by Olga Daniels
“Hush, Meg. That’s over. The King has been called back to London. They have a portrait of a Dutch lady, called Anne of Cleves. A marriage is being arranged. His Majesty rode off this morning.”
“He didn’t ask for me?” She was still fearful.
“He said you wrote him a letter. He asked me to give you this as a token of his esteem.” Richard released his hold on her and took a ring from his pocket. She stepped back as he placed it in her palm. A narrow gold band in which was set one large emerald surrounded by several smaller stones.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, doubtful whether it was right to accept it.
“He wished to give you something to remember him by. He thinks highly of you.” He paused, then continued, with the familiar authoritative note ringing in his voice. “Enough of him, Meg. I rode after you, travelling day and night, on my behalf, not the King’s.”
Could it really be true—when he said he loved her?
Sarah’s voice interrupted. “Oh, my lady, isn’t this a wonderful day?”
Alan brought his horse up alongside them. He was leading Sarah’s mare and she was seated gracefully, side-saddle, in front of him. Happiness glowed on both faces.
“I’m very happy to see you safe and well, Alan. Sarah has been so worried—”
“No need to tell him that,” her maid protested. “Make him big-headed.”
They did not linger long. She envied them; they had never had cause to doubt each other.
Richard said, quite humbly, “There are things I need to say, Meg. Will you walk with me?”
She regarded him steadily, more in control of herself now.
“If you wish it.”
She remained cautious, uncertain of his motives. The more so as she found his presence irresistible. It was impossible to deny the love she felt for him; it throbbed in the air between them. The sight of him filled her with joy. She could no more resist him than she could stop breathing. But did he really care?
He called to the men to take their horses, to see them rubbed down, fed and stabled. As they trotted away she would have followed, but Richard caught hold of her hand, stopping her. He pulled her round to face him, clasped her again in his arms and kissed her.
“I love you, Meg. I can say it at last. I love you. You must have guessed but I dared not speak aloud. I had a plan to steal you out of their clutches and carry you away.”
Surprised, she drew back. “You didn’t say.”
“I couldn’t. If Thurton or Nancy had known what was in my mind, they would have disposed of me within minutes.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, then continued, “I would have given my life for you, my dearest, but that would have served no purpose. Without me, you would have been even more vulnerable. No one else could have given you any protection. I hired a ship to take you to France. I have friends there who would have taken care of you. The ship was in London, waiting for the right tide, but before I could complete the arrangements you ran away.”
“I thought you didn’t care,” Meg whispered.
“Didn’t care! Meg, I think I’ve loved you since that day I first saw you, only then I didn’t recognise the strength of my feelings. When I discovered you and Sarah had ridden off I nearly went out of my mind. Alan was no better.”
“Thank goodness you came and rescued us,” Meg said. “But you gave me no hint—no hope.”
“I knew Thurton wouldn’t give up,” Richard said. “I instructed the skipper of the ship to sail to Harwich and wait there for word from me. I sent Alan ahead.”
“So that’s why he disappeared!”
“The ship was held up by bad weather. He only returned yesterday, and by then everything was changed because you’d managed to get me released and Thurton thrown into the dungeon.”
“Now there’s no need to run away any more,” Meg said. “I shall live at Bixholm, and make it into a women’s refuge—”
“So you told the King,” said Richard. “But are you quite sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Well—”
He placed one finger lightly on her lips. “We can talk about that idea later, my darling. First I must ask—did you mean it, that evening in London, when you asked me to marry you?”
“Whatever did you think of me?” she prevaricated.
“I thought then, as I do now, that you are a wonderful woman. May I answer you as I wanted to then? Dearest Meg, I want to marry you more than anything in the world—if you will still have me.”
She gazed into his eyes, and saw anxiety there. She nodded. “I will, Richard.”
She raised her arms and twined them around his neck, and his mouth swooped down and covered hers in a long, loving kiss. Sarah was right. This was a wonderful day.
Some time later, with their arms around each other, they strolled on and into the castle.
Two days later a double wedding took place in the little Saxon church within the grounds of Bixholm. Sir Richard de Heigham was married to Lady Margaret Thurton, and Alan Crompton to Sarah Wilgress. The feasting, dancing and singing in the Great Hall went on into the early hours of the next morning, long after the newly wedded couples had slipped away.
Meg delighted in taking charge of the household at Bixholm, and Richard immersed himself in the running of the estate. He appointed Alan as his steward to manage Leet.
“What shall I do about Thurton?” Alan asked, as he and Sarah were about to depart.
Richard consulted Meg. “I am mindful that but for him, wicked though he is, I should never have met you, my darling. Shall we be generous and set him free?”
“An amnesty to celebrate our nuptials.” She smiled. “Yes, so long as he never again sets foot on Bixholm or Leet land.”
Sarah and Meg were saddened at being separated, but took comfort that they were only two days’ ride apart, and promised to send letters and messages back and forth whenever possible.
Before many months had passed Meg wrote to Sarah that she was with child, and Sarah replied that she also was expecting.
Meg continued to devote some of her time to helping the poor and needy, and became revered over the countryside for her skill with herbs and potions and her generous assistance to the sick. The people spoke of her with reverence as “the lovely Lady Margaret”. A title with which Richard agreed wholeheartedly.
On Twelfth Night, 6th January 1540, the marriage took place between Henry VIII and Anne of Cleves. A sad event, for he never loved her. It was said the marriage was never consummated, and six months later it was dissolved, so that he could marry the young and lively Catherine Howard.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6137-5
A ROYAL ENGAGEMENT
First North American Publication 2003
Copyright © 1999 by Olga Daniels
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com
re this book with friends