“Aye, but I prefer Emy. Royce has always called me Emy, though Mother hates it. I do not know how to play it, but I want to learn some day. Would you play something? No one has played it in so very long. Please?” Her eyes begged unmercifully, and Ahna found she be unable to disappoint this child.
“I will play ye one song, then must return to my room as I be leaving shortly. I wish I be staying longer so I could teach ye. And please, I am no’ Lady Ahna, just Ahna. Come with me while I play, and watch how I pluck the strings so you might try it after I leave.”
Emy jumped up and clapped her hands. “Aye. Come, you must show me, just Ahna,” she said, with mischief in her eyes and the grin of a little imp. As Ahna stood, Emy clasped her hand to lead the way.
Sitting on the stool, Emy standing at her side with eyes wide with eagerness, Ahna fanned the strings lightly with her fingertips, grimacing at the discord. It had indeed been a while since this lovely instrument had been played. One by one, she turned each string hook on the top then strummed the brass string to hear the tone, readjusting the hook again as needed. All the while, she explained the “whys” and “hows” for adjustment to Emy. The little girl soaked up every word, and listened to each change of tone, gauging with her ear. She will be a natural talent for playing, Ahna thought.
All tuned to her satisfaction, Ahna played one of her favorites, a love ballad that not only was a pleasant, haunting melody, it soothed the soul. As her fingers stroked lightly and plucked the strings when needed, she peered at Emy. The girl stood stone still, as if bewitched, yet totally enthralled. Did she even breathe? When the song ended, a few tears ran down the child’s face, while her smile mimicked the stars.
“Again, please. Only one more.” She swatted at her face to dry it. “That was so very beautiful. Please?”
The few eating along with those serving applauded, some issuing well dones. Ahna blushed and nodded to all.
“I canna resist a request from such a sweet lass, but mind ’twill be the last, for I needs be ready when Royce says I am to leave.” When Emy promised again, Ahna explained, “When a person plays the harp, no’ only do ye want to provide a pleasant melody, but most of all, ye want to provide laughter, tears, or sleep. If ye do so, you have done a good job. Do you understand?”
“Aye. Again, please.” Before Ahna started, she had Emy sit on her one leg and fan her fingers across the strings as instructed. The notes flowed like a ribbon floating in the wind. Emy’s eyes rounded, her thin body trembling as she sighed a huge, “Oh!”
After Emy stood, Ahna started another tune just as compelling, yet a bit livelier. Not half way through, a screech to equal a raving banshee pierced the air. “Nooooooooo!”
“Get away from there this instant,” Lady Rosemond wailed, her arms waving high in the air as she flew across the hall from the main door heading straight for the two on the platform.
“How dare you touch that? Get away. Now!” she bellowed, drawing within a few feet of them. Ahna stood, grabbed Emy and shoved her behind her, protecting her with arms held out wide and in a semi-crouched stance.
Royce dashed from the spot where he’d stood watching to intercept his mother. He wrapped his arms around her waist, halting her in her tracks. She bludgeoned her fists against his chest with a vengeance, anger contorting her face to resemble a rabid animal.
“Let me go, damn you! Do not side with that woman.” She twisted, squirmed, and bashed his chest with her fists. Had he not finally constrained her hands, she would have clawed his face. “She should not be touching that harp. No one should ever touch that harp. No one!” She was sobbing now, hysterically rambling, but at least at a lesser volume.
“Cease!” he barked. His mother grew taut. “You are the lady of this household, and will comport yourself as such. Calm down, Mother. People look at you as if you have lost your mind.”
“She nor Emlaine should be up there,” she stammered through gasps and swallows.
Royce took her hand firmly within his so that should she try to launch another attack, he would have her anchored. He pulled her along at his side the few steps to the platform.
“Priscilla, as well as Henry, have been gone for six years. It is time to accept it and let it go. You should be remembering and cherishing the many years you had with each of them. Look at Emy.” Lady Rosemond lifted her head and eyed Emy.
“You have another daughter who needs attention, to see her dreams fulfilled. You know she longs to play the harp. Yet, you deny her pleasure as well as those who would listen. Pris would be proud of Em if she were to follow in her musical footsteps. Let Em learn to play the harp so the music will live on in remembrance of Pris.”
Lady Rosemond looked ready to collapse. She grew limp, then straightened her back, and looked at Emy, who peeked from behind Ahna. Then, she glanced at Ahna, and once more studied Em. “You really want to play the harp?”
“Yes, my lady mother. So very much. I would play in honor and memory of Priscilla and for all others’ pleasure.”
“So be it,” she said with a nod. She looked up at Royce. “You may release my hand. I will go to my room and rest, if you do not mind. I…I thank you for reminding me I have been remiss of Emlaine’s needs. I will do penance as Father Thomas sees fit.”
Royce released her hand and watched her stride from the room, her head high, her shoulders back. Much the lady she used to be before growing bitter and unforgiving after the deaths of his siblings.
Emy came around Ahna and hugged her tight. “Thank you for your songs, teaching me, and showing my lady mother this harp should be played.”
Ahna smiled at Emy, returning her hug as she glanced at Royce who watched them. “’Tis yer brother ye should be thanking. He made her realize ye need to play if ye so desire, and to let it be an honor and remembrance of Priscilla.
Chapter Eleven
Ahna had changed back into her hose and tunic, and was setting her bow and quiver with arrows on the table when Royce knocked. She bade him enter.
Coming to her side, he laid the opium, wrapped in brown paper, on the table. “There be instructions within and enough to last a month.
Her lip quivered, and she could not look at him. “I know ye did no’ have to do this and I thank ye fer her sake. I thank ye again fer seeing me escorted back home safely. I do no’ deserve such kindness after what I tried to do. Even this morning, I caused a riot in the hall. Ye mayhap would been better off to lock me in the dungeon and have thrown away the key.” She stared at the rushes on the floor. When she heard his light chuckle, she glanced up in surprise.
“You have been a thorn in my side since I met you. Yet, a very pretty thorn, I must say. I must thank you for today’s upheaval. Had you not played for Em, my mother would have never dealt with the past—and Em would have been the one to suffer. I appreciate you taking the time to instruct her as much as you did. She be a quick learner, and will heed the words you said.”
“She is a wonderful, sweet lass. I wish I had more time to teach her.” Ahna wondered just how long he had been listening to her play. Much longer than she had realized. But all that meant nothing. They would be parting shortly, and they might never cross paths again. “I thank ye also for allowing Father Thomas to go see my mother. She will rest in peace easier with the sacraments.”
He nodded, and went to the table. “Do you have anything else to gather before we go down?” He picked up the brown bundle and inserted it into the quiver, then gathered the rest of her things in his hands.
“No, ’tis all I have here. I have a few things in the saddle bag in the stable with Patience. The livery will be thinking I stole her by now.”
He scowled. “You will owe more coin, and I know you cannot afford such. I will gather more just before you leave.”
“’Tis no’ yer need to supply me needed coins for my folly.”
“Ahna, I wish things would have worked out between us. I was so positive we had another chance. I finally realized your past and status mean
s nothing, ’tis who you are inside that counts—”
“Please,” she held up her hand, “Do no’ make this any harder. Twice, now, I had high hopes we had a relationship. Twice, I be wrong. I can understand yer trouble ye had at first with me no’ being the lady ye need at your side. But you donna trust me, and no matter how much we may long fer something more betwixt us, it can ne’er be. No’ without trust. Ye told yer mother to let it go, and so this shall be, also.”
****
Royce stood atop the battlements watching the group on horseback until they could no longer be seen. His heart ached as if twisted in a knot. He had been a fool at first, listening to his mother spew all Ahna’s faults that would make his future position impossible to live with. He had finally found good sense, and realized their love was meant to be. He thought he had been given a second chance this time, believing nothing could stand in their way. Yet…she was right. He had not trusted her when she besmirched Malcolm. How could he? Malcolm was more a brother than his older brother had ever been. Henry had been pompous, rude, self-centered, a liar and cheat, and only interested in money. Royce had never looked up to him. And God forgive him, though he had grieved Henry’s death, he could never forgive him for not preventing Priscilla’s drowning along with him.
****
Sweaty and reinvigorated after a vigorous workout in the lists, Royce opened the door to his room, needing to bathe and change. He had relieved Derek, his squire, of cleaning and polishing his sword so he could busy himself. A hopeful tactic of dealing with Ahna’s departure.
He halted in his tracks, his eyes wide as he stared at the wardrobe’s contents strewn across the floor. Malcolm swiveled around from where he crouched, examining various articles. He leaped to his feet, grabbed his sword from the floor and faced Royce with his weapon ready—and contempt on his face Royce had never thought to see.
“So, we will finally have it out. I’ve waited for this day for a long time, cousin.”
Royce hid his grimace at the pure hatred directed at him. More than stunned, he nevertheless tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Just tell me why. I thought us as brothers.”
“Brothers, never.” The scorn dripped from Malcom’s lips. “Me, the lowly cousin? You never even thanked me for ridding you of worthless Henry and dropping the future earldom in your lap.” He laughed, as if telling some joke.
“What say you?” Royce fought to breathe. He needed answers. His mind swirled.
“I can tell you, for you are a dead man. I intend to kill you, find the Chalice, and finally be gone from here to become a rich and favored man.” He actually gloated and smiled.
This was not his cousin.
“I could kill you, instead.” Royce had to keep him talking, get the best of him.
“You are a fool. You will fight me, but you will never intend to kill me.” He laughed. “’Tis not in you. Me? My heart is in killing you. But first, tell me where the Chalice be.”
Royce shook his head. “Tell me of Henry.” Royce kept his voice authoritative, hoping to find answers. Where was the Malcolm he loved?
“’Tis a shame, really. I only wished to sample what lay beneath Priscilla’s skirts. So sweet, so lovely. Ah, her fighting made it all so much better.” He smiled, lips thinning. “Then damn Henry intruded. We fought, rolling to the edge of the glen. I gave him a shove. The stupid bitch tried to catch him, and they both went over. Now…the Chalice. Where is it?”
Rage surfaced. Royce fought for control. “You are the fool for thinking I would keep the Chalice here. It is not.” He grinned, hoping to provoke Malcolm. His cousin was a dead man.
“No!” he bellowed. “I searched elsewhere. It must be here.” Eyes flashing flames, he swung his sword. Royce met with his, metal shrieking and clashing over and over. Back and forth across the room they pushed each other with mighty slashes, bending, pivoting, and swinging with the most ferocious of forces. Muscles strained, sweat dripped, grunts ensued.
Royce saw his chance. He swung with two hands on the hilt now, adding more force to each hit, forcing Malcolm to take a step back, then another. When both feet were atop the strewed garments, Royce knew he had him. He swung once more, coming from the left. His cousin tried to block. Malcolm took a step back, tangling his left foot in a mound of linen while his right slipped on leather. Teetering, he arched his back to catch his balance.
Royce had him, went in for the kill. Royce bent low at the waist, twisted to his right, then upward—and thrust his sword with all his weight. The sword went into Malcolm’s abdomen straight through his body. Malcolm’s sword hit the floor first, followed by his limp form crashing beside it.
Royce gasped for needed breath, leaned against the chair, then plopped down to rest his head on the table. After a minute, he raised his head, stared at his cousin’s wide eyes and grimaced. “You had only yourself to blame for your sorry life, you worthless cur. I only paid you back for the lives you took so cruelly and needlessly.”
Chapter Twelve
Though snow had fallen heavy at times going to Edinburgh, the weather had again turned temperate, making the return trip to Dillyglen faster and easier. Having rested horses and men for a day, a smaller group of five had ridden south toward Selkirk. Royce had welcomed Father Thomas’s request to accompany the four back to the town where he wished to again help at the abbey until the return trip. He despaired over the fact that Ahna’s mother had passed and been buried before her return, leaving Ahna more than distraught.
Ahna heard a tap on the door and strode across the small expanse. “Aye?”
“’Tis Royce, Ahna. May I come in?” He heard her gasp, then release the latch.
She opened the door, peered around him to see he be alone, and stepped back. “You will need to duck under the doorway, but please, come in.”
Royce scanned the two-room, two-window hut. The dirt floor had been well swept; a banked fire in the small stone fireplace held the chill at bay. One table and two chairs filled the main room, along with a short counter housing a dish pan, utensils, and arrows. His heart wept for what she had been reduced to. Clean, but a hovel, nonetheless. Yet, she remained strong and worked with what was handed her.
“I am sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. I beg forgiveness for detaining you and preventing you from saying goodbye.” He held his breath.
He watched her eyes turn glassy.
She sighed heavily. “’Twas me own fault. I never should have left her. Why be ye here?”
Once seated, he told her of his battle with Malcolm, the delivery of the Chalice, Father Thomas’s return to the abbey, and in between laughs, his visit with sweet little Kyra.
“Ahna, can you ever forgive me for being a foolish, pompous, distrusting man? I should have listened to my heart from the first. I slighted you by being influenced by others. I abandoned you at your greatest time of need. I failed you again by believing in one unworthy of my trust. Can you ever find it in your heart to try for a third time? I am unworthy of your affection, but I am a praying man. I love you with all my heart and soul.” He stepped back, waiting to hear his sentence.
“I have never stopped loving ye.”
He knelt on one knee, took her right hand in his, and covered their joined hands with his other. “Will you marry me, Ahna? Let me protect you for all the days ahead? Will you be the mother of my children, and love me through thick and thin?”
Her eyes glistened with tears of joy that streamed down her cheeks. Never had she expected to find love where she least expected it. Her heart felt as if it were ready to spill over like a giant waterfall. “I love ye, Royce, with all me heart—and then some. I be proud and more than delighted to be yer wife and the mother of yer children.”
He brought her to her feet and gazed into her starlit eyes. Then, he bent his head to worship her lips in a tender kiss that had the two of them opening their hearts to a rekindled and reaffirmed love. Nothing could ever sever what they now had found.
Chapter Th
irteen
A jovial Father Thomas performed the wedding one week before Christmas. The castle was decorated to the fullest, with hundreds of guests enjoying pine scents and the aromas of the feast to follow. Emlaine stood proud to be the maid of honor, while the pretty little flower girl, Kyra, beamed. Geoffrey as best man kept the ring well-guarded until needed.
Ahna wore a long sweeping gown of cream-colored satin with green silk embroidery across the bodice and down the folds. Royce stood at her side with a grin that threatened to remain in place forever. His mother had reluctantly accepted the marriage, and that was all anyone could ask.
However, this wedding ceremony was not the only festivity planned for today. This loving, finally wedded, and awaiting-to-be-bedded couple, would become the elated parents on this same blessed day. The adoption of the delightful and energetic Kyra would soon follow. Then, the feast would begin. Emlaine, feeling quite delighted to become an “aunt”, promised to take care of her new young charge throughout the following day until the newlyweds might finally show their faces.
Ahna and Royce kissed, gazing into each other eyes. They were finally home. And that is where they wanted to be
About the Author—Beverly Wells
For years, Bev devoted herself to family and nursing. Once she discovered romance novels, she was hooked. Now, the award-winning author writes humorous, sensuous (sweet to spicy) historical romance. Living in the Finger Lakes Region of NYS with her husband and rescued dog, Jamie, she enjoys volunteering at the shelter, anything Nascar, flower gardening, swimming, boating, and cooking for friends and family. She adores her two granddaughters, and of course, chocolate.
For more info visit her author page on the Prairie Rose Publications website or Amazon, her website, blog, FB as Bev Lewis or Beverly Wells, or gmail her at [email protected].
My Forever Love
One Winter Knight Page 28