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“Do you still wish to remain my queen?” His somber question cut through the haze of the thoughts crowding her mind.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Why would you ask such a question?”
“After everything you have endured at my hand.” He licked his lips and for a brief moment, she saw the vulnerability she glimpsed when he slept. “Do you still wish to be bound to me?”
“Of course, I do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Even after what Francis did to you to subvert me?” Crispin’s throat worked as though suppressing the emotions. “He stole our child from your womb. He tortured you. Threatened you. And all to undermine me. To make me suffer.”
Ruby inhaled deeply before answering. “You are not responsible for the actions of a madman.” She held his gaze and poured her soul into the words, hoping she could steal any doubt from his mind. “I will grieve the loss of this child, but it does not change how I feel about you. I love you, Crispin, and we have the rest of our lives to fill our home with children and laughter and love.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. Passion and love drove away any lingering hesitation from her mind. He believed her. They survived, and their future lay bright ahead. When the kiss ended, they were both winded.
“I love you, Ruby.” He rested his forehead on hers. “And I will spend the rest of my days showing you exactly how much I treasure you.”
“Good.” Ruby nestled closer against him delighted to be in his possession once more. “I shall spend the rest of my days reminding you of that vow.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
He must be dead, andyet the excruciating pain shooting down his side revealed him to be very much alive. Henry’s eyes ached with the effort of trying to open them. He blinked against the sunlight coming in through the large window.
Light settled around the furniture in the room, bringing the furniture into focus as his gaze sharpened. Rich tapestries, silks and velvets, dark elegantly carved woodwork in the chairs and wardrobes. Henry shifted uncomfortably. This was certainly not his chamber.
His hands fisted in the coverlet. Perhaps he had died. Then he glimpsed the dark curls sprawled across the bed and the woman slumped over the side. Hours of vigilance taken beside his sickbed had rendered her exhausted.
Oh, sweet, deceitful Ivy. His hand felt as though he lifted a horse in his palm, but he persisted for he longed to touch her. He sighed with relief when she did not disappear like a dream on the morning mist. She was real. He was not dead. That knowledge alone left him with hope.
She stirred when he threaded his fingers through her hair. Her lips parted, curving into a bewitching smile. Henry studied her for a long moment. How could he let her go? After all she had done, he still loved her and such sentiment defied logic, even reason. He exhaled sharply at the twisting pain in his side.
When he groaned, her eyes fluttered open. A spark lit in their depths. She smiled and lifted her head to gaze down at him.
“Too stubborn to die.” She grinned and took his hand between hers. “I knew as much.”
Henry chuckled, and the action sent a bolt of agony through his side. “Do not make me laugh.” His hoarse voice cracked from disuse.
Ivy retrieved a small cup from the table beside the bed and held it to his lips. “Drink this.”
Before he could protest, Ivy poured it into his mouth. The sweet, cool liquid quenched the thirst he had not realized until he tasted it. He drank the contents and settled back upon the bed once more, licking his lips.
“What was that?” he asked, his voice stronger. His mind slowly cleared.
“An herbal tea.” Ivy set the cup aside and took his hand once more. “Marian left it with strict instructions for you to drink it upon waking.”
Marian. Ruby. Crispin.The memories came hurtling toward him like a barrage of arrows striking different parts of him with equal damage. He attempted to sit up, but the motion left him breathless and panting.
