Ondine Read Free Page A

she loved him dearly. She knew that he was aware that she pretended sleep, yet he would sigh and stare into the night and allow her that pretense. One day, she promised herself nightly, she would make it all up to him. She knew—as the ladies who sought his favors did not—that he was far more the gentleman than the beast. She had come to him in fear. He had seen her fear, cast aside his own needs, and cajoled her from it. Sometimes she was still frightened; he was so strong, she was so … so very weak! He exercised such patience. She had always planned on entering the convent where she had been schooled. Her father, on his deathbed, had asked Warwick to marry and care for her, and for his deep friendship and loyalty, Warwick had done just that.
    A log crackled in the fire, and she jumped.
    “Genevieve!” he admonished her softly.
    “I’m sorry!” she cried.
    “Nay, nay! Just be easy, my love, be easy,” he crooned to her. Again she settled in his arms, content with his strength about her. If only it was all like this!
    They sat in silence for many moments, feeling the warmth of the fire surround them. Warwick’s thoughts were remorseful— and painful. One of Anne’s vicious taunts was true. He should not have married Genevieve, even though he had vowed to do so. By nature she was timid, such a gentle, ethereal beauty. Too gentle for a beast, he told himself wryly. And too gentle to combat the rumors.
    “Genevieve?” he said softly.
    “My lord?”
    “What Anne said isn’t true, you know. There are several legends about the family, but my grandmother’s death was an accident. We’re really not beasts—no more so than the rest of England! All the stories about the family come from the days of the Conqueror.”
    “Except the one about your grandmother,” Genevieve murmured.
    “My grandmother fell- through a staircase, Genevieve. There was nothing ‘cursed’ about it. Rotten wood brought about her death.”
    “I know,” Genevieve whispered. “But—but, Warwick, the dream that awakened me—I saw her! Warwick, I saw her!”
    Suddenly she tensed in his lap, sobs catching in her throat, her fragile hands pounding against his chest. “Warwick, she came to me! She was green and rotting with the mold from the grave, and she told me that I would join her, that I would come—”
    “Stop it, Genevieve! You saw who? My grandmother? No, my love, you did not see her. Genevieve, I will let nothing harm you!”
    She heard the passion in his voice, and she thrilled to it, just as she felt the terror leave her trembling limbs as he warmed her with his all-encompassing strength.
    “Oh, Warwick! I will try not to be such a coward.”
    “You are not a coward.”
    “Then I am weak—I have no strength.”
    “You have the strength of my love.”
    “Warwick …” He was so good to her! She lifted her eyes to his, and they dampened with the tears of her love. She huddled to him, and she determined that she would love him as a wife should. She forced herself to push her fears to the background, remembering that they had come to Westchester to settle a dispute. “Oh, Warwick, I do love you so, and I was so very proud of you today. You were magnificent. No man is a nobler knight!”
    He laughed. “If I am so to your eyes, it is all that I ask. And now, my sweet, my beloved wife who carries a beloved child, you must be off back to your bed! I crave but a glass of port, then will come and sleep beside you.”
    She smiled at him, finding her courage in him.
    “I will wait for you, my lord husband,” she told him.
    He touched her cheek gently with his knuckle. “You needn’t do so, sweet. I know that you wish to rest—”
    “Nay, Warwick, I wish to wait for you.”.
    He smiled at her tenderly, then set her on her feet. “I do love you, Genevieve. And I have never been disappointed in you.”
    She knew this was another lie, but it was wonderfully stated, as wonderful as the virile, handsome man who was her