The Vow

by Jody Hedlund

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  ZONDERVAN

  The Vow

  Copyright © 2015 by Jody Hedlund

  Epub Edition © January 2015: ISBN 978-0-310-75113-7

  Zondervan, 3900 Sparks Drive SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

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  Cover design and photography: Mike Heath / Magnus Creative

  Interior design: Greg Johnson/Textbook Perfect

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  An Uncertain Choice Excerpt

  Chapter

  1

  “He loves me.” I plucked a petal off a daisy. “He loves me not.” I plucked off another and let it drift down the flank of my horse and to the trodden path.

  “He loves me.” The delicate petal came loose just as Lord Caldwell glanced over his shoulder, looking back from his steed. The brown eyes that met mine were as dark and rich as the leather of his jerkin. He offered me a smile, one that softened the angular lines of his face.

  My stomach flipped like an acrobat twirling head over heels, and somehow I managed to smile back.

  “How do you fare, Lady Rosemarie?” he asked.

  “I’ve never had a more delightful hunt.” My answer seemed to please him, for his smile widened before he resumed his forward position.

  I released a slow sigh and reveled in the entirely new but wondrous sensations I’d experienced since the moment Lord Caldwell arrived in Ashby six days ago with his parents.

  The noble couple rode ahead in the hunting party with my parents, their laughter and chatter rising above the hoof beats of our horses, the crunch of twigs, and the rattle of leaves in the breeze. The Baron of Caldwell’s estate and lands bordered Ashby’s to the south, and although visits were infrequent, the baron had always been on amicable terms with my father.

  As a young child, I hadn’t thought much about their friendship or the tall, brown-haired boy who always accompanied the baron. But this visit, when Lord Caldwell’s gaze first landed upon me, those dark eyes had made me take notice — and showed that he’d been surprised by how grown up I’d become, and that he liked those changes.

  At fourteen, I was no longer a child. I glanced down at my recently tailored riding habit, at the changing shape my bodice laces accentuated, at the new waves to my fair hair. Even I could see that over the past year I’d changed.

  I pressed the bouquet of daisies to my nose and drew in the lingering fragrance, marveling that the kind, handsome man in front of me thought I was attractive. He’d done little during his visit but pay me attention.

  I hid another smile in the sweet array, letting the feathery petals cool my flushed cheeks. I allowed myself to stare at his back again as I had the entire ride, at his straight shoulders and regal bearing. He didn’t appear to be a man of great physical power, but he held himself with confidence and strength.

  After less than a week, it was too early to be thinking that he loved me. Even so, I couldn’t stop from considering the fact that he was a fine man, the kind of man who would make a good husband someday. Did my father and mother think the same thing?

  Ahead, they rode side by side, close enough that they were holding hands. I glanced over mother’s elaborate gown, a burgundy damask in a pomegranate pattern and trimmed in velvet — a recent gift from my father. After many years of marriage, my father still lavished my mother with gifts, both large and small. Every day, he made a point of showing her just how much he adored her.

  My mare dipped her head as the woodland around us gave way to a clearing alongside a brook. The canopy of leaves opened to the blue sky, and the warm summer sunshine spilled upon me. The servants surged ahead, leading the hunting dogs to the trickling, clear waters.

  Before one of the servants could assist my dismount, Lord Caldwell dropped from his saddle and was at my side. He held out his hand and smiled. “May I?”

  At the affection in his eyes and the admiration in his expression, the whole world turned a hue brighter: the patches of moss covering the boulders were a stunning green, the roses growing in the cracks of stone a brilliant pink, and the wild lupine that bordered the woodland a vibrant purple.

  I hesitated only a second before placing my gloved hand into his. His fingers closed firmly around mine, sending a heated ripple down my arm and straight to my heart. I’d never before touched a man, never before been in such close proximity.

  As I took the offer of his help and slid out of my sidesaddle, his other hand came to my waist. The pressure there stole my breath. When my feet made contact with the rocky ground, he steadied me then removed his hold. Although his hands no longer held me, his touch lingered so that I could think of little else. I couldn’t move. And he didn’t step back either.

  “My lady,” he said breathlessly.

  “Yes, Lord Caldwell?” Was my presence having the same effect upon him that his was upon me?

  “You’ll call me Thomas, won’t you?”

  I couldn’t. Could I? It was much too familiar. My mother only called my father by his Christian name when she thought they were alone. In fact, she rarely addressed him by anything but Lord Montfort. As earl of Monfort and all of Ashby, he was entitled to the highest respect. Surely Lord Caldwell deserved the same respect as the eldest son, making him the future baron and heir of all his father’s vast holdings.

  I peeked sideway to where my mother had dismounted, and to my surprise I found her watching me, curiosity and pleasure in her blue eyes that were so much like mine. I’d received not only my blue eyes from her, but also my golden hair.

  Although my mother hadn’t brought up the topic of marriage yet, I knew it wasn’t too early to start considering a suitable partner. I was the only child and heir to a sizeable fortune. The responsibility of ruling Ashby would one day fall upon my shoulders. I not only needed a husband who could help me rule my people fairly and wisely, but I needed to have children of my own who could inherit Ashby after me. Without an heir, the high king would give the land to neighboring nobility, such as Lord Witherton, who’d gained notoriety for treating his people cruelly. I certainly couldn’t allow even the smallest portion of Ashby to fall into his hands.

  My father stepped behind my mother and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into him, leaning back to receive a kiss. I quickly averted my gaze, embarrassed by their open display in front of Lord Caldwell, even though I was accustomed to it.


  The truth was, aside from all the practical reasons I needed to find a husband, I wanted to have a marriage and love like the one my parents shared.

  “You don’t have to call me Thomas,” Lord Caldwell said as though sensing my hesitancy with his request. “Only if you want to.”

  I nodded, warmth pooling in my middle. “I shall consider it.”

  His smile returned with dazzling brilliance.

  My acquiescence was tantamount to admitting that I favored him.

  He gathered the reins of my mare along with his steed’s, and we ambled toward the edge of the brook. “My father and mother must return home on the morrow.”

  At his declaration, I almost stumbled. “So soon?” The words came out before I could stop them.

  He gave the horses rein to lower their heads and drink before he replied. “Will you miss me, my lady?”

  I rubbed my mare’s neck, and felt her muscles stretch taut. My mind raced for an appropriate answer, one that wouldn’t appear overly eager or naive — although I couldn’t deny that I felt both. “Would you miss me . . . Thomas?” His name came out as the barest of whispers, but his head snapped up as though I’d shouted it.

  If I’d thought the brown of his eyes dark before, they were now the shade of a woodland at dusk. The intensity there spoke of a desire I didn’t yet understand. After all, Thomas was four years my senior, clearly a man who was ready for a serious relationship, and one not to be trifled with child’s play.

  I dare not lead him on. I forced myself to hold his gaze, willing him to see the sincerity of my blossoming feelings for him. The silly acrobat in my stomach started doing flips once more.

  “My lady,” Thomas whispered hoarsely as he stepped toward me. “I don’t know how I could let a day pass by without having the chance to be with you.”

  I trembled under such a revelation.

  He lifted a hand as though to brush my cheek. His fingers hovered so that I was tempted to lean into them, to feel them against my skin. But after a moment, he let his arm drop and took a quick step back, diverting his attention once again to the horses.

  I released a slow breath.

  He knelt next to the water’s edge, cupped his hands, and filled them to overflowing. “Perhaps I can speak with your father about extending my visit.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He drank from his hands, and when he finished he filled them again and held them out for me. His eyes invited me to drink, and by so doing admit my pleasure in his idea to stay longer.

  I chanced another glance at my parents, and this time my father was watching my interaction with the young nobleman. With his fingers once again laced with my mother’s, his long robe flowed about him and the ostrich feathers in his felt cap fluttered in the breeze. As soon as he saw that I’d noticed his scrutiny, he looked away, almost as though he was choosing to ignore us and by so doing, giving me permission to engage with Thomas in whatever manner I saw fit.

  Would he truly allow me to drink from Thomas’s outstretched hand, put my lips against his skin, without any censure?

  I had only a moment to consider my father’s strange behavior before a loud crashing in the brush on the opposite side of the brook drew my attention.

  A peasant man, naked except for a loincloth, stumbled into the clearing. I gasped. My reaction, however, was lost among the shouts and cries of others in the hunting party. I understood the reaction when I saw the swollen purple buboes under the man’s armpits and neck and the blackened, gangrenous fingers and toes.

  The man, not more than thirty years of age, careened forward as though he’d had one too many mugs of ale. He plunged into the brook, staining the water with blood from his blistered soles. His wild gaze landed upon me and he veered in my direction. “Lady Rosemarie! Help me!”

  I froze.

  “Help!” His lips and the tip of his nose were black with gangrene too. They looked like they would peel off like the skin of a burnt onion. His sunken eyes begged me to listen. “Please help my children. I don’t want them to be alone when I die.”

  “Of course not,” I started. Did I know this man? Was he one of the peasants that I’d met while helping my mother deliver food and supplies among the poor?

  He was almost upon me, and the closer he got the more I shrank back. I could see a yellowish puss oozing from swollen bulbs under his arms and neck, and his stench was almost as nauseating as that of a decaying corpse. If I’d met him previously, I certainly didn’t recognize him anymore.

  “Stop him!” several of the men shouted. “He’s got the plague!”

  The peasant didn’t seem to hear or see anyone except me. He dropped to his knees before me in the brook, heedless of the stones that cut into his bare knees and drew more blood. He reached his hands out toward me.

  “Stay away from Rosemarie!” My father’s voice was frantic. He’d started toward the peasant, fear raging across his lean face.

  Thomas’s hands gripped my arms as he attempted to drag me away from the infected man. I was horrified, and yet too intrigued to move of my own will. Even though we hadn’t had the plague in Ashby during my lifetime, I’d heard whispers of the contagious, fast-spreading disease. No one wanted to talk openly about it, for fear of bringing its deadly curse to life after the many years of absence. Too many still remembered the outbreak in decades past that had devastated the entire realm.

  “Don’t touch her!” Thomas yelled, but the peasant’s gnarled fingers groped my skirt. I could only stare at the grotesque, blackened tips that looked as if they would snap off at the slightest pressure.

  A twang was followed by a thump. The peasant cried out and arched before finally slumping to his side in the brook. Only then did I see the arrow embedded deep into his back, likely having pierced his heart. Blood dribbled from the puncture, ran down the mottled skin, and seeped into the water.

  The peasant’s eyes stared downriver, lifelessly following the trail of his blood. Eyes that had pleaded with me to do something — anything — to help his children, children that would now be without a father to provide for them.

  I had to find out where he’d lived and what had become of his children. I started to stand up, but then realized that Thomas still had a hold of me. As any true gentleman would do, he shifted so that he was positioned between me and the body, assuring I wouldn’t have to look upon the gruesome sight any longer. Except that I had the completely irrational urge to approach the peasant, shake him, and demand that he tell me his name.

  “Sheriff,” my father said to the black-bearded man who stepped out of the forest followed by several of his deputies. “You saved my daughter’s life.”

  “Lord Montfort.” The sheriff and his men bowed before my father. Their heavy breaths and sweat-plastered tunics signaled that the peasant had led them on quite the chase.

  “I’m indebted to you, Sheriff,” my father said, his voice laden with thick emotion as he glanced at me. My mother rushed to my side, and I fell against her. Her arms came around me fiercely, possessively, and she pressed a hard kiss against my brow. I breathed in the lavender scent embedded into her garments, hoping it would help calm my thudding heart.

  “Think nothing of it, my lord.” The sheriff stood and mopped his brow, his curly black hair sticking to his face, which was red from exertion. “I was only doing my duty.”

  “I shall reward you handsomely, my good man, nonetheless,” my father declared. “But for now, I must know why this peasant has the plague. Is he an isolated case or are there more?”

  The sheriff’s brows came together in a scowl. “I regret to inform you, my lord, but we’ve had to section off an entire town block because of an outbreak. Unfortunately, this one broke through the barricade.” The sheriff kicked the peasant’s lifeless body so that he sprawled facedown in the brook.

  Indignation coursed through me. I struggled to pull back from my mother’s tight embrace. Had the sheriff no respect for the dead? A man he’d killed in cold blood, no less. “Sheriff,
” I called, “no matter this man’s status or illness, he deserves our kindness even in death.”

  The sheriff’s gaze flicked to me, but only long enough to acknowledge me for the sake of my father. The disdain in his eyes spoke more than words ever could. To him, I was nothing but a worthless girl, a pawn to be moved about for the greatest good of father and fortune.

  “If there’s an outbreak,” my mother said, squeezing me into a hug again, “then we need to send Rosemarie away, put her into safekeeping —”

  “Those are my thoughts exactly,” my father said.

  “No.” I pulled back, but my mother cupped both of my cheeks and forced me to look her in the eyes, just like she’d done since I’d been a young lass.

  “You must listen to me, Rosemarie,” she said, pinning me with her most serious look, one that brooked no arguing. “’Tis not safe for you to remain out in the public. You will go to the convent for safekeeping until the illness has passed.”

  “I’ll take her, Lady Montfort,” Thomas said gravely. He still shielded me from the dead body. “Tell me the way, and I shall take her there directly.”

  “I don’t need to go, Mother. Please, I’ll be fine at home.”

  “No, Rosemarie. You must go.” Mother lifted grateful eyes to Thomas. “You’re kind and noble, Lord Caldwell. But I want you to ride out of here with your parents just as fast as your horses can carry you. Get away from here. Go back home and stay there until you know it’s safe to return.”

  The baron wrapped an arm around his wife. The gravity of his expression and his lack of protest sent a warning clanging through my chest like the chapel bell before a grave event.

  “Let us take Lady Rosemarie with us,” Baroness Caldwell said.

  “I thank you, Lady Caldwell,” I said, “but I must stay and do what I can to help —”

  “You will go to the convent,” my father’s voice rose over mine.

  I strained to see past Thomas and to the infected peasant. “But what about the children? I told the man I would help —”

  “Rosemarie!” my father boomed. The chastisement in his tone silenced me. I lowered my head in acquiescence, even as my body tightened in protest to the over-protectiveness of my parents. I knew my mother had been barren for many years. I knew I was a miracle baby. I knew they treasured me dearly as a result. And I treasured them too.