Free A Man of Value by Anna Markland Page B

“I don’t ask for your love. Only that you agree to spend your life with me. I need you. Please say you’ll fill my need. I want no other—only you. Say you’ll become my wife. You need me.”
    What to do or say in reply? Her head throbbed as much as her heart. She was cold, and his body radiated heat. He alone had managed to break through the icy numbness in which she’d been encased for too long. The nuns had cast her out. She’d nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Now, suddenly, here was a man she’d been attracted to proposing marriage in the husky voice that beguiled her. She’d lain awake at nights trying to recall the sound of it. But what did he mean about knowing she needed him?
    How could he know about the Abbey?
    “How do you know my needs, Caedmon?” she asked suspiciously.
    He cupped her face in his warm hands. “I know you long for my touch, as I long for yours.”
    Oh God.
    “You long for my lips, as I long for yours.” He brushed his thumbs along her quivering lower lip. “You long for my body, as I long for yours.” He put his hands back on her shoulders and bent to kiss her, gently at first and then his tongue coaxed her lips. His mouth was warm in the chill air. She’d tried not to dream of his kiss. She couldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t kiss him, and didn’t know how to kiss. He licked the corners of her mouth, nibbled her bottom lip and kissed her again. “Open for me, Agneta,” he breathed.
    His words washed over her like a warm summer breeze and she was lost. Sighing, she opened to him and shyly put her arms around his neck, arching her body to his, tears streaming down her face. The hood slipped from her head.
    He licked the tears from her cheeks, and again put his hands on either side of her face, then ran his fingers lovingly through her hair. The sensation echoed in her toes.
    “I knew it. Your hair is brown—and short. It’s the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. “Agneta, please say aye .”
    She was relieved he’d uttered no words of love. It could never be a marriage of love. But he was right. They were attracted to each other. Perhaps that could take the place of love. “But where would we dwell, Caedmon? I could never live in Scotland.”
    “We’re bound for my manor in England. My mother tells me it’s a beautiful estate with five hides of good land and its own church. It earns a dependable income. It’s in Ruyton, in the Welsh Marches. We can ask the Abbot to wed us before we leave. When we get there, I’ll make myself known to my mother’s protector, the Earl of Ellesmere. Then he can be assured I’ve returned to take care of the manor myself.”
    Agneta felt like she was in the grip of mysterious illness, one that had dulled her brain. She was overwhelmed by many conflicting feelings. “I remember you told me a Norman earl is your mother’s protector.”
    “Aye. It seems strange, I know.”
    Suddenly something he’d said a few moments ago penetrated the fog. “You said we ?”
    “Aye. My mother is with me, and her maidservant, Enid. My friend, Leofric, isn’t far behind us with another family, the Brightmores. And we’ve travelled part of the way with two other families bound for Kent.”
    She had a man embracing her who was the embodiment of masculine beauty, a man who was what women dreamed a knight should be. He was begging her to marry him, but she understood, from what her mother had told her of men, that they were driven by needs different from a woman’s. Ragna Kirkthwaite had often boasted her husband still loved her and was faithful, even after the years and the birth of three children had taken their toll. But she’d cautioned Agneta not to expect that in a man. It was wise to be prepared for a man’s eye to wander, once he tired of his wife.
    She’d seen only the kind, gentle side of Caedmon, but he had the heart of a warrior. Look what he’d done at Bolton. Warriors were hardened