Chapter 27
Silver eyes gleamed dully.
My wife.
The prayer ended upon Godiva’s brow.
* * *
Godiva ran through the castle. From one chamber to another—Leofric was nowhere. Her cheeks were red as she searched frantically. Last night felt like a dream. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a long continuation of a dream. If it had been…
She turned from the empty study.
No one knew where the lord of Coventry was—not even the nanny. Restless and unable to bear it, she had set out to find him herself.
“Madam.”
At the call, Godiva spun around. It was Sir Brandel. Her beautiful face brightened with relief.
“Sir Brandel—where is the Earl?”
She asked at once, breathless. She had no leisure for polite morning greetings.
“My lord is in the rose garden. Shall I escort you?”
Her blushing cheeks rivaled the roses themselves. Brandel regarded her with respectful admiration. So fair within and without—it was no wonder his lord had given her his heart.
“No, thank you, Sir Brandel.”
“Madam, be care—”
Before he could finish, Lady Godiva had already run off, light as a spring breeze. Brandel smiled faintly. Married though she was, she still seemed a young girl—so endearing that even his stern face softened.
* * *
She slipped through the side gate and into the outer garden. After running some distance, the scent of roses flooded her chest. Her steps slowed. Knowing Leofric was here made her heart race; her cheeks burned deeper red.
Her skirts brushed dew-damp grass.
Step by step, she approached the garden overflowing with blossoms.
Strange…
There were only roses.
Leofric.
She called him silently.
Where are you?
Perhaps Brandel had been mistaken. Her shoulders drooped.
“Leofric…”
His name slipped softly from her lips.
Rustle. Fabric brushed against fabric. A presence pressed warm and solid against her back.
“Ah…”
Arms circled her waist. A familiar weight rested against her crown. It was unmistakably him.
Godiva clasped the hands at her waist.
“When I first saw you.”
His voice came from above her. Some of it resonating through her back, some sinking straight into her heart. She closed her luminous eyes.
“You were Thorold’s little sister. Only twelve. I told him I would take you as my wife when you were grown.”
He was smiling, that slight twist of his mouth she knew so well.
“Waiting was hard.”
She had not known. To her, he had only been her brother’s friend—tall, strong, perhaps a little frightening. She had been too young to understand anything else.
“You were precious. So precious…”
He whispered low. She imagined those silver eyes, heavy and molten. She drew his hands upward and pressed her face into them.
“Watching you was enough to make me happy.”
From girl to maiden—like a flower ripening, she had grown more beautiful each day. Without realizing it, she had settled deep within his heart. Her golden hair fluttered as she turned to face him.
“If you had belonged to another—”
Their silver and violet gazes met, close enough to stir the soul.
“I would have taken you by force and made you mine.”
Words she had never heard before.
She had believed their marriage was arranged by families. Believed him only a husband who desired her young body. Three months that had felt both brief and endless. Until the night he was wounded, she had not understood her own love. After that, she had told herself it was enough to love alone.
But she had been wrong. Love had been beside her all along.
“Leofric…”
It had not been a dream. The night before, her love had reached him.
“You were never politics to me. Never war.”
His confession brushed her cheek as gently as a kiss.
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