The thought that she could have his child released a flood of lust in him. It shot through his spine, a rush of blood and an animal desire to thrust himself inside her. He pulled away from her mouth, pressing his face to her throat, gulping air, stunned at the pleasure it gave him to think of putting a child in her.

He could not. Not tonight. One day, and he took a brief moment to say a blasphemous prayer it might be soon.

She moved a hand restlessly in his hair, her body straining upward, her legs open beneath him. He opened his mouth over her throat, her heartbeat on his lips, and pushed himself inside her heat.

She was bliss. She was heaven gasping beneath him, pulsing around him. He moved in her, his thumb on her to rouse her excitement to the utmost, following the sounds of her pleasure until she was writhing. Her release came hard and fast and lasted an infinity while he held himself still, committing it all to memory – the sight, the feel, the sound of her ecstasy. When he could hold himself at the brink no longer, he pulled himself out of her warmth, groaning, and spilled his seed on her belly.

One day. A child with her, one day. Plain Nan and a common Welshman. Soon, God willing. But not yet.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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Nan did not sleep. No matter what he or her lady said, she could only envision the king’s men arriving in force to drag him away with evil intent. When she whispered as much, he said that if men did come for him, they would not do him violence but only escort him to the king.

It eased her fear enough for now. She turned on her side to let his body cradle hers as she watched the lamp burn through the little oil it held. His breath was steady, his limbs heavy, and she hoped he slept. The dagger was still in her hand, her fingers loosely curled around the sheath. She watched the light play off it, and knew it should not be so difficult to let go.

He would be a common man. Not a prince. It was what he wanted. It would save his life.

She tried to imagine it. Likely he would never see, as she did, all the little things that marked him as better. She thought of how Aunt Mary had been in awe of the falcon, so beautiful and valuable, and how she had looked at the Welshman when he spoke his fine words. Then he had fetched water from the well, and repaired a crumbling wall, and slept on the floor, humble as any servant.