“’Twas the reverend mother who gave me the idea of challenging him to combat.”
“The good sister told you to fight to the death? She did not seem so bloodthirsty to me.”
He chuckled at her jest. “She told me that I must fight evil and then said the first line to that warrior’s prayer. When I was trying to figure out a way to disprove that betrothal contract, that prayer went through my mind over and over like a chant. Then I realized that combat would make us even, for John could not join us on the field.”
“Do you think she did that on purpose?” The sister was an interesting woman.
“Who can know the mind of a woman? Especially a holy one.”
She bumped him to let him know she heard the insult he intended.
“I do worry over one thing. Do you hate me for what I did today?”
She wanted to soothe the frown that marred his brow. “How could I? Although I regret that he had to die, I know that you had no choice. And knowing that William in some way fought for an honorable cause, one that you have championed, lessens my grief.”
He grunted again and they fell silent. This time, unlike the last, it was a companionable one. And safe in his arms, she felt sleep overtake her once more.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Winter’s grasp held them tightly and all of Greystone waited. Snow covered the fields near and far and some of the streams turned to ribbons of ice. The season had come early, as the new earl had predicted, but all on Harbridge lands were safe and secure. Preparations would see them through this frigid weather until the earth saw the spring.
Christian wished Emalie could see her lands from the battlements and enjoy the silvery glow to everything that lay covered with snow, but she was too close to birth now and her steps were unsteady. Enyd predicted a babe by Candlemas and with that feast’s approach in but two weeks, the people of Greystone waited.
He took advantage of the additional rest periods Enyd suggested for her to handle one task today that he needed to do without her presence or knowledge. Luc followed him as he rode quickly out of the village to the mill. Turning south on the large road, they traveled a few miles toward Lincoln. Watching for the signs, he stopped when he saw a small shrine near the road. A man stood next to it.
Luc dropped back, allowing the two men some privacy. Christian knew that Luc would never speak of this, even to his beloved Fatin. He dismounted and walked to the shrine, the snow crunching beneath his booted feet, and faced the man who used to be William DeSeverin.
“My lord,” William said, nodding his head in greeting.
Christian noticed that his voice was still rough from the injury to his neck. The healer said that it might never heal completely. “How does your sister fare this week?”
“There is no change. The reverend mother said that her body is healed, but her mind…she knows me not.” William looked away and blinked several times before speaking again. “Well, it will be a long difficult recovery.”
“She is in good hands.” Christian looked over and noticed the two horses waiting by the road. “You travel now?”
“With Candlemas approaching, I thought it best to leave.”
They stared at each other for a moment then looked away.
“I seek a position in the north. I will send you coin when I can to repay you for Catherine’s care.”
“There is no need. I consider us even in our debts.” He wanted no money from this man.
“Would you send word to me when Emalie—”
“No.”
“Ah, ’twas more than I could hope.” Christian watched William struggle with words and listened as he spoke. “Does she know what you did?”
“No. She knows only that you fought for an honorable cause, and regrets your death. She told me that she understands that your death, even at my hands, saved her life and Catherine’s.”
William nodded and turned away. Mounting one horse and taking the reins of the other, he looked at Christian as though waiting for something else.
Christian knew that this was his last chance to ask the question that had tormented him for months, the question that he would never raise again to his wife.
“Was John…? Did he…?” In spite of his intentions and efforts, he could not give voice to the terrifying question that plagued him.
“Nay,” DeSeverin answered, shaking his head. “’Twas only me. I am the child’s father.”
“No longer. Your place in that child’s life and any question of paternity ended the moment that William DeSeverin died on the field of honor. They are mine now. And only mine.”
Christian knew his words were harsh, but the time for his compassion was over. The worst part was that he feared in his soul that DeSeverin lied out of his sense of guilt. Christian mounted his horse and watched as William moved off down the road without another word. Luc was at his side in a moment.
“’Tis done?”
“Aye, Luc, he leaves now before the babe is born.”
“This will be better, Chris. No need to look over your shoulder and see him watching Emalie or the child. I still do not know why you did this. A clean death would have served just as well.”
Christian laughed. “I think that you are more barbarian than your infidel wife, my friend. Have you never learned the Christian values of faith, hope and charity?”
He mounted and watched Luc do so. Then he rode home to Emalie, to begin their new life together.
The Earl of Harbridge was going home.
Epilogue
Greystone Castle
Lincolnshire, England
April 1195
The sunlight made her curls appear as if made of spun gold. Her tiny rosebud mouth resembled her mother’s, and her delicate features proclaimed her a Montgomerie to one and all. Isabelle, named for his mother, lay sleeping in his arms.
He had fallen in love with her at first sight, just as he knew now he had done with her mother. It took many months and many tribulations for him to admit his love for Emalie, but Christian vowed not to make that mistake with his daughter.
The shadows of the past months were gone and he looked forward to their lives ahead. Emalie assured him the babe would be able to travel by the end of the summer, for he wished to take both of his ladies, as he now called them, back to Poitou and his lands. Their lands.
“You can place her in the cradle, my lord,” Emalie said.
“But I can not see her well enough as she sleeps if she lies there.” Christian nodded his head at the carved cradle at the foot of the bed.
“She is well, my lord. She grows fat like a suckling pig and more demanding with each passing day.”
“Demanding? Like her father?”
His wife did not hesitate to reassure him. “Exactly, my lord. She already has your arrogance.”
He laughed as he kissed Isabelle on her head and then gently placed the babe in her bed. The little one shifted around and then nestled down in a comfortable corner. Soon, a soft snoring could be heard.
“Another trait of her father’s that she has already learned.”
“You would blame me for all?”
“Only the bad things.”
He looked across the room where Emalie sat braiding her hair. She always kept it loose for him in the privacy of their chamber, but she needed it arranged when she went about her duties. His hands itched to undo it once again, however he knew Emalie would be annoyed. As if she’d read his mind, she met his gaze in the polished surface of the looking glass and smiled.
“Enyd said that enough time has passed, my lord.”
He swallowed and then swallowed again. His body reacted in its own way to her words, pulsing and growing hard in places he could not ignore.
“Tonight then?”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Her soft words fooled him not, for she had engaged enthusiastically with him in the ways of pleasure that did not involve that final act. And she had shared his frustration in not being able to take that
last step until she was healed of the babe’s birth.
He reached her in a few steps and pulled her up into his arms. He needed to kiss her and make promises about the night. But in the end, he could say only the words that repeated and repeated in his mind.
“Only mine, Emalie. You are only mine.”
“As you wish, my lord. And you are only mine.”
In their passion, they did not wait for the night. They joined right then, with their daughter sleeping unaware in her cradle. Being quiet was a challenge, but they could not resist love’s lure.
And in that afternoon of passion and love, they created the son who would become heir to Greystone.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7845-9
THE DUMONT BRIDE
Copyright © 2002 by Theresa S. Brisbin
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