“I never told her, Lillabet. God, I never told her what I felt. She said the words, but I never did.”
Lily squeezed his forearm. “But she knew. Bronwyn knew, Ranulf. She absolutely knew your feelings. She couldn’t have loved you so deeply if she didn’t. I promise you, she didn’t need you to say your feelings to believe in them.”
The squeak of the door behind her caught her attention and Lily stood back up as the steward approached and whispered into her ear. “We need to bring in the juniper for tonight. Do you think his lordship will mind if Tory did the First Footing? He has dark hair and it would be an honor for him to be selected.”
Ranulf gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. He faced the startled steward. “Choose whomever you want. Makes no difference to me.”
Ranulf then moved to leave the Hall. Lily reached out to stop him, but he avoided her grasp. He knew what he had to do. He had to say the words he should have uttered when it would have mattered.
Syndlear was exactly as Ranulf remembered, a charred ruin. From a distance, the damage was hard to discern with the stone walls still standing, but inside it was hollow with only a useless stairwell remaining. The floors had been burnt out, causing their contents to crash below and burn to unrecognizable ashes. Only scorched beams and a few fragments of furniture were identifiable.
Ranulf jerked at the rafters, searching for anything of Bronwyn, but again, nothing but her disappearance proved she had been inside. Exhausted, Ranulf fell to his knees and, with tears streaking down his face, looked up at the visible sky. “Why not me? She had done nothing!” he half sobbed, half shouted. “Her people need her…I need her. Why didn’t you take me?”
Bronwyn stirred to the desperate sound of Ranulf crying. Physically and emotionally drained from the lack of movement, food, and water, she was dreaming, hearing the one voice she desired above all others. This time it seemed real. But even if it was, it wouldn’t matter.
Earlier that day or maybe it had been the previous one—she couldn’t keep track—people had come, but not a one heard her cries for help. They had been talking too much among themselves to perceive her strained voice weakened by her earlier attempts when no one was close enough to hear. Then they had left, never knowing she was still alive, waiting for rescue. At that moment, she gave up and waited for eternal sleep to take her.
Another angry wail came from below. It was Ranulf! He had come, not to find her, but it didn’t matter. He was there. As loud as she could manage, Bronwyn cried out, “Help! Please help me!”
Ranulf was moving to exit the keep when he froze. Bronwyn’s voice had come and disappeared. The raspy sound was strained, barely distinguishable, but it definitely belonged to her. Was he going mad? Did he need her so badly that he was imagining her near him?
Then he heard it again. Please help me.
His heart rate doubled as blood and hope surged in his veins. “Bronwyn! Is that you?”
Silence surrounded him and he felt the tentacles of despair that had been plaguing him reach out once again. She had been a dream. A dream he could still hear. “Ranulf, don’t leave me.”
“I’ll never leave you. I am yours forever. Even in the next life. I love you. Wait for me,” he whispered and brushed away the tears that now flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them.
“I love you, too.” The sweet sound of her voice was fading. His angel was leaving him and going back to heaven. “Find me. I’m in the wall.”
For a few seconds, Ranulf was too stunned to do anything more than just hold his breath. I’m in the wall? His gaze flew to the thick stone and studied them. He saw them then. The holes Bronwyn had told him her father had added after the first fire. The small outlets were visible and followed a logical pattern, except on the third floor. There, instead of an opening was a large stone resting on a stone ledge, secured from falling over by a small lip perfectly carved to keep it in place and prevent fire from getting inside. Her father either had been a genius mason or he had hired one.
“Bronwyn!” Ranulf shouted, this time with confidence that he was not talking to a ghost, but his still alive wife. “The floors are gone, so I’m going to need to find something to wedge between the stairs and the lip to reach you. Hold on just a little longer, love.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes and released a deep breath. Ranulf was there. He had heard her. He knew where she was. She had hung on to life long enough to feel his arms hold her one more time.
What seemed like an eternity later, the stone door at last rolled away, crashing to the dirt floor below. Large hands reached in and gently pulled her free from the small enclosure. At the last moment, Bronwyn reached back into the hole and snatched the reason for her even being at Syndlear—the tapestry.
Finally released from what she had begun to think of as her tomb, Bronwyn held on tight to Ranulf as he carried her across the narrow plank to the staircase. Daylight was disappearing and the dusk of the room made the rescue even more dangerous. One false move and they would both fall to their death. The tension in his frame lessened once they were at the staircase and descending the winding steps.
“Can you walk?” Ranulf’s first question was simple, very pragmatic, and on the surface, far from romantic. But Bronwyn could hear in those three small words that he had lived in the same hell she had been in the past few days.
“I don’t think so. I can’t really feel my legs anymore.”
Ranulf nodded, glad to have a reason to keep her in his arms. He wasn’t ready to let her go and was not sure when, or if, he ever would. He stepped over the burnt remains and moved outside, heading to a small nearby clearing protected by trees. Sitting her down, he laid her back against one large trunk and went to his horse, pulling out a leather bag. He handed it to her.
Bronwyn squeezed the contents into her mouth, relieved to taste water and not ale or mead. As she swallowed, she could feel the cool contents slide down her throat and into her stomach. It was then she knew that she really was going to live.
“Here,” Ranulf whispered. “It’s only bread, but you’ll want to eat it slowly.”
Bronwyn popped a piece into her mouth and just let it sit there for a moment, savoring its wonderful flavor. Never again would she take eating or food for granted. She watched Ranulf gather and pile twigs to make a fire. After being cold for so long, she instinctively tried to move closer to the heat, but her deadened limbs refused to cooperate.
Seeing her frustration, Ranulf moved to her side and began to massage her limbs. The pain created by the pooled blood circulating once again through her veins was enormous. “Where did you find the wood for the planks? I thought everything had burned,” she said in a broken whisper, hoping the sound of Ranulf’s voice would help focus her attention away from his painful ministrations.
“Outside there was a broken old cart. I tore it apart to use the boards,” Ranulf answered in a low, husky tone that seemed to come from a long way off.
He kept his sight on her legs as he softly kneaded them. He knew that Bronwyn had hoped he would expound. She needed him to talk, but he didn’t trust his voice. It was everything he could do not to break down. His whole adult life he had strived to isolate and control his emotions, for he had seen the weakness and vulnerability they created in their wake. And now when he needed to shed his emotions the most, the ability had forsaken him.
A soft sob escaped Bronwyn and Ranulf glanced up. New tears had formed from the necessary pain he was causing her. It tore him apart. Moving up to her side, he pulled her onto his lap, framed her face in his hands, and with his thumbs, wiped the wet streaks, smearing the soot that clung to her cheeks. Then slowly, he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips lightly across hers, kissing her tenderly, lingeringly, and with a possessiveness that hinted of enormous restraint. She began to respond as she did every other time they kissed. But before she could persuade him to deepen the embrace, he released her lips and drew her into his arms, holding her as he dropped soft kisses onto her
forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” Ranulf whispered, his voice full of remorse and self-loathing for what he still needed to do. “But I must continue. I promise the pain will pass.”
Bronwyn lifted her head from his chest and shifted off his lap so that he could once again massage her legs. “Then I’ll be able to walk again?” she asked, staring at her two immobile limbs. “They look so…pale.”
Ranulf paused and pushed another piece of bread into her palm, motioning for her to sit back and eat it. Then his fingers resumed their unpleasant task of kneading the sensitive flesh. “The firelight doesn’t make it easy to see, but I can already tell that the circulation is returning. The skin is much warmer to the touch and the unnatural color is gradually lessening. You’re going to be fine.”
With the last few words, his speech had become halted, and his hands started shaking, forcing him to stop. He had not been lying—although he would have. She was going to recover completely. He had been given a second chance.
“I love you, Bronwyn. I always have,” he whispered, unmoving, still staring at her legs. “From the first moment I saw you, you lit up my soul. Such happiness doesn’t come to men like me. I thought if I said it aloud, then it would all disappear, I would lose control…and you.” He paused and tilted his head to look at her directly. “I won’t ever make that mistake again,” Ranulf vowed. For the rest of their lives, she would know just how much she meant to him.
Bronwyn gently leaned forward and peered into his face before reaching out to stroke his cheek. “I was so afraid, Ranulf. Not of dying, but of not seeing you one last time. I should have told you that I understood why you didn’t tell me about my father. That I do trust you and never stopped loving you.”
Ranulf clasped his hand around her neck and drew her lips to his. This time the kiss was sensuous and filled with renewed promise. She was the fire in his blood and as necessary to life. He probed the warmth of her mouth as his hands tenderly caressed her spine. Responsive to his touch, Bronwyn moved in closer, shivering with need. His body ached for more, but he feared crushing her frail frame. Still he could not muster the will to break the embrace and gave in to the desire for one more sweet kiss.
When he finally lifted his head, Bronwyn lay in his arms, reveling in their strength, feeling like she was floating on a blissful cloud. She trusted this man above all others. He’d been hardened by years of being alone, but from him, she received a tenderness unlike any other. He comforted her with a masculine calm. His presence brought her a kind of security. She lifted her gaze and traced the silver scar on his cheek. “I knew you loved me,” she said softly. “I have known for some time.”
“Lily said you did.”
At the mention of her sister, Bronwyn pushed against his chest to sit up. Her legs cramped at the effort, but no longer did they scream in agony. “We have to go! Ranulf, we have to leave right now. We have to get back to Hunswick. Luc is after my sisters and I—”
Ranulf placed a finger over her lips. “They are safe, love. Tyr hasn’t left Edythe’s side and I have ordered two men as guards to Lily, even though she doesn’t know it. Baron Craven cannot get to them.”
Pulling his hand down, Bronwyn sought additional reassurance. “But you, are you safe? I saw the battle, and the king—”
This time, Ranulf used a soft lingering kiss to silence her concerns. “As long as you are mine, nothing else matters.”
Bronwyn chuckled. “Nothing? What about Hunswick? My sisters?”
“The people of Hunswick will recover the instant they see you and both your sisters are stronger than I would have thought. Even when I left, they were preparing for Hogmanay because they knew you would have wanted it.”
“Tonight is First Footing?” Bronwyn squealed, her eyes dancing with happiness. “If we leave now, do you think we could arrive in time?”
Ranulf furrowed his brows. The ride was long and she had only just started to recover. “It might be too painful.”
“Ranulf, First Footing is my favorite holiday. My sisters and I have always welcomed the first visitor and this year will be no different. I want to be there.”
Seeing the longing in her eyes, Ranulf could deny her nothing. But this year, it would be different. She would be the one welcomed.
If he could get them there in time.
Up ahead, just outside of Hunswick, a lone dark man was approaching the gatehouse. Ranulf urged Pertinax into a faster gait, catching the designated first visitor just in time. “Tory!”
The solitary figure stopped and looked around, moving into the moonlight. Seeing Ranulf riding toward him with Bronwyn sitting across his lap, the young soldier’s jaw dropped open. Bronwyn couldn’t help but chuckle at Tory’s openly shocked expression and the tinkling sound of her laughter filled the air.
Ranulf pulled Pertinax beside Tory. “Sorry to disrupt your plans, but I have a different visitor in mind.”
Tory’s face broke into a huge grin and he reached into his bag to pull out the log, salt, drink, and bread Lily had given him earlier. Handing them to Bronwyn, he said, “I’ll go and spread the word. I have a feeling that everyone is going to want to greet Hunswick’s first visitor this year.”
Bronwyn accepted the items, tears filling her eyes with joy. She looked up at Ranulf. “That’s why you didn’t want to stop and take a break,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. Then, she gave him a blinding smile and mouthed the words “Thank you.”
Ranulf laughed silently down at her, glorying in the shared moment. “Ready, love? There are two people on the other side of that gate eager to start this celebration.”
Bronwyn brushed her tears aside and, with mounting excitement bubbling inside her, said, “I think it’s time for another feast.” And with no more delay, Ranulf moved them through the narrow gatehouse and into the inner bailey.
The awaiting small crowd had gathered mostly to respect the wishes of Edythe and Lily, who had insisted the New Year tradition be followed. All knew it had been Lady Bronwyn’s favorite and that she had always insisted on following the Scottish customs just as her mother had. The jubilant occasion was one of the most popular among the people of Hunswick with only Twelfth Night as its rival. This year, however, many had elected to stay away. Edythe and Lily were busy trying to pump the spirits of the ones who had come when Constance gave a piercing shriek that got everyone’s attention. Unable to speak, she extended a wrinkled finger.
Lily went to help the distressed nursemaid as Edythe maneuvered her way through the gasping crowd, cursing her short nature. Had Lily selected someone else besides Tory to be first visitor? Seeing a large warhorse, Edythe marched up to the rider and was about to extend a welcome when familiar misty blue eyes came into view.
Edythe took a step back and started shaking violently. She would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Tyr, who instinctively swung her into his arms as she crumpled out of shock. “Am I seeing a ghost?”
Tyr kissed her hair and shook his head, his own eyes tearing at the joyous surprise. “No, love. She’s not a ghost. I see her, too.”
Leaving Constance in the care of others, Lily stood back up. Upon seeing Bronwyn, the juniper she had been holding went flying into the air. She ran toward the couple, repeating Bronwyn’s name over and over again. Reaching her sister’s side, Lily started shouting the questions all were thinking. “You’re alive! Ranulf found you! How? Are you hurt? Where have you been? Did Luc have you?”
At the last question, Ranulf sent her a silencing look that, for once, Lily heeded. He dismounted, slid Bronwyn into his arms, and then proceeded to carry her toward the Great Hall. “All questions will be answered in due time, but go find everyone and let them know to come to the Hall for food and drink. I believe this is my wife’s favorite of the Twelfthtide holidays and she would like it to be a grand one!”
Immediately the crowd dispersed and the buzz of their excitement could be heard everywhere. Their lady was alive and it was she who would be bringing in the pros
perity of the New Year.
Chapter Fourteen
SATURDAY, JANUARY 1, 1155
FEAST OF THE NAMING AND CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST
The Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord is held on the first day of the New Year, celebrating the circumcision of Jesus Christ eight days after his birth. The first shedding of blood is said to show his descent from Abraham, proving Jesus was a human man and under Jewish law. Just as significant, the act also is believed to have initiated the process of redeeming man of his sins. Also on this day, the child of God was given his name, Jesus, the Hebrew word for salvation or savior. Through the Middle Ages, the two feasts—the Circumcision of Our Lord and the Holy Name of Jesus—were celebrated together. In some countries, custom dictates that nothing be removed from the home—not even garbage—to retain the prosperity and good fortune brought by the First Footer.
Ranulf held Bronwyn in his lap as she clapped along to the music. He couldn’t believe someone who had endured such an ordeal could be filled with so much joy. By the time she had bathed and gotten something more substantial to eat, all of Hunswick had arrived to greet their mistress. It mattered little that it was the middle of the night. Even Father Morrell had joined in the festivities, performing a fast jig in time with the music.
Ranulf wished that Bronwyn could join them, knowing her passion for dancing, but he made sure that she was otherwise entertained. If she thought he was being overly protective, she never said a word. Slowly, her strength was returning. She could move her arms freely and put weight on her legs, though for only short periods of time. Nevertheless, each time she tried, they became sturdier under the pressure.
Stretching his arm out behind her back, Ranulf plucked another piece of meat off one of the passing trays of food. After people learned of Bronwyn’s nearly starved state, the kitchen hearths were fired up and soon started spilling out her favorite foods.
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