by June Francis
Niall and Constance turned from their contemplation of the scene outside Master Wantsum’s hall window and looked at him with his wife on his arm. It was the afternoon of the same day, and they had not yet changed out of their fine clothes. ‘Oh, Father, it is so good to see you!’ cried Constance, starting forward to meet him. ‘I have missed you so.’
Guy caught hold of her hand and held her from him for a moment. His eyes went from her face to Niall’s behind her. ‘I would have thought, from all I’ve heard, that you would have been too busy to think of your aged parent,’ he said drily.
Constance moistened her mouth, but Niall moved to stand by her side. ‘I crave your forgiveness, sir. There was no time to ask for your daughter’s hand, but I swear that I shall always cherish her, and protect her with my life if need be.’ His bandaged hand sought Constance’s to clasp it firmly.
‘Very nicely said, Master O’More,’ stated Philippa with a smile. ‘Don’t you think so, Guy?’
‘I couldn’t ask for a better vow,’ murmured Guy, returning her smile, before facing Constance and Niall again. ‘But that is not to say that I approve of your behaviour towards my daughter, Master O’More.’ He paused, and stroked his cheek. ‘Still, I did not always behave circumspectly in my younger days, so I shall not judge you.’ He smiled austerely. ‘Now, Constance, you may kiss me. I consider in the circumstances — I believe Beatrice is going to have a feast to celebrate my being freed, and yours and Robin’s weddings — that you should both change out of your clothes,’ he groaned, ‘which have blood on them.’
Constance smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Father.’ She kissed him. ‘Your best blue houppelande too.’ Another kiss. ‘And I hope I do not upset you, but we need to borrow more clothes, for ours are in Ireland.’
‘I thought as much.’ Guy sighed, and rested his cheek against hers. ‘Philippa has put some clean garments in your chamber — but no more venturing while you wear them, or I doubt that I will forgive you!’ He released her. ‘Now go and change.’ She kissed him again, and suddenly too shy to look at Niall, although she allowed him to take her hand, she did as her father had told her.
‘I doubt if Richard even noticed my fine blue houppelande,’ said Niall, stripping it off carefully.
‘I noticed how well it became you,’ murmured Constance, deliberating what to say as she unfastened the scarlet gown. ‘But I was wrong to borrow father’s best houppelande for you to get blood on it. It’s ruined, I fear. It would not be so bad if it was Brandon’s blood, but ...’
Niall turned to look at her. ‘But ... ?’ There was something in her voice.
Her eyes met his. ‘But I don’t doubt that it is yours! Do you know how many times I have seen you bleeding?’ she said unsteadily. ‘How many times you get hurt? Such as the time you fought Sil, after rescuing me from the burial chamber. How did you know I was there, by the way?’
‘I believed that Sil took Brigid there when she went missing. I found her near there, if you remember?’ He sat beside her on the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Do you keep a count of the times I get hurt?’ He smiled slightly.
‘Of — Of course not.’ She presented him with her profile and undid another button. ‘But I know it’s more times than I like to remember. But — But to get back to Sil.’
‘I don’t want to talk about Sil.’ He caught her hand, holding it tightly. ‘I’d rather talk about us. We are going back to Ireland, aren’t we?’
Her throat moved, and her fingers curled inside his hand. ‘That depends on whether our marriage is lawful ... or not.’ She was finding it very difficult to get the words out, and really, she thought, it did not matter what he said, because she did not think she could let him go without her. She loved him too much to relinquish a life with him.
‘Do you mean because Dougal performed the ceremony on the island?’ He was suddenly pale. ‘You want to get out of it — is that what it is? Well, I won’t let you go, Constance.’ He pulled hard on her hand so that she fell against him. His arm went round her. ‘You’re mine, and I would not give you up to the devil himself! I said that it’s useful to have a holy man around, and if Dougal had not been taking Brigid to the convent, he might have been here to tell you that it was perfectly legal — but if you have any doubts, we’ll get married again.’ He rammed her hard against his body and she clung to him. Then he drew back slightly. ‘Remind me another time that there’s something I must tell you about Dougal.’ He bent his head to kiss her, but now she warded him off with both hands against his naked chest.
‘That wasn’t what I meant, Niall.’ There was a faint smile on her lips. ‘And, I suppose, if you feel so strongly about everything being legal, what Sil said couldn’t be true.’
His fair brows drew together and he rubbed his scar against her arm. ‘What did Sil say?’
‘That you were Milo’s father’s son.’ There it was, out, and she felt greatly relieved.
‘He said that? Are you sure?’ He grinned.
Constance wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m reasonably sure.’
‘Are you certain that he didn’t say that my mother was a whore who slept with an Englishman?’ He removed his hands from her chest and brought her close to him and pressed his cheek against hers. ‘Sil was always saying that to Dougal and me when we were young. And my mother did sleep with de Wensley. It’s Dougal who’s his son, not I.’
Constance’s eyes were shining like stars. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you doubt me, woman?’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I wasn’t born until three years after de Wensley fled. I think I remember my father, but I was only young when he died. He was fair. I look like him, so my mother told Dougal. Dougal’s like de Wensley — my foster-father swore to the likeness.’
Constance’s breath came out in a rush. ‘That’s a relief! I was afraid we might have to part.’ She rubbed gently at the hairs on his chest, not looking at him.
‘And you did not want — that?’ There was a deep note of tenderness in his voice. She shook her head. ‘What do you want, Constance O’More?’ His mouth teased her earlobe.
‘I — I want you to love me,’ she said shyly. ‘And for us to live happily in Ireland, breeding the best horses in all of Ireland and England.’ Her arms went about his waist.
‘That can be,’ he kissed her gently, ‘if you can love this barbarian, who knew as soon as he saw you riding out of the mist that you were the woman of his dreams.’ She pressed her body against his and planted kisses on his chin, nose and mouth. ‘You were terrible to me.’
‘I wanted to make sure that you’d never forget me.’ He pulled her down on top of him on the bed.
‘That’s so,’ she whispered, letting the passion within her flow out to him. ‘Was it not fated to be so?’
‘We are fated to live happily — that’s so,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Now kiss me, woman.’ And she kissed him.
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