by Lynn Kurland
Jason smiled gravely. “He made me the man I am. My gratitude knows no bounds. There is little I would not do for him.”
“Or he for you.” She made herself comfortable with her head on his shoulder. “I understand he has a present for you. A wedding gift.”
“Surely not. What do I need? My own private steward, perhaps,” he added with a snort, “to explain to me what I must know to run your father’s lands.”
“Nay, you’ll have me. I served my father often thusly. Your gift is much more precious.”
“What is it? And how is it you know of it and not I?”
“You were engaged in spirited discussion of your brother’s faults with your brother and his fists when Lord Christopher told me of it. And to answer your first question, he is sending you something to page.”
Jason went very still. “A page?”
“Aye,” she said, suspecting very clearly what it would mean to him. “His son, I believe. Surely you know him. Robin of Blackmour?”
Jason was silent for so long, she had to look at him. She leaned up on one elbow and brushed away the tears that had trailed down his temple to wet his hair.
“ ’Tis a very great trust,” she said quietly.
“From him,” Jason said hoarsely, “and your sire as well. I am thoroughly humbled.”
She smiled at him, then kissed him briefly. “I’ll brew you a potion to bolster your courage.”
He grunted at her. “The saints preserve me.”
“I met your Berengaria, you know. And her helpers. Nemain and Magda were fighting over who could better teach me what I should know.”
“The saints preserve us all,” he said fervently.
She laughed and snuggled back down into his arms. “I understand now about your dark arts.”
“Do you?”
“Aye. Gillian told me how you and Christopher had trained together, quite often in the dark. With swords, of course.”
“Of course.”
She paused. “And that is all, isn’t it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Of course,” he said lightly—and not at all convincingly.
“Jason de Piaget, if you haven’t told me—”
But then she found herself pinned by her grinning husband and she was almost distracted enough to forget her suspicions.
Almost.
“I’ll count Maud’s warts,” she warned him.
“You do that,” he said with a laugh.
“I’ll discover your secrets,” she vowed. “All of them.”
“May it take a lifetime,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. “A very long lifetime with very long days of your constant and thorough scrutiny. Discover away, my love. I could not wish for more.”
It was very much later that Lianna had the chance to lie next to her sleeping husband and give thought to the course her life had taken. Who would have known that from such shadows of death, bereavement, and danger at court, she would have come to such a place of light and beauty? She suspected she would be forever inadequate to the task of expressing a proper amount of gratitude for the blessings of family which were now hers. Perhaps a tapestry could be made, one of sunlight and sweet things that grew and flourished. Of course, there would be shadows here and there, for what life was without them?
Especially when one’s husband was of the ilk to mutter the odd charm now and again under his breath. And the saints only knew what kinds of things he would put into the cooking pot when not watched closely.
But those were the kind of shadows she could live with, especially when she had Jason of Artane in trade.
She closed her eyes, smiling deeply.
She would begin her stitchery on the morrow.
As soon as it was light.
Lynn Kurland is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous novels and novellas. Her website is www.lynnkurland.com.