AN: Thank you all for letting me know your thoughts. I'm grateful you are reading this fic.

Part 20

He could have been caught right there, in this pretense of being less than the man he was. But for her he would do anything. It was proof of insanity, therefore, that he urged the horse towards the French guards who were tasked to accompany her just as the Spanish escorts fell off at the border.

The captain of the guard gestured him over, and Chuck jumped off his horse, the black cape swirling around his legs, impeding quick movement. Carter only ever used the black cape for the sanctuary of the disguise. It could not be the ease of movement. When the guard asked him for his name, Chuck slid a hand to his pocket and the front of the cape fell away.

It revealed a singular brooch, a rose medallion, pinned to the inner lining. Without another question, the captain waved him through.

Chuck looked towards the carriage and saw the parted curtain, found Blair watching, and managed a smile. Her lips curved at his assurance, and when the curtain drew back down he sighed in relief.

The crossing to Paris was much easier than the travel across Spain. Along the countryside there were more inns, more travel lodges, and the rest became more frequent. From afar he watched, and every time the travel party broke for a meal, he studied her face, her stance, the way she moved. She was exhausted from the travel. Rightly so. If he remembered the only time she traveled so far was the move to the Vanderbilt keep, and then to Northumbria, eventually to London. And even then it had taken years in between. Since their marriage she had crossed the Channel and through kingdoms.

So in respite, when nighttime came and the guards were asleep, Chuck made his way to her rented chambers and kissed away the torturous miles.

"You are weary," he said against the wet hair at her temple, when he chanced upon her in the bath. He took the towel from her pruned hand and gently rubbed away the dust of the road.

She was no longer surprised at his presence, in fact expected him to arrive. In the dark of the night, she stayed up now to wait. Because he ever came, whether the moon was out or hidden. "So are you," she answered. Her wet hand rose from the bathwater, droplets dripping like silver rain from the tips of her fingers. Her hand rested on his thigh, firm and sore from the weeks of riding. "How unused you are to riding astride a horse for so long."

A courtier, after all, rode for hunting, for tournaments. And for stretches of travel he had the fine carriage that he had used to take her to court.

He knelt at the side of the tub, and leaned close to capture her lips for a kiss. "Better sore than adrift in the Channel, wondering when I should see your face again."

She murmured deep in her throat, in pleasure, in response to the kiss. "You only need to close your eyes."

"To dream of you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

And then he rose, leaning over her, her body looming over the bathwater. "I would rather a battered body and hold you, than in a cold bed dreaming."

And every night, it had become a ritual. He threw the windows open, removed the boards from every chamber in every lodge she rested. At night, the whole world became their own. Within the four corners of strange, rented rooms, he was her husband and she his wife.

Halfway on the road to Paris, he came to her when she was too exhausted to move. And so he helped her roll to her stomach and worked her muscles with fingers trained by the finest, just as he and Nathaniel Archibald had learned from paid women during the years they were away for college. An hour into the session, when she was half-asleep she turned on her back and pulled him to her, kissed his mouth with gentle prodding of her mouth. When she reached between them to hold him, he caught her wrist and shook his head.

"Come, my lord. It's night," she said with hushed urgency.

"You have no strength for me tonight," Chuck told her, in a gentle lecture, a soft denial.

"We cannot miss one night," she told him, as if it were a crime. "We have lost so many nights together, since we wed," Blair reminded him.

He rested on the bed beside her, then turned to face her. "And more than made up for lost time since the churchyard, Blair."

"I care not," she insisted stubbornly. "I need you, my lord."

She rested back on the bed, her hair forming a dark halo around her head. He covered her body with his and he kissed her eyelids. Chuck shook his head when he saw her half-lidded eyes. Her hands grasped his arms. He kissed a trail across her jawbone. She released her breath through her parted lips, and he kissed down her throat a trail down between the valley of her breasts.

Her fingers buried in his hair. Chuck felt her legs move to cradle his body. He moved lower, and his hands tangled in the hem of her nightgown. He looked up and saw his wife fast asleep, with her lips curved in pleasure. He was straining since the touch of her hand. Chuck shook his head and instead buried his nose one last time against her mound to breathe her scent, and pressed a gentle kiss upon the inside of her thigh.

Then he climbed back up and drew her into his embrace. Her arm moved to wrap around his waist, and he hiked her thigh over his hip. He could not bury himself inside her tonight, but the warm cradle of body provided gentle comfort to his.

Since Blair had been exhausted most times he had seen her, Chuck took it upon himself to care of his wife in a fashion he had not done since the early days of school with Nathaniel. He had spent too long in the court and knew he could not do it himself anymore, but he drew a few precious coins from the pocket of Baizen's black cape and found a servant boy from the lodge to do the deed.

They were in a bustling town, and the plan had been set up and executed perfectly. Blair's party converged at the stable for the next day of travel. Within moments the captain of the guard called off the day and sent everyone back to the inn.

He was waiting in her room when she returned. The moment she saw him, her eyebrows rose. Her lips quivered and finally settled into a smile.

"Countess," he greeted her, lying back on the bed with his upper body raised by his elbows, "is anything amiss?"

She reached for the ribbon of her cloak, and he stood and walked over to her and took the edges into his fingers. He tugged at the ends and the cloak fluttered to the ground. She grinned, then told him, "A broken wheel and axel on my carriage, which seemed strong yesterday."

"How unexpected," he added.

She nodded. "It seems it would take a day to replace. The captain heartily apologizes."

"An entire day?" he repeated. "What a shame. You would have nothing to do for an entire day than sleep until noon, perhaps venture out into the town. There is a carnival today, and much for trade." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep through the morning. Perhaps you may run into some kind stranger come noon."

When he moved to leave, she caught her hand.

"Come sleep," she invited. "You have been as tired as I."

"Go on, my love," he told her. "There is business to take care of."

~o~o~o~

When the sun was high up in the sky, right above their heads, Blair ventured out of the lodge in a plan green frock. She pinned up her hair in a bun at her nape, then drew her cloak over her head. The guards were occupied at the stables, determining how best to fix the wheel. She slipped towards the street and made her way to the bustling marketplace.

Chuck was right. The wares were plenty and unique. As she waited for him to find her, Blair spotted a shop with folded cloth than glowed under the sun. She picked up the hem of her skirt and made her way towards it.

"Silk from the Orient," the man said.

Blair's lips parted, and she knelt in front of a bronze wrap. She reached out a hand to touch it. The man caught her wrist.

"The cloth is soft, sinfully smooth, cool to the skin," he stated.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Let me touch it."

The man's eyes flickered from her head to her toe, then shook his head. "No need."

Her chin thrust up. "How much is it?"

At the question, the man was amused. He gave a loud guffaw, and Blair flushed. She backed away from the stall and blinked away tears of humiliation. When she felt the first teardrop track down her cheek, she hurriedly reached up to brush it away. When she turned the corner, she found herself standing in front of another stall of trinkets.

She should have learned from the other stall. Yet Blair had accepted before that she was weak. This was but one of the ways. Unfortunately for her, she was far too attracted to clothing and jewelry. It was dismal, because her father disapproved of such lavish displays of wealth, and Bartholomew's Northumbria had been so far north it did not matter.

The trinkets were cheap metal and semi-precious stone, but even then with the utter lack of possessions she had taken with her in the travel to France, they appeared more beautiful. Blair spied a particular piece of interest when she saw the bronze butterfly ring.

"There you are," she heard his voice.

Blair placed the ring back and spun around. There were none of the soldiers, none of Philip and Isabella's eyes in the crowd. She broke into a large smile, different under the afternoon sun. "Why, there's the stranger I have been waiting for," she greeted.

Chuck nodded, then stepped forward and offered her his hand.

Not since Elizabeth's court had he held her hand before anyone else. She eagerly tangled their fingers together. She felt so exposed when no one else was looking. No one else knew. No one would ever wonder why. To the rest of the crowd in the busy marketplace, they were nameless and no one.

In her exhilaration she grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him down for a long kiss.

When her lips parted from his she whispered, "Everyone can see."

"Everyone can see," he repeated, gruff, unprotesting.

Her hands locked at his nape and she drew him back down and kissed him more deeply. She pressed up her body against his, and even delighted at the giggles and the cheers, even the jeers around them. "Everyone can see," she gasped.

She felt his straining manhood against her stomach, and felt the heavy wetness between her thighs.

"We are not retiring to the inn," he whispered to her. "We can hide ourselves in the night, Blair, but this—" His hand wrapped around hers and he pulled her with him back towards the shop of the trinkets. "We shall replace it with the family stone, with my mother's ring, when we reach home," he told her, as if reaching home was truly part of the plan. He slid the cheap bronze butterfly ring onto her finger.

Blair looked down at the pathetic piece of metal, and knew a single spoon in her old home cost more than the butterfly on her finger. Even so, her bronze ring grew more and more precious in her eyes. "Now I am truly wed," she said to him.

"To a bronze smith," he teased.

Chuck tugged at her hand and he walked with her towards the small piece of park where four presenters played with their various instruments, and jumped and danced for the people surrounding them. Elizabeth's minstrels were far better, more entertaining, cleaner and brighter in their costumes. But her husband found them a tree. Underneath Carter's black cape served as protection from the itchy grass. He drew out a small sack and took out a few pieces of bread, a small block of cheese and a bottle of wine.

"I shall have them air out Kenilworth, and in Warwick you shall have a feast," he told her.

There had been so many promises exchanged between them now. There had been far too many plans.

He opened the bottle of wine and it was thin and stale, far inferior to what Essex imported into England. Even then Blair took a mouthful and bit into the day old bread, closed her eyes as she swallowed like they were ambrosia and other heavenly delights. He laid back against the tree trunk, and she curled up beside him and used his arm as her pillow.

"Tell me about Warwick."

It had been such a test of their faith, the lands surrounding Warwick. And from her inheritance he took Kenilworth and a pasture land that more than doubled his herd. But her voice was faint and dreamy, and the request so clean, so devoid of any bitterness.

"Northumbria is a wilderness compared to Warwick," he told her, knowing about her love for the harsh moors and climate of his father's land, of the land he would someday inherit. But he wanted her to love his own land, his own name, and she could hear the need thrumming through his voice. "Kenilworth is the queen's beloved summer house. It is a large castle surrounded by a moat. It boasts of many love affairs, Blair—Simon de Montfort and Eleanor, the queen and Dudley. But," he paused, "Kenilworth is yours now. And they shall all pale in comparison to us."

She closed her eyes, imagined the castle in the vast land where animals roamed free. She imagined the moat, which could so easily keep the whole world away. Yes, she could live in Kenilworth. She rested the palm of her hand over his heart.

"There are summers when we can lie just like this and watch the clouds cross the sky," he said.

She imagined dark-haired little children lying over a bright blanket on either side of her and Chuck, pointing to formations in the clouds that neither she nor her husband could recognize.

But they were beautiful liars and they would say they did see the lambs, and the trees, and the faces of their grandparents on the clouds—to the delight of their little spawns.

Yes, she would live in Kenilworth and have all of it.

She heard the faint voice calling her name. She sought to ignore the intrusion, but the voice drew closer and closer every moment. Blair gasped, then sat up and saw Jenny Humphrey running towards them. Blair stumbled to her feet.

He caught her hand. "Stop."

Blair glanced back at Jenny, then at her husband. "No. I must meet her and draw her away. She can well get you killed, Chuck."

He shook his head. "We are far enough away from Philip. And I know Jenny," Chuck told Blair. "She committed a mistake. I will not disrupt this heaven for Jenny Humphrey." Chuck drew her back down to sit on the black cape.

A few more seconds, and Jenny would be upon them. Even as she tried, Blair could not settle back down against Chuck. The voice, the knowledge of the impending arrival, weighed heavy on her shoulders. When finally Jenny reached them wide-eyed, she gasped at the sight of Chuck Bass.

"I thought it was Carter Baizen!" she gasped. When Jenny moved close, Blair motioned for her to stop. Jenny's teart-filled eyes turned to Chuck in plea. "My lord, you must know how terribly sorry I am. I lie awake at night with horror at what I have done."

Blair's eyes narrowed at the girl, and she turned to her husband, daring him to forgive what she could not. Chuck drew a breath, then nodded at Blair. Jenny swallowed the rejection and turned to Blair. "My lady, it is time to return to the inn."

Before she left, Blair looked down at the butterfly ring on her finger. She rose on the tips of her toes and kissed his mouth. "Come to me tonight," she requested.

When he did, he came with a bowl of fruit that glistened still with water from the wash. Chuck locked the door behind him and saw her in the bed. Blair smiled in welcome, then threw back the covers and revealed to him that she was naked. Chuck walked forward, and so she did she. She met him halfway across the room. His hands settled on her bare hips. Her fingers worked on the laces of his doublet.

When his clothing dropped to the floor, Blair's arms rested on his shoulders. His hands cupped her buttocks and he lifted her up against him. Her thighs settled over his hips. With one hand he reached between them and positioned himself at her entrance. She bit her lip when she settled her body over him so when she slid down, he slid up and into her warm channel.

In Kenilworth, in Northumbria, in their chambers in Elizabeth's court, in the Tower, the garden shed in Isabella's church or wherever they found themselves in Paris. When he was inside her, pumping in a rhythm that was their own, spilling himself and coating her inner walls with his seed—where did not matter.

"Welcome home, my lord," she moaned into his ear.

tbc