The Damsel's Defiance
Page 26
Aware of the whispered speculation behind him, Talvas gazed up to the single window that threw light on to the altar table, covered with a brilliant white linen cloth, then upwards at the barrel-vaulted ceiling. Did he pray for salvation, for some sign that he did the right thing? He yearned to rest his head against the cool stone of the huge, circular column beside him; his skull pounded incessantly with the after-effects of too much mead the night before. Tormented by the image of Emmeline, humbled before him, quietly accepting his terms without her customary fighting spirit, he had quaffed cup after cup of the potent alcohol, ostensibly to celebrate his impending marriage. Doubt and despair plucked at his conscience.
He winced as the priest moved one of the candelabra nearer to the stone steps that led to the altar, steps at the top of which he would kneel with Emmeline and speak their vows. One of the candles tilted precariously in its iron holder, a gob of wax spattering to the floor below, spreading, then setting hard on the cold flagstone. He loved her wilful independence, her indomitable spirit—had he now crushed the one thing that he so admired? Would she grow to resent him for this in years to come? By gaining her hand in marriage, he might well lose her for ever.
Immersed in his thoughts, he jumped as a hand touched his elbow.
‘Are you ready?’ Stephen murmured in his ear.
Attempting to control the crucifying thump in his temples, Talvas viewed his brother-in-law, resplendent in his red-and-gold finery. ‘Nay,’ he replied. ‘Stephen, fetch Matilda to me. I need her to do something for me.’
‘He…what?’ Emmeline gasped out loud, the elaborately wrought headdress slipping through her fingers. The dried lavender and roses that made up the circlet crushed against the wooden floor to release the sweet aroma of summer. She brushed her hands over the fine blue silk of her wedding gown, a gesture of agitation. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t,’ Matilda replied. ‘He just told me that you’re free to go. Like you’re a prisoner or something.’
‘But…?’ In a single, blinding revelation, Emmeline suddenly realised what he was doing…and her heart leapt with joy. ‘Oh, what a fool that man is!’
‘I agree,’ Matilda replied. ‘He said he couldn’t bear to see you leave, couldn’t bear to watch you walk out of his life for ever. Now, what sort of talk is that when he’s about to marry you?’
Emmeline grasped Matilda’s hands. ‘Don’t you see? He’s giving me the freedom to choose.’ Bending down, she grabbed the blue silk slippers dyed to match her gown, and shoved her feet into them. Her gleaming, unbound hair flowed around her like a cape; the only day a maid was allowed to leave her hair loose was on her wedding day. ‘I’ve got to find him…where was he when you last saw him?’
‘Sitting in the church, feeling sorry for himself. God be with you, Emmeline,’ Matilda called after her friend as the iron-studded door shut behind her.
The church had been cleared of people, empty apart from a solitary figure: Talvas. He sat on the lowest step, his back to the altar, elbows resting on his knees, his seal-dark head buried in his hands.
‘Talvas!’ The hem of Emmeline’s gown lapped across the flagstones as she moved toward him.
Slowly, he lifted his head. Dressed in his wedding finery, the masculinity of the man before her was devastating. His tunic and braies were of the deepest forest green, their only decoration a silver trace of embroidery around the cuffs and hem. He wore a cloak lined with sable, the chestnut-brown colour of the fur emphasising the dark hue of his eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, the words dragging heavily from his lips. ‘Didn’t Matilda tell you you’re free to go? Didn’t she give you the message?’ Strain and exhaustion etched his features.
‘But I don’t want to go, Talvas. I want to stay.’ She came and sat next to him on the step, relishing the close warmth of his big body.
‘I made a mistake, Emmeline.’ He shifted his weight, turning to look at her. ‘For which I am truly sorry.’ Almost in wonderment, he touched the shining strands of her loosened hair that rippled over her shoulders, curling to the grey stone beneath her. ‘I should never have forced marriage on you.’ His speech emerged as a desperate whisper, a plea for understanding, for compromise. ‘You, of all people, should have a right to choose. But that choice was taken away from you when you realised you carried our child.’
Our child. His words carried a sweet possessiveness that fired her heart. The azure brilliance of his eyes pierced her. ‘So you are giving me the choice.’ Her fingers reached up to skim his cheek, and he turned the side of his face into the cup of her hand.
‘Aye,’ he growled. ‘And I’ll hold by your decision.’
She shivered as his lips grazed her sensitive palm. ‘Even without the babe, did you really think that I would leave you? That I could leave you?’ She frowned, concentrating on pushing back a lock of his hair that had fallen over one temple. ‘After Giffard, except for the love of my family, I thought I would never know true love, never learn to trust anyone again. But you have shown me how, Talvas, in every look, in every gesture. You have shown me true love.’
She saw the joy spark in his expression, and sagged against him, weak with her revelation. His arms supported her slight weight easily, clasped tight around the small of her back, the indentation of her waist. He swallowed, his throat dry. ‘Then you’ll stay with me, at Hawkeshayne?’
Her slim fingers reached up to trace the high arrogant arch of his eyebrows. His eyes locked with hers, tangled with her green gaze.
‘Speak,’ he urged, his voice ragged with expectation.
Her lips tilted to a smile, amazed at the quiver beneath his skin. ‘Aye, Talvas, I’ll stay by your side for ever.’
He laughed then, a boyish chuckle of glee, springing to his feet to pull her up with him, sweeping her high in his arms and sealing her lips with a kiss that would join them for eternity.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3588-9
THE DAMSEL’S DEFIANCE
Copyright © 2007 by Meriel Fuller
First North American Publication 2009
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