Dimly the sound of clapping and the excited shouts of children came to her. With a laugh she pulled back from Cleve just enough to turn her head to see her three little imps. They hung out of a window on the second floor of the manor, and she realized they’d witnessed the entire scene.
“You do know that you’re getting a considerable family when we wed.”
Cleve glanced at the three grinning faces in the window. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact,” he added thoughtfully, “I’ve sometimes wondered if the five of them didn’t somehow have a hand in things.” Then he looked back at her. “Actually I considered asking you to marry me while they were present. I knew they would approve.”
“So why didn’t you do it before they left with Gwynedd?”
Cleve’s hands slid slowly up and down her arms. His eyes were dark with emotion, yet still they radiated the most incredibly heartening warmth. When he spoke, his voice was serious.
“I wasn’t as sure about you. But if you did accept me, well, I wanted it to be because you wanted to for yourself. Because you wanted to be my wife, not because others wanted you to. I wanted to know that you accepted my suit for love’s sake alone.”
Once more tears misted her eyes. “I love you for … for many reasons, Cleve. And one of them is that you will be a good father to my children—and to the ones we shall have together.” She smiled up at him, full to bursting with the love she felt for him. “But were I all alone in the world, or mother to a hundred children, I would want only you for my husband.”
He pulled her close, and she came willingly, pressing her face to his chest, closing her eyes and simply absorbing his nearness, his warmth, his special scent of dust and horse and sweat, the wonderfully steady pounding of his heart.
“How soon can we arrange the ceremony?” he murmured against her hair. “For I am more than eager to consummate our vows.” For emphasis he moved slightly, letting her feel the evidence of that eagerness. “You haven’t an overlord, have you? Someone whose permission I must gain?” He tilted her face up to him, and she saw his frown. “There won’t be a problem with me being English, will there?”
Wynne smiled up into his dear, handsome face and traced the perimeter of his lower lip with one finger. “We may wed as soon as a priest can be found, for I have no overlord to ask. The forest is mine, passed through the Radnor women and subject to no one but us.”
At first his face reflected only relief. Then, as the full meaning of her words struck home, his expression changed to one of stunned amazement, and she laughed out loud, a joyous, happy sound that bubbled up from the depths of her being. “Marry me, Sir Cleve FitzWarin, and you will be known as Lord Cleve.” She kissed him firmly on the lips. “My dear Lord Radnor.”
When she would have deepened the kiss, however, Cleve held her a little away. “Why didn’t you tell me that long ago? Why didn’t you tell me that day in the cottage? Had I known that you brought lands with you these past torturous weeks—”
He broke off under her steady gaze, and for a long moment their eyes met and held. Then he sighed and lowered his head to lean his forehead against hers, and she knew that he finally understood.
“You wanted me to come to you for love’s sake only,” he answered his own question, his voice low and filled with emotion. “And I do, Wynne. I want you for love and love alone.”
Wynne nodded as tears filled her eyes. “And I want you for love’s sake only.”
EPILOGUE
THE RISING SUN GLINTED through the mist and struck golden against the distant peaks of Black Mountain. Wynne stretched and yawned, then leaned her elbows on the wooden windowsill, propped her chin on one hand, and gave a great, contented sigh. She smiled when a warm hand slid beneath her heavy sleep-tangled hair to rest familiarly at the nape of her neck.
“They’ll be here soon,” Cleve murmured as he planted a kiss near her ear.
“I feel their nearness,” she revealed, glorying in the way he sensed her moods so well. “Rhys and Madoc—and Lord William, and Edeline and Druce—will arrive today. Perhaps this very morning.” She leaned back into his broad chest, and he wrapped his arms about her waist.
For a long, peaceful while the two of them merely gazed out onto the manor grounds, watching as the sun pushed back the night’s shadows. Cook bustled across the yard, trailed by two hopeful chickens. Bronwen’s pup, grown into an ungainly but cheerful mongrel, ambled up, still sleepy and unable to give more than halfhearted pursuit to the irate fowl. Morning was well upon them, Wynne decided. And it would no doubt prove to be the most wonderful of days.
A soft cooing came from beyond them, and she sighed happily. “Your daughter does beckon you,” she murmured, turning in Cleve’s embrace.
He squeezed her and planted a warm kiss on her mouth. Then a loud, demanding cry made him laugh. “And your rowdy son does command your presence.”
Arm in arm, Wynne and Cleve strolled to the twin cradles that held their two babes. “Good morning, Maradedd. Good morning, Hewe.”
At the sound of their mother’s voice the twin babies began to cry in earnest. Cleve’s face creased with worry.
“They seem to cry, to grow hungry, and even to wet themselves at the very same time. How can you keep up with them?”
“You forget, I’ve had several years’ practice with Rhys and Madoc.” Wynne lifted Hewe up and handed him to his father. “Entertain him while I tend to Mara.”
With a grin Cleve lifted the wide-eyed Hewe high over his head. “Hello there, lad. What say you? Shall you meet your brothers today? Oh, but they shall love teaching you all their tricks.”
Hewe squirmed in infant delight and let out a happy gurgle. Mara laughed as well, and Wynne smiled down at her daughter’s cherubic face. “Yes, the two hooligans shall try their best to drag you into all sorts of adventures,” she crooned to the now-happy baby. “And you unfortunately shall eagerly trail after them, won’t you?” she added, tickling Mara beneath her double chin.
She changed Mara’s wet wrappings, then picked up the burbling baby and handed her to Cleve. For a moment she simply stood there, smiling at her tall and handsome husband, whose arms were now each filled with a plump, contented baby.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than at this very moment,” she confessed in a voice that had become thick with sudden emotion.
Cleve’s gaze met hers in perfect understanding, love shining in his eyes and the most beatific smile upon his lips. “And you … you are more bewitching, more …” He shook his head, unable to put to words the emotions he felt. But Wynne knew. She stepped up to him, wrapping her arms about him so that their two wide-eyed babies lay between them and their brows rested against each other’s.
“I love you, Wynne,” he murmured. “More than life itself.”
Wynne lifted her face to kiss him, sweetly and tenderly, all her love imparted in the chaste touching of their lips. But the thoughts that leaped into her mind were not in the least chaste.
“I have an idea,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “After the christening—after the feasting and the games, when everyone is tired and the children are quiet—do you think the godparents would tend the babies? Just for an hour or two?”
Cleve gave her a speculative look. “Aric and Rosalynde probably break their fast in the hall even as we speak. I’m certain they can be talked into an hour or two without any trouble. But tell me, what do you have in mind?”
Though his grin revealed he knew precisely what she had in mind, Wynne decided that a little anticipation would not hurt. “Well, there is this place not far from here. ’Tis deep, dark, and very secluded. A place where two lovers might find complete pleasure in each other’s company.”
“And play all sorts of devilish games together?” His brows arched suggestively.
“The Devil’s Cleft is just the place for a devil such as you,” Wynne laughed.
“So long as we stay clear of the parsley fern.”
&n
bsp; Again Wynne laughed, and this time Cleve joined in as well. Was it truly only a year ago that she’d fought him as her worst enemy, the man who meant to destroy her family and ruin her life? But their battles had only brought them closer together, and now … now her life was wonderful beyond all expectations, filled with more family, more friends, and more love than she could ever have known possible.
“No parsley fern,” Cleve murmured as they moved together toward the door. “But if you have some other, more appropriate potions, my sweet Welsh witch …”
Wynne gave him her mysterious smile. “As a matter of fact there is this lovely plant I’ve discovered. ’Tis called the passion plant. Shall I gather some of its leaves?”
He grinned. “If you like. But I suspect I shall not need it. No, not at all,” he added with a long, deliberate perusal of her.
Wynne’s senses all leaped under his bold scrutiny, and her heart soared to new heights of love for her lusty English husband. No, they needed no such potions or aids, for their love burned hot all on its own.
And she knew that, like the most potent of magics, it would dwell in their hearts forever.
About the Author
Rexanne Becnel is the author of more than twenty historical romance and contemporary mainstream novels, many of which appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. With the publication of her first novel, My Gallant Enemy, Becnel won the Waldenbooks Award for Best First-Time Romance Author and the Romantic Times Award for Best Medieval Romance by a New Author. While growing up, Becnel lived for a time in Germany and England, where she became fascinated by medieval history. After studying architecture at the University of Southwestern Louisiana, she worked as a building inspector for the Vieux Carré Commission, the agency of the City of New Orleans charged with protecting and preserving the distinct architectural and historic character of the French Quarter. Becnel lives in New Orleans with her husband and two children.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1994 by Rexanne Becnel
cover design by Julianna Lee
978-1-4804-0957-6
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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