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’Twas a terrible thing to be infatuated with his lord’s future wife.
“She will never know, Paris,” he said softly. “No matter what. Do you understand me?” “I will take the information with me to my grave,” Paris replied. “You know that she feels as you do.” William’s heart skipped a beat. “Why do you say that?” Paris smiled. “I have been watching her,”
He knew he would never have her, but he could not go to his grave not knowing how sweet she tasted. It was as wrong as it could possibly be, a betrayal of all he stood for as a knight, as de Longley’s most trusted warrior, but he didn’t care. He had to taste her. With his free hand, he grasped her under the chin and pulled her around to face him. His hand enveloped half of her head, her silk
“English,” she said faintly. “Legally I may never belong to ye, but ye will always have my heart. I swear it.” He exhaled heavily, with sorrow, and turned to her. “As you will always have mine,” he whispered. It had taken nearly all of his energy to say it.
