Dreams of Lilacs

by Lynn Kurland

  She wasn’t sure she could be as objective. All she saw was a man who had been through hell over the past few days yet was still willing to do what was necessary to fight . . .

  For her.

  Her father wasn’t showing Gervase any mercy. She hadn’t expected him to, not truly. She supposed the one thing she could say for what was going on in front of her was that at least her father was talking to Gervase, not snarling at him.

  The morning wore on. Isabelle supposed she might have suppressed a yawn or two. She eventually leaned against Montgomery’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

  She realized she had dozed only when she felt an elbow in her side and almost fell off her perch as a result. Strong hands caught her before she went sprawling. She looked up to find Gervase standing there.

  His hands were shaking.

  She met his eyes. “How are you?”

  “Still on my feet.”

  “Is the effort worth it?” she asked.

  He smiled, then leaned forward and very carefully kissed her on the cheek. “The prize is worth it, Isabelle. The prize is worth countless mornings such as this.”

  “Come out from behind your lady’s skirts, Monsaert,” Robin bellowed. “Let’s be about the true work of the day!”

  Gervase looked at her, sighed lightly, then smiled. “I’ll return.”

  She watched him go, then found herself enveloped in her father’s embrace. He pulled away from her, took her face in his hands, and looked at her with tears in his eyes.

  “Isabelle,” he said with a sigh.

  “Papa, I had to come.”

  “So I see now, but I warn you that if you ever do anything so foolish again, I will take my blade to you.”

  Miles leaned over and cleared his throat. “I believe, Papa, that you’ll need to go through her husband to get to her.”

  Rhys scowled. “Aye, I suppose there is truth enough in that.” He looked at Isabelle. “Don’t give him gray hairs, daughter.”

  She smiled. “You like him, then?”

  “I gave him permission to court you, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Did you?”

  “I think he means to wed you, then court you, but I find that I can no longer control these new and incomprehensible ideas youth entertain these days. I suppose you may have him if you wish.”

  “I’m not finished with him,” Montgomery said loudly. “And then I intend to see to her. I think perhaps speaking of a wedding is slightly premature, Father.”

  Isabelle smiled at her father, then rested her head on his shoulder whilst she watched the man she loved fight with her oldest brother and laugh as he did so.

  Chapter 28

  Gervase stood at the door to his chapel with his newly made wife at his side and watched the procession retreating to the great hall. He looked at Isabelle.

  “They abandoned us,” he said. “I wonder why?”

  “Food,” she said succinctly. “I have four brothers, you have five. Nicholas isn’t here, but they just had their second son which leaves us, again, with more lads surrounding us.”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. He smiled, then bent his head and kissed her. “I suppose if their tromping off to the kitchens purchases us a bit of time alone, we can’t complain.”

  She put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and supposed there was little that could possibly disturb his happiness at present. Isabelle’s family had decided he would, with enough time, be worthy of her, and her father and brothers had stopped threatening to kill him when Isabelle was out of earshot. He had received a grudging invitation to Beauvois, an invitation that had been extended following the birth of the youngest de Piaget lad. With any luck, he would manage to get himself in and out Nicholas’s gates while remaining alive enough to care for his bride.

  As far as his own family was concerned, he supposed there was much to celebrate there as well. Guy was dead and buried. That was a cold comfort, he supposed, but at least he could walk through his own hall without worrying about dying.

  His stepmother had been banished to a remote little house attached to the estate of a minor noble desperately trying to curry favor with the queen regent. Gervase supposed it was only good taste that inspired him to refrain from commenting on whether or not he might or might not have had anything to do with offering that as a suggestion to Louis’s mother. He had settled a generous sum on his stepmother, done the same to all her relatives, and suggested politely that if they didn’t want to run afoul of his ire, they would not arrive at his doorstep asking for anything else.

  His brothers had been overjoyed to finally have some measure of peace and security in their lives. The older lads were, he supposed, happy to know Monsaert would be a place where they were welcome and wanted. The little lads were simply beside themselves with the thought of having Isabelle to themselves.

  He thought he might have to clarify a few things for Yves and Fabien, but perhaps later, when they had stopped weeping tears of joy.

  “Oh, my.”

  Gervase opened his eyes and smiled at his bride. “What is it?”

  She nodded toward the gates. “We have a visitor.”

  Gervase looked, then blinked. He considered, then turned his lady to him and put his arms around her. “I love you.”

  She smiled up at him. “And I love you.”

  “I believe that’s Arthur of Harwych trotting up the way.”

  “I believe it is, my lord.”

  “Do we invite him in for supper?”

  She laughed a little at him. “Aren’t you the generous one today.”

  He slipped his hand under her hair, bent his head, then kissed her. He considered, then decided there was no reason not to do a proper job of it. He continued with his delightful labors until the gasping of a soul faced with things he couldn’t begin to think about became so distracting that he had no choice but lift his head and look at the lad standing to his left.

  “B-b-but,” Arthur said, pointing at Isabelle.

  Gervase felt compassion spring to life inside his breast. He reached out and clapped a hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder.

  “I wed her,” he said simply. “So sorry.”

  “B-b-but,” Arthur said, pointing at Gervase.

  “I know,” Gervase said gently. “A bit of a shock, I’m sure.”

  “Ahhh—”

  “Your boots?” Gervase asked. “I’ll replace them, of course.” He smiled at Isabelle. “Shall we go inside for the feast?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Shall we invite this lad here?”

  Isabelle nodded, then disentangled herself from his arms and turned to face Arthur. “You aided me when I needed it,” she said seriously. “For that, I will be forever grateful.”

  Gervase leaned forward. “Not enough to name a son after you, of course, but grateful just the same.”

  Isabelle elbowed him in the ribs, then reached out and put her hand on Arthur’s arm. “Come and sup with us, Arthur. My lord Monsaert has no sisters, to our sorrow, but I understand the Duke of Coucy has several very lovely daughters. Perhaps my husband can arrange an invitation for you.”

  “I saw the duke half an hour behind me,” Arthur squeaked. He looked at Gervase. “Might I have an introduction today, do you think?”

  “Why not?” Gervase muttered. He pointed toward the hall. “Go on up the way, my lad. We’ll be along very soon.”

  Arthur trotted off, looking far happier than he likely should have looked. Perhaps he was anticipating enjoying his new boots.

  Gervase realized that Isabelle was looking at him. He shifted, then looked at her reluctantly.

  “Aye?”

  “The Duke of Coucy?”

  “Come to wish us hearty felicitations, no doubt.”

  She blinked, then laughed. “Gervase, if you are still engaged to that shrill harpy, I’m not quite sure what I’ll do to you.”

  Gerv
ase looked over his shoulder at his priest who was holding on to a particular sheaf of parchment. He nodded, then looked back at his wife.

  “His Grace signed a contract the last time he was here. A contract reversing a previous contract committing me to wed with his eldest, shrillest daughter.”

  “Does His Grace remember either?”

  “I doubt it, though there were witnesses,” Gervase said. He paused. “One of them was Guy, which I suppose might put us in a bit of a spot—”

  “Gervase!”

  He laughed, kissed her heartily, then took her hand and pulled her from the chapel. “Joscelin was there, as was the duke’s wife, who was very happy to have her daughter released from any obligations to a beast such as I.”

  “Good,” she said shortly. “I would hate to spoil the day by being forced to draw my blade on them.”

  He looked at her quickly, but she was only smiling faintly, not puking into the flower beds. He embraced her briefly, then kept his arm around her as he walked with her into his great hall. He released her into the cloud of women who came to fetch her, a cloud that included her sister, Amanda, her mother, and her sister-in-law, Anne. He supposed he would be allowed to sit next to her at table, then, with any luck, spirit her off without having to do damage to any of her male relations with ideas of traditions best left in the past. He leaned back against the wall and allowed himself the very great pleasure of simply watching his hall be full of family.

  “You’re fortunate to have her.”

  He looked to his left to find his now next youngest brother standing there. He smiled.

  “And so I am.”

  Joscelin lifted an eyebrow. “I heard Coucy’s on his way up from the gates.”

  Gervase patted his brother on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go invite him in to supper. He can eat, then collect his guardsman, who I’m afraid is still languishing in our dungeon. I believe I’ll go see to the more pleasant labor of rescuing my wife from the clutches of the women in her family.” He shot Joscelin a look. “I wouldn’t set my sights on any of Evelyne’s sisters, were I you.”

  Joscelin shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare. Besides, Robin says he has advice for me in matters matrimonial.”

  “The saints preserve you,” Gervase muttered, but he supposed his brother would fare well enough. Then again, with Robin of Artane, one just never knew.

  He walked over to the press of souls in front of the fire and realized that he might be farther away from having his bride to himself than he had first hoped. She was sitting in front of the fire, surrounded by her family and his, with Yves on her lap. Gervase leaned against the wall near the hearth where the fire was comfortably warm but not too hot and counted his blessings.

  First was family, not only his but hers as well. His keep had been overrun with both sides for almost a se’nnight and he couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed chaos more. The laughter of children, the delightful company of women, and the continual ring of swords coming from his garden. It had been an unexpected pleasure.

  Second was the hall he’d been blessed with, gifted to him in spirit by his grandfather and held for him in trust by his father. It was a beautiful place, lovely enough to please his need for beauty and intimidating enough to satisfy his need for security. It was a place perfectly designed to keep his family safe, and for that he was grateful.

  Last but surely the most important was the woman who sat in the midst of souls who loved her, a woman who had brought them all a joy he’d never thought was possible. Her family loved her, his brothers adored her, and he . . . well, he hadn’t taken a decent breath since he’d gone down on his good knee a pair of fortnights ago and begged her to be his.

  He realized Isabelle was looking at him. He felt a little winded, but that was his usual state around her so he thought nothing of it. She smiled at him, as if she knew what he was thinking.

  She was the stuff of dreams he’d hardly dared dream. She was surely more than he deserved, but he wasn’t going to argue with Fate. He would take what he’d been blessed with and be grateful.

  It was enough.

  Turn the page for the MacLeod and de Piaget family trees.