Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  She wasn’t particularly miserable at the convent but she wasn’t particularly happy, either. She deliberately stayed away from town and avoided any manner of news that came from the castle. Her focus was on the convent, her duties, and the impending child. So she pushed thoughts of de Royans from her mind and collected her big reed basket.

  The garden to the rear of the nunnery was sprouting with spring vegetables. There were several particularly large cucumbers she had wanted to collect earlier but her basket had been full of carrots. Donning a woolen cloak that was heavy and wet at the bottom, she proceeded out into the cool spring day.

  The garden was big and plentiful, and all of the nuns worked it at one time or another. Amalie spent a good deal of time here because it kept her constantly busy and she needed to feel occupied; leisure time brought about thoughts of great depression and anxiety so she tried to always be busy.

  Thoughts of Weston were heavy in her mind and heart at all times; the fact that he showed up daily to speak with her only deepened her sense of sorrow. She would never forget about the man if he kept coming around; on the other hand, she didn’t want to forget him at all. It made for a difficult dilemma.

  Wandering out into the damp plants which had just had a dousing of seasonal rain, she knelt beside the cucumbers and began to separate them from the vines. It was dirty work and her fingers were cold with the wet earth, but she didn’t particularly mind. She rather liked gardening. Grasping a cucumber, she took a small knife and cut it free of the plant.

  Cutting the second cucumber, she heard footsteps approach and she didn’t bother to look up. Thinking it was Sister Teresita, she spoke.

  “Sister?” she said. “Can you please help cut some cucumbers off of this vine? They are fairly ripe and I am afraid they will rot with all of the rain we have been having.”

  She was indicating the plant in back of her. When she didn’t receive a reply, she turned to look at the nun. But the only thing she saw was enormous boots standing a few feet away. Startled, she lifted her eyes to see Weston gazing down at her.

  Their eyes met and the spark, dormant for these past few months, ignited with a fury. Having no idea what to say to the man, she simply sat there, apprehensive and fearful that he was going to give her an earful for sending him away day after day. He had been persistent and she had been cruel.

  She waited for the boom as the painful seconds ticked away and neither of them said a word, but Weston merely smiled when he realized she wasn’t going to jump up and run away.

  “Greetings, my lady,” he said in his soft, rich voice. “I was just leaving the nunnery and thought I might check the back door just in case you happened to be around. I see that my instincts were correct.”

  The sound of his deep, beautiful voice almost brought tears to her eyes. It had been so long since she had heard it. She sighed faintly, resigned at his appearance and unwilling to fight it further, though she should have been. She should have run for her life.

  “So you have found me,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on him. “You are looking well, Weston.”

  His smile broadened. “And you are more beautiful than I had remembered,” he said, keeping his manner even and steady, although it was difficult. He wanted to explode at her. “Are you well?”

  “Verily.”

  “That is good to know. I have been very worried.”

  “Why? You knew I was here. You must assume that I am well taken care of.”

  Weston shifted on his big legs; he was in full armor this day, looking every inch the imposing Bolingbroke knight. But his face, feature for feature, was calm and more handsome than she remembered. He was so big and blond and beautiful. The more she looked at the man, the more she felt herself softening.

  “I had to see for myself,” he said quietly.

  “And so you have. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

  “Are you happy here?”

  He was straight to the point. She nodded, looking back to her cucumbers. “The nuns are very kind to me.”

  He suddenly crouched down to bring himself more to her level. His dark blue eyes drank in her face, every lovely line and every gentle slope. He could hardly believe he was looking at her after all of these months; he’d spent one hundred and twenty one days being disappointed daily when the nunnery turned him away in his attempts to visit Amalie, and every day he would return to the castle knowing he would try again the next day. She was the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of in the morning.

  “I have come daily to see you but you have sent me away,” he said quietly. “I always hoped that one of these days you would agree to see me.”

  She looked up from her cucumber. “I hope you will be satisfied now that you know I am well.”

  “I am,” he watched her fiddle with the cucumber. “I just wish you had not left in the first place.”

  “I was not going to stay at Hedingham with a host of Bolingbroke soldiers around me.”

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “But I swore to protect you. I wish you had trusted my word.”

  “I did trust it,” she replied, fussing with the cucumber out of nervousness. “But I felt that it was best for me to come to the nunnery. I am assured safety and protection here, for always, with no more knights to attack me.”

  He watched her put the cucumber in her basket. The silence between them grew heavy as she fidgeted nervously and he groped for the proper words. He didn’t want to upset her or frighten her, but there was much to say to her. Four months of longing had seen to that.

  “Amalie, I must say something,” he finally said, watching her look up at him with her beautiful green eyes. He met her gaze, praying he wouldn’t send her running back into the nunnery with what he was about to say. “I know what happened with Sorrell. I know what he did to you.”

  She stared at him and he could see her cheeks reddening. “I told you what he did.”

  He shook his head. “You did not tell me everything,” his voice was a whisper. “I know about the rape. I know it was because of the rape that you tried to kill yourself. So many times I asked you why and you would not tell me, but now I know. I just wanted to say how sorry I am that he did that. I am so sorry you had to go through that horrible ordeal.”

  By this time, her eyes were beginning to water. As he watched, she turned away from him and broke down into soft sobs. Weston knew he had to say everything he needed to say, and say it quickly, before he lost her completely. He was afraid she would run back into the nunnery and he would never see her again.

  “What I am trying to say is that it does not matter to me that you are compromised,” he said quickly, softly. “I know you believe yourself an undesirable marriage prospect and that is why you committed yourself to the nunnery, but I am here to tell you that I would be deeply honored if you would accept my proposal of marriage. I could think of no greater privilege that to become your husband, Ammy. Perhaps the lure of working in the garden and wearing woolen underwear is a greater attraction to you, but I pray that you will at least consider marriage to me as an alternative.”

  She was looking at him by now, astonishment on her face. But the tears were still flowing, dripping off her chin, as the big green eyes fixed on him, holding him captive within their vibrant gaze. After a small eternity of staring at him, she simply shook her head in bafflement.

  “Oh… Weston,” she breathed. “Why would you do this?”

  He shrugged, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. But now was the time for truth. “Because I cannot forget about you no matter how hard I try,” he whispered. “Your spirit and your beauty have marked me and I know in my heart that I cannot go on without you. Committing yourself to this convent has crushed me, Ammy. I have come every day to ask you to marry me and every day you have sent me away. I love your courage, your humor, your kindness and your compassion. You are a rare woman and I would never find another like you if I lived to be one hundred. I know that you do not love
me but perhaps you will in time. I only ask for that opportunity. Please do not send me away again.”

  She sat frozen as he finished his sentence. He didn’t think her eyes could get any bigger, her expression any more shocked, but it did.

  “You… you love me?” she gasped.

  He nodded without hesitation. “I do.”

  He watched a myriad of emotions run across her face, from shock to disbelief to joy. He was particularly focused on the joy and thought, perhaps, that there might be a chance. But she suddenly closed her eyes and put her dirty hands to her ears.

  “Nay,” she shook her head violently. “Do not say such things. You will regret it.”

  His brow furrowed, concerned. “I will never regret it, not ever.”

  She began to sob loudly. “Aye, you will. Go away, Weston; go away and never come back.”

  He wasn’t about to leave; he reached out and grasped her arm to steady her. “I will not go away and I will never regret loving you. Why do you say such things?”

  She was growing louder and more animated. Yanking her arm from his grasp, she tossed the cucumber basket aside and rose to her knees. Weston watched, shocked, as she pulled tight her apron and surcoat around her torso to display her gently swollen belly.

  “Because of this,” she wept painfully. “Weston, I did not try to kill myself because the commander raped me; I tried to kill myself because of the child he implanted in my womb. The worst night of my life resulted in a baby and I was determined to die rather than live with the shame. But you stopped me; again and again, you stopped me without truly knowing how it was affecting my life. When my attempts at suicide failed, I did the only thing I could do; I committed myself to the nunnery. You wanted to know everything, Weston; now you know and now you will leave and never look back.”

  Weston stared at her, at her swollen midsection, and he had never felt more sickened in his life. He didn’t know what to say; he just stared at her. Amalie gazed steadily at him, her sobs fading as she looked into his astonished, horrified expression.

  “But there is more,” she sniffled, sobs fading as a great and awful pain took hold in her heart. “You have confessed your thoughts and I will confess mine. Weston, I committed myself to the convent because I knew I was falling in love with you, too, and I knew there was no chance for a future between us. You are a strong and virtuous knight, and you must have a bride that reflects that. I do not reflect that; thanks to a drunken knight, my life has been ruined. I would not ruin yours as well.”

  Weston abruptly stood up and turned away, his mind reeling. He knew he loved her; God help him, he knew it. But there was a great portion of him that was sickened and shamed by what had happened to her, the deeply religious side that was rigid and unbending when it came to issues of morality. But the compassionate side of him, the side that loved her deeply, knew that it was not her fault. What happened to her had been completely beyond her control. Amalie was still pure and innocent in his eyes in spite of her condition; he simply couldn’t bring himself to condemn her.

  “It does not matter,” he finally muttered, sighing deeply and turning to look at her. “What happened to you was not your fault. You did not invite the man to rape and beat you; it was completely beyond your control. I will not condemn you for something that was not your fault.”

  Amalie stood up, stiffly, her expression laced with anguish. “Please go, Weston. The longer you stay here, the more difficult it will be for both of us.”

  He shook his head. “I am not going anywhere,” he said. “I am going to take you from this place and we are going to be married.”

  Amalie’s eyes widened. “But…,” she struggled to summon the words. “But you cannot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone will think the child is yours and that is not fair to you. It is a shame you should not bear.”

  He shook his head again, making his way over to her slowly with a pensive expression on his face. Finally, he stopped in front of her, the dark blue eyes full of warmth and compassion.

  “I am unconcerned about that,” he murmured. “I should only be so fortunate for men to think that we loved each other enough to demonstrate that love, married or not. I have spent my entire life running from shame, Ammy. I grew up with it, so much so that I have spent the majority of my knighthood proving that I was more pious, moral and chivalrous than anyone else around me. I thought the only way to do that was to pray more than anyone else, fight harder for the church than anyone else, and condemn those who were weak or foolish. But you… you have changed all of that. I do not care if men believe we have sinned before marriage because you and I know the truth. I love you, Ammy; that will never change, no matter what.”

  Her tears were gone now, being replaced by something so warm, so hopeful, she couldn’t dare bring herself to believe it. Timidly, she reached out to him and he caught her dirty hand, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. He didn’t care that her fingers were covered with dirt; he kissed them anyway. His blue eyes blazed as he gazed down at her.

  “What shame have you been running from?” she asked softly.

  He sighed faintly, her hand still against his mouth. “You have revealed your great secret so I suppose it only fair that I reveal mine,” he murmured. “I was six years of age when my mother began an illicit affair with my father’s father. My father, so humiliated by the fact that his wife left him for his own father, took his life. I found my father’s body, impaled upon his sword. My younger brother, who was five years old at the time, helped me remove the sword from our father’s body and then we went to my mother to tell her what had happened. Instead of being distraught, she smiled. I will never forget the look on her face. And then she married my grandfather and they have been married ever since.”

  Amalie’s eyes widened with shock. “Oh, Weston,” she breathed. “What a terrible story. I am so deeply sorry for you.”

  He shrugged it off. “It is of no matter any longer,” he said. “In a sense, it made me who I am. I live cleaner than most knights and I believe that God has a hand in all things. He teaches us what is right, what is wrong, and leads us to do what He feels is best.”

  She regarded him as he still held her hand to his mouth; she could feel his hot breath from his nostrils on her skin.

  “Did He lead you to me?” she asked softly.

  He nodded without hesitation. “He knew that you needed me. And I suppose in a sense He knew I needed you; I fell in love with a woman that, under normal circumstances, I would have condemned. Perhaps… perhaps God’s lesson to me in all of this is that compassion is sometimes the greater glory. Even now, I feel no distress in raising another man’s child as my own. All I know is that when I look at you, all I can feel is love and joy. Surely there can be no wrong in that.”

  She smiled at him, hesitantly. “And all I know is that I have felt nothing but pain and humiliation since that horrible January day,” she said quietly. “I believed my life to be over; I truly did. Now… now I feel overwhelmed with hope. I still cannot believe you feel as you do.”

  He returned her smile, moving closer to take her in his arms. For the first time, he relished the sensation of her against him, knowing she was agreeable to his advances, gazing down into her lovely face and feeling so overwhelmingly joyful that it was in danger of exploding out of every pore in his body. Their relationship was now beyond commander and chatelaine; everything he had hoped for and dreamed about was coming to fruition.

  “Then you are agreeable to marrying me?” he asked.

  She still appeared hesitant. “I am still not sure it would be….”

  He cut her off with a gentle squeeze. “Please, Ammy. Do not break my heart.”

  A gentle smile broke through as she gazed up at him. “I would not knowingly do such a thing,” she murmured. “If you are sure that marriage is what you want, then I am agreeable.”

  He leaned forward, closing his eyes and kissing her forehead reverently. The gesture was sweet
and delicious, and Amalie began to tear up again. She collapsed forward against him, cheek against his broad chest, struggling to stave off the tears. His strength enveloping her was a delicious sensation.

  “This seems like a dream,” she whispered, feeling his powerful arms wrap around her. “I never dared to hope that you would feel for me as I feel for you.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I want to make you happy, Ammy. It is my greatest desire.”

  She lifted her head from his chest, gazing up at him with her big green eyes. “You are a sweet and compassionate man,” she whispered. “I will always do my best to be worthy of you.”

  He smiled at her, but more than that, he was seized with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Gently, his lips slanted over hers in their first kiss, something so sweet and warm that it brought waves of excitement and contentment. But within the first few seconds, Weston knew that he must taste more of her and he pulled her more tightly against him, his tongue licking at her lips until she opened wider and invited him in.

  He tasted her deeply, knowing she was better than he ever imagined she could be. He’d finally found what he’d been searching for his entire life; love, life, happiness in the most unexpected of circumstances. It was heaven.

  Amalie clung to him, experiencing the newness of her first true kiss and very quickly realizing that she liked it. The drunken soldier had never kissed her; his mouth had been in other places. So the experience of Weston’s soft lips against hers was truly something amazing. Even as he became more aggressive and plundered her tender mouth with his tongue, gently yet passionately, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated. In fact, she learned quickly and was soon matching him suckle for suckle.