by Linda Madl
She smiled. “My lord, I believe Brenna will be well pleased to become the new Countess of Tremelyn."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Epilogue
"WELL, OF COURSE, I said yes immediately,” Brenna recited for all her new ladies-in-waiting and turned to grin at Leandra who returned her cousin's smile. “After all, what maid would pass up the chance to be a countess?” Brenna confessed. “'Twas a beautiful wedding, was it not?"
The twittering ladies agreed. The royal dressing room buzzed with women's voices. Bawdy laughter rang out, and rich fabrics rustled as the two brides—Brenna and Leandra—were prepared for their bedding ceremonies.
"There's something I think you should know,” Brenna said, her lips next to Leandra's ear so that the noble ladies could not hear. “It does grow."
Leandra frowned, uncertain at first what her cousin meant. Then she understood and laughed. “I know."
"You know? How can that be?” Brenna stepped back, clearly disappointed. She looked Leandra over as if she hadn't seen her for years. “Did Amice tell you, too? She told me she hadn't told. No? Oh, I know, ‘twas May Day. Sooooo, that sly Sir Perfect. I knew he wasn't too good."
"It wasn't like that,” Leandra said, trying to be serious and dignified about this moment, but a smile teased the corners of her mouth upward once more. She was Lady Bernay now as well as Leandra of Lyonesse, and the knowledge pleased her so much she could hardly keep a frown on her face for long.
"Of course, it was like that,” Brenna mocked with an impish grin spreading across her face. “He's a handsome man, just a little too perfect to my taste. But Reginald—now he has faults. For one thing, he's a little old. But he knows how to make up for it.” She held out her left hand to admire her diamond-encrusted wedding ring.
"Look at what he let me pick from all the jewels of Tremelyn's coffers,” she prattled. “I can't believe you made Sir Garrett put that golden circle on your finger again."
"I am satisfied,” Leandra said, knowing that Brenna would never understand no matter how many times she tried to explain that she wanted only the ring that Garrett first gave her. “'Twas meant to be mine, and I wish for no other."
"Well, if it's what you wanted,” Brenna said.
"Shhhh!” hissed the woman keeping watch at the chamber door. She waved warning at the women in the room. “Here comes the priest with the earl and Sir Garrett."
In a flurry the ladies arranged themselves in order of social magnitude and composed their faces into appropriate noble expressions.
Brenna and Leandra turned to each other, suddenly aware that on the morrow their lives would be forever parted. One would begin her reign as countess, and the other would return to rule Lyonesse.
Brenna sobered, daunted at last by the immensity of the change. “I am sorry for all the pain I brought,” she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. “I meant no harm. Truly, cousin. All has turned out favorably, has it not? Even Leofric received justice."
Just that morning a message arrived at the castle from the Earl of Casseldorne, Leofric's father. As the earl told it, Leofric had been found on the steps of a nearby Franciscan hermitage, battered and beaten—minus the little finger of his left hand. He refused to speak of the two days he had been missing, and he desperately begged the brothers to allow him to take the vows of poverty. He even promised to sign his inheritance over to the order, his father wrote in anger.
"'Twas justice, indeed.” Leandra suspected that Leofric owed his life to Lord Reginald. Murder of a wedding guest would have obliged the earl and all his knights to swoop down on the outlaws. So instead of death, the miscreants had wisely settled for torture and ransom—the offering paid to the Church. “A life of poverty and humility is a dear price for a man like Leofric."
"Enter, my lords,” invited the senior lady-in-waiting who stood at the door. “Lady Brenna, your husband has arrived."
Leandra embraced her cousin. “Be well and be happy.” Brenna nodded. Head held high, lashes fluttering to hold back tears, she turned and went to take the hands of the Earl of Tremelyn. Garrett joined Leandra, and they followed the other women.
Kneeling at the bedside, the newly wedded couple bowed their heads as the priest intoned prayers for happiness and children; for food, health, and children; and for prosperity and children. She couldn't imagine Brenna as a mother, but she marveled to see her cousin so docile and demure at the earl's side. Reginald smiled lovingly at his bride.
Prayers complete, the priest sprinkled the bed with holy water and censed the room. A little thrill of excitement shivered through her when Garrett squeezed her hand.
"We're next,” he murmured.
In their chamber as she and Garrett knelt by their bed, waiting for the priest's blessing, her apprehension grew. Since her talk with Reginald after the banquet, she had not seen Garrett alone. The only glimpses she had of his feelings about the sudden turn of events had come during the ceremony—a solemn, almost grim twist of his lips and the warm steadiness of his hands as he slipped the ring on her finger once more.
Again the priest's prayers went on and on, and her unease increased. The sharp scent of incense stung her nose.
At last, the bed-blessing ceremony was over, and everyone departed in a flood of knowing smiles and best wishes. Garrett closed the door and lingered there, his back to her, his broad shoulders straight and tense.
"Are you satisfied?” he asked without turning to face her. “You have what you wanted from the beginning, a knight for Lyonesse."
She swallowed with difficulty. When he'd made the final toast at the banquet she had been reassured that he wanted this marriage as much as she did. Now she was no longer so certain of that. He had ambitions that she and Lyonesse could never satisfy.
"What did Lord Reginald say to you last night when the two of you spoke alone?” she asked, clasping her hands before her. The interview must have been difficult for him. “Do you still sail for France?"
"He said very little really.” Garrett turned with a frown. “He invited me to sail with the next company of knights requested by the king."
He glanced briefly at her as though he anticipated some objection. “But that won't come for some time."
"That was generous of him.” She toyed with the folds of her silken bed gown. She could not ask a knight to be anything less than a king's warrior—not even her husband.
"I asked him to bestow Chycliff on Wystan when he is knighted next Eastertide. He agreed."
She started in surprise. “That's good news. But why give up your ancestral home? ‘Tis yours by right."
"I could hardly accept reward for an undertaking at which I failed so miserably.” He shook his head. “I was to bring Reginald his bride, safe and smiling. Instead I presented him with a scheming maid who wanted a knight for her realm and carried a love potion in her cuff. Not to mention a cousin bent on finding a husband."
Dismay slowed her heartbeat, but pride stiffened her backbone. “Then, if you didn't wish to marry, why did you make the toast last night? Why did you help me throw Brenna into Reginald's arms?"
He studied her. “I never said I didn't wish for this marriage, Leandra. There's been little else in my head since we were crowned May Queen and Lord."
Her heart quickened.
"But I failed in my mission.” For the first time he seemed to relax. “I find I have another duty now."
"Lyonesse?” she asked, daring to hope. “You will share the responsibilities with me."
"'Tis a duty more demanding than protecting Lyonesse,” he said. “I'm charged with being your husband."
She smiled hesitantly.
His gaze endured, so compelling that she had to look away, aware that she wore nothing beneath the loose silk bed gown.
A gentle draft stirred the hem of the garment, tickling her ankles. Instinctively she pressed her legs together. Garrett remained at the door, but she could feel his scrutiny peel away the fabric. He made no move, but she could feel his
gaze caress her body.
Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to grab a bed curtain to hide behind. “No need to stare so, Sir Knight. There is nothing here that you have not seen already,” she said boldly, with false courage. Still, she could not meet his gaze.
"Perhaps.” He spoke softly, his voice hoarse, an ominous smile coming to his lips. He advanced toward her purposefully. She stepped back only to find her back against the bedpost. “But I have not seen enough yet to tire of it. Moreover, you must pay the price now for making me love you. I remember well that May Day night. I recall clearly that you liked the touching."
He grasped the bedpost just above her head and leaned forward, his nearness warm and enveloping, teasing every particle of her to tingling awareness. He did not touch her, but she desperately wanted him to. She knew that when they finally held each other everything would be right. She looked into his face, so new to her, yet so familiar and beloved. His wicked smile softened.
She summoned her courage and spread her hand over his blue jacket, against his heart. “I touch your heart first,” she whispered. “Then I give you mine."
He made no reply, only took her chin between his forefinger and thumb and lifted her face to his. Firm and sensitive, his lips moved over hers, masterfully banishing every fear that lingered in her. She sighed, her body dissolving, so that she possessed no more strength than a puppet held on her feet only by her master's grip on her chin.
He began to kiss her brow, tiny feathery kisses, descending to her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. Eagerly she offered him her throat.
A chuckle rumbled deep and sweet inside him, vibrating through her hand, still pressed against his heart.
"I knew you wouldn't play coy games.” He kissed her throat, his fingers working through her hair to the back of her neck. He whispered against her collarbone, “Tonight, sweeting, we resume the lesson we began on May Day."
When she felt the palm of his hand, bare and hot, on her shoulder, then down her back, she knew he had untied the ribbons of her gown. Soon she would truly wear nothing but his touch.
"Remember our first night together.” His kisses trailed across her breasts, light and caressing, down her belly, warm. Large hands spread over her ribs, possessive hands. He knelt before her, his golden hair gleaming in the candlelight, his hands slipping low over her hips. Lips found her navel.
She gasped, pressed her head back against the bedpost.
"We only explored a few of the wonders of lovemaking,” he murmured.
The silk gown pooled around her ankles. He pressed her back against the bedpost. His hands ran over her lightly; his breath brushed her hidden curls. The new sensation startled a groan from her.
She laced her fingers through his hair, tugging him away before her strength deserted her. Only the bedpost supported her now. When the flood of moistness came, she understood the meaning of it. She wanted to tell him she was melting, but words refused to come to her lips.
Somehow, he knew. He stood, swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bed.
"There will be some pain,” he warned, his lips against her ear.
He left her for a moment to divest himself of his own clothes. She watched, curious, ready now to see if what she already knew was true. Indeed, Brenna's words were accurate. She stared unabashedly at him. When he saw her inspection of him, he smiled and put her hand on the part he'd kept a mystery until now. He was smooth and hard, round and full, warm and alive.
"I take pleasure in your touch as you do in mine,” he confessed as she held him. “I guide your hands, and so you must guide mine."
She agreed and when the time came, he covered her, his thighs inside hers this time.
The first taste of his entrance only made her want more. She wrapped her arms around his waist to entice him. He slipped his hands beneath her hips. His second thrust brought the pain, sharp and sweet, taking away her breath. He pulled back.
For a moment, she feared he was going to withdraw. She clung to him, her hands slipping down his back. She whispered desperate words of need against his cheek.
His mouth found hers, kissing her tenderly before he began the final lesson. She followed his lead and accepted her own body's promptings, as he'd encouraged her to do. Pleasure flourished inside as she moved with him. Their breaths mingled, quick and warm, until the final sigh came, together.
She lay adrift in heavenly satisfaction, in his arms, caring for nothing but the moment, the here and now of their love.
* * * *
GARRETT WATCHED HER, wondering at the changes in her since they'd faced each other in the streets of Lyonesse. She was softer somehow, and warmer, even sweeter, if that was possible. Lightly he stroked her belly, and she stretched, nearly purring under his hand. “What a fierce, loving mother you will be, Leandra,” he whispered against her lips. “Indulgent, yet strong, like a lioness."
She brushed a kiss along his square chin. “Hmmm. Lioness? I thought I was a scheming maid with a love potion. But this is the real magic. Not the potion, but the loving."
"I never thought of it like that until last May Day.” He eyed the smooth supple limbs she lazed against him. Desire stirred again. “But I knew then that you cast some kind of spell. You were so determined to have a knight for Lyonesse."
"Do you mind sharing it with me?” she asked. She raised herself up on one elbow, her breast plump against his arm, and peered into his face. “The burdens of Lyonesse?"
"I have pledged my life to do so,” he said, smiling up at her. “Did you ever doubt I would?"
"No, I have never doubted you, Sir Garrett Bernay,” she said with no hesitation. “Only you doubted yourself."
He drew a deep breath of satisfaction. “I only ask one thing, lioness."
"What's that?” she rested her head on his shoulder and her eyelids drooped sleepily.
"No more potions from Vivian."
Her lids never even fluttered. “Not even the seasickness remedy for when you sail to France?"
"Well—with that exception, only.” He smiled resignedly to himself. Was she always going to be one step ahead of him?
Unexpectedly she sat up, pressed his hand against her heart, and regarded him squarely in the eye. “I swear I'll never seek out a potion again, except for the seasickness remedy. The only enchantment I'll ever practice will come from the love in my heart."
"And from mine, also. ‘Tis the only magic we need."
When they finished another long kiss, she clung to him breathlessly. He held her close, admiring the curve on her lips.
"Mercy, Sir Knight,” she whispered without opening her eyes. “Indeed, love ‘tis the only magic required. For you need no other spell to put a lasting smile on my lips."
He chuckled and began kissing her again.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Linda Madl
Linda Madl's work includes ten novels and many novellas, short stories, and nonfiction articles. Besides a good story, she relishes chocolate, classical music, and a good bookstore or library. The settings of her books are as varied as her own travels. Cornwall, Scotland, the Rockies, and the Kansas River banks have all served as locales for her work. She resides with her husband, dog, and parakeet in the Kansas Flint Hills. Family, friends, and travel fill her non-writing hours.
Find more information and a list of her book titles at: www.lindmadl.com
* * *
Visit www.hardshell.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.