Rebellious Love Page 24

  Tipping her head back, Curran stared into eyes luminous with wonder. He gestured at the box. "I had this made, thinking it would tell you more eloquently than I can how precious you are to me."

  Lifting his gift from its velvet-lined nest, he gently fastened it around Verony's ivory throat. Her hand followed his, her fingers brushing against the smooth coolness of large, perfectly matched pearls.

  "I'll never be a poet," her husband went on softly, "and the last time I was stupid enough to speak to you of our marriage, I botched it royally. So I thought I'd take a clue from the bards."

  He didn't have to explain further. Verony knew full well that the pearl was the exalted symbol of feminine loveliness and enduring love. Fresh tears filled her eyes, though for a far different reason, as she realized what Curran was trying to tell her.

  Even so, she did not quite dare to believe. "You don't still think I'm too forward . . . too independent . . . ?"

  "I think," Curran said firmly, nestling her against his massive chest, "you are the most beautiful, courageous, honorable woman I have ever known. And considering the standard set by my mother and other women of my family, that is saying quite something!"

  Soft as the brush of a bird's wings, his lips moved down the smooth line of her cheek to find the tiny mole beside her mouth. "Whatever thoughts I had about the 'proper' role for a wife were cured once and for all when the twins were born. Even before then, I suspected I had done you a terrible wrong. But with all the rest that was happening, there was never any chance to get things straightened out between us."

  He paused, his eyes darkening with remembered pain. "Then that night you were still in labor, I was so afraid I would lose you. Nothing else mattered except that you live. When I saw how you had held on, against such tremendous odds, so that the children could be born, I was humbled by your courage. I knew then that I would never exchange you for any weak, dependent wife who would undoubtedly make my life a misery!"

  "But Curran," Verony protested, her voice muffled against his brawny torso, "that night when the twins were born I finally realized you were right about my not being able to fully trust anyone but myself, and that it was wrong for me to be that way. When you saved all three of us, it was as though some barrier that has always been inside me finally crumbled. I knew then that there were times when I would willingly defer to you, knowing your experience or judgment to be better under certain circumstances. But I couldn't be sure that discovery would be worth anything to you . . . if you would still want me . . .

  "Still want you? How could you doubt that for a moment?"

  "I don't mean just physically. I want to be your wife in every sense of the word. To work beside you, to plan for the future together, to share your worries and your joys. But if I'm not what you want, then I can never really ..."

  "How could such an intelligent woman get such a crazy notion in her head?" Curran growled against her ear.

  "It's not crazy! You made it clear I wasn't what you expected in a wife."

  "I had some very strange notions," he admitted soothingly while lowering her onto the bed. "I thought that a strong, capable woman was fine for someone like my father who was a match for such a mate. But since I believed my own strength was less than his, I unwittingly decided a docile wife would be far more suitable."

  Verony tried vainly to sit up, glaring at him in astonishment. "How could you think such a stupid thing? You are every bit as courageous and strong and wise as your father. Why, the earl himself would be the first to say so. If he ever got wind of what you've been thinking, he would ..."

  "There's no need to bring him into this," Curran assured her laughingly. "Whatever else these last few months accomplished, they banished my doubts. I always knew I could handle myself in battle, but I thought that was just because of natural size and agility. Against John, no such advantages mattered. It became purely a question of personal strength and determination."

  He smiled, remembering certain encounters with the earl. "I think my father suspected how I felt. After all, he, too, grew up under the influence of an unusually powerful sire. So he pushed me into situations such as taking the tower for him to make me realize my own capacity."

  Silently Curran added that he was infinitely grateful for the earl's actions. He suspected that in the months to come all his newfound abilities and confidence would be tested to the limit. But he was not about to say so to Verony, not when they could be so much better occupied.

  "My love," he breathed softly against the heated skin of her throat, "never think that you are less than everything to me. I will cherish you forever. You are the only woman who holds my heart and to whom my body can respond."

  The long months of doubt and separation were catching up with them. Freed from her last fears about the completeness of her husband's love and faith, Verony moved against him languidly. Her slender arms reached up to embrace him as she pressed the rapidly hardening tips of her breasts into his chest.

  "Curran ... I know the servants are waiting to pack . . . but couldn't we . . . ?"

  "Mmmm," he murmured, busy nuzzling his way past the thin cloth of her tunic.

  Thought of anything beyond the magic circle of their love faded. The servants were too well trained to come back before they were called. And the family was far too wise not to guess what was behind the delay.

  Slowly despite their great need, they drew out their excitement to a shattering peak. Naked in her husband's arms, Verony took intense delight in rediscovering every inch of his body even as he did hers. Hardness against softness, arching strength against yielding warmth, they came together exultantly.

  The long months of abstinence might have taxed Curran's control. But so great was his love that he drew out his wife's pleasure to the utmost before at last giving way to his own pulsating need.

  Even then he did not leave her. The knowledge of how infinitely special and precious she was to him, combined with her soft cries of joy, aroused him again. Barely had they both descended from the pinnacle of ecstasy than they began to climb it again, this time reaching even higher and further than either had ever dreamed was possible.

  In the aftermath of fulfillment, they lay close together on the storm-tossed cot. Sounds from the camp filtered gradually through the haze of their delight, reminding them that they had tarried almost as long as was possible. Soon they had to rise and dress for the long-delayed return to Langford.

  But before they did so, Verony propped herself up on one arm to gaze lovingly at her husband. She would not darken such a precious moment with talk of fighting, but she wanted him to know she understood what might be just ahead and that she would do everything possible to support him.

  "This 'Magna Carta' that was signed today, perhaps I exaggerate it in my mind, but it seems any price would not be too high to protect what you've won here."

  Curran studied her quietly. He was just beginning to understand how much could be said with so few words, when two people knew each other on such a fundamental level. A flood of gratitude for her strength and courage filled him as he realized that if in the next few months he was driven to leave Langford to defend the charter, she would not hinder him.

  "We will do all we can," he agreed, "but the true worth of what happened here won't be known for generations. It will be up to our children and our children's children and all those who come afterward to value justice and freedom."

  EPILOGUE

  The bells of Worchester Cathedral tolled dolefully as the small crowd hurried out. The service had been lengthy, as befitted a king. Even one so hated.

  Outside in the bright October sun, Verony and Curran made no effort to hide their relief. John was dead, little more than a year after the meeting in the meadow beside the Thames. But not, to their way of thinking, a moment too soon.

  True to his deceitful nature, the king had no sooner signed Magna Carta than he began plotting to rescind it. Leading a mercenary force, he made war against his barons. Months of indecisive enco
unters and forced marches at last broke his strength. Denied even an honorable death in battle, he perished from fever.

  Now the boy king, Henry III, sat the throne with

  his conniving mother, Isabella, at his side and a bevy of advisors who were little more than greedy sycophants.

  Only the night before, when she and Curran lay entwined in the aftermath of fulfilling passion, he warned Verony again that the struggle had to continue. "We've won too much to back down now, and there's still far too much left to be gained. No matter how difficult, the fight has to go on."

  Looking up at him, standing so tall and strong in the sun, Verony's heart filled with joy. For just an instant, she allowed herself to wonder what the years ahead might hold. Not for them, whose love would endure even beyond their mortal forms. But for the long line of proud men and beautiful women who would carry the d'Arcy banner far into the future, and whose stories were as yet unwritten.

  Then Curran said something, and all her attention shifted back to him. Smiling, Verony placed her hand in her husband's. Together they walked toward their horses to begin the journey home.