In Which Dalston Takes a Second Bite

January 16, 1157

Dalston had not had quite had enough wine to completely clear his head, but unfortunately, it had been more than what was necessary to fill it. Not for the first time tonight, he wondered about Celina and the baby. Seeing his sister-in-law, who was at about the same stage in her pregnancy, had been the catalyst that had sped his worries. Renata, of course, was as healthy as always--would Arkon have brought her had she not been?--but she had always been a much stronger, more willful woman than his delicate darling. Perhaps Lina was ill. Perhaps his love and their baby were in danger.

He knew he was being irrational, as she had been perfectly fine when he left, but he couldn't help it; he would not feel better until he saw her again, alive and well, curled up in his arms with the strawberry scent of her hair rushing into his nostrils.

Hoping he would be able to sleep in his troubled state, he made his way to the far side of the bed and settled himself in. Back in his bachelor days, he would have immediately gravitated to the near side, because it was so much more convenient, but that was the side that Celina liked, so he had grown used to sleeping on the other side every night. Going to the near side would have been to admit that she would not join him tonight.

Oh, how he prayed that she would rest easy tonight! She needed her sleep, with the new baby on the way, and Lorn to take care of, as well as the added burden of Sparron and Jeda. Celina would have to sleep--she would have to sleep for him, as he doubted he himself would.

Then, as if it were a sign, the door swung open, then slammed shut.

He knew it could not have been his beloved wife, but he could not resist checking to see if it was anyway. As he was sure he would be, he was sorely disappointed; there was no way that those golden curls could have belonged to chestnut-haired Lina.

"Geneva?" he groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she answered softly. "I wondered if anyone else was still awake."

Dalston nodded. "Most of the men are still up drinking, but it's not a scene for a lady like yourself. Go back to bed, Geneva."

"But I can't sleep," his cousin insisted once more, "and you can't either."

He sighed; he had a sneaking suspicion as to why she was here, and it was really the last thing he needed right now. "What do you want, Geneva?"

"The same thing you do," replied Geneva in a breathy whisper, "and don't pretend you don't."

"What...?"

"You're worried about your wife, aren't you?" she pried as she drew nearer; he tried to cringe, but found he could not.

"Geneva, you should go..."

"You need a distraction," Geneva continued, ignoring his soft pleas. "Poor, sweet Celina... the worry is too much for you, isn't it?"

How dare she say Celina's name! The nerve of this woman! Never was a pair of lips so unworthy of those three syllables--were he in his right mind, he would shove her to the wall and watch as she crumbled to the floor.

"She'll be just fine," she declared reassuringly, gently stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "You don't need to worry about her, Dalston. She's perfectly safe."

Unlike me, he added to himself.

He took her wrist in his hand and pushed her arm back toward her. "Please don't touch me, Geneva. I'm married, remember?"

"So am I," she reminded him.

"This is wrong."

"The only thing wrong here is you, Dalston," she teased as she placed one hand on his waist; he was painfully aware of the cold touch of her wedding band.

He could not do this. He could not worry about two women at once; he could barely deal with worrying about one! The way he saw it, he had two choices--he could either forget about Lina and send Geneva away, putting her in her place, or he could just ignore this woman, and allow himself to wallow in his longing for his faraway love.

Oh, Lina! Sweet, beautiful Celina! Images of her flashed quickly before his eyes--her face, her hair, her naked body. How he wished it was she he was kissing... but no, he could only pretend.

And so he did. He pretended it was her lips his were meeting, her tongue swirling about his mouth, her throat he was sliding his own down...

"Gen--ee--va!" he hissed as they parted. "Go back to your room; I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," argued Geneva stubbornly.

"No!" he exclaimed as she pulled off her nightgown and tossed it to the side. "Put that back on and leave, and be thankful for the fact that I won't be telling Roderick about this."

All she did was laugh. "Dalston, if it makes it easier for you, you can close your eyes and pretend I'm her. You know me; I don't mind at all."

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