by Alexa Aston
“You look like a princess!” exclaimed Lina.
A light tap sounded at the door and then Lord Gregory poked his head in. A brilliant smile broke out on his face as he entered.
“I came looking for my daughter but only see a princess,” he said.
“Oh, Father, do I really look like a princess?” Lora asked. “Both you and Lina think so.”
“You do, my dearest. So does that make me a king?” he teased.
All three of them laughed at his wit.
“It’s time to go,” he told them, holding out his arm.
Lora took it and they proceeded to the Netherfield chapel, where a large crowd had gathered. Lord Gregory escorted Lora to the front steps, where Richmond waited with the Netherfield priest. Jessimond and Lina stopped a few paces away and Lina reached for Jessimond’s hand, holding it tightly.
As the ceremony proceeded, Jessimond’s thoughts rambled far away to other happy times in her family, and other weddings she’d witnessed. Her parents were the picture of wedded bliss after decades of marriage, and each of her five siblings had been blessed to find their soul mate. Jessimond struggled with being the only unwed de Montfort, knowing she’d found love and lost it so cruelly.
The assembled group moved inside for the mass. As the priest droned on, her belly knotted painfully. Her head hurt. Her heart ached. In that moment, Jessimond had never been more miserable. She dreaded what a future without Marcus held and wondered what she should do with her life.
Once more, the people moved from the chapel to the bailey and into the keep. Jessimond found herself swept up in the crowd as everyone journeyed to the feast awaiting them in the great hall. She went to take her place on the dais with the other family members. Lora and Richmond sat in the center. Before Jessimond could take a seat, the smell of venison assaulted her nose. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably and she had to swallow hard to keep the bile from coming up.
Without warning, she felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. A sudden clarity descended upon her. With that understanding came fear.
She was with child.
Chapter 26
September, 1396
Marcus pulled on the reins and brought Storm to a halt. He stared at the castle in the distance.
Kinwick. Where Jess lived.
He closed his eyes and could see her image even now. The porcelain skin and thick, golden blond hair. Her tiny waist and enticing curves. Those large, amethyst eyes that he could get lost in. A lump formed in his throat.
It had been a year since he’d seen her. Touched her. Tasted her. A year of abject misery—though he hadn’t let anyone see it. Marcus had been what he hoped was the most industrious baron Hartefield had ever known. He knew every tenant and servant by name. Trained daily with his soldiers. Kept meticulous records of the harvest and livestock. Played with Livia and told her stories as he put her to bed each night, making sure she knew she was well loved.
Then spent his sleepless nights thinking of Jess and how much he’d hurt her. Would she take him back—now that he was free?
He would soon find out.
Marcus opened his eyes and tamped down the fear that raced through him. What if she refused to come with him? Or the earl said Jess must remain at Kinwick?
Then what?
He couldn’t think of any outcome other than one which consisted of Jess in his arms within the next hour. Marcus would tell her over and over how much he still loved her between passionate kisses. He sent another silent prayer to the Virgin, pleading for Her intercession. Though he’d never been much for prayers, Marcus had kept up a constant conversation with the Holy Mother for days, hoping she would take pity on him.
Nudging Storm’s flanks, the horse continued on the last league of their journey. He arrived at the gates of Kinwick after passing workers harvesting grain in the fields and identified himself, expressing his interest in speaking with the earl on urgent business. Granted entrance, he was directed to the stables, where he left Storm before starting out for the keep.
Marcus crossed the bailey and paused a moment when he saw a familiar couple at a well. Peter glistened with the sweat of hard labor as Agatha, her belly swollen with a coming child, held the ladle to his lips. He approached them, uncertain of the reception he would receive.
Agatha spied him first and gasped, dropping the ladle. “Marcus! I mean, my lord.”
Peter wheeled to face Marcus, his hands bunching into fists. He took two steps forward and slammed one of them into Marcus’ nose. Marcus stumbled back from the powerful blow but did nothing to defend himself.
When Peter’s arm went back again, Agatha jumped and pulled it down.
“Nay. Stop, Peter,” she begged.
He glared at Marcus. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come for Jess.” He paused and wiped a dribble of blood from under his nose. “I will speak to your father, of course, but I know I must also talk with the earl and compensate him for the loss of a valuable servant.”
“Good luck with that.” Peter spat on the ground, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Marcus with contempt.
“Lord Geoffrey should be finishing up in the training yard this time of day,” Agatha volunteered. “You can find him there.” She looked at Peter. “I’ll go to the keep and tell the countess they have a guest.” She lifted her skirts and raced off.
After she left, Marcus said, “I am sorry, Peter. For everything.”
“You’ll get no forgiveness from me.”
“I admire your loyalty to your sister. Somehow, I will make it up to her. And you. My offer still stands. You and Agatha are welcome to come live at Hartefield. You can serve in whatever capacity you choose.”
Peter walked off without another word. Marcus watched him go to a nearby blacksmith’s shed. He lifted a hammer and began pounding it against an empty anvil. He supposed Peter imagined Marcus’ head on the block.
Turning, he headed toward the training yard. As he neared it, soldiers began streaming past him, the end of their day done. Marcus waited patiently and finally saw an imposing man with dark hair now streaked with gray was the last to leave the field. Though close to three score, he looked as if he could take on a man a third his age—and be victorious in their encounter.
“Lord Geoffrey?” he asked.
“Aye? Who might you be, my lord?”
“I am Marcus de Harte, Baron of Harteley. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
The nobleman’s demeanor changed in an instant. A scowl darkened his still handsome face. “Haven’t you already done enough harm? Leave my estate. Now,” the earl commanded.
“I cannot, my lord,” Marcus insisted. “I need to speak to you. About Jess.”
“Why would you come here after so long a time and stir up trouble, man? Have you no sense of decency?” Waves of anger poured off the earl.
“I am here for Jess, my lord. If she’ll have me, I wish to wed her.”
Astonishment filled the older man’s face. He took a long breath and exhaled. “Come to my solar. I make all important decisions with my wife.”
With that, Lord Geoffrey strode away. Marcus followed him, keeping a short distance between them. They passed Peter again, who continued slamming his hammer down with purpose.
Arriving at the keep, the two men mounted the stairs leading up to it. Lord Geoffrey pushed open the door, Marcus trailing behind him. Once in the hallway outside the great hall, he saw Agatha rush down a staircase that he assumed led to the bedchambers and solar.
“My lord, Lady Merryn awaits you and Lord Marcus in the solar.”
“Thank you, Agatha.”
Geoffrey de Montfort mounted the stairs, Marcus keeping pace. The earl ventured down a long hallway until he reached its end and pushed the door open. Entering behind Lord Geoffrey, Marcus saw a striking, older woman with incredibly blue eyes, sitting as regally as any queen ever had. She must have been the great beauty of her day for she still was impressive even now.
M
arcus crossed the large room to where she sat and took her hand.
“My lady.” He kissed her fingers. “I am Marcus de Harte, Baron of Harteley.” He released her hand and stepped back.
Lord Geoffrey had gone to stand behind his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. Lady Merryn reached up and took it as she assessed Marcus.
“Have a seat, my lord.”
He took a chair opposite the couple. “I have come to Kinwick to ask your permission for Jess Gilpin, one of your valued servants, to leave your property. I know she looks after your grandchildren and will be hard to replace. I will amply compensate you for her absence from Kinwick and even pay for her replacement. If you agree, my lord, I will seek out her father and ask his permission for her hand in marriage.”
The couple glanced at one another and back at him.
“It is my understanding that you are already wed, Lord Marcus,” Lady Merryn began.
“I was, my lady. My wife—Lady Ailith—passed away several days ago.”
“And you came straight here?” Lord Geoffrey asked.
“I did.” Marcus swallowed. “I fell in love with Jess last summer when we both toured with the mummers. I had no idea my father had betrothed me to another woman. I did my duty and wed Lady Ailith, but I never lay with her. That would have been the worst betrayal to Jess.”
“Your wife accepted that arrangement?” the noblewoman inquired.
“Aye. I shared with her how much I loved Jess. Lady Ailith knew Jess since she had tended to her when she had the measles, though Ailith never truly recovered from that illness. I was informed that, often, those who survive bouts of it go blind or have a weakened heart. My wife’s heart was severely affected by the high fever she’d experienced. Ailith kept to her bed this past year and had little strength. She finally slipped away. Her last words thanked me for caring for her daughter and urged me to go to Jess.”
Marcus stood. “I know I broke Jess’ heart for my own has been torn in two ever since we parted. I have done my duty to my family and my people, but every breath I take has been one of sorrow and pain. My lord, my lady, if I do not have Jess in my life, I’m not sure I can go on living. I’ll do anything you ask but I must have her. I want to make her happy once again. Give her children of her own.
“I promise to spend the rest of my life making up to her all the wrongs I’ve done. Jess will be the most treasured wife in all of England. Nay, the entire world,” he said with vehemence.
Lady Merryn gasped. She looked to her husband. “Geoffrey?”
Lord Geoffrey smiled. “Jessimond will make her own decision. ’Tis not one we can make for her, my love.”
He turned to Marcus. “My daughter is in our bedchamber.” He waved a hand toward an open door.
Marcus took a few steps before stopping in his tracks. “Your . . . daughter?” he asked hoarsely, looking from Lord Geoffrey to Lady Merryn and back.
“Aye,” the earl replied. “Jessimond is our youngest child.”
“Jess is . . . a de Montfort,” he said, trying to comprehend the words. “The daughter of one of England’s most powerful families.”
“She is. A strong woman with a mind of her own,” Lady Merryn said with a smile. “I know—because I raised her that way.”
Marcus looked hopefully to the door Lord Geoffrey had indicated. Jess—nay, Jessimond—was inside that chamber. With the door ajar, she must have heard their entire conversation.
And yet she’d remained hidden.
That didn’t bode well. Still, Marcus hadn’t come all this way to face defeat. He straightened his shoulders, determined that she would be his. Whatever it took.
“If you will excuse me,” he told the couple and strode across the room, pausing in the doorway.
Jess sat in a chair beside the door, a babe in her arms. Marcus’ first thought was that she looked lovelier than the Madonna holding the Christ child. He gathered up every ounce of courage he had and stepped through the archway and closed the door behind him. Their conversation would be for them alone.
She looked up at him, those amethyst eyes swimming with tears.
Marcus had practiced what he would say to her throughout the entire ride to Kinwick but now seeing her, every word fled. Finally, he asked, “Which de Montfort grandchild is this?”
“The newest one,” she replied, her gaze locked on his. “Mine. This babe is mine. I’m a de Montfort and so is Margaret. I named her after your mother.”
He heard what she said but merely stood there, looking from her to the babe and back.
“You . . . had a child? Our child?”
Jess nodded and smiled down at the sleeping girl. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Marcus fell to his knees, great sobs escaping his chest. His head rested in her lap. His hands clutched the material of her cotehardie. Vaguely, he heard the door open as he wept.
“I’ll take her,” Lady Merryn said.
Jess handed the infant over and the noblewoman left the room. Marcus felt Jess’ hands as they began lightly stroking his hair. Her gentle touch made him cry all the harder.
Raising his tearstained face, he said, “How can I ever make it up to you?”
“By loving me,” she said simply. “I have never stopped loving you.”
Jess leaned toward him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
The heavy burden Marcus had carried for a year floated away like a cloud. He came to his feet, bringing Jess with him. His arms came about her as he teased her lips apart. Their tongues met. Marcus poured everything of himself into the kiss as their passion flared. He wanted the kiss to tell her how sorry he was. How much he needed her forgiveness. How he’d longed for her day and night. It went on and on. Time ceased to exist. Only he and Jess existed in this world of two.
Nay, three. The babe made them three.
Marcus broke the kiss and rested his brow against hers, reluctant to part from her.
“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked hoarsely.
“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” she replied.
He cradled her face tenderly. “I abandoned you. You gave birth to our child alone. I should have been there.”
She brushed her lips against his. “You will be there for the rest, Marcus. I’m sure we will have many more babes. After all, I will need to provide an heir to Hartefield, won’t I?”
He kissed her again and again, one kiss melting into the next.
Breaking away so they could catch their breaths, he asked, “What am I to call you? Jess? Jessimond?”
She gave him a radiant smile. “I rather like Wife,” she declared.
Marcus beamed at her. “I shall call you all three, my love. And I will be at your side each time you give birth. We will never be parted again, I swear. My life is yours, Jessimond. My precious, precious love.”
He kissed her deeply, reveling in her taste and the feel of her in his arms. Finally, he pulled back. “I would like to hold our daughter now.”
Jessimond took his hand and led him from the bedchamber. Her parents sat in the next room, Lady Merryn cradling her youngest granddaughter.
Marcus released Jessimond’s hand and asked, “May I hold her?”
“Of course,” the noblewoman replied. “She is the sweetest tempered babe in our family. Just as her mother was.”
He took the sleeping bundle and drew her to his chest. Suddenly, the babe’s eyes opened and stared at him with interest.
“’Tis your father, Margaret,” he choked out, his eyes blurring with tears. “I’ve come to claim you and your mother and bring you home.”
Marcus began walking around the solar with the babe as she cooed at him. His heart swelled with love and spilled over. Jessimond came and joined him, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm and leaning her head against him.
“Isn’t she lovely?” she asked.
“She is the most perfect babe ever,” he said.
A knock sounded on the chamber door and Lord Geoffrey bade them to enter.
A servant stepped in and said, “Lady Jessimond’s father is here. Shall I bring him up?”
Marcus’ jaw dropped as Lady Merryn instructed the servant to send him up. “I thought Lord Geoffrey was your father.”
Jessimond grinned. “Oh, you have much to catch up on, Marcus.”
He kissed the tip of Margaret’s nose. “I will enjoy every moment of it. Because I will be with the two women I love now and forever.”
Chapter 27
Marcus dressed in the wedding finery Jessimond had sewn for him, first putting on the new gypon and cotehardie and then topping them off with a formal houppelande. She’d heavily embroidered the high neck of this rust-colored outer garment, which struck the floor. It had full, flaring sleeves and hung in large folds that Jessimond had lined with fur. Marcus had never possessed such fine garb and thought his outfit a work of art.
He combed his dark hair and calmed the nerves skittering through him. They weren’t doubts regarding his upcoming marriage, but rather his wish to please and impress the hordes of de Montforts and their many relatives, who had descended upon Kinwick over the past week. Just when he thought he had remembered the right names and titles and could associate them with the correct individuals, someone new would arrive and confuse him all over again. Still, he’d enjoyed getting to know Jess’ large, extended family and couldn’t wait to add to their own.
Little Margaret already had him dancing to her tune. At three months, she was beginning to smile often and blow bubbles, which entertained her—and him—to no end. Marcus already thought her the most clever child in the world. He and Jessimond had discussed how they wanted to add to their brood. That would start after their wedding feast ended.
Mayhap even before.
Since he’d arrived at Kinwick two weeks ago, Marcus had refrained from touching Jess beyond holding her hand and stealing a few heated kisses. He’d spent countless nights over the past year recalling every curve of her lush body. His fingers ached to skim that satin skin once again.