Page 60 of Falling for the Knight

“And you will not be disappointed. Here, give it to me—”

“You’ll be telling me what to do and doin’ it yourself? Nay . . .”

He could not hear the rest of Cook’s grumbling, but it seemed a good time to make his presence known. Tristan walked down the remainder of the stairs and was about to turn the corner to enter the kitchen when Hannah saw him. He gestured for her to join him. After disappearing for a moment, she reappeared and made her way up the stairs.

They walked out of the entranceway and into the bailey. Tristan’s heartbeat quickened, as it did every time they stood this close.

“Do you have time for a walk?”

He had gone to sleep last eve thinking of being inside her. Had woken up thinking of it too. And now, standing so close he could smell the scent that was uniquely Hannah . . .

A walk on the beach had seemed like a good idea when he was alone looking out the window. Now Tristan wasn’t so sure

“I never did ask how you’ve begun to bring the grumpiest man in all of Saxford to your side . . .”

Her sideways glance made him chuckle.

“I’m speaking of Cook, not me. In fact, some say I am downright jovial.”

Tristan’s chest swelled at the sound of Hannah’s laughter. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe you.”

As they made their way down the path that led away from the castle, Tristan found himself looking toward the spot where he’d first seen Hannah. Resisting the urge to ask which words she would use, he nodded toward the stretch of sand.

“What is the first thing you remember?”

Hannah frowned. “Feeling dizzy. At first I thought I was back home. When I saw your men . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Tristan turned as they reached the spot, trying to look back at the castle from a newcomer’s eyes.

“You must have been scared.”

“Scared, confused . . . I really did think your men were reenactors.” She’d explained the concept to him days ago, and he’d had a laugh over everything they’d gotten wrong. The clothing was much less practical, table manners much more enlightened. If the twenty-first-century vision of the middle ages was accurate in some ways, in others, it was downright the opposite of the truth. “If I ever do get back . . .”

She stopped and looked up at him through her thick lashes. “I should not have said that.”

“Your decisions are your own. But I do want you to know—”

“Tristan, please.”

“Just listen.”

He took her hands in his, the sound of soft lapping of water behind him. The soothing sound and her big green eyes lulled him into a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed.

“I want you to understand,” he started. “When I told you to stay—”

Hannah shook her head. The stubborn woman simply would not listen.

So he kissed her. He pressed his lips against hers, his tongue demanding entry. She opened for him, her sweet taste fanning the fire inside him into an inferno.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands found the mounds that pressed against them, his desire to feel them against his skin restrained only by the unfortunate cut of her gown. He groaned when her hands lowered from his back to his buttocks, a saucy squeeze followed by her pressing him closer. She was forward, but no more so than he. She met his passion with her own at each turn, and Tristan didn’t know how long he could last without claiming the ultimate prize.

He released her as a defense against his own impulses. Before they went any further, he needed her to understand . . .

“My men should be back any day, and before they return, you should know what I’m asking of you, Hannah. When I asked you to stay, I meant as my wife.”

Her eyes widened.

“Before I met you, I didn’t think much of the institution of marriage. I had seen too many husbands break their vows at The Swan. But you have opened my eyes, Hannah, and when I look to the future, it seems empty without you in it.”