by Robyn Donald
It helped, he knew, that Jacoba was beautiful and Lexie looked nothing like her father; he’d been short and stout, whereas she was tall and slender, and strikingly attractive.
Alex had made sure the whole country knew of Lexie’s skill when it came to saving animals; the media had made a great fuss of her work for the peasants in the valley, and that she was learning old country remedies from Jacoba’s cousin. Photographs of the various animals she’d rescued from death’s door had figured largely, as had her smile, winning hearts all over the country.
Without preamble, Melissa said, ‘Have you ever thought that Marya—somehow manipulates things?’
Marco looked at Gabe . She hurried on, ‘I mean—common sense tells me she’s simply a shrewd, heartbreakingly loyal peasant, but sometimes I’ve wondered if she’s a witch. She has an uncanny habit of somehow being involved when things are going to happen.’
So she’d felt it too. And in spite of Gabe’s poker-face, Marco had read his thoughts. You, too, he thought, still baffled by what could only be a superstitious hangover from the past.
He said, ‘In the valley they believe that when Illyria needs her, the Queen who brought her treasure here and died at the standing stone is reincarnated.’
Coolly, noncommittally, Gabe spoke. ‘One of those charming country legends.’ He glanced at his brother.
‘Who knows? I’m just glad she’s on our side.’
Another peal of bells rang out from churches across the city. Melissa gave an odd, half-smothered laugh. ‘So we’re all desperately trying to be cool about the fact that we suspect the housekeeper at the Wolf’s Lair is the reincarnation of the ancient Queen! OK, I won’t say anything more about it if you don’t.’ an exaggerated social voice, she said, ‘Don’t you think it’s lovely of the Illyrians to be making such a fuss when I suspect they know that this is all a farce—that we all sneaked off for secret weddings long ago?’
Both men looked indulgently at her. ‘Of course they know,’ Gabe said, ‘but they love a party, and this is the best chance they’ve got until one of us produces a child. Now, shouldn’t we be getting into carriages?’
The triple wedding was everything the waiting crowds longed for—a triumph. The crowds cheered Jacoba and Lexie in their white and gold carriage every bit as enthusiastically as they cheered the other two brides.
After the night in the cathedral the change in the atmosphere had been electric, so obvious that Jacoba was no longer worried. Smiling, she waved at the ecstatic crowds. Her fingers touched the earrings—part of the ancient Queen’s treasure. When the two brothers had decided that each bride should wear part of the hoard, she and Melissa had decided that, as Sara was marrying the head of the family to become Grand Duchess, she should wear the Queen’s Blood, the superb necklace.
‘It’s your family tiara,’ Jacoba said to Melissa. ‘So you wear it.’
‘Are you sure?’
Jacoba grinned. ‘I wore one for the ad campaign. They weigh a ton! I’ll take the earrings, thanks very much.’
Happiness filled her; she wondered if the cheering onlookers could see it radiate from her like sunbeams. The past months had given her total confidence in Marco’s love. The arrangements for the wedding had gone like a dream—the three brides had even managed to choose gowns they adored that blended together, thanks to Sara, with her designer’s skill, who’d suggested a Grecian styling for them all.
Inside the cathedral the organ thundered as she walked down the aisle, her four bridesmaids—Lexie and three friends—following. Perfume from the roses that adorned the building hung heavily, blending with the Princessa she’d sprayed on her wrists just before she left the castle.
And that was another thing—the perfume was already being spoken of as a classic, one of the rare perfumes that lasted.
She couldn’t make out the words of the hushed comments from the congregation; her attention was concentrated on Marco’s tall figure, waiting for her.
Tears burned her eyes; she blinked, and the lights from the candelabra on the altar danced as more triumphant music proclaimed Melissa’s arrival.
Bouquet clutched in her nervous hands, bridesmaids clustered behind her, she waited motionless as the congregation sat down and the archbishop moved regally towards Sara and Gabe.
For all the pomp and splendour, the royal guests and the power élite of the world in the congregation, the actual wedding ceremony was simple and intensely moving. Jacoba blinked back more tears as Marco’s brother and his bride plighted their undying loyalty and love.
Once she caught Marco’s eye and had to look away because her control over her emotions was so tenuous. She wasn’t going to cry like a baby at her own wedding!
But at last their turn came. Jacoba handed over her bouquet to Lexie. Side by side, she and Marco stood together, the ancient, solemn words echoing in their ears. And Marco’s hand closed around hers, warm and strong and infinitely supportive.
His voice was deep and utterly confident as he made his vows, hers soft and low but without a tremor. The rings were produced; Marco slipped the plain gold band onto her finger. Forcing herself to relax, she took his hand and did the same. Hand in hand, they listened as the archbishop pronounced them husband and wife and the music swelled and the choir’s voices rose in soaring, glorious triumph.
Seated in one of the galleries, Marya smiled as Melissa and Hawke pledged their vows in turn. They were happy, her children. All she had set out to do was done. She could die tonight, knowing that the valley and Illyria were safe now, at least for another hundred years or so.
But soon there would be babies, and a new life for this place she loved almost more than she loved the family whose roots were buried deep in its soil. Her old eyes half-closed as she remembered days long ago, when she’d ridden in a litter to meet her fate.
Much later Marco ran a possessive fingertip down his wife’s throat, his eyes kindling. They’d decided to honeymoon on the coast, and the old, beautiful villa was filled with the sound of the sea and the scent of flowers, and distant sounds of revelry from the village at the base of the cliffs. Sudden bursts of rockets soaring into the warm night air showed that the people were still celebrating.
He said, ‘Happy?’
Wearing only her wedding ring, and still shuddering from a surfeit of pleasure, Jacoba whispered, ‘I’m always happy now. You know that.’
She tightened her arms around him with the confidence born of complete security, every fear banished by his love.
‘So am I,’ he said quietly. ‘When I wake each morning and see you beside me, sleepy and silken, that glorious hair spread out around your beloved face, your lovely smile just for me, I know that nothing in this world means as much to me as you do. Have I managed to convince you that, although I feel a huge loyalty to Illyria, I’d die for you? You will always come first in my life.’
Shaken, she kissed the spot above his heart. ‘Yes. I love you so much more than I did a year ago,’ she confessed. ‘I didn’t know that love grows and grows until it fills your life.’
A huge moon directed a flood of silver light through the unshuttered windows. Sleek and sated, Marco bent his head and made a girdle of kisses around her waist, his lips lingering against the warm satin. ‘And if you’re right, and that seduction scene you enacted last week means that our first child is already with us, then I’ll have more than I’ve ever wanted.’
She smiled tremulously. ‘I hope so—but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t make sure, is there?’
He laughed deep in his throat and reached for her. ‘No reason at all,’ he vowed.
Later still, when the moon had sailed westward and rockets no longer exploded like chrysanthemums in the warm night sky, she lay listening to the beating of his heart beneath her cheek. Softly, soberly, she said, ‘Lexie and I spent so much of our lives being terrified of the very word Illyria, but today in the streets the people threw flowers at us. It was like a dream.’
‘A dream you and
Lexie made come true with your courage,’ he said uncompromisingly. ‘From now on, dear heart, life will throw nothing but flowers at you.’
ISBN: 978-1-55254-946-9
THE PRINCE’S CONVENIENT BRIDE
First North American Publication 2007.
Copyright © 2007 by Robyn Donald .
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