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“Can we reach it by nightfall, do you believe?”
The priest looked up to the sky and then toward the trees where the path lay ahead. “Mounted? Aye, I do believe so.” He smiled, a kindly gesture given they’d confessed to killing two men. “I had best be on my way.”
“I trust you find what you look for in London, Father,” Holt said.
Since the priest didn’t correct him, it seemed that was their final destination after all. “We bid you a good eve and safe travel, Father,” Haydn added, knowing the man must be on his way.
“I will pray for you, Lord Waryn. Many thanks for keeping the passage safe.”
Haydn nodded, surprised. So he knew of him, after all. “Bless you, Father,” Hamon added as the man wandered away.
“The passage?” Hamon asked as they rode to join Phillipa and Isaac.
“I’ve heard it before,” he said, spying his wife. “Some use the term for the borderlands between Bristol and Brockburg.”
“Breac made mention of it when I saw him last.” Holt dismounted first, before they reached the others. Phillipa bent down to the stream while Isaac finished tying off his mount. “He said as more learned of it, the path would be more and more difficult to keep stable.”
“Indeed.” Haydn dismounted as well. “Take this?” he asked Holt, anxious to speak to Phillipa. “We rest the horses and leave,” he looked at the sun, “at sext.” They’d gotten an earlier start, and he was pleased with the time they’d made. By midday, though, their party would need to be well on their way to reach the Fox and Hound.
“We reach Middleton Ridge in two days’ time,” Holt called to him as Haydn walked down the grassy slope toward his wife. His brother’s meaning was clear. You have two days to decide where to go next. Would he continue north with Hamon, as planned, Holt and Isaac escorting Phillipa to Hillstone? Or would their plans be altered?
“The water is so cold,” she said, standing, shaking her hands dry.
“And will grow even colder the farther north we get,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading Phillipa away from prying eyes. He could wait no longer. When they were hidden from view, the thicket serving as a barrier between them and the men, he pressed her to a thick tree and crashed his lips to hers. Phillipa welcomed him instantly, opening for him. He deepened the kiss, their tongues tangling as if they were well acquainted by now. She wore a simple travelling gown Master John had insisted she take, as the one she’d arrived at Caldwell Manor wearing had been muddied and beyond repair. It had been left by a countess who’d passed through. She’d taken too many trunks with her through the muddy marshes and her companions were all too pleased to leave some of them behind.
Its neckline was lower than her own, a fact Haydn took advantage of now. His lips trailed from hers down her neck to the opening in her gown. Rubbing his thumbs over both peaks as he did so, Haydn was pleased when his wife grabbed a fistful of his hair, preventing him from lifting his head.
He teased and licked and pressed himself into her as Phillipa circled her hips. “Please, Haydn,” she breathed. He did not hesitate. Freeing himself with one hand and lifting her gown and shift both with the other, he raised his head, watching as she realized what they were about to do.
“If someone comes. . .”
“They will not.”
He wished he could see under her gown, the sight of his wife’s garter and hose something he’d been imagining all morn.
It was all he could do, apparently. Think of his wife in various states of undress. But now, as he entered her despite the layers of clothing separating them, he did not have to imagine any longer. Once fully inside her, Haydn kept his hand there. They must be quick about it, as much as he’d like to linger here, in this very position, all day.
She held onto him as Haydn eased his way in, and out. When he circled his thumb and Phillipa nearly cried out, he captured the sound with his lips. Attempting to erase the pain he’d caused her thus far, Haydn took her more deeply.
He silently begged for her to find pleasure, both as an apology and a promise. They would talk this night. Would form a plan together. Could he trust his wife fully? Nay. But neither did he wish to leave her.
“Mmm,” she moaned against his lips. Squeezing his shoulders, Phillipa was close to release. As was he. In fact, so close, he wondered how he could hang on much longer.
He couldn’t.
“Phillipa.” He broke the kiss, pumping into her harder and harder, his wife taking every bit of him with a vigor he never could have imagined she possessed. “Come with me.”
Sure enough, she did. Squeezing him, Phillipa found her release as he cried out, unable to hold back. The sight of her this way, wildly abandoned in the middle of the woods with nothing but trees and thicket as their witness. . . he would remember this moment for the rest of his life as the one when he realized he was in love with his wife. This was no ordinary coupling. Every time they were together he felt closer, more connected to her, than anyone else in the world.
“Phillipa,” he breathed, pulling his hand away. “You are mine.”
That was not what he’d meant to say. But the possessiveness he felt for her was all-consuming. Even now she could carry his child. And if she did not, she would one day. But he did not say the words. Something held him back. And unfortunately, Haydn knew what that something was. He desired his wife. Had fallen in love with her in such a short span of time he’d call another man a fool for claiming it.
But did he trust her?
Chapter Twenty-Two
To my lord, Robert Pernell, 6th Earl of Sherfield, my most venerable father,
