by Traci E Hall
She picked up the knot. “When did you do this?”
“You brushed by me after Sarah’s death. Your hair caught on the toggle of my cloak.” He paused. “But I have loved you since France, when you rode next to the queen on the hill, calling for brave knights to save Edessa.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth before she handed the knot back. “How do I know you won’t leave me? That you aren’t asking me to come with you to be your nursemaid?”
Dominus knew she’d been dishonored and hurt in the past, which had been part of his certainty that she would never agree to be his wife. “I couldn’t imagine you as that. Mamie, will you marry me?”
She choked on her surprise, her face reddening in alarm.
“I knew you would say no. It is better for you to be free.” He patted her back as she struggled to breathe in. “My family affairs are a mess. You have a plan.”
At last, she calmed enough to speak. “You are right. You are a fool.”
He turned away. “I am.”
She remained quiet, staring out at the water. The galley finally left the port, heading toward the ocean. When the river met the salt water, she tossed something into the waves, murmuring what sounded like a prayer. Then she tapped his back, gaining his attention as he faced her.
“You have until we reach France to convince me to marry you. Until then, tell me about your nieces and nephews.”
Epilogue
One year later
Mamie surveyed the crystalline blue water. Today, the waves were miniscule, which meant no wind for the sailboats. Dominus had built a two-person craft with his own hands, and she loved nothing more than escaping with him for a morning of solace.
“Momma! Momma,” a toddler’s voice cried, careening around the corner of the solar. The great room had been rebuilt, using imported teak and local stone to make something that might last. As the Romans might have built, one partial wall could be opened to the elements, allowing the feeling of being on board a ship while comfortable inside.
She and Dominus sat next to one another on a padded bench at a low table, fruit and jams before them.
“He wants you,” Dominus said. He tore a corner from his biscuit and handed it to Mamie.
“Because he’s in trouble.” Mamie laughed, putting the buttery morsel in her mouth.
“You are beautiful.” His eyes darkened with desire as he stared at her lower lip.
“Charmer.” She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles. “It must be in the Brochard blood.”
He smiled and pushed away the remnants of his breakfast. “We could go upstairs . . .”
“We just left our bed,” Mamie said, her body humming with joy.
“Momma!” Graydon made the turn, grinning, his stocky three-year-old body on the run for safety.
Five-year-old Cayla was next around the bend.
Graydon reached her first, grabbing fists full of her skirt and burying his face. “Up!”
“Not fair, Momma,” Cayla said. “He gets to you and cries, and what am I to do with my broken doll?”
Mamie reached out, brushing a lock of reddish-blonde hair from Cayla’s eyes. “Did he break your doll?”
Graydon giggled, then remembered he was supposed to be crying.
“Oui,” Cayla said. “Took her arm right off.”
“Accident. I’m sorry.” Graydon peered from Mamie’s lap toward Cayla.
“I saw you, Graydon.” Cayla crossed her arms.
Mamie sighed. “Graydon, you have your own things to play with. Why would you ruin Cayla’s? Would you like her to break your toys?”
“No!” He turned, his plump cheeks red.
“Cayla, go get one of Graydon’s favorite toys. If you like, you may ruin it as he did yours.”
Cayla’s eyes welled with tears. “But I—”
“Go.”
Graydon started crying in earnest. “I am sorry, Cayla.”
“Graydon, can you fix Cayla’s doll?” Mamie brushed the toddler’s dark curls from his cheek. She looked at Cayla. “Would you like to bring it here, so we can see?”
The two nodded, Graydon grasping Cayla’s hand. “Sorry.”
“Be careful,” Cayla said.
They left the solar, and Dominus pulled Mamie into his lap. “The children are fortunate to have a fair judge at hand. I am too. Are you sorry to be away from court, Mamie?” He kissed her mouth, and despite their early-morning lovemaking, she wanted him again.
She looked around her home. The toys, the dust, the salt that permeated everything. The husband who loved her well.
“I did not choose to leave the queen, but fate, my angels, or the magic of Daphne’s Grove, pervaded. I wished for happiness and, Dominus, my love, I could not be happier.”
Acknowledgments
Writing a historical novel takes a lot of research, most of which I did on the Internet. Surfing from one site to the next makes it difficult to give credit where it is due, so I offer a general thank-you to those who share their pictures, videos, and expertise. I searched ancient maps, watched boat making on YouTube, and studied old essays for what temperature Antioch would have been a thousand years ago. Any mistakes are my own. Thank you to my fabulous editor, Emily, for making this a stronger book. Christopher and Sheryl, thank, thank, thank you for the last-hour reads.
Bio
Traci E. Hall
Award-winning and USA Today best-selling author Traci Hall writes genre fiction for both adults and teens. Believing in happy ever after, she pens stories guaranteed to touch the heart while transporting the reader to another time and place.
