“Because you are independent. Because you are a virgin, and virgins always believe that to be loved is to be possessed. You do not want anyone to possess you, but believe me, wench, when a man and a woman love one another, the possession is mutual. There is no winning in love, only sharing. You will understand that one day soon, and then you will not be afraid of me.”
His words left her thoughtful, even if she did not really totally understand him. Mad! The man was simply mad. Her parents were matching her with a madman, and there was nothing that she could do about it.
The day chosen for their betrothal was the twenty-first of June. Blaze and Tony sent their best wishes, but the Earl of Langford would not allow his wife to travel in her newly announced condition. Delight was secretly relieved, for she was not yet quite up to facing Blaze and her husband. Still, she smiled to think of Blaze’s outrage at being told she must remain at RiversEdge and miss the family event. Bliss, of course, was near her time. There was absolutely no question of her coming. She and Owen also sent gifts and good wishes to the couple.
Blythe, however, came with Nicholas and their children. “I could not let this happy day go by and not be with you, dearest,” the gentle Lady Kingsley declared as she hugged her sibling. “I know that Bliss and Blaze are very disappointed not to be able to be with you in this joyous moment.”
Cormac O’Brian’s eyes warmed at the sight of the fair and beautiful Blythe, her two elder children clinging to her skirts, baby Edmund in her arms.
“There are two like that?” he asked Lord Morgan.
Robert Morgan smiled. “Aye, her identical twin is the Countess of Marwood, but more fiery of temperament. Blythe is my lamb. I’ve no other like her.”
“I’d not complain of daughters if Delight gave me some like that,” Lord O’Brian said admiringly.
The bride-to-be wore a gown of pale cream-colored silk, its bodice decorated with tiny seed pearls and gold threads, as was the panel of its underskirt which showed. Her upper puffed sleeves were slashed to show pearl-dotted lace beneath, which fell into cuffs as they emerged from beneath the narrower lower sleeve of her gown. In her ears and about her neck were her pearls. Her loose dark hair was crowned with a wreath of daisies and ivy.
Cormac O’Brian was dressed in dark green velvets and silks. Though his clothes gave him the thin veneer of civilization, there was still a savagery about him that was both intriguing and fascinating. About his neck he wore a heavy gold chain from which hung a great round medallion upon which was the raised figure of a falcon in flight.
They stood side by side within the family chapel while Father John spoke the ancient words of the betrothal ceremony which, in effect, caused them to pledge themselves formally, one to the other, and to agree upon their intent to marry. Cormac O’Brian then pushed the betrothal ring upon Delight’s finger. She stared down at the beautiful circle of Irish red-gold which was carved all around with tiny forget-me-nots studded with tiny blue sapphires.
A formal betrothal ceremony was a serious and binding thing, which in many places was considered more important than the marriage ceremony itself. There was no going back now. The marriage agreement was then signed by the bride’s father, her intended husband, and the bride herself. Lord O’Brian was then instructed by the priest to give Delight the betrothal kiss, which he did, in a most chaste manner, thus finalizing the vows made between them, and ending the ceremony.
“Now,” said Lord Morgan, “let us celebrate this happy event!” and with his wife he led them all back to the Great Hall of Ashby, where a feast awaited them. They had scarcely sat down to table when a messenger wearing the Earl of Marwood’s badge rushed into the hall and ran up to Lord Morgan who waved his permission to the servant to speak.
“The young countess has gone into labor, my lord, and she begs that her mother and father attend her immediately. His lordship agrees with her ladyship, and also begs that you both come.”
“Trust Bliss to take the attention away from Delight at her own betrothal feast. She has always had a flair for the dramatic,” said Vanora primly.
“Vanora, have some charity for your sister,” scolded Lady Rosemary. “You do not know what it is like to give birth to a child.”
“Neither Blaze nor Blythe whined for you, Mama, when they first gave birth,” noted Vanora.
“Nevertheless, I was with them both. A woman in labor with her first child wants the company of the other, more experienced women in her family. You will too one day. Blythe is here with us, and Blaze cannot travel.” She arose from the table. “I must go to Bliss immediately, although it will be hours before she has her child. Still, she needs the reassurance of her family about her. Rob, see to the horses, for we will have to ride. The coach will take too long.”
“I am going with you, Mama,” said Blythe. “I cannot be away from Bliss at such a time. My lord,” she said, turning to her husband, “will you see the children safely home, and then join me?”
“Go along, sweetheart,” he told her. “Tell Owen I shall soon be with him, and we will all get drunk together.”
“Oh, Delight,” said Lady Morgan, “I am so sorry that your day has been spoilt, but you and Cormac must continue to host your feast.” She hugged her daughter, and then hurried off to seek her traveling-cloak.
Blythe went with her, and Lord Morgan, with a hurried apology to his daughter and Lord O’Brian, quickly followed. For a long moment the hall was silent in the wake of their departure, and then Vanora said, “When are you going to cut the betrothal cake, Delight? I am fair starved to taste it!”
“So am I,” replied Lord O’Brian, “but I think Delight’s lips are probably far sweeter.”
“My lord, behave yourself!” snapped Delight.
“Why, wench, if I behaved myself I should not be half the grand fellow that Gavin says I am,” Cormac O’Brian teased, and snatching up his goblet, he arose. “A toast, my lords and my ladies! A toast to the loveliest bride a man could ever have! A toast to O’Brian’s Delight!”
“A toast!” cried the remaining guests, rising and raising their own goblets while Delight blushed, half-irritated, half-pleased by his words.
And while the merriment continued in the Great Hall of Ashby, Lord Morgan’s little party rode out for Marwood Hall. It was a ride of several hours’ length, and sometimes they kept to the high road, but at other times they scorned it, riding cross-country, always taking the most direct route, until finally in the late afternoon they arrived. The women, almost falling from their horses, hurried on wobbly legs into the house, to be greeted by Owen FitzHugh, who was looking gaunt and haggard.
“I will never do this to her again,” he declared dramatically. “My God, how she is suffering!”
“When did her pains begin, Owen?” Lady Rosemary asked him.
“Not until midmorning, belle-mère,” he answered her.
“But your messenger arrived at Ashby at midmorning,” she answered, puzzled.
“Her waters broke at dawn,” he said, “and she insisted then and there that I send for you.”
“Ahhhh,” replied Lady Morgan understandingly. “Take me to her, Owen.”
He led them to Bliss’s apartments, where the expectant mother was found sitting up in her bed eating sugarplums and drinking wine. “Ohhhhh, Owen!” Bliss cried dramatically when she spied her husband, “I feel so dreadful!”
“And no wonder!” snapped her mother, coming into the room. “Stop eating those sweetmeats, and put that wine down, you little idiot! When did you ever see me eating and drinking in the midst of labor? You are going to be as sick as a pig, Bliss, and ’twill serve you right!” scolded the good lady, snatching the goblet from her daughter and sweeping up the dish of candies.
“But, Mama,” wailed Bliss, “it keeps me from thinking about my pain!”
“You are supposed to think on your pain. How else is your child to be born if you do not consider on your pain? I do not think, however, that you are in that much pain if you can ea
t and drink sitting up. When was the last time you felt a spasm?”
“A little while ago,” said Bliss vaguely, but then she gasped with surprise as a very sharp pain knifed through her vitals. “Ohhhh!” she shrieked. “Here is another one, and sooner than the last, Mama!”
“I am astounded,” replied her mother dryly, “for I would not have been surprised if you had rendered my grandchild in his cups with all your wine! Where is the birthing table? Is no one in this house properly prepared for Marwood’s heir?”
Lady Morgan took immediate charge. She sent her son-in-law off with her amused husband, who cast her a fond look as he escorted Owen FitzHugh away from the scene of activity. Her orders quickly rang out, and Marwood Hall’s servants, used to their more lackadaisical mistress, scurried to and fro obeying Lady Morgan’s recognized voice of authority. Under her mother’s guidance Bliss got down to the serious business of having her child. Her labor quickly progressed stage by stage until shortly after ten o’clock in the evening she brought forth her son, and as the infant’s howls rang through the house, Owen FitzHugh burst into his wife’s chamber to find his exhausted but happy wife cradling their child, a look upon her face that he had never seen before.
“Is he not wonderful?” she cooed at her husband. “Is not my little Owen a fine baby boy?”
The Earl of Marwood knelt hollow-eyed by his wife’s bedside. “I will never do this to you again, sweetheart,” he vowed to her.
Bliss looked down on him as if he had gone stark raving mad. “God’s foot, Owen! I’ve had a baby, ’tis all, not endured the Holy Inquisition! Little Owen is only the first. I want a houseful like him!”
“But what about the court?” he asked her, confused. “Do you not wish to return to court, sweetheart?”
“Oh, there is time enough for that,” she answered him airily, “but first I want to raise my children.”
Rosemary Morgan was still laughing about that two days later when they returned to Ashby. “Did you see the look upon his face,” she asked her husband for the hundredth time, “when she said she wanted a houseful of children?”
“Motherhood is a potent emotion,” chuckled Lord Morgan, “but you have been a shining example for our daughters, my dear. In the end the acorn does not fall far from the oak.”
“Delight will be so excited to know that she is to be little Owen’s godmother. I am glad we sent the children a message of Bliss’s safe delivery. At least they did not have to wait until we returned home to know their sister and her son were all right. Now I can concentrate properly upon Delight’s wedding. Unless there has been some difficulty with Blaze’s confinement, you must convince Anthony to allow her to come, for I would not have her the only one of my children absent on such a particularly happy occasion.”
“I will do my best, my dear,” her husband replied, “for I agree that upon such a happy day we should all be together once again.”
Lord and Lady Morgan and their escort reached their home shortly after sunset. It had been a lovely spring day for a ride, even as long a one as they had just completed. They were anxious to be home, for Lord Morgan had three mares in foal near their time, and his wife was concerned about their two youngest sons who had been sniffly. There was also something to be said about the comfort of one’s own bed. Entering the house, they were greeted by Vanora.
“Lord O’Brian has kidnapped Delight,” she announced without any preamble.
For a moment her parents looked uncomprehendingly at Vanora, but she did not bother to repeat her words, for she knew that they were not deaf.
Finally Lord Morgan said, “What do you mean that Lord O’Brian has kidnapped Delight, Vanora?”
“They were gone the morning after the betrothal, even before the messenger arrived from Marwood Hall to tell us of Bliss’s son. They have not been back since, and there is a letter in your library for you.”
“That does not mean that he has kidnapped her, Vanora,” said Lady Morgan. “Wherever do you get such fanciful ideas from in the first place?”
Vanora looked mightily offended, but she could not respond sharply to her mother as she might have to her siblings. “Mama,” she said frostily, “what am I to think when Lord O’Brian comes from the house carrying a struggling, muffled body over his shoulder, which he slings onto one of the two mares that you promised him, Papa? What am I to think when he, his servant, the muffled body, and the two mares go off? What am I to think when Delight is no longer here afterward?”
“You actually saw all of that?” her father said.
“Aye, Papa, I did. The bedchamber was stuffy, and as it was dawn, I saw no harm in opening the window, which as you know overlooks the front of the house. Lord O’Brian even saw me. He grinned, and he waved farewell to me.”
“Oh, Rob!” cried Lady Morgan. “I feared that this match was a mistake.”
“Let us see what the letter says before we render too quick a judgment,” answered her husband as he hurried into his library. There the letter sat, just as Vanora had said, upon his desk. Slowly he picked it up and broke the thick wax seal. Carefully he unfolded the heavy vellum and lowered his eyes to peruse its message. He read:
Robert, I can stay no longer away from my lands. In Ireland a man who stays too long off his lands may return to find he has none. I have taken Delight with me, as she is my betrothed wife. I will wed with her on the date agreed upon by us, but ’tis better we wed in Ireland. The late-August seas are chancy at best, and I fear a storm would prevent me from reaching England, which would mean I should have to wait almost a year to claim my wench. Come if you can. I promise to cherish her.
Your ever grateful son-in-law,
Cormac, Lord O’Brian of Killaloe.
“Oh, Rob, what is it?” begged Rosemary Morgan.
Lord Morgan looked up from the message. His fine blue eyes were bright with their amusement. “Well, my dear, I suppose one might say that Lord O’Brian did indeed kidnap our daughter, since Delight did depart under some duress. He has taken her back to Ireland to wed, as he feels it is dangerous for him to be off his lands for so long, particularly, I suspect, as he has no sons right now. The Irish are an opportunistic race. We are invited to come to the wedding if we can.”
“Ohh, my poor Delight,” wailed Rosemary Morgan “and in her fragile condition too!”
Lord Morgan was forced to laugh. “Delight is about as fragile as a rock, my dear. Cormac O’Brian is an honorable man. I have no fears that he will marry her. Father John will keep us informed through the letters that he and Father Kevin exchange.”
“He had no right to steal our daughter!” Lady Morgan was now indignant.
“Our daughter, but his betrothed wife,” reminded her husband. “Perhaps you will think me mad, my dear, but I think it is the best thing that could have happened to Delight. He has yanked her away from everything that is familiar, and forced her into a different world from the one that we know. Delight is a strong girl. She has to be, to have survived what she has survived. Now she must be strong for herself, and she will be, my dear. She will be!’
“I think that it is heavenly,” murmured Vanora, her dark eyes dreamy. “Imagine having a man so in love with you that he cannot wait until your wedding day, but must steal you away instead.”
“How old are you now, Vanora?” asked her father thoughtfully.
“Twelve, my lord, this February past,” she answered him.
“Time to be considering a husband for you, I think, my daughter,” replied Lord Morgan.
“I shall choose my own husband,” said Vanora stubbornly.
He smiled down at her. “Perhaps you will, little one. Perhaps you will. Run along now, and tell the others that your mother and I have come home. We will see them all in the chapel for vespers shortly.”
Vanora curtsied to her parents and ran off.
“Well now,” said Lord Morgan, sounding extremely pleased with himself, “we can truly count ourselves quite fortunate, my dear, can we not?” He smile
d broadly at his wife.
“I do not understand you, Rob. Delight has been kidnapped by her betrothed husband, and you consider us fortunate?”
“One must look at the larger picture, my dear,” he told her, and when she looked puzzled he said, “Four are wed, and but four to go!”
Chapter 15
Lord Morgan rode to see his three married daughters several weeks later that he might explain to them that there would be no wedding at Ashby come August.
“You do not seem unduly distressed,” remarked Bliss as she nursed her greedy son.
“I am not,” her father said. “Cormac O’Brian is the man for Delight, whether she has the sense to admit it or not.”
“Ohhh,” said Bliss. “You make him seem quite fascinating, Papa. I am sorry I did not get to meet him.”
At Kirkwood the gentle Blythe smiled at her father’s news. “Delight,” she said, almost repeating his very words to his wife, “will survive quite nicely, and before it is all over with, poor Cormac O’Brian will find himself her slave. He was quite obviously mad for her, Papa.”
Lord Morgan left his horse with the Kingsleys, and took their barge across the Wye to RiversEdge. There he encountered his eldest daughter dozing upon the green lawns beneath a tree in the late July sunshine. He looked down upon her, and he smiled. Blaze had surely grown even lovelier over the years, and being with child obviously agreed with her, for she had a glow about her that he had not seen before.
Kneeling down, he gently shook her awake. “Blaze. It is Papa, my dear. Wake up.”
She stirred, yawned, and then with a sigh she opened her violet-blue eyes. “Papa?”
“ ’Twas such a fine day, I came for a visit. I was with Blythe earlier, and yesterday I went to Marwood Hall to see how my new grandson is doing.”
“Mama?”
“Fine, but still somewhat in shock. Lord O’Brian has taken Delight back to Ireland with him.”
Her look both surprised and startled, Blaze sat up, brushing a lock of her honey-colored hair aside as she did. “What? Why on earth would they go to Ireland with the wedding so close? Will they be able to be back in time?”
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