by Sarah Hegger
Chapter 37
Alya took pity on Elizabeth and pressed her arm. “For as long as they stay here, they will always be seen as different.”
“I do not understand.” Elizabeth stamped her foot. A habit Alya was amazed Sir James tolerated, but then Sir James seemed to tolerate much when it came to his only daughter. In the weeks following Newt and Bahir’s wakening, he had even agreed to allow her to stay at Anglesea and learn from Nurse and Ivy.
“If they go to Lord alone knows where, they will be strangers there too.” Elizabeth paced to the hearth and back again. “Why not be strangers here amongst your own people?”
“These are not my people.” Newt resumed his packing. He and Bahir would travel light, taking only what they could on their horses. “I fall betwixt two worlds and neither is comfortable to own me.”
“It’s not like that at Anglesea.” Elizabeth snatched a cloak out of his hands and tossed it on the floor. “People here love and respect you.”
“They love and respect me so much, they nearly vivisected me.” Newt picked up the cloak and folded it.
Alya let them argue it out. Elizabeth had a strange fascination with Newt that made Alya dizzy with how fast it swung from one emotion to another. “Bahir?”
Quietly to one side of the big manor table, Bahir also went about his preparations. “My lady?”
The smile he gave her, a combination of pride, sadness and love, near broke her heart.
She had been thinking on this for the last three nights now. Since Nurse had declared Bahir and Newt well enough to travel. She said it fast before her heart caught up with her brain and stopped her. “Take me with you.”
“What?” Bahir spun and gaped at her. “Did you…?”
“Aye.” She shuffled closer to him, out of earshot of the rest of the hall. “I cannot stay here without you.”
“My lady.” He put his folding aside and took her hands. “You are married now. That is no longer a decision you can make.”
“Henry will not care.” Saying the words stripped the new skin off the wound to her heart. “He will be glad to be rid of me.”
“Alya.” Bahir’s face grew stern. “You are not a child anymore to play these games. You may very well be with child.”
“I am not.”
“Your time for these silly games is over. If you want to know if your man loves and cherishes you as you wish him to, then ask him.”
Her cheeks burned with mortification. “I do not—”
“Do not run away with Newt and I and trust he will come after you. What if he doesn’t?”
“Then I am better off without him.” Bahir’s words hit too close to home for her comfort.
“What if he sees your leaving as a sign that you do not love him and that is why he does not pursue?”
“I…” Henry did have his pride. “Do you think that might happen?”
“I don’t know, Alya.” Bahir went back to his packing. “But I do know that playing childish games will only cause chaos.”
“Are you saying I cannot come with you?”
“Alya.” He grabbed her shoulder and gave her a small shake. “Wherever you go in this life, I will find you and make sure you are well. If coming with me is what you really want, then I will take you. But I am not sure it is what you really want.”
Alya cuddled Amira close and took a moment to think that through. Around her the manor came to life again. Villagers, who before the attack would not pass her on the road, now flocked here to help. But her resentment still burrowed deep. If Lady Mary had not threatened their lives, would these people be so eager to serve her? They had not given her a chance when she needed it, and now she was not inclined to return the favor.
“I am decided.” Even as she said the words, doubt flickered in her middle. “I want to come with you.”
“Nay.” Henry appeared behind her.
Alya started and faced him.
Standing taut, Henry said, “Your place is with me.”
His certainty almost made her laugh. If it had not made her want to cuff him. “My place is with you?” She took a step closer. “Only you do not want me there, because there is no place for me with you.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry reared back. “You are my wife. Of course, there is a place for you.”
“As your wife?” It hurt more than she could say, and she refused to let on. “Your duty and your responsibility.”
“Well…aye.” Henry glanced at Bahir and shrugged. “Of course you are my duty and my responsibility. I swore these things before God.”
“I think she waits to hear about the other things you swore before God.” Bahir folded another chemise and stuffed it into his pack. “If I might offer a word of advice, I would take some time on the love part.”
Alya could not credit her ears. She stared at Bahir not sure who this traitor was.
“That goes without saying.” Henry frowned.
“I think not.” Bahir straightened and pinned him with a stare. “A woman needs to hear it.”
“But of course, I love her, honor her, all of that.” Hands spread, Henry shrugged. “How can she doubt it?”
How could she doubt it? How could she doubt it? Alya thought her head might come off her shoulders. “I doubt it because your actions show me otherwise.”
“Like what?”
Beatrice said one needed to explain things carefully to a man. “Everything you have done since you brought me here has shown me that you are ashamed of me. That you regret marrying me and now wish you hadn’t.”
Henry gaped at her, glanced at Bahir and shook his head. “Are you addled?”
Alya hauled back her arm and punched him. Her fist connected his shoulder. Pain burst up her arm but Henry remained unmoved. “You never talk to me.” Alya cradled her hurt hand. “You never tell me what you are thinking or feeling. You go off alone to places and leave me. You are never beside me in front of others—”
“Stop.” Gently, Henry took her hurt hand and kissed it. “I did not talk because I did not understand all the things swirling through my mind. How can I share that which I do not understand?” He pressed her hand to his chest. “Besides, what right have I to complain when you had so much to worry about?”
“Henry.” She wanted to cling to her anger but the sincerity on his face crept around her walls.
“How could I hope to keep my beautiful girl on the wall when inside I was dead?” He stepped closer. “How could I hold something so pure with the taint of blood and dishonor all over these hands?”
She cursed the tears that stung her eyes. “I saw only a man I admired and could love.”
“But I did not.” He took her hands and kissed one and then the other. “All I saw was a man shamed and whom I despised.”
That he saw that in himself baffled her. Since the day they left Cairo, he had behaved with honor and nobility. Even in his silence and refusal to let her see within him, Henry had behaved like the knightly code that he upheld. “What do you see now?”
“Now?” Henry smiled his beautiful smile that lit his eyes from within. “I see a man who is still not worthy but will spend every day of his life trying to be.”
“Oh, Henry.” Her heart begged her to take what he offered, but her mind still needed more clarity. “You withheld so much from me. You shut me out and left me in the dark feeling like you were ashamed to call me wife.”
“Never that.” He cupped her cheek. “That you married me is a miracle, and that I stand here and call you mine is so incredible to me that I still cannot quite believe it.”
He had such a clever tongue, her Henry. Even her mind wavered and slunk a little closer to her heart’s view of the situation. “I needed to understand you, and you would not let me.”
“For that I can only beg your pardon on the basis of being a man. We are not good at sharing that which we hold within. Give me another chance and I will tell you anything.” He
pressed his forehead to hers. “Ask me anything and I will give you an answer.”
“Will you tell me of the pilgrimage?”
“Now.” Straightening, Henry rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. “Where would you like me to start?”
“Another time.” Alya did not resist as he threaded their fingers together. She had wanted to know if he would speak to her, and now that he would the details did not seem to matter so much. Until the words left her lips, Alya had not thought to utter them. “Are you sorry you married me?”
“Never.” He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her to him. “You are my everything. In Cairo, you were the hope I clung to. Here, you are my heart, my soul and my very being.”
Alya’s knees turned to water. He said such things that she had never even dared hope for, and he meant them. His gaze met her directly and full of love. “Do you love me?”
“How can you doubt it?” He tugged her closer. “And if I have not spent enough time convincing you of that, I ask for a lifetime to do better.”
“If I really wanted to go, would you let me?” Alya did not know how she wanted him to answer that question. Aye could mean he did not love her enough to fight for her. Nay could mean he did not want what was best for her.
A haunted look crossed his face. “If you could not stay here, then I would let you go.”
Alya near buckled under how much that hurt.
“But.” Henry’s face hardened. “Then I would have to come with you. You go nowhere without me, Alya. Not since the priest joined us, not now and not in the future. If you leave Anglesea, I go with you. If you want to explore foreign lands, I will be your shadow.”
“You would leave your family.” She gestured the hall. “And all this to come with me?”
“In a heartbeat.” He drew her closer to his hard chest. “None of this means anything without you.”
“Thanks.” Roger had entered the manor and now stood beside Bahir. “Nice to know how much we mean to you.” But his eyes twinkled and he winked at Alya. “I’d help him pack if it came to that.” He raised his brow and crossed his arms. “Is it going to come to that?”
“I—”
“Do not leave, my lady.” A serving woman sidled up beside Roger. “I be begging you to stay and give us all a chance to make you welcome here.”
“We beg you.” Bernard and his mother joined the woman.
Bernard’s knot of friends flanked them. “And us.”
Bernard pointed to Amira. “What will happen to her if you leave?”
“And the new ground we plowed.” Chester tugged his cap off his head. “We turned the sod on the eastern side of the manor for your flowers and your herbs.”
Meg, the gray-haired seamstress, slunk around Chester. She held up a pair of braies and a tunic like Kathryn sometimes wore. “And we made these for you. Bernard said you admired Lady Kathryn’s so.” She laid them gently on the table beside Bahir’s pack. “And we checked your silks. There are more left than we thought and with a bit of clever cutting we can make bed hangings and cushions for this entire manor.”
“What say you, sister?” Roger cocked his head. “We will make things right for you, if you allow us.”
“And me.” Henry whispered in her ear. “I will spend my life making sure you are happy here, but if you still want to leave, then that is what we will do.”
So many faces in the hall, all turned her way and waiting. She glanced at Bahir for guidance.
He shrugged.
The choice was hers to make. First, she needed to know something. Taking Henry’s lean cheeks between her palms, she stared deep into his eyes. “I need to know that you accept me as I am. That you do not wish me to be anyone other than who I am.”
“Alya.” He placed his hands over hers. “Why would I want anything else when what I have is perfect?” He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “That is if I still have it. Do I, sweeting? Do I have you?”
She could not be surer of her answer. “Always.”
Epilogue
Afternoon sun hit Mary’s face with the benign warmth of late summer. Voices carried from the terraced gardens Roger had added on the landward side of Anglesea. The outer bailey, once a cluster of cottages, now spread before her in a gentle rolling green interspersed with bright bursts of flowerbeds.
The brightest blooms in the garden her grandchildren, and the newer crop of great-grandchildren. The family gathered to celebrate with Roger as he attained his earldom. Baron Anglesea, Earl of Devon, but still her Roger. Now almost entirely gray-haired, but still as tall and strong as the young man who had strode through the halls challenging his sire. He’d done well with his stewardship of the great demesne. Not a man of war like her Arthur, but a man of his time who understood how to take what his father had bequeathed him and build it into a strong political force.
Somebody shrieked and Mary opened her eyes. A fierce wooden sword fight, looking more like an all-out rout, took place about twenty feet away from her. So many boys. Mary shook her head. Nurse had bemoaned the lack of female offspring with the birth of each new male child.
Beatrice had given up on a daughter after eight boys. Faye had given them sweet, lovely Bess, but followed her with another three boys. William’s Alice brought them another six boys and only one girl. Fiery, tempestuous Prudence, who joined the sword fight with as much vigor as her brothers and male cousins.
Roger and Katherine had brought the male tally up again with three boys before a stillborn fourth had meant the end of sons for the couple. Henry and his sweet Alya had sadly never had a child of their own. Nurse had done all she could, but some things were never meant to be. Instead Alya filled the manor house with dogs of all shapes and sizes.
Even two years after her death, Mary could not reconcile Nurse being gone and she spoke to her as if she were still there. Nurse had passed one night in her sleep. How she would have delighted in the new bellies swelling around them.
“Maybe we’ll get those girls now, Nurse,” Mary said to the empty chair by her side.
How Arthur would have beamed with pride today. The demesne he had fought so hard to build, had shed blood and sweat to establish, would now become one of the most powerful earldoms in the Kingdom. They called Roger the aye-sayer. The king made decisions, and the court looked to Roger for endorsement.
William, still so devastatingly handsome, strolled across the sword fight and disrupted it. He laughed off the shouts of protest, throwing back his now silver head and laughing. His startling blue eyes had lost none of their impact over the years, and several female eyes followed him. They wasted their sighs. William had never had eyes for any other woman but his Alice. His wife, now grown plump in her middle years, but still the tiny fury at the center of William’s life.
In the shade of a large oak sat their Sweet Bea, chatting to lovely Faye. Arthur’s beloved daughters, his pride and joy, and the source of endless hours of pacing and worry.
“They turned out well, my darling.” Gone six years now, and his absence a gnawing ache that dulled but never fully left her. As if half of herself was missing. Her love, her Arthur. In her moments of whimsy, she liked to think that Arthur was now with their Mathew. The pain of losing a child never eased, and for her late-born son who had passed in his twenty-second year, the wound still throbbed.
Arthur had given her all of this. That night, so many years ago, when she had made sure she would marry him. He’d been so angry with her for putting them in a compromising position. Mary smiled as his handsome, furious face rose in her memory. His shock at her sneaking into his room.
A clever woman arranged matters to suit herself, and so she had. Two strong wills, she and Arthur had had their share of battles over their many years together. But she’d never regretted her actions that night. One look had been all it took for her to know there stood the man for her.
Tomorrow Roger would be Lord Devon. “Imagine that, Arthur, Lord De
von.” Mary chuckled. “You would have loved to be called that.” She swept her arm over the happy throng enjoying the summer afternoon. “But here is your legacy, Arthur.”
A soft breeze caressed her cheek, and Mary closed her eyes. Lately Arthur’s spirit stood right beside her, waiting for her on the other side. The veil between this life and the after thinned to the point where at times she caught glimpses of him on the other side. He waited, tall, handsome, strong, and looking as he had the day she had first cast eyes on him. How she longed to be with him again. Lately she thought she could see Mathew and Nurse beside him.
The breeze traveled up and up, over the ramparts and up again to where the pennant hung from its pole. The breeze rippled the pennant and then snapped it straight until it streamed against the blue sky, dragon’s head proper upon argent.
Be sure not to miss where Sarah Hegger’s King Arthur’s Legacy began
SWEET BEA
Is anything sweeter than revenge?
In a family of remarkable people, ordinary Beatrice strives to prove herself worthy. When her family is threatened with losing everything, she rushes to London to save them. Unfortunately, she chooses as her savior the very man who will see her family brought low.
Garrett has sworn vengeance on Sir Arthur of Anglesea for destroying his life when he was a boy and forcing his mother into prostitution for them to survive. He has chosen as his instrument Sir Arthur's youngest daughter, Beatrice.
Can Beatrice’s goodness teach Garrett that love, not vengeance, becomes is greatest reward of all?
A Lyrical Originals novel on sale now!
Learn more about Sarah at
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/30580
Chapter 1
Time to be wooed. Wooed with honeyed words and sweeter touches. Delightful tingles spread to Beatrice’s fingertips, rushed back again, and pooled in her stomach.