Claire gasped. “’Tis lovely.” She took the jewelry and inspected the expert craftsmanship.
“’Twas my mother’s,” said Fiona with a smile.
“But I cannot accept this.” Claire handed the necklace to Fiona. “’Tis yours to keep.”
“Nay, I have plenty of her jewelry. She would want you to have this.” Fiona looked to Ian. “You should have a part of her.”
“It does match your eyes, Claire,” said Ian, his voice unsteady.
How could she refuse Ian a part of his mother’s legacy? Claire draped the necklace around her neck and gripped the cross in her hand. “Thank you, Lady Fiona. I am most honored.”
Fiona wrapped Claire in a warm embrace. “You and Ian are well-matched. I shall pray for you two,” she whispered.
“Thank you.” Claire smiled at her new sister. Another addition to her ever-growing circle of friends and family of her heart.
“Shall we?” Ian offered his arm and she took it, letting him lead her up the dais to face the priest standing in the middle of the platform. She glanced over her shoulder at the people assembled throughout the great hall. Her people. The people Ian had grafted into their home. With the joining of Ian and herself, they would all become as one family.
A warm peace flooded through her, and she cast her gaze on Ian. He met her regard with his own and smiled, his fondness for her evident. It might not be love, but he did care. He had shown it in so many ways. Life would be good with this man by her side.
Father Alford cleared his throat, and Claire tore her attention away from Ian to focus on the priest.
“We gather to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony, after they have declared their intention to marry by handfasting to one another.”
Ian slid a hand over hers as it rested upon his arm and squeezed ever so slightly.
“Sir Ian McGowan, do you take Claire Beaumont as your wife?”
“Aye, I do.” Ian looked at Claire, tenderness in his gaze. ’Twas impossible not to be distracted by him, even when the priest began again.
“Claire Beaumont, do you take Sir Ian McGowan as your husband?”
“I do,” she whispered, preoccupied by Ian’s dark, mesmerizing eyes which seemed to pull her into their deep brown depths.
Father Alford continued. “Sir McGowan, do you have a ring?”
Ian reached into the sporran attached to his belt and pulled out a silver ring.
“Place the ring on Claire’s finger, and repeat after me. ‘With this ring, I promise to love and protect you until death separates us.’”
Ian said the words and slipped the band onto her finger.
Claire admired the simple band adorning her hand. The silver was etched with flourishes surrounding the word LOVE. How had their new blacksmith managed this? True, ’twas crudely fashioned, but the engraving—it was remarkable. She looked up at the man who had thought to fashion such a ring for her, his eyes full of tenderness. Did he truly love her? Or was the inscription a reminder of something to grow into?
Either way, hope sprang up within her soul—hope for a marriage as happy as that of her parents, full of laughter and joy. ’Twas more than she had imagined for herself.
“Before these witnesses, and before God, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Father Alford smiled. “Sir McGowan, you may now kiss your bride.”
Ian turned to her fully and put a hand to the side of her face before sliding it through her tresses, cupping the back of her neck. He pulled her to him, his other arm encircling her waist. She breathed in the heady scent of leather and spice that she had come to love.
Their lips met in a tender pairing. His lips teased hers ever so slightly before pulling away. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You should be proud of my restraint, for I desire to kiss you senseless. But there will be plenty of time for that later.”
Claire smiled up into the handsome face of her husband. “I am looking forward to that, husband.”
Ian’s face sobered at her words. “Claire, being your husband has become the most honored title I bear. I thought being lord of Whitfield would bring me the sense of merit I have chased after, but after watching you and Fiona—both of you growing in mercy and love for others—I think I’ve been remiss in my belief that any one thing can bring me worthiness. I want to learn more about your and Fiona’s God. I want to learn how to find my worth in him. Your confidence in me is humbling. You make me feel that I can accomplish anything.”
“That is because you can, with the Lord’s help.” His words nearly broke her heart, for he was easy to love, easy to admire, easy to find worthy. “You are most worthy, Ian.”
Ian cupped her face in both hands. “I love you,” he whispered, his gaze searching hers, radiating the love of which he spoke.
Claire’s heart swelled, amazed at the depths of feeling his confession wrought within her. After all she had done to thwart him and push him away, he loved her still. She hoped she would be as worthy as he in time, for she aimed to keep this man in love with her until the end of time.
“And I love you.” She reached up and kissed the Scot who would fulfill her dreams, not only for Whitfield but her heart as well.
Epilogue
Whitfield Castle, England, 1208 AD
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Ian raced across Whitfield’s land, anxious to return home after a long day of viewing the crops, inspecting tenant homes, and meeting with his neighbor, Bardsley. It still amazed him that he and Bardsley had become allies and had come to an arrangement regarding the land that was mutually satisfying to both.
As he approached his home, he admired the scene before him. It never ceased to amaze him that he was lord over this grand castle. The repaired walls now stood strong, fortified by an extra layer of stone covering the entire structure. It had taken months of hard labor, but ’twas worth the effort. The shortened chute to the garderobe still made him smile. Never again would someone gain access to Whitfield through the nasty shaft as he had.
Life was a far cry from his embarrassing entrance to Whitfield and being caught by his fiery-headed wife when he first arrived five years past.
As he neared the castle, the newly installed iron portcullis rose, and he rode through the barbican rebuilt for a more secure entrance and better protection. He had also built a bigger guardhouse and stables.
“Nay! Leave the chicken alone!” Claire raced after their three-year-old sons who chased the chickens in the yard. Dressed in a russet kirtle, her hair was braided, no doubt to keep it out of her eyes whilst caring for their boys. She grabbed the two by the hand and straightened, blowing a wayward curl from her fair face.
His sons spotted him and broke away from their mother, running to him, their red curls blowing around their heads. Ian dismounted and knelt, catching the boys in his arms. What a joy it was to be greeted with such abandon.
“Chickens, Papa. I get a chicken.” Each talked over the other in his excitement. Ian pulled away from their tenacious grasp and mussed their silky curls. He rose and watched his beautiful wife walk toward him, her smile as fetching as the day they married. Her slim body was now more rounded, a delightful gift from motherhood.
By the saints, she still stole the breath from his lungs.
“How are the crops?” She slipped into his arms and kissed him on the cheek.
Ian nuzzled her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her before he answered. “The wheat and rye are almost ready to harvest. It’s the best crop we have ever produced.”
“And Bardsley?” Her nose scrunched as she said the man’s name, her disdain for him still evident.
“The shearing will be next week, and he will send over a tenth of the wool.”
“I thought it was to be one-fifteenth of the wool.”
“After helping us defeat Niall and his small army last fall, he said a tenth was all he’d give. I consider that a fair trade, indeed.” To have Niall soundly beaten and for good was worth more that he could say.
; “I cannot believe you and he get along still. After all the arguments over the years ...” She shook her head. “’Tis a wonder.”
“He likes using our northern pastures, but, in truth, I think it is due to his bride taking him in hand.” Ian winked. “Strong wives have a way of bending a man to obedience.”
Claire gasped and pushed against Ian’s chest. “Surely you are not inferring that I have done such a thing.”
He laughed, loving the fire in Claire’s eyes. “I love that you are strong. As for bending me into submission, I like to think of us as yoked equally, walking in tandem with one another.”
The fire in her eyes danced and a slow smile crept across her face. “I like that picture.”
“A missive came from Fiona.”
Dread filled Ian. “Is she alright? Did she make it to the convent?”
“Not yet. She stopped to visit your family.”
“That couldna be pleasant.” Ian dinna understand Fiona’s desire to foster a closer relationship with his father and brothers. ’Twould be for naught.
“She says your father is as belligerent as ever, and Niall has become a drunkard. A very mean drunk, she says.”
“’Tis no surprise there.”
Claire snorted. “I’m sure by now Fiona has arrived at the convent gates, ready to make her vows. I do miss her and wished she hadn’t left.”
“I as well, lass.” He’d enjoyed the few years getting to know his sister and learning more about her faith. ’Twas no wonder God had called her to join his church. She was a beautiful soul.
The squawk of chickens and gleeful boyish squeals drew their attention across the bailey. Once again, his sons chased the chickens. Their sweet laughter drifted through the air—along with many feathers. Claire pulled out of Ian’s arms.
Leticia hurried toward the boys. “I’ve got them,” she called, waving to him and Claire. She snatched the boys’ hands and led them back toward the keep. She and Noah would soon have their own child to scurry after.
Ian sighed, contentment filling him.
“Leticia looks like she is nearing her time,” said Claire, her smile wistful.
“Are you ready to take another babe? I believe you forget how monstrous the boys were wrestling within your belly.” He wasna sure he could watch his fair wife endure such a thing again.
“That is because there were two of them. Surely this next babe will be a little girl. Just one. With dark hair and dark eyes.” Claire’s lips curled into an impish smile.
“Now a girl would be nice, but I’d prefer she have her mother’s hair and eyes.”
“We shall see come winter.” Claire tilted her head and arched a brow.
Ian blinked. “Nay,” he whispered. “Are you—?” He couldn’t speak the words, his heart so full of joy and pride.
Claire nodded, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “I wasn’t sure you were getting the hints I was throwing you.” She snorted. “I do hope this little lass is a wee less daft than her father.”
“With a mother like you, she is bound to be more intelligent than her sire.” Ian laughed and grabbed Claire, swinging her around until they were both winded. He slowed and clasped her to him. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.
What a sweet life he led. Profitable land, a grand place to live, and a beautiful family. His past with its neglectful and hurtful family had been redeemed by his loving wife and adoring children. God had truly blessed him.
No longer did he feel unworthy. With Claire by his side and God in his heart, he could accomplish anything he set his mind to do. They kept his heart strong and courageous.
And Claire was his to keep—to love and to cherish. She was the most precious thing in his life, and he would never take her for granted.
Afterword
I’ve been asked several times why I had Ian steal into the castle through the garderobe chute. Why would I put the hero in such a nasty situation and meet the heroine face-to-face covered in filth? Well, I needed Ian to enter the castle in a way that was believable. I couldn’t have him dig through the wall, because the guards would have heard the pounding on rock. I suppose I could have had him scaling the wall with a rope, but with a guard making rounds, it would have been challenging for Ian to climb quickly enough. So, I did a little research and found something that would work and had actually happened in real life.
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During the Anglo-French war of 1202-1204, King Philip of France was trying to conquer Normandy and the castle Château Gaillard was key. After losing many lives in taking the outer bailey walls, he had some of his men gain the inner bailey by climbing up the garderobe chute. A garderobe was basically a small “closet” jutting out of the castle wall, which had a hole for “toilet waste” to drop into a cesspit or moat. By gaining entrance into the inner bailey through the chute, the French were able to take the castle. King John of England’s forces surrendered in March 1204.
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Now this piece of history was something I could use in my book! I rather like the fact that Ian had to meet Claire in such disagreeable circumstances. It sure made for some conflict, and conflict makes the story better, right?
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Another thing in my book based on real history is the marriage of King William I of Scotland to Ermengarde de Beaumont of England. Ermengarde’s father was a direct descendant of King Henry I through an illegitimate line. King William thought Ermengarde was beneath him in status, but agreed to the marriage in order to gain money from King Henry II of England, who was overlord of Scotland at the time, as well as have several castles restored to him, including the one in Edinburgh. It is said that King William fell in love with Ermengarde and remained faithful to her. She had a head for leadership and stood in William’s place when he fell ill, brokering the treaty in 1209. She is known to have helped many of her relations, which led me to create a relationship between her and my heroine, Claire. I made up Claire being Ermengarde’s relative in order to give a valid reason for Claire to be given in marriage to Ian.
To My Readers
Thank you for taking the time to read Ian and Claire’s story. Their journey was fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed the book. Writing about chivalry, kisses, and the occasional sword fight is one of my favorite things to do!
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If you haven’t already read Lord of Her Heart, the first book in my medieval series, you can find it on Amazon.
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If you enjoyed His to Keep, would you consider leaving a review on Amazon? When readers take the time to leave an honest review, it causes the book to be seen and read by others. Thanks so much!
About the Author
Sherrinda Ketchersid is a lover of stories with happily-ever-after endings. Whether set in the past or present, romance is what she writes and where her dreams reside. She lives in Dallas, Texas, with her preacher husband, John, and her scruffy dog, Phones. With four grown children, three guys and a gal, she has more time and energy to spin tales of faith, fun, and forever love. When not writing, she enjoys reading, working in her flower beds, or painting in her Bible.
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Also by Sherrinda Ketchersid
Lord of Her Heart
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 27