by Alexa Aston
Aaron thanked them profusely for their kindness toward his brother. Elia realized he would now inherit what little was left since Aaron was the only Wrynne son who remained. They left him and headed two estates over. Now, they were on de Wolfe lands.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Ferand stopped Midnight and looked across the land and back at the imposing castle. “Most impressive. I can see why you have such a great love for it.”
“But I love you more,” she said, her fingers caressing his jaw.
He stole a quick kiss. “That’s all you get. For now.”
They cantered down the hill and along the road until they reached the gates. Elia called a greeting up to the gatekeeper, who came down and welcomed her personally. He’d always been a great favorite of hers and she was happy to see him in good health.
“Head toward the training yard. ’Tis where Father and Stephen should be,” she said.
Ferand guided Midnight in the direction she indicated. Soon, they heard the clang of sword against sword. He helped her from the horse and Elia raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun as she gazed across the yard. She spied her father and called to him. He rushed toward her, joined by Stephen.
Both men embraced her, shock written on their faces.
“What are you doing here, Elia?” her father asked. “You should be in London.” He glanced to Ferand, who stepped forward.
“Ferand de Montfort, my lord. Earl of Kinwick. My estate lies three days to the southwest of London.”
“Ah,” said Markus. “You must be my daughter’s new husband. I must thank the queen.”
“That won’t be necessary, Father,” Elia quickly interjected. “Queen Isabella has gone into her confinement. She has other things to think about. But we aren’t wed yet.”
“You aren’t?” Stephen asked, assessing Ferand as only an older brother could.
“Nay,” Ferand confirmed. “Elia wished to wed in front of those she loved. She insisted we come to Northumberland for the nuptial mass.”
“I have something I must tell you,” Stephen blurted out. He glanced toward Markus, who nodded. “I am married, Elia.”
She did her best to look surprised. “Why, ’tis marvelous, Stephen. Who is your bride? When did you wed?”
“You know her. Lady Audrey Wilde. ’Twas two summers ago we spoke our vows.”
Elia didn’t hide her hurt. It felt as fresh as when James Wrynne had given her the same news.
“Why did you not write to me of this good news?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Her brother looked to their father. “Go,” Markus said. “Let the women know.”
Stephen gave her an apologetic look and fled.
“Come,” Markus invited. “We can talk as we make our way to the keep.”
Ferand laced his fingers through hers and squeezed reassuringly. Elia drew strength from his support.
As they fell into step, Markus said, “I, too, am married. A widow. You might remember Kateryn Howard.”
She had a vague image of a woman who lived a few estates away from them.
“We married a year ago,” Markus continued. “She carries my child.”
Elia stopped in her tracks, frustration boiling over. “Why? Why wasn’t I told of these events, Father? Why did you hide them from me?”
As he struggled to find the words, she saw how he had aged since she’d last seen him. New lines of worry had been etched into his face. His dark hair had more silver threaded through it.
“Because of a promise I made to your mother,” he finally said.
“Mother?” Elia barely recalled her mother. “She died when I was five. What promise would she have extracted from you that would keep such secrets from me so many years later? I do not understand.”
Markus took her free hand. Ferand released the other so she could face her father.
“Your mother hated war. Hated everything about it. She bemoaned that she’d given birth to two sons, fearing she would lose them both in battle against the Scots. She wanted you to live a different kind of life than she had.” He paused. “On her deathbed, just before she birthed Anne, she made me promise to give you in marriage to someone not of the north. She thought this war with Scotland would drag on for decades.
“And I swore to her that I would. ’Tis why I sent you to the queen.”
Elia frowned. “But that doesn’t explain why you would keep the news of Stephen’s marriage—and yours—from me.”
Markus smoothed her hair. “You were always the fieriest de Wolfe, Elia. Your grandfather joked that you should have been born a man for you would have been a leader among men. You were always so proud of your de Wolfe heritage and how our family anchored the north.”
He sighed. “I knew to keep my promise to your mother that I had to somehow sever the strong ties you felt to Castle Questing. I wanted to send you away to foster long before I did.”
“But Grandfather wouldn’t let you, would he?” Elia ventured, thinking how close she’d been to him.
“Aye. Nighthawk favored you among his grandchildren. I had to promise him that I would allow you to remain at Castle Questing until he passed. Once he did, it was time to send you on your way. I wanted you to fall in love with life at the royal court. You always enjoyed learning and I believed you would have opportunities there that didn’t exist here for you.”
Markus paused. “But your missives to me only told me how you longed to come home. I feared if you learned about Stephen’s betrothal, you would insist on returning.” He raised her hand to his chest. “I wanted to keep my promise and make sure you left the north for good.” He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to it.
Elia tried to take in everything he’d shared.
Her father smiled. “One thing your grandfather said about you leaving the de Wolfes of the north? That you would give birth to children—both sons and daughters—who would be just as strong and courageous as you are. Nighthawk said that thanks to Elia de Wolfe, de Wolfes would rise in the south. The east. The west. They would become the foundation of all the great families in England.”
Markus placed his hands on her shoulders. “You need to fly from the nest, my little bird. Spread your wings and soar with this man you’ve brought. Wed him and raise your children well.”
He embraced her. Tears cascaded down Elia’s cheeks, though this time they were happy ones.
Markus released her and turned to Ferand. “Would you like to marry my daughter in the morning, Lord Ferand?”
Ferand smiled broadly. “I would wed her today, my lord, if I could.”
An hour later, Elia had returned the slim band she’d worn and faced Ferand in a clean but too-large smock and kirtle she’d borrowed from her sister-in-law. They repeated the vows the priest intoned and Ferand slid the same wedding band on her finger—this time, for real. They sealed their words with a lingering kiss which she felt down to her very toes.
As they came out of the church and entered the great hall to celebrate their marriage, Elia said, “I’m only sorry my trunk did not arrive in time. I am vain enough to admit that I would have liked to been married in something that fit me a little better.”
Ferand’s eyes lit with mischief. “Speaking of your trunk . . .” he began.
“Where is my trunk, Ferand?”
He shrugged. “I would imagine somewhere inside the keep at Kinwick by now. Hopefully, inside my solar,” he added, not bothering to hide his smile.
She pursed her lips. “You were that sure of yourself?”
His hands encircled her waist. “I was sure that I could find no better woman than you, my love. I only hoped you would agree to the match by the end of our journey. You did agree you were in my debt—and that a price would be paid.”
Elia cupped his face with her hands. “And what if I had wanted to stay in Northumberland?”
“Then I supposed when I reached Kinwick, heartbroken, I would’ve had Gilbert and a soldier or two set out nort
h with it.” Ferand chuckled. “Gilbert has quite an imagination. I’m sure by the time the lad reached Castle Questing, he would have concocted a most interesting tale as to why it had taken so long for your trunk to arrive.
“But it’s nicer that you fell in love with me instead.”
“Ferand, I am more than glad that I fell in love with you. I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”
With that, their lips met in a searing kiss—one of thousands that they would share.
Epilogue
Kinwick Castle—1335
Elia opened her eyes. Something told her today would be the day she would bring another child into the world. As she listened to Ferand’s soft snores, she placed a hand on her swollen belly and said a silent prayer to the Virgin for a safe delivery. It had been so long since her daughters arrived. Elia couldn’t have asked for two sweeter girls. Both Mary and Eloisa had kind hearts and loved animals. Mary, in particular, had an affinity for horses, while her sister could spend hours in the barn playing with a new litter of kittens.
The babe kicked against Elia’s hand, causing her to smile. This child had to be strong. They needed a boy who would one day take his father’s place as lord of Kinwick. She still mourned the tiny babe that had come too early years ago. The boy only lived a few hours.
This time it must be different.
Ferand stirred, his hand reaching out for her. Lazily, he stretched as his hand found the curve of her hip and stroked it.
Elia’s heart quickened. It always had at this man’s touch. No one moved her as her husband did.
His gaze met hers. “Good morning, my love.” His hand moved to her belly, and she felt the babe kicking again.
Ferand chuckled. “I’d say this one is ready to make an appearance soon.” His other hand cupped her cheek and stroked it fondly.
“What if it’s another girl?” she asked.
Her husband gave her a soft kiss. “I was beyond happy when Mary came a dozen years ago. My happiness doubled when Eloisa arrived two years later. Whether it’s a boy or girl you carry, my love, it’s our child. We’ll be blessed by the Living Christ to add another de Montfort to our fold.”
“But if—”
“If it’s a girl, she will be loved.” Ferand’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “That means we’ll simply have to keep trying for a boy.” His lips brushed against hers. “I take pleasure in all the practice that goes into creating an infant.”
Elia lost herself in his kiss, enjoying his soothing fingers as they kneaded her scalp.
A sudden, fierce kick caused him to break the kiss.
Ferand chuckled. “This one will seek our attention more than the first two put together, I’ll wager.” He paused. “Don’t worry, love. If you give birth to a dozen more females, you’ll have made me the happiest man in the land. And if no male appears? You know my cousin already has a boy.”
“But Peter has proved to be a sickly child,” Elia pointed out.
“True,” Ferand agreed. “But she also gave birth last month to a strapping boy full of good health and strong lungs. If God wills it, then Raynor may one day be the earl here at Kinwick.”
Elia basked in her husband’s love, knowing he spoke the truth. She knew other men would be disappointed if their wives didn’t provide an heir, but Elia truly believed that it didn’t matter to Ferand. Still, she hoped, soon, she would hold their son in her arms.
“Oh!” she gasped as the warm flow gushed down her legs. “It’s time,” she told her husband. “Fetch the midwife.”
Ferand gave her one last kiss and climbed from the bed. He dressed quickly and left the solar.
Elia stood and moved about the chamber. Walking had helped during previous births, so she kept a steady pace up as she ambled around the bedchamber.
“My lady? Lord Ferand said the babe comes,” Gerta said.
“Aye,” Elia told the midwife. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this together.”
“Trust me, my lady. We will see this new babe born before you know it.”
Elia only nodded as the first birth pain cut through her. She bent over, remembering how sharp they would get.
“Let’s get you into the bed,” Gerta suggested. “Then I’ll be back with everything we’ll need.”
Mary and Eloisa arrived to help. Gerta put them to work.
The pains sharpened, coming more quickly than Elia had expected. Gerta continued to assure her that everything went well. Soon, Eloisa gripped her left hand as Mary held fast to her right and Gerta ordered her to push. Elia bore down as hard as she could, a guttural grunt escaping her lips as the babe finally came free. Immense relief coursed through her—but she couldn’t relax yet.
Straining to see, she asked, “Is it . . .” but her voice faded.
What if it was another girl? What if the babe was too weak to live?
Then a slap sounded, and a lusty cry filled the room. Hope stirred inside her.
“My lady, you have a boy. A fine, healthy boy,” exclaimed Gerta. “Eloisa, Mary, come here. I need your help.”
Elia watched as the cord was cut and the babe wiped and washed clean. Both girls smiled and cooed at the boy as Gerta swaddled him, humming away as she did in order to soothe the screaming babe. She handed the boy to his older sister.
“Let me see him,” Elia begged, wanting nothing more than to hold this new child to her breast.
Eloisa slowly came toward her, the wrapped bundle in her arms, her face radiant. “Here, Mother. He’s . . . oh, he’s beautiful, even if he is loud.”
Elia reached for the bellowing infant and brought him close. Unlike his sisters before him, who’d both been born bald, her son had plenty of dark hair. He quieted in her arms, his eyes almost quizzical as he studied her. Her daughter was right. The babe was beautiful in every way.
Mary leaned in and kissed her brother’s head. “You’re much sweeter when you’re quiet.” She looked at her mother. “What will his name be?”
She and Ferand hadn’t wanted to speak of names. Not after they’d lost their last son.
“Your father will decide upon the name.”
“We’ll send for Lord Ferand soon, my ladies. Let’s help your mother look presentable first.”
Gerta helped Elia from the bed, and her daughters removed the soiled bedclothes, replacing them with new ones. Mary rocked the babe while Gerta and Eloisa helped Elia from her sweat-soaked gown. They washed her gently and put another shift over her head. The soft material felt good against Elia’s clean skin.
Then the babe began to fuss. Mary brought him back to his mother, and Elia fed the child for the first time. As she looked into his contented face, she recognized the similarity between the babe and her grandfather, Patrick de Wolfe. It gave her immense pleasure that a bit of that beloved man lived on through this child.
Both girls hurried from the bedchamber when Gerta told them they could fetch their father.
Elia looked to Gerta. “You’re sure he’s fit?”
“Aye, my lady. Didn’t you hear his strong cry? His limbs are well formed. He has all his fingers and toes. You’ve produced the future Earl of Kinwick.”
Tears of joy slid down Elia’s cheeks. The babe still watched her in fascination. They stared into one another’s eyes as Gerta fussed about the chamber.
Suddenly, the door flew open. Ferand strode in, a hopeful look on his face.
“The girls tell me they have a brother. Is that correct, Wife?”
Elia gave him a brilliant smile. “It is indeed, Husband. Come meet your son.”
Ferand came to the bed and sat next to her. Elia handed him the babe. Holding his son for the first time, love radiated from Ferand.
She asked, “What do wish to name him, Ferand?”
“Geoffrey,” he said. “Geoffrey de Montfort. After my grandfather.” The father dropped a kiss upon his son’s head and gazed at him with reverence.
Elia was pleased that she’d finally produced an heir for Kinwick—and even
more pleased that he resembled a de Wolfe.
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The Duke’s Fiery Bride
USA Today Bestselling Author
Hildie McQueen
Chapter One
Spring, 1274 AD
Castle Lasing, North Cumbria, England
The arrow whizzed past his head and imbedded itself into the tree. Gavin Mereworth, the recently appointed Duke of Selkirk, ducked low, pulled his sword and scanned the surrounding area for whoever the archer was. He was aware a title brought consequences. However, Gavin had not considered someone would try to kill him just days after being titled.
Shuffling and the crunching of branches were followed by a woman’s curses and a soft groan. Whoever the female was, she seemed to be quite angry.
“Damn you, whoever you are. Come out so I can stab you properly.” Once again leaves crunched and, finally, a young woman rushed toward him through the foliage.
Wearing a tunic, which was pulled up and tied around her waist, with a strap to display men’s britches, the woman dressed quite strangely.
Gavin stood to his full height with his sword at the ready.
For only a second did her gaze flicker to the sword before moving to his face and then she huffed and rolled her green eyes.
“Only a fool wanders about these woods during a boar hunt. Do you have a death wish?”
The sound of hounds and loud voices nearby made her frown in the direction. “Now because of you, I won’t find the wily beast.” As if for emphasis, she lifted her bow and shook it at him. “I thought you were a boar.”
Gavin regarded the woman. With her long, dark hair braided back, it made her large eyes, the color of fallen leaves, and petulant mouth easier to gaze upon. On her right cheek, a smearing of dirt tempted him to reach out and wipe it away. She was tall and slender. Even in her unique attire, there were no illusions of her not being female. She was astonishingly fetching.
