“I am sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I know she was your friend.”
Grier sniffled, raising herself up to look down at Eolande’s peaceful face. “She was,” she wept softly. “She has been my friend since we were very young. I wish she had not charged you, but I know it was because she wanted to protect her brother. They were always close. Whether he was right or whether he was wrong was not the issue. He was her family.”
Dane wasn’t sure what he could say to that because the cost of Eolande’s attempt to save Davies had been her life. He felt guilty when he knew he had no reason to.
“The archers were ordered to protect me,” he said. “They were doing as they’d been ordered. I am only sorry your friend tried to interfere. Surely, if I had seen her, I would have simply disarmed her. I hope you know that.”
Grier wiped at her eyes, her nose. Then, she looked up at him, her hazel eyes glimmering with tears.
“I know that,” she said. “Although I grieve for Eolande, I understand why she did it. Had the situation been reversed, and it had been Davies squeezing the life from you, I would have run at him with a knife, too, and gladly planted it in his back. I would do anything to protect you, Dane, just as I tried to do and so badly failed. Mayhap it is selfish to say so, but the fact that you are alive and well, even though the cost has been great, is all that matters to me. You are all that matters to me.”
That warmth was there again, that powerful warmth that Dane had felt from her since nearly the beginning. The spark that had fed their attraction to one another had turned into a roaring blaze of love so strong that nothing could destroy it. There was no other way to describe it. It was something Dane had almost lost through his own mistrust and foolishness but, now, it was back stronger than before.
Boden came around with a blanket to cover up Eolande, and Grier realized her time with the woman was over. She kissed Eolande’s forehead and whispered her farewells before rising, standing beside Dane as Boden and William gently wrapped Eolande in the woolen blanket. There was nothing more they could do for her but hand her over to her own people, and they did, giving her over to Davies’ teulu.
Grier and Dane watched as the ap Madoc men carried Davies from the gatehouse, followed by Eolande’s small bundle. Grier wiped the tears from her eyes, so very grieved over the loss of her friend and, in a sense, the loss of Davies as well. She’d always known him as a rather quiet and shy man, but over the past year, something had changed in him. He wasn’t the man she’d known. Now, he was united with Eolande in death. It was Davies’ foolish arrogance that had brought them to this end.
Once they filtered through the gatehouse and peacefully departed, Grier’s attention turned back to her husband. Turning to the man, she gazed up at him, studying his beaten face, thinking she’d never seen him look so strong or so handsome. At the end of the day, all that mattered was that he was alive, and in her arms, and the gratitude she felt went beyond measure.
“You look as if you could use some tending,” she said, a weak smile on her lips.
Dane smiled in return, his bottom lip cut and swollen. “I have had worse beatings from my brothers,” he said. “You needn’t worry about me. I will heal.”
Grier’s gaze drifted over his face, reaching up to get a look at the cut on his lip. She touched him gently before dropping her hand.
“Nonetheless, I will clean your cuts,” she said. Then, she hesitated. “But if you truly feel as if they are not too terrible, would you mind if I went to the chapel to pray for Eolande first? I should very much like to.”
Dane shook his head. “Nay,” he said hoarsely. “I will go with you. In fact, I am never going to leave your side again, Grier. Not ever.”
His words brought tears to her eyes; she didn’t know why, but they did. It was everything she’d always wanted to hear from the man, this noble and powerful duke who, in his humility, was the strongest man in the world in her eyes. There was no one more perfect than her Dane, and she loved him more with every breath she took.
“Nor I, yours,” she whispered. “We are bound for eternity, you and I.”
Dane kissed her, leaving a bloody mark from the cut on his lip, but Grier hardly cared. She threw her arms around his neck and he swept her into his arms, carrying her off towards the chapel, holding her as tightly as he had ever held anything in his life. For certainly, he’d almost lost her, in more ways than one, and he was never going to risk losing her again.
From a reluctant groom to a duke in love, Dane de Russe finally discovered what it was to be a truly happy man.
A man who had finally discovered his heart.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
Dane had his hand to his jaw.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “I swear I still have a loose tooth.”
He was sitting in the great hall of Shrewsbury on a cold December evening, trying to eat a piece of bread but feeling pain in his jaw where ap Madoc had pummeled him. Two weeks later, it still hurt. As he moved his jaw around, trying to chew around the sore tooth, Boden and William were at the end of the table, arm wrestling each other.
The pair had already gone through several rounds of wrestling, and half the room was betting on them with the same senior sergeant taking the bets and making sure neither Boden nor William cheated, which they had been known to do on occasion. But in this round, Boden won, slamming William’s hand to the table and drawing a cheer from those who had bet on him. Money exchanged hands at an alarming rate.
It was a normal night in Shrewsbury’s great hall after a day that had seen snow fall lightly. Even now, a fine dusting of snow covered the ground and the fires in the castle burned brightly against the chill. Sentries walked their rounds with a hint of white powder on their shoulders and heads, and in the hall, men were crammed around the tables, enjoying the roaring blaze in the hearth.
Still, it was a lovely night and a cause for some celebration.
It was Dastan and Charlisa’s first night returned from Wales and from the burial of Syler. Laria had decided to remain with her family at Netherworld Castle, so the pair returned without her. Charlisa sat with Grier, chatting animatedly, while Dastan and Dane had been discussing the events of the last two weeks for most of the day. Even now, they sat at the end of the table, discussing the incident with ap Madoc down to the last detail. There hadn’t been any word from the Lords of Godor about it, but Dane was concerned with retaliation, as was Dastan.
That was the subject at hand.
But there was something neither Dastan or Charlisa knew, and that was the misunderstanding between Dane and Grier that had very nearly driven them apart. Dane didn’t feel it was necessary to tell them, and Grier agreed, so the issue was something that they’d kept private. However, they had discussed it exhaustively between them for the first few days after the incident, including how Dane had come into possession of Grier’s letter.
Euphemia, the catalyst for the entire event, had disappeared, more than likely having gone back to her tavern in Welshpool, but neither Grier nor Dane would go after her. The woman had served her purpose for the first few days of Grier’s life in the outside world, but given the fact that she’d tried to betray her mistress, no one wanted her back. There wasn’t anything trustworthy about her.
In truth, the entire circumstance with the letter had been a growing experience for both Dane and Grier, as two people who hadn’t known one another yet expecting trust and understanding under strenuous circumstances. Grier had learned not to keep things from her husband, and Dane had learned to trust his wife in all things.
What hadn’t driven them apart had only made them stronger.
Even now, as Dane spoke to Dastan, his gaze was on Grier as she listened to Charlisa chatter. She was wearing her marriage brooch again, and her wedding ring, and it made Dane proud simply to look upon her. When Dane caught her eye, he winked and she smiled one of those adoring smiles he was becoming accustomed to. Three weeks into their marriage and neither o
ne could remember any turmoil they’d gone through, only the joy.
Only the love.
It was something even Dastan could see as he watched Dane make eyes at his wife. He was quite happy that the very reluctant bride he’d confronted those weeks ago at St. Idloes had turned into a wife that Dane was proud to have, and he was certain Lord Garreth would have been thrilled. Perhaps the old man had known something they hadn’t at the time, that the serious and dedicated knight he’d known as Lord Blackmore would, indeed, make the best sort of duke, and that the daughter he’d sent away those years ago would make a fine duchess. She was a de Lara, after all, and de Laras were the strong sort.
Grier was no exception.
But the madness of Davies ap Madoc was something Dastan was still coming to grips with. Poor Grier had been caught up in it somehow, and the fight to the death was something that Dastan still had a difficult time comprehending. Dane had taken on the Welshman who had killed Syler and he had won, the very same Welshman who had offered for Grier’s hand. It was a complex situation but, given all the facts, Dastan wholeheartedly endorsed Dane’s resolution of the situation. They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives on-guard waiting for the next attempt against Dane’s life.
The man had done what needed to be done, and Syler had been avenged. Still, Dastan wished he’d been here.
“I’m not surprised your teeth are loose,” Dastan said upon hearing Dane’s complaint. “But I am surprised that is the only aftereffect of the fight you described. It sounds as if it could have been much worse.”
Dane smiled weakly, still moving his jaw around. “Mayhap,” he said, setting his bread down and reaching for his cup of ale. “To be truthful, I am concerned for Grier. I told you that her friend, ap Madoc’s sister, was killed in the chaos.”
“Aye, you did. A tragedy. What possessed the woman to try and stab you?”
Dane lifted his shoulders, a rather sad gesture. “Momentary insanity,” he speculated. “Who is to say? Grier said the woman was very protective over her brother, so I am sure she simply lost all control when she saw that he was losing the fight. I do not blame her; there is no anger on my part. I simply wish she had been stopped before the archer took her down. Her death was a needless one.”
Dastan nodded his head faintly. “How has your lady wife dealt with it?”
Dane’s eyes moved to Grier, down the table. “That is why I am concerned,” he said. “She has wept over it since then. She is sad, of course, but she is also torn. She is grieved for her friend’s death, yet had the woman not been stopped, she would have planted a dagger in my back, and Grier would now be grieving for me instead.”
“A difficult situation, no doubt.”
“Indeed.”
Over at the other end of the table, William had just crushed Boden in yet another arm wrestling match and threw up his arms, gloating over his victory as some of the men cheered. Boden, unhappy that William was now taunting him, rushed the man and the two of them went down on the floor, rolling around as they tried to smash one another into the dirt and rushes. Dane and Dastan watched, shaking their heads at the antics.
“And yet,” Dastan said, “some things never change.”
Dane snorted as he lifted his cup. “Those two? Never. They have been doing the same thing since they were young boys.”
“You would never know how much they adore one another.”
Dane started to laugh, cut short when a soldier covered in a layer of snow rushed into the hall and headed for the dais. Dane thought he’d heard the sound of the Shrewsbury horn, but he couldn’t be sure. He was on his feet as the soldier approached.
“My lord,” the soldier greeted him, breathless. “An army has passed through town and is now upon the castle.”
Dane frowned. “An army?” he repeated. “On a night like this?”
The soldier nodded. “They say they are Warminster, my lord.”
Dane’s eyes widened. “Are they flying banners?”
“Dark green with a black dragon upon them, my lord.”
“Then open the gates!” Dane commanded. “That is my father, you fool. Open the gates immediately!”
The soldier fled and Dane whistled loudly in the direction of Boden and William, causing them to stop their wrestling.
“Boden!” Dane snapped. “Father has arrived. Get up out of that dirt and go greet him. Run!”
Boden was on his feet, charging out of the hall with William and a dozen other soldiers on his heels, all of them rushing out into the snowy night just as the portcullis in the great gatehouse began to grind open. As the men flew out, Dane and Dastan moved to the women down the table.
“Warminster has arrived,” Dane said excitedly as he pulled out Grier’s chair. “My father is here. God’s Bones, ‘tis a surprise. I had no idea he was coming.”
Grier, who had been deep in conversation with Charlisa about her trip to Wales, had a rather shocked look on her face as Dane pulled her to her feet.
“Your father?” she said. “Didn’t you tell me that he was too ill to travel?”
Dane nodded as he took her by the arm and headed towards the hall entry. “I did,” he said. “But I also sent word to him almost two months ago about your father’s death and our impending marriage. Clearly, he has decided to come and see for himself.”
Charlisa was walking with Dastan directly behind Dane and Grier, and when she heard mention of Warminster’s arrival, she rushed off to organize the servants and prepare for their new guests. Once a chatelaine, always a chatelaine. Dastan let her go, instead remaining with Dane and Grier. He’d only heard of the great Duke of Warminster and was eager to meet the man for himself.
Together, the group of them headed out into the cold night, walking through the light snow of the bailey and heading towards the gatehouse where a large party of soldiers and knights were now spilling in.
Dozens of torches lined the walls and the bailey, creating a great golden glow against the dark night. Dane was looking for his father, or brothers, and his gaze fell upon all of them in succession – his father astride his big, charcoal-colored stallion, and brothers, Cort and Gage. Boden and William were already jumping all over Gage, throwing the man to the ground in a gleeful and brutal greeting, which brought a grin to Dane’s lips. But most surprisingly, he caught sight of his brother, Trenton, and of the great Matthew Wellesbourne. His heart swelled so that it brought tears to his eyes.
All of them, here.
His family.
God, it was too good to believe. The first thing he did was take Grier by the hand and run through the snow towards his father, who was just dismounting his steed with the help of his son, Cort. When Cort de Russe looked over and saw Dane approaching, his features lit up like one of the torches in the bailey. It was a brilliant smile. He rushed his brother and threw him in a hug, nearly knocking over Grier in the process.
“Dane!” Cort said happily, pulling back to kiss the man on both cheeks. “The Duke of Shrewsbury as I live and breathe. Congratulations, old man. Well-deserved!”
Dane laughed at his younger, and very handsome, brother. “Thank you,” he said. He still had Grier by the hand and he pulled her against him, a big arm around her shoulders. “This is Grier, my wife. Grier, this is my brother, Cortland, but you must call him Cort. He’ll punch anyone who calls him Cortland.”
Grier found herself looking into the face of a young knight with copper curls and green eyes. She could faintly see the resemblance between the man and her husband.
“Welcome to Shrewsbury, Cort,” she said. “I am very happy to meet you and I promise I will not call you Cortland.”
Cort grinned, a smile that looked very much like his father. “A pleasure, Lady de Russe,” he said. “May I say that I envy my brother his beautiful wife? He did very well for himself.”
Grier flushed, red cheeks that could be seen even in the light of the torches. As Dane laughed softly at her embarrassment, his father turned away from his horse as the
steed was led away and Dane found himself looking upon a much older man than he remembered.
Gaston de Russe, Duke of Warminster and the man known throughout the realm as the Dark One, had made himself known.
Dane had last seen his father over a year ago when he’d left Warminster to travel to Blackmore. His father was an enormous man; several inches over six feet, with hands the size of trenchers. He was big, strong, and intimidating. That was the Gaston de Russe that the world knew.
But the man facing him was a much older form of his father. He’d been diagnosed with a cancer in his throat last year, although Gaston had resisted that diagnosis. But, clearly, something was wrong, and as Dane looked into the man’s face, he could feel his heart breaking. He looked so old and so very weary. Dane let go of Grier’s hand and went to his father, throwing his arms around the man and burying his face in his neck.
Then, the tears came.
Papa…
He couldn’t stand to see the man he loved most in the world so ill. It was breaking his heart. He couldn’t even speak for the lump in his throat, something that Gaston must have sensed.
He held his son by marriage, but a man he could not have loved more even if he had been his son by blood. Hugging him tightly, he could feel Dane’s body shake as he sobbed a few times, so very emotional at the sight of his sickly father.
“It is good to see you, Dane,” Gaston said, his voice very raspy because of the condition in his throat. “Do not despair. I am still here, still alive. And I had to come and see you, even though your mother tried to lock me in a room so I could not leave.”
That brought laughter through Dane’s tears. He pulled his face away from his father’s neck, wiping at his eyes, trying to make light of a very emotional reunion.
“I am not surprised,” he said. “How is my mother?”
“Beautiful and strong.”
Nunnery Brides Page 26