He looked away, exhaled roughly. “I have so many years of words and feelings to tell you. But there’s little time. I should simply walk away…”
At his torn expression, she understood it all clearly then. “But you didn’t. You could have simply cleaned the chest, gone to my father, and given it to him. You didn’t have to alert me, but you did.”
“I wanted to—”
“You wanted this time with me, but it wasn’t only to save me. It was to save us.”
“Elizabeth—” He lifted his hand to run his fingers through his hair, looked at the dried mud, and dropped it. “You want an us?”
“With all of my soul,” she said.
He pivoted on his heel. “Why do you want me? I’m a steward who should be a servant.”
They’d confessed they’d loved each other, but she didn’t blame the lingering doubts. She had them, too. Her feelings were too long denied, and she still didn’t feel she deserved him.
“You were never a servant to me. You were that boy who winked.”
Stilling, he looked over his shoulder. “So much hope, so many years denied. And you make it sound that simple?”
“That complicated,” she said. “The fact I don’t have to say any more to you reveals there’s an understanding between us that defies our stations in life. Defies logic.”
He walked toward her again. “I think all of Wales realizes there’s little reason between us.’”
She wanted him to come closer yet, but his amusement faded. Something became almost determined about him again. Oh, she’d seen this expression on his face more times than she could count. “All the times I’ve talked to your father before,” he murmured. “Over and over again to no avail.”
“But this time it will be different,” she said. Because she would accept responsibility and be by his side.
“Different?” He paced away, looked at her, and took a few more steps. “I think there might be…”
When he looked at her again, ran his torn-up fingers through his mud-crusted hair again, she knew he was thinking, so she let him.
It was easy to do so because all the while, he stared at her, his brown eyes not quite gazing at her but thinking on the solution, he held his mop of hair away from his handsome face. Held it so tight she wondered he didn’t tug it all away. He was so dear to her then.
On a huff of air, he dropped his arms. “I think there may be a way for us.”
Her heart flipped. She thought he was walking away from them, but she should have known better. Of course, Drystan understood they simply needed to tell her father everything. With both of them giving their position, he’d have to listen. ‘I do, too.’
“I’m going to say a sentence, I know I don’t have to ask, but it must be said.” He walked right up to her. This close with nothing else around them, she didn’t have to make comparisons to anything. There was only Drystan. His clothes ruined from weather, wet from snow. His face was splattered with mud, clumps of it dried in his hair. His hands were red, cut in many places, and everything about him was perfect, beautiful—heart-achingly dear to her.
“Do you love and trust me?” he asked.
“Always. Forever,” she said. There was a thrumming between them that almost hurt. It was as if she was being pulled in every direction and only toward him all at the same time. She wanted…. “I love you so much if there was any—”
On a groan, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. No more hovering close, no more feeling his breath fan against her skin, or his fingertips skimming along her elbows. No more almost touches and kisses.
This was—hot, demanding. A claiming that made her weak. Everything in her tightened and ached. He was touching her like she always needed, and she was starved for him. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, her hands grappled against the back of his neck, his shoulders; her fingers dug in to bring him closer.
Trust. Love. Words she never thought to hear exchanged between them, but this, too, was missing. Every time he watched her take a bite of pudding, all the months and years of late-night repairs of jests gone wrong, they’d been shoulder to shoulder, but neverthis.
This moment here when he shifted against her, cupped her body to his, dug the palms of his hands at the small of her back, to her shoulders, and lower, to the curve of her hips. This she never believed could come true: a kiss that stripped her and made her his.
And she was his. Curving her leg up, a thrust of his thigh between hers. Layers of clothing between them, but his strength, that fierceness she watched for far too long, pushing her until her back hit the table. It provided the support she craved and the anchor he needed to flay any doubt to his intent.
With a deep rumbling in his chest, he tilted his head to deepen their kiss. To devour her as if there was a hunger raging in him as well. Until her fingers no longer simply hung on but tugged and pulled at his clothing as her need turned to frustration.
Another hard shudder and Drystan wrenched his lips away; she followed to pursue them.
“Elizabeth—,” he warned. Digging his hands firmly into her hips to hold her still, he kissed her hard and then again leaned away. Their breaths no more than harsh pants between them, slowly, gently as if gauging a possibility, he leaned his forehead against hers.
