Tallie's Knight (39 page)

“No, not an heir.
Children. If we only had one little girl, I would be happy. If we had a string
of little girls I would be just as happy.”

“Do… do you not want
a boy, then?” she asked worriedly.

“A boy would make me
very happy, too,” he assured her. “A boy, not an heir. I want a child. The sex
is immaterial.”

She smiled, not
entirely sure she understood, but reassured just the same.

“My father had me
thrashed every morning from the age of five,” he said bluntly. “It was the
time-honoured way to ensure the heirs of d’Arenville became strong enough for
the position.”

“But that is
appalling,” she gasped. “In that case I am glad you were sent away to school so
young. Such a thing is utterly barbarous.”

He smiled, a smile of
cold reminiscence that made Tallie shudder.

“Oh, he had me
thrashed at school, too. Every morning at
eight
o’clock
sharp, except for Sundays. Until my eighteenth birthday.”

“Oh, Magnus, that is…”
Words failed her. She could only hug him tight and press kisses on whatever
part of him she could find.

“You understand now
why I do not want a d’Arenville heir?”

Tallie hugged him
tighter and kissed his ear.

“I love you, Magnus,
I love you,” was all she could think of to say.

He rolled her back on
the bed and kissed her, covering her face, her neck, her breast with his
kisses. He cupped her breasts gently.

“They are bigger,” he
murmured, lavishing kisses on them. He ran a hand down to caress her swollen
belly.

“I want to see you —all
of you.”

Tallie blushed.

“But I look—”

“You look beautiful,
and I want to see you,” he repeated, and reached for the hem of her nightgown.
Slowly he drew it up, over the long slender legs, up to the thatch of tawny
curls at their junction and up over the smooth, tight mound of her belly. He lifted
it over the creamy swelling breasts and over the tumbled honey-streaked curls.
He tossed the gown to the foot of the bed and knelt above her. And then he just
stared, his eyes moving over her, absorbing every change, every nuance of her
body.

Tallie’s
embarrassment died away.

His storm-dark eyes
caressed her, bathing her in a warm radiance. She had never felt so beautiful
in her life. Obscure little Tallie Robinson, plain and ordinary, swollen and
ungainly with pregnancy, feeling so utterly beautiful when this man looked at
her.

“I love you, Magnus,”
she said softly, reaching for him.

“I wish I had been
here to see all these changes,” he murmured, stroking her body, learning it
anew.

“Thank you for
bringing me my brother.” She arched against his hand like a cat. “I don’t think
I said it before. I don’t understand why you wanted to, but it has made me very
happy.”

His hand stilled.

“I had to.” His voice
was husky and deep.

“Had to? But why?”
She reached up and began to undo his shirt.

“To… to show you.”

“Show me what?” Her
hands finally undid his shirt and she reached for the buttons on his
pantaloons. His hand stopped her.

“Don’t you see?” He
gripped her hands tightly. “I couldn’t say it —the words mean… meant nothing to
me. I couldn’t say it, so I had to… to show you.”

“Show me what?” she
said softly.

“That I—” He stopped.
“Damn it, you know what I am trying to tell you.”

She shook her head
gently.

“No, Magnus, I don’t
know.”

“That I… I… Oh, curse
it, that I love you, of course!” he said gruffly.

Tallie scrambled up
on the bed and knelt facing him.

“Oh, Magnus! Oh,
Magnus!” And she flung herself into his arms.

After some time he
said, “I know we cannot make love at this stage of your confinement, but… do
you think…? I want to touch you here.”

His hand cupped the
curly thatch at the base of her stomach.

Tallie blushed and
shook her head happily.

“I’m sure it will be
all right… if you want to.”

His eyes darkened
into the brooding sea-grey darkness she had never thought to see again.

“I do want to.” He
lowered his head to the curls.

Tallie’s jaw dropped.

“Magnus, what are you—?”
She gasped. Then she gasped again. Then she gave a little wriggle, an ecstatic
little wriggle.

“Ohhh… Magnus…”

A lady sits gazing
out over the rolling fields of green to the deep, dark woods beyond. Her
smooth, pale unfreckled brow is wrinkled with worry —nay, more than worry; it
is fear she feels, fear for her loved ones. For in that dark and dangerous
forest lurk a hundred unknown hoards —raging torrents, fierce beasts and
dreadful monsters. And her loved ones are there, on a Quest. All for the sake
of her unworthy self. The Lady hangs her head.

A faint, plaintive
cry causes her to raise her head like a startled doe. She lays a hand on the
innocent babe slumbering at her elbow and whispers, “Fear not, my darling. Our
brave and gallant knights will return unharmed from their Quest, I am sure of
it. My Knight has been on a Quest before, you know —a terrible, long, dangerous
Quest— with danger at every turn —bold, green-eyed banditti, ungentlemanly
enemy soldiers and slavering wolves. But my Knight returned, triumphant and
unharmed, or only a little harmed —just a flesh wound which healed very
quickly. And he was must dreadfully thin and gaunt… but still, he was unharmed.
So, you see, you need not fear for him, my precious, for he is s-f0” and brave.”

The baby gurgles
again and the Lady bends to her. “It was the most wonderful Quest in the world
you see, for he did it to win his Lady. Only the Lady was already his, heart
and soul. But his Quest was for you as well, my darling, did you know that? For
do you know what my Brave and Gallant Knight brought back from the wilds of the
terrible
Alps
? He brought our own little
knight, your uncle Ricardo, rescued him from Durance Vile. Wasn’t that a
wonderful Quest to make —better than finding a silly old Grail, don’t you agree?”

The Lady turns her
head and stares at the darkening woods. It is getting very late and she wishes
her Knight would return from his latest Quest soon. And when he does he will
stride up to her on his long, handsome legs and bend over her and kiss her,
saying, “Oh, my beloved one, I have returned to you. Tallie, my dearest love…”

“Tallie, we’re back,
sweetheart,” said Magnus. “Were you asleep?”

“No, I—”

“Look, Tallie, I
catch you three enormous fish —three!” Ricardo shouted excitedly. “And this one
on the very first cast. Magnus never catch not even one. Me —I catch
everything! All by myself. Look!” He brandished three large, glistening, very
dead fish in her face. Their eyes stared glassily at her, their innards gaped
hollowly.

Tallie shuddered.

“How absolutely
clever of you, Ricardo. Now take them around to Cook at once.”

“Cook!” exclaimed
Ricardo scornfully.

“Cook does not know
how to cook Carlotta’s fish stew! Cook just boil fish in salt water and call it
cooking.” He snorted with fine Italian contempt. “Gino, he has garlic and herbs
and oil and wine —Gino will make it just how you remember it— only better, he
says.”

Tallie nodded,
wishing she had never mentioned how she would love to taste Carlotta’s fish
stew just once more.

“Then take it away to
Gino at once, my love, I beg of you, or you will be dripping water on your
little niece.”

“She doesn’t mind, do
you, cara?” said Ricardo, pushing aside Magnus, who was tickling the baby’s
chin.

“You named her after
the water, no? Little Marina, the water baby.” He bent over the baby and
whispered to her in Italian, then announced, “I will teach her to fish and swim
next year, when she is older.”

“Oh, but—” began
Tallie.

“Whatever you like,
Richard, but take those fish to Gino now!” interrupted Magnus.

“Not Richard —Ricardo,”
retorted Ricardo automatically, and grinned at Magnus cheekily. But he took the
fish off, whistling. In the six months since he had been in
England
he had
become a new boy, filling out and shooting up like a healthy young weed. And without
a trace of the fear and suspicion he had brought with him. Tallie watched him
go, her heart full. His adoptive mother must have loved him, too, or he would
not have recovered so quickly from his ordeals. He was her bad, merry boy
again.

“I should have fed
that boy to the wolves when I had the chance,” said Magnus gruffly.

“Oh, no, how can you
say it?” said Tallie reproachfully. “What has he done to annoy you now? Oh, I
cannot like his plan to teach
Marina
how to swim —it is not at all proper for a little girl, but—”

Magnus covered her
mouth with his own.

“He kept me from
doing this,” he said, and kissed her again. He lifted her out of her seat and
sat down again, with her resting in his lap. “I come home from a day’s fishing
with a chattering bagpipe of a boy and find my beautiful wife dreaming in the
sunshine. What were you dreaming of, my love?”

Tallie smiled
blissfully at him.

“Of my brave and
gallant Knight, of course.”

Magnus sat up
straight, almost tipping her from his lap.

“What knight?” he
said ominously. “I didn’t know you knew any knights. Who the devil is this
blasted knight?”

“My very own Sir
Galahad,” she said softly, caressing his cheek. “A dear, brave, wonderful,
occasionally mutton-headed Knight. I sometimes call him Magnus.”

She lifted her mouth
and he devoured it in a way that sent shivers of delight through her body. The
hunger was never far away for either of them.

“I’ve got news for
you, my love,” said Magnus after a time. “It may come as a shock to you.” His
voice was deadly serious.

“What is it?” She
scanned his face anxiously.

“I’m not your Knight,
you know.”

“Yes, you are my
Knight,” she reassured him.

“I am not,” he
growled, his grey eyes dancing wickedly. “I’m your Earl.” And he planted his
mouth on hers.