by Rue Allyn
“Good morning.” He put down the candlesticks he held and drew her to the room’s only seat. “You were abed when I returned last night, and I didn’t want to wake you to tell you that Dame Margery has died.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” She shook her head. “But what has her death to do with the havoc you wreak here?”
Talon’s expression tightened. “I was with her before she died, and she told me ... she told me many things. The most curious was that I would only find what I desired most by searching the heart. She urged me to go to the chapel, to pray and search my heart there.”
“I don’t understand. The king will likely appoint you Earl of Hawksedge. You have the place you wanted, if you decide to seek dispensation from your vow. Why destroy a room on the ramblings of a sick old woman?”
Talon’s lips thinned, yet he clasped her hands still. “You force me to speak when I had hoped to surprise you.”
“Surprise me? With what, pray you?”
“The marriage box that proves you to be Lady Larkin Rosham.”
Larkin’s breath froze in her body. She scarce dared believe him. With the proof the box contained, her claim to Rosewood would be unassailable, and her claim to Hawksedge might be stronger than Talon’s. He could lose the home he’d wanted all his life, just to make certain she got hers. “Why would you continue to seek that?”
“Because you wish it.”
Larkin swallowed. She sat up straighter and looked him square in the eyes. He had to believe what she was about to say. “I ... I don’t wish it any longer. I told you yesterday that I would cease searching for that proof. If your word and mine were not enough to convince the king that I am Lady Rosham, then I would retire from the world.”
Talon frowned. “Let us have nothing but truth between us. You do not wish to retire from the world any more than I want to go on pilgrimage and dedicate my life to God.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed. Could he mean that he wanted to rescind his oath? The only way to know was to give him the truth he asked for and trust him to do the same. “You are right. I do not wish to live my life as a nun. But it is also true that I no longer care if the marriage box is found.”
The look in Talon’s eyes sharpened. “I don’t believe you.”
She leaned forward. “If that box is found ’twill only cause more misery and heartache. Look what my obsession with it has done to my life. Look what misfortune that box caused my family. Look what it has done to us.”
Some emotion gleamed inside the sharpness in Talon’s gaze. “What has the box done to us, Larkin?” His voice strained with that same emotion, but gently, urging her to confide in him. Trust him.
She already knew she did, all she had to do was show him. “It has been a barrier between us since the day we met. I would have that barrier removed.”
“Aye, once the box is found, all doubt about your identity will be removed. You will have all claim to Rosewood and the greater claim to Hawksedge.”
“I will gain all, and you will lose all. That box must never be found. I’ll not allow you to put your happiness or mine at risk for something so unimportant.”
Talon sat on the floor, pulled Larkin into his arms, and kissed her. “I love you, Larkin Rosham, for the care you have of my happiness, but most of all for the woman you are, be you Liar Larkin, carter of Hawking Sedge, Lady Larkin Rosham of Rosewood, or Countess Larkin Hawksedge of Hawksedge Keep. I want to marry you, live with you, and love you all of my days. You, not your name, nor your place in this world. But we still have problems to resolve.”
Larkin kissed him then. “Aye, that we do, but they can wait. Take me to the solar, Talon. Make love to me, now.”
“But, the annulment of your marriage ...?”
“Is one of those problems that can wait. Please.”
He lifted her into his arms. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, and if you question my certainty once more, I shall clout you soundly.”
But he did ask her repeatedly, each time he roused from loving her, and her reply was always the same.
They drowsed in bed the next morning, enjoying the delicious contentment of being alone with each other. Talon nuzzled the hair from her ear. “We’ve been abed a full day. Do you think we should rise and face the world?”
“I would much rather stay here.”
“So would I, sweeting. But I fear the world approaches.”
Indeed, she could hear footsteps thudding on the stairs. Hastily she donned a robe while Talon pulled on his chausses and a jerkin.
A perfunctory knock sounded, and Timoras burst into the room. “A messenger, sir, with letters from the king and the archbishop.”
“Tell him we’ll be down soon and have food and drink brought for him.” Talon looked at Larkin. “It seems the first of our problems has arrived.”
“Aye.” She made to leave.
Talon’s hand on her shoulder delayed her. “You know, since that night on the beach, I have had proof that if you married my father, that marriage was never consummated.”
“Aye. But without the marriage box, evidence that my marriage was never consummated is of no moment to anyone but us. I do not care. Is it important to you?” The question was not as simple as it might seem. She was asking if he valued her maidenhead more than her self. She was also asking if he still felt guilt that he had lain with his father’s wife. She did not feel guilt. She knew in her heart that her proxy marriage had been no true marriage. She believed God knew that too. If no one told the church, then what did it matter? But she would not force Talon to wrestle with his conscience.
“I give not a fig for that box. I know who and what you are. You are my life and my love, Lady Larkin Rosham. I pray you will soon be my wife as well.”
Certainty bloomed in her heart, and happiness wrapped warmly around her. Talon did love her. Enough to claim her in the face of oaths and hopes and dreams.
They greeted the messenger and took their letters from him.
“Let us read these in the chapel,” she suggested.
Talon wrinkled his brow, then shrugged. “’Tis as good a place as any.”
They sat side by side on the floor before the altar and opened their separate missives.
Larkin took her time reading the archbishop’s response to her petition for annulment of the marriage between Lady Larkin Rosham and Talon’s father. She wanted to be certain she understood the archbishop’s rather convoluted reasoning and rambling explanation of his decision.
When she was finally satisfied and surfaced from her study of the letter, she found her love sorting through the mess in the chapel. “Talon?”
He turned, uncertainty clear in his eyes as he looked at the pages clutched in her hand. “Aye.”
“I thought we agreed to search no further for that box.”
“No, we agreed that we no longer needed to prove who you were. I still wish to find the box, if only to put at ease the minds of any children we have.”
The thought of a plump toddler with Talon’s guinea-gold locks and pansy-dark eyes made her grin. “They won’t need the box either.”
“Why not?” He rejoined her before the altar.
“Read this.” She thrust the archbishop’s letter at him.
He took it. “I will, but only if you read what the king has said to me.”
“As you wish.” She accepted the royal vellum from him.
“I can’t believe this,” she said, astonished at what she’d read. “The king says he trusts his herald implicitly but wonders if you realize that royal recognition of me as Lady Larkin Rosham is in your bests interests. If he gave that recognition, he might be forced to recognize my claim to Hawksedge over yours and suggests it might be better just to marry me and join both holdings in one family.”
Talon grinned. “Which is exactly what we plan to do.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, I have not yet agreed to be your wife.”
He turned a sparkling gaze on hers. “No, you have n
ot, and I suspect you hoped to worry me a bit with that reminder.”
She fluttered her lashes and pressed a hand to her chest. “I? Why every would you think that, when I gave you the archbishop’s letter to read. You know as well as I that he managed to annul the marriage between Lady Larkin Rosham and your father without ever acknowledging that I might be that lady.”
Talon kissed her.
She kissed him back with all the love in her heart.
“So now,” he said when they came up for air. “There is no impediment to our marriage, no risk to our souls, and if we wed, the proof of your identity as Lady Larkin Rosham is not relevant because we will have regained our homes together.”
“You sum the situation up quite well.”
“But you still have not agreed to wed.”
“Have I not? Let me think,” she teased and fell silent long enough to give him the smallest doubt she would say yes.
“I have been a fool.” Talon said, before she could reassure him that their marriage was her greatest desire.
She turned to look at him. “Beloved, you are sometimes foolish, but you are no fool.”
“Yes, I am a fool. Look.”
She followed his hand as he pointed at the altar face decorated with a relief of the bleeding heart of Christ. Talon’s hand continued forward until he pushed on the heart in the relief. A pair of clicks sounded. The entire altar face panel fell forward. Talon caught it with both hands before it could smash onto the floor.
“Oh my goodness.”
“Goodness indeed.”
There, within a space behind where the panel had been, lay a large box. Larkin reached in and removed it, setting the archbishop’s letter in its place. Talon set the king’s letter beside the archbishop’s missive and replaced the panel. Larkin handed him the box.
“Don’t you want to examine it and be certain the proof is still there?” he asked.
“As you’ve said, there is no need. We both know who I am.”
“Aye.”
She gave him a tender kiss. “’Twill take you some time to examine all the contents of the box. I have a note I want to write to the archbishop before the messenger leaves here. Come and find me when you are finished.”
He opened the panel, set the box atop the two letters, closed the panel, and followed her. “If you do not need to look within, neither do I. We will write our missives together. You to the archbishop and I to the king, but kiss me first, please.”
She smiled and moved into his arms. They did not write the letters before the sun rose the next morning.
More from This Author
Knight Defender
Rue Allyn
Mid-April 1295, the northwest coast of Scotland
Baron Raeb MacKai strode along the steep track leading from Dungarob keep to the harbor. Far below, a solitary ship edged up to the lone dock set in sun-sparkled waters. On this rare, cloudless morning, the bay shone like a jewel set in dark, craggy gray, rimmed with drab despair. Ships had become rare visitors to the bay, so this vessel most likely brought the woman who would restore Clan MacKai’s fortunes.
He had no illusions about his home. The small village bordering the harbor was ramshackle at best. The dock balanced on ancient footings, just barely steady, and—save for the ship—empty of all but the smallest derelicts. The roads—if they could be called that—were narrow and rock strewn. Walking was a hazard. The people moved slowly, thin and haggard from too much work and too little food.
Stones rattled down the cliff side of the track.
“Slow down, Raeb. I’ll go with you to greet your future wife. ’Twill be some time before anyone debarks, so ’tis no need to hurry.”
He stopped and watched his sister Neilina skip along the stone-littered path. Younger by three years, she had absolute faith in her view of right and wrong.
“If courtesy to my betrothed is your purpose, go back to the keep,” he growled. “I tell you now I’ll no have a single body—sister, clansman, or servant—give the least kindness to the woman arriving on that ship.”
A line formed between Neilina’s black brows, which arched more delicately than his over MacKai gray eyes. He hadn’t expected his sister to be happy with his order.
She halted beside him, studying the scene below as he did.
A woman now stood on the ship, observing the docking process. Her tresses shone like a beacon in the dark night of his people’s poverty. Reports gave her alabaster skin, robin’s egg-blue eyes, lips of the most delicate pink, an angel’s figure with slender hips and breasts as soft as down. All the praise probably disguised a pampered, pale weakling who would wither and die in Dungarob’s hard winters. Luckily for Lady Jessamyn Du Grace, she wouldn’t be here long enough to see a single snowflake.
She moved smoothly as she disappeared belowdecks a moment before a group of men supervised the removal of a small white steed from the ship to the dock. Raeb snorted in mild disgust. Unlike the destriers and coursers that once filled the Dungarob stables and glens, this horse, like the woman, was clearly too delicate, too refined for the challenges of the Highland coast—his Highland coast. Which was why the woman with her puny mount was here.
Beside him Neilina’s fingers drummed against her hip. Best to let her air her objections. It would not change his mind, but it would make her feel better.
“No greet our future baroness? You would have her condemn the entire clan before she even meets us and no doubt see you as the biggest boor on earth! Are you mad?”
He rolled his eyes. She could complain of his rudeness all she liked as long as his English betrothed didn’t become Neilina’s latest cause. “Nae,” he agreed without compunction. “I dinna care what the lady thinks.”
“You actually wish our sisters and the entire clan to be as callous as you? English she may be, but ’tis no reason for rudeness.”
He shrugged. “’Tis no more than any English deserves, be they king, pauper, or a coddled lady too stupid or cowardly to know better than to accept a match with a Scot.”
His sister’s gaze narrowed. “Are you so certain she’s a lack-wit or a coward? With a godfather like Edward I of England, she may have had no choice in the matter, especially if she is a properly obedient and humble goddaughter.”
“Her father is one of Edward’s favorites and a verra influential man. I doubt even the king of England would try to force Lord Du Grace to give his daughter where he didna wish, especially since the man might rebel and take others with him, if his cherished only daughter were made unhappy.”
Neilina snorted. “King Edward’s no reputed to be a man easily intimidated by others, and given his disputes with the pope, I am no certain he cares for any opinion save his own. I still say your orders are absurd, and rudeness is no way to start married life.”
Raeb frowned. Mayhap, in her champion’s way, Neilina only wished to see her brother happy. Too bad he couldn’t explain the marriage would not take place. To keep the plan safe, only a group of trusted allies and his captain of the guard knew the truth. Certainly telling his high-minded, judgmental sister would be foolish. He fixed his fiercest stare on her. “Am I Baron MacKai, of Clan MacKai?”
She gulped. “Yes, brother.”
“Then make sure my orders are carried out. If anyone offers that woman the smallest courtesy or the least sympathy, I’ll hold you responsible. And if you fear an injustice, remember that ’tis her dowry that will right the greatest wrong ever done to Clan MacKai.”
Neilina considered him for a moment and nodded.
Raeb didn’t care for that calculating look in her eyes, disappearing as soon as she blinked.
“Brother, I doubt an Englishwoman will be eager to become fast friends with any Scot.”
He narrowed his gaze at his sibling. “Obedient goddaughter or no, the lady is uprooted from her home and alone in a foreign land. She’s bound to search out allies. Be certain she finds none among my family, clan, or servants.”
“Why are you so se
t on making her friendless?”
He cast a quick glance at the ship where the lady and her maid now debarked. “She’s English. ’Tis enough.”
Persistent as any terrier, Neilina stamped her foot. “Then why in the world did you agree to marry the woman? If you sacrifice yourself for the sake of a dowry to mend a few things at Dungarob, you’re more fool than any English. You should place more trust in our abilities.”
He’d been trusting his abilities for ten years and had seen his clan sink deeper and deeper into poverty. “My reasons need no concern you; just see the household behaves as I order.”
He started walking once more, keeping one eye on his footing and one on his sister.
She lifted her chin and kept pace. “I’ll make certain your wishes are known. However, I canna guarantee anything with our sisters no matter what consequences you threaten, especially with Artis. She will always swim against the tide. I fear for her almost as greatly as I fear for you.”
The fears were old ones. “Aye, the loss of our parents hit our youngest sister hard.”
Pain flickered ugly and brief across Neilina’s face. She gripped her hands together before her. “More like, she misses the firm hand and feminine guidance Mother provided for the rest of us. Artis is nearly as wild as you were at eighteen.”
His lips lifted. Summer days swimming and hunting with his friends. Winter adventures seeking ice thick enough to bore a hole to fish while sharing hopes and dreams. Even after he’d been fostered in England and only home for rare visits, he’d not known how precious those carefree days had been. A mountain of responsibility acquired too early had stolen that wild freedom. He could not do that to Artis. “Aye, I’ve no the heart to curb her spirit, and she’ll no listen to any of us. Life will teach her caution soon enough.”
“Mayhap you are right, but the longer that lesson is in coming, the more I fear she will suffer for it.”
Their youngest sister would suffer regardless of when she learned caution. Why hasten fate?
Silence reigned as he and Neilina neared the dock and watched the ship being unloaded. After much petting and whispering from the lady, the mare allowed itself to be tied by the halter to the back of the baggage wagon. Raeb couldn’t help thinking again that the white steed and the pale woman were well matched and both completely out of place in Dungarob.