to his chest. He held it there and closed his fingers into a fist as though he was holding all her thoughts close to his heart. He was unexpected, this warrior. He possessed a soulfulness that constantly surprised her.
Please come to me, she sent.
He nodded and moved toward her. I do not think I can do anything else but obey you. What have you done to me? It is as though I am bound to you by a leading rope.
She smiled, loving how he put words together.
His eyes, blue and gray and green, so beautiful, loomed closer and closer. He was here now beside her. She looked up into his face.
“Warrior Jean-Pierre!” The second eldest Seriffe boy, Alexander, lifted up his arms, a silent plea to be picked up and held.
Jean-Pierre didn’t look at him. Fiona didn’t think he could. But without breaking their locked gaze, he leaned down, slid his arm around the boy’s back, and hefted him to hold him as a father would hold his son. But not once did he shift his gaze from her.
His warm hand settled over the light blue cashmere, and she sighed.
“Do you love my grandma?” Alex asked.
The boy had dipped his chin. His black hair curled at the ends. He looked angelic. He had one arm around Jean-Pierre’s neck.
“We all love your grandmother,” he said. “All the warriors.”
The boy smiled. “She was a blood slave, but now she lives with us.”
“All that is very true.”
Fiona met Jean-Pierre’s gaze and as had happened so many times before, her heart swelled with affection—but why wouldn’t it, since he was so kind to Seriffe’s children. Jean-Pierre would be a good father. Her husband Terence had been like that as well, kind to children. He had been a strong man, powerful in business, but he knew how to leave his sword at the door when he came home at night.
Sister Quena’s voice once more sounded in the strange outdoor chapel. “And now, if the assembled guests would approach Warrior Kerrick and his family and profess once more the pledge you have made to the Creator, our ceremony will be concluded.”
Marcus and Havily began, and the warriors that ranged behind Jean-Pierre moved down the three rows of benches, stepping from bench to bench with long, heavily muscled legs.
Carolyn looked back and smiled at Jean-Pierre. She nudged her husband, who turned around and held his arms out to the boy. “Come, Alex, we’ll greet baby Helena.”
He went willingly, and Seriffe slid him to the pine needles. “Is she going to mount her wings?” Alexander cried. “I want to see her mount her wings.”
“Hush, Alex,” Carolyn said. “Be respectful. You know we don’t ask anyone to mount their wings. It’s not polite.”
Fiona didn’t turn away from Jean-Pierre. She could have. But now that she was near him, she didn’t want to be apart from him. He was close and she surrendered to it.
As her family stepped away from the benches to the right and moved down the incline toward the altar, he leaned close and asked, “Speaking of wings, how are your wing-locks doing?”
She shook her head. “Right now, I would give my life for one of those silly small bamboo hands with a long handle that you shove down your shirt.”
He laughed. “If you turn around, I will scratch your back.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I am so tempted,” she whispered.
“I will be very discreet. If you turn to face the altar just a little more, I can do it. We are the only ones up here now. No one will know.”
She couldn’t help herself. Whatever else he might be, he knew exactly how to relieve the terrible itching—and it was at least one harmless way she could allow his hands on her without losing control. She shifted as he suggested.
He moved in, much closer, and his hand slid beneath the cashmere. He petted her back through her shirt in a long gentle sweep.
She withheld a groan, not because he meant to give her relief but because his touch was heaven and the scent of him, delicious coffee and earthy male, filled her knees with water. “Ohhhh,” she murmured.
He began at the lowest wing-lock on the right side of her back. With the exact pressure she needed, he rubbed back and forth.
She groaned softly.
Heaven, heaven, heaven, heaven …
“Oh, Jean-Pierre.”
He moved to the next wing-lock and with the tips of his fingers pushed the fabric of her shirt over the offending aperture. He continued this from one wing-lock to the next, up and up, then descended the other side. The relief was so profound that by the time he finished she was nearly weeping.
Oh, God … thank you so much, she sent. She turned toward him and smiled. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to rub my back against the bark of one of these trees.”
He smiled. He had the most beautiful smile.
He laughed. His laugh made her heart ache.
Without thinking, she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, a soft brief kiss on his full lips.
His eyes widened. Did he stumble a little?
Fiona, he sent.
I shouldn’t have done that.
No, no, he responded straight to her mind. C’était parfait. Absolument parfait. I expect nothing. Rien.
She nodded briskly several times. She was about to tell him if he wanted another date, sooner than the allotted two weeks, she would allow it, but at that moment she heard a very faint ringing of bells.
“Do you hear that?” she asked. “It’s very beautiful.”
He glanced around. “No, I hear nothing except the warriors greeting petite Helena. What is it? What do you hear?”
“Well, it sounds like old-fashioned church bells, very soft, the lower registers, deep, sonorous, like a man’s voice.”
She searched his eyes but still he shook his head.
A headache suddenly broke over her mind and she put her hands to her head. She struggled to draw breath.
“What is it? What is the matter? Tell me, Fiona.”
“I … I’m not sure. I think it’s my telepathy.” She released her telepathic shields just a little and directed her attention to the Convent.
A woman’s mind suddenly shrieked within hers. Help me, goddammit! Help me get out of this f**king place!
The headache released and she opened her eyes to once more meet Jean-Pierre’s. “I think a woman inside the Convent is asking for my help. Her mind … wow, it’s incredibly powerful, although for a moment there she sounded just like Her Supremeness. What do I do?”
He shrugged. “If I were you, I would try to contact her. There must be a reason for such a sudden, unexpected event.”
