by Alexa Aston
When Peter’s arm went back again, Agatha jumped and pulled it down.
“Nay. Stop, Peter,” she begged.
He glared at Marcus. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come for Jess.” He paused and wiped a dribble of blood from under his nose. “I will speak to your father, of course, but I know I must also talk with the earl and compensate him for the loss of a valuable servant.”
“Good luck with that.” Peter spat on the ground, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Marcus with contempt.
“Lord Geoffrey should be finishing up in the training yard this time of day,” Agatha volunteered. “You can find him there.” She looked at Peter. “I’ll go to the keep and tell the countess they have a guest.” She lifted her skirts and raced off.
After she left, Marcus said, “I am sorry, Peter. For everything.”
“You’ll get no forgiveness from me.”
“I admire your loyalty to your sister. Somehow, I will make it up to her. And you. My offer still stands. You and Agatha are welcome to come live at Hartefield. You can serve in whatever capacity you choose.”
Peter walked off without another word. Marcus watched him go to a nearby blacksmith’s shed. He lifted a hammer and began pounding it against an empty anvil. He supposed Peter imagined Marcus’ head on the block.
Turning, he headed toward the training yard. As he neared it, soldiers began streaming past him, the end of their day done. Marcus waited patiently and finally saw an imposing man with dark hair now streaked with gray was the last to leave the field. Though close to three score, he looked as if he could take on a man a third his age—and be victorious in their encounter.
“Lord Geoffrey?” he asked.
“Aye? Who might you be, my lord?”
“I am Marcus de Harte, Baron of Harteley. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
The nobleman’s demeanor changed in an instant. A scowl darkened his still handsome face. “Haven’t you already done enough harm? Leave my estate. Now,” the earl commanded.
“I cannot, my lord,” Marcus insisted. “I need to speak to you. About Jess.”
“Why would you come here after so long a time and stir up trouble, man? Have you no sense of decency?” Waves of anger poured off the earl.
“I am here for Jess, my lord. If she’ll have me, I wish to wed her.”
Astonishment filled the older man’s face. He took a long breath and exhaled. “Come to my solar. I make all important decisions with my wife.”
With that, Lord Geoffrey strode away. Marcus followed him, keeping a short distance between them. They passed Peter again, who continued slamming his hammer down with purpose.
Arriving at the keep, the two men mounted the stairs leading up to it. Lord Geoffrey pushed open the door, Marcus trailing behind him. Once in the hallway outside the great hall, he saw Agatha rush down a staircase that he assumed led to the bedchambers and solar.
“My lord, Lady Merryn awaits you and Lord Marcus in the solar.”
“Thank you, Agatha.”
Geoffrey de Montfort mounted the stairs, Marcus keeping pace. The earl ventured down a long hallway until he reached its end and pushed the door open. Entering behind Lord Geoffrey, Marcus saw a striking, older woman with incredibly blue eyes, sitting as regally as any queen ever had. She must have been the great beauty of her day for she still was impressive even now.
Marcus crossed the large room to where she sat and took her hand.
“My lady.” He kissed her fingers. “I am Marcus de Harte, Baron of Harteley.” He released her hand and stepped back.
Lord Geoffrey had gone to stand behind his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. Lady Merryn reached up and took it as she assessed Marcus.
“Have a seat, my lord.”
He took a chair opposite the couple. “I have come to Kinwick to ask your permission for Jess Gilpin, one of your valued servants, to leave your property. I know she looks after your grandchildren and will be hard to replace. I will amply compensate you for her absence from Kinwick and even pay for her replacement. If you agree, my lord, I will seek out her father and ask his permission for her hand in marriage.”
The couple glanced at one another and back at him.
“It is my understanding that you are already wed, Lord Marcus,” Lady Merryn began.
“I was, my lady. My wife—Lady Ailith—passed away several days ago.”
“And you came straight here?” Lord Geoffrey asked.
“I did.” Marcus swallowed. “I fell in love with Jess last summer when we both toured with the mummers. I had no idea my father had betrothed me to another woman. I did my duty and wed Lady Ailith, but I never lay with her. That would have been the worst betrayal to Jess.”
“Your wife accepted that arrangement?” the noblewoman inquired.
“Aye. I shared with her how much I loved Jess. Lady Ailith knew Jess since she had tended to her when she had the measles, though Ailith never truly recovered from that illness. I was informed that, often, those who survive bouts of it go blind or have a weakened heart. My wife’s heart was severely affected by the high fever she’d experienced. Ailith kept to her bed this past year and had little strength. She finally slipped away. Her last words thanked me for caring for her daughter and urged me to go to Jess.”
Marcus stood. “I know I broke Jess’ heart for my own has been torn in two ever since we parted. I have done my duty to my family and my people, but every breath I take has been one of sorrow and pain. My lord, my lady, if I do not have Jess in my life, I’m not sure I can go on living. I’ll do anything you ask but I must have her. I want to make her happy once again. Give her children of her own.
“I promise to spend the rest of my life making up to her all the wrongs I’ve done. Jess will be the most treasured wife in all of England. Nay, the entire world,” he said with vehemence.
Lady Merryn gasped. She looked to her husband. “Geoffrey?”
Lord Geoffrey smiled. “Jessimond will make her own decision. ’Tis not one we can make for her, my love.”
He turned to Marcus. “My daughter is in our bedchamber.” He waved a hand toward an open door.
Marcus took a few steps before stopping in his tracks. “Your . . . daughter?” he asked hoarsely, looking from Lord Geoffrey to Lady Merryn and back.
“Aye,” the earl replied. “Jessimond is our youngest child.”
“Jess is . . . a de Montfort,” he said, trying to comprehend the words. “The daughter of one of England’s most powerful families.”
“She is. A strong woman with a mind of her own,” Lady Merryn said with a smile. “I know—because I raised her that way.”
Marcus looked hopefully to the door Lord Geoffrey had indicated. Jess—nay, Jessimond—was inside that chamber. With the door ajar, she must have heard their entire conversation.
And yet she’d remained hidden.
That didn’t bode well. Still, Marcus hadn’t come all this way to face defeat. He straightened his shoulders, determined that she would be his. Whatever it took.
“If you will excuse me,” he told the couple and strode across the room, pausing in the doorway.
Jess sat in a chair beside the door, a babe in her arms. Marcus’ first thought was that she looked lovelier than the Madonna holding the Christ child. He gathered up every ounce of courage he had and stepped through the archway and closed the door behind him. Their conversation would be for them alone.
She looked up at him, those amethyst eyes swimming with tears.
Marcus had practiced what he would say to her throughout the entire ride to Kinwick but now seeing her, every word fled. Finally, he asked, “Which de Montfort grandchild is this?”
“The newest one,” she replied, her gaze locked on his. “Mine. This babe is mine. I’m a de Montfort and so is Margaret. I named her after your mother.”
He heard what she said but merely stood there, looking from her to the babe and back.
“You . . . had a child? Ou
r child?”
Jess nodded and smiled down at the sleeping girl. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Marcus fell to his knees, great sobs escaping his chest. His head rested in her lap. His hands clutched the material of her cotehardie. Vaguely, he heard the door open as he wept.
“I’ll take her,” Lady Merryn said.
Jess handed the infant over and the noblewoman left the room. Marcus felt Jess’ hands as they began lightly stroking his hair. Her gentle touch made him cry all the harder.
Raising his tearstained face, he said, “How can I ever make it up to you?”
“By loving me,” she said simply. “I have never stopped loving you.”
Jess leaned toward him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
The heavy burden Marcus had carried for a year floated away like a cloud. He came to his feet, bringing Jess with him. His arms came about her as he teased her lips apart. Their tongues met. Marcus poured everything of himself into the kiss as their passion flared. He wanted the kiss to tell her how sorry he was. How much he needed her forgiveness. How he’d longed for her day and night. It went on and on. Time ceased to exist. Only he and Jess existed in this world of two.
Nay, three. The babe made them three.
Marcus broke the kiss and rested his brow against hers, reluctant to part from her.
“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked hoarsely.
“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” she replied.
He cradled her face tenderly. “I abandoned you. You gave birth to our child alone. I should have been there.”
She brushed her lips against his. “You will be there for the rest, Marcus. I’m sure we will have many more babes. After all, I will need to provide an heir to Hartefield, won’t I?”
He kissed her again and again, one kiss melting into the next.
Breaking away so they could catch their breaths, he asked, “What am I to call you? Jess? Jessimond?”
She gave him a radiant smile. “I rather like Wife,” she declared.
Marcus beamed at her. “I shall call you all three, my love. And I will be at your side each time you give birth. We will never be parted again, I swear. My life is yours, Jessimond. My precious, precious love.”
He kissed her deeply, reveling in her taste and the feel of her in his arms. Finally, he pulled back. “I would like to hold our daughter now.”
Jessimond took his hand and led him from the bedchamber. Her parents sat in the next room, Lady Merryn cradling her youngest granddaughter.
Marcus released Jessimond’s hand and asked, “May I hold her?”
“Of course,” the noblewoman replied. “She is the sweetest tempered babe in our family. Just as her mother was.”
He took the sleeping bundle and drew her to his chest. Suddenly, the babe’s eyes opened and stared at him with interest.
“’Tis your father, Margaret,” he choked out, his eyes blurring with tears. “I’ve come to claim you and your mother and bring you home.”
Marcus began walking around the solar with the babe as she cooed at him. His heart swelled with love and spilled over. Jessimond came and joined him, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm and leaning her head against him.
“Isn’t she lovely?” she asked.
“She is the most perfect babe ever,” he said.
A knock sounded on the chamber door and Lord Geoffrey bade them to enter.
A servant stepped in and said, “Lady Jessimond’s father is here. Shall I bring him up?”
Marcus’ jaw dropped as Lady Merryn instructed the servant to send him up. “I thought Lord Geoffrey was your father.”
Jessimond grinned. “Oh, you have much to catch up on, Marcus.”
He kissed the tip of Margaret’s nose. “I will enjoy every moment of it. Because I will be with the two women I love now and forever.”
Chapter 27
Marcus dressed in the wedding finery Jessimond had sewn for him, first putting on the new gypon and cotehardie and then topping them off with a formal houppelande. She’d heavily embroidered the high neck of this rust-colored outer garment, which struck the floor. It had full, flaring sleeves and hung in large folds that Jessimond had lined with fur. Marcus had never possessed such fine garb and thought his outfit a work of art.
He combed his dark hair and calmed the nerves skittering through him. They weren’t doubts regarding his upcoming marriage, but rather his wish to please and impress the hordes of de Montforts and their many relatives, who had descended upon Kinwick over the past week. Just when he thought he had remembered the right names and titles and could associate them with the correct individuals, someone new would arrive and confuse him all over again. Still, he’d enjoyed getting to know Jess’ large, extended family and couldn’t wait to add to their own.
Little Margaret already had him dancing to her tune. At three months, she was beginning to smile often and blow bubbles, which entertained her—and him—to no end. Marcus already thought her the most clever child in the world. He and Jessimond had discussed how they wanted to add to their brood. That would start after their wedding feast ended.
Mayhap even before.
Since he’d arrived at Kinwick two weeks ago, Marcus had refrained from touching Jess beyond holding her hand and stealing a few heated kisses. He’d spent countless nights over the past year recalling every curve of her lush body. His fingers ached to skim that satin skin once again.
Tonight, his longings would become reality.
Exiting the bedchamber, he found three very imposing men awaiting him in the corridor. Jessimond’s three brothers all were tall and broad-shouldered. Ancel, Earl of Mauntell, was the eldest male. Hal, captain of Kinwick’s guard, was the middle son. Edward, Baron of Shallowheart, was the youngest and closest male to Jessimond in age.
“Father would like a word with you,” Ancel said. His tone let Marcus know this was more an order than a request.
He followed the three men downstairs, remembering that a bevy of women had taken over the solar to help prepare Jessimond for the nuptial mass. They led him into the great hall, where he saw Geoffrey de Montfort standing near the fire. With him, he recognized Nan’s husband, Tristan, Earl of Leventhorpe, and Alys’ husband, Kit, Baron of Brentley. Marcus realized this group composed all of the husbands that were de Montforts or had married one.
“Welcome, Marcus,” Geoffrey greeted him as the four men joined the ranks of those standing with him. The earl handed Marcus a wine goblet and then passed one to each nobleman gathered in their circle.
“We’ve brought you here to toast you and Jessimond,” Geoffrey continued.
“And to recognize the remarkable women in this family,” Kit said. He gestured to Tristan. “Both Tristan and I feel blessed to have married into such a strong, loving family.”
“One of very strong-willed women,” Tristan added, and they all chuckled.
“We are fortunate that the women we’ve brought into the de Montfort family have also been resolute,” Ancel said.
“Yet, they are tenderhearted and faithful, as well,” Edward said.
“And every man standing here, be they de Montforts by blood or through marriage, have learned that love is the key to everything,” Hal said. “We are richer men for allowing the love in our hearts to guide us, no matter what we do or where we go.”
Geoffrey raised his pewter cup. “Here’s to Jessimond and Marcus—and to every couple represented here, man and woman alike—especially my dearest Merryn, the woman who has believed in me and showered me with love for decades. May we continue to live long and love well with our wives ever by our sides and forever in our hearts.
“To love!” Geoffrey declared.
“To love!” every man echoed.
Marcus swallowed the sweet, rich wine, enjoying the warmth it brought. He lowered the cup and said, “My family was not a loving one and I had been taught from an early age to beware of love. I am beyond grateful that Jessimond came into my life and opened my
eyes to the truth. I know now that a life filled with love is an abundant one. Loving Jess has fulfilled me in ways I never knew existed. From now on, all de Harte sons and daughters will be raised in love and know how powerful a force it can be.
“To love!” Marcus proclaimed again and his new brothers-in-arms cheered.
*
Jessimond nursed Margaret while Nan sat beside her with her seven-month-old babe, doing the same. Alys and her cousin, Avelyn, continued intricately braiding Jessimond’s hair in preparation for the upcoming nuptial mass.
“If you’d like, you can feed Margaret after the feast and then let Tristan and me keep her overnight. I know you and Marcus would enjoy time alone after spending the last few days with so many relatives. If she gets hungry during the night, I will nurse her.”
Jessimond gave her sister a grateful smile. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Nan. So will Marcus.”
She had tried not to think of Marcus during the year they were apart. Many days, she had worked until the brink of exhaustion, hoping her sleep would be dreamless. Yet, even after giving birth to Marcus’ child and knowing he was wed to another woman, Jessimond had daydreamed about her lover’s touch. She eagerly awaited tonight, the first in which they would sleep side by side as man and wife.
Chuckling, she thought, mayhap, not much sleep would occur.
Margaret finished feeding and Jessimond burped the babe before handing her to Agatha. She knew from her friend that Marcus had once more extended his offer for Peter and Agatha to come live at Hartefield, with Peter serving either as a soldier or blacksmith. The couple was still considering what they would do. Selfishly, Jessimond hoped they would choose Harte Castle so their first babes could grow up together, playing as she and Peter had so long ago.
Knowing it was time to dress, she stood as Elinor and Rosalyne brought the layers of clothing she’d sewn and helped her into them. She’d chosen to wear shades of blue interspersed with gold. As she smoothed the folds of the rich silk, Elysande handed her a mirror to admire herself. The image reflected spoke of a woman deeply in love. One eager to start the rest of her life with the man she loved by her side.