The Maiden Bride
Page 34
“But … but …” She heard the words but could scarcely believe them. He wanted to wed her, the second sister? “But you fought to win Beatrix. To win Maidenstone.”
He nodded. His face was creased in a frown. “And now I am fighting to win you.”
“But …” Linnea paused, trying to understand, wanting to believe. “But what of Maidenstone Castle?”
“It is in de la Manse hands now and it will remain so. For my father’s two sons to marry your father’s two daughters cannot weaken the claim.” It was his turn to pause. “Marry me, Linnea, but as Linnea, this time. As the woman I must have if I am ever to be content.”
He meant it. He really did! Emotions rose in her chest, so hard, so violent, that Linnea could not answer him. Tears made his image swim before her and she could do no more than hold tight to the tree and struggle for the breath to speak.
When she did not respond right away, however, his frown deepened and he went on. “I know you have no reason to believe I will make you a good husband. I have berated you. I have raged at you. I have forced myself on you in both anger and in the grips of a desire I sometimes hated.”
“You hated it?” she asked, her elation sinking.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I hated myself for wanting you so badly.”
“Mayhap that is all you feel for me,” she whispered, though the idea made her despair. “Mayhap it is only the physical wanting between us—”
“No! I swear to you, Linnea, that it is more than that.”
“You say that now,” she replied as all her initial joy faded into the ugly reality of the situation. “When we lie together you forget how I deceived you. How I played the whore,” she added, though the word fairly choked her.
“St. Jude!” he swore. “I was but a fool—an angry, stupid fool to have ever said that. But I know better now, and I beg you to forgive me.”
“How do you mean, know better?”
“I know about you, about the curse your grandmother said you bore. The curse of the second twin. I know how much you love your sister and how much she loves you. I know,” he added more slowly, “why you were driven to sacrifice yourself for Beatrix, and how desperately you longed to be accepted and loved.”
He reached up and she felt his hand on her foot, then circling her ankle, not demandingly nor threateningly, but gently. Sweetly.
“Know this, Linnea de Valcourt. You are loved. Your sister loves you. But more than she can ever love you, I love you. With every part of me, I love you. And I would have you as my wife, to put before all other women, to love and honor all the days of my life and beyond.”
Linnea could hardly comprehend his words, so startling and unexpected were they. Added to that, the maelstrom of her own emotions made the entire world seem to spin.
With the back of one hand she wiped vainly at her teary eyes. Beneath her he sat on his steed, his face turned earnestly up to her. He’d ridden out without helm or hood, and his close-cropped hair ruffled now in the evening breeze.
More than anything she needed to reach down and touch his face, to say yes, even though there were so many questions yet unanswered. She moved as if to come down, but he held her ankle still.
“Will you?” he asked, and she heard the uncertainty in his voice. Did he honestly fear after such a soul-baring proposal that she might refuse?
But he must have, for with a sudden move he grasped a branch and pulled himself up into the tree. In a moment he was before her, sharing the same branch, bending through the leaves to draw her into his arms.
“I love you, Linnea. ‘Tis more than the pleasure we find in the bed. ’Tis—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Your sister is not you. She could never be you, not to me. And I know now that—” Again he broke off. “Maidenstone can bring me no joy if you are not there at my side.”
Linnea cut off his words with a kiss; she could not restrain herself any longer. She pressed into his embrace, and for a dangerous moment they teetered on the swaying branch. Somehow Axton lowered them both, and without her quite knowing how, they were on his startled horse as it danced a circle beneath the ancient ash.
“You will do it? You will marry me again?” he asked, forcing her to look at him.
From her position settled sideways across his lap, Linnea gazed up into the face of the man she loved. “Yes, if you are certain.”
“I am certain.” He cut her off with a kiss that made the world tilt beneath them. Linnea melted into that kiss and into the knowledge that he loved her.
He loved her.
They drew away from one another and she stared wonderingly up at him. “How can you tell us apart? How can you choose me when Beatrix—”
“She is not you. I cannot say how I know, but it takes no more than a glance for me to see the difference. To see you.” His eyes ran over her face and she could feel the full force of his love shining from his eyes.
“You are certain in this,” she persisted.
“I am certain.” Once more he paused. “Are you?”
Linnea smiled, and when she did, she felt the last edge of his tension recede. “I am certain. I love you, Axton.” She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump of emotion in her throat. For so long she had been the second sister, unloved by anyone, save Beatrix. And now this man, who should want Beatrix, wanted her. He loved her.
As if he sensed and understood her feelings, his arms tightened around her. For a moment there were no words between them. Then without warning he kicked the horse forward and they were flying through the forest, up the road, then on toward Maidenstone.
She had not gone so very far, she realized, for beyond the fringe of trees the towers of the castle were plainly visible. But even had she run forever, she knew now she could never have escaped the hold this one man had on her.
As if he read her thoughts, he spoke in her ear. “Where were you running to?”
“I wasn’t running to any place. I was running … I was running away from you. No, not from you,” she amended. “From the thought of you and Beatrix together.”
At her whispered admission, Axton felt a deep pang of guilt. He’d caused her such pain. He didn’t deserve her love, but by God, he was grateful to have it.
He reined in the horse. They were on the crest of a low hill. Below them spread the fields that radiated from Maidenstone village and from the castle beyond. The last light of day glinted on the crenellated walls. The sky loomed a deep purple, ready to creep dark and quiet across the entire valley.
This was his home. And this was his woman. He buried his face in her loosened hair, breathing in the very essence of her. “I’m sorry, Linnea, sorry for every cruel and selfish thing I did.”
“No. No. ’Tis I who deceived you. If I had not pretended to be my sister—”
He cut her off with another kiss. “Never say that. Never wish that you had not done that brave and foolish deed, my love. For had you not, I never would have found you.”
She conceded that point with the sweetest, sexiest smile he’d ever seen. Then her expression grew grave. “What of your mother?”
“She approves.”
“And Peter?”
“He is in agreement.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “But what of Beatrix?”
He chuckled. “Your sister is so relieved not to marry me, I believe she would agree to marry the lowliest stableboy at Maidenstone, if that was the price of her freedom.”
“More the fool she,” Linnea murmured, snuggling into his arms.
It was just an off-handed comment, said under her breath. But it brought Axton a happiness he never would have believed possible. She loved him. He had the woman he loved as well as the home he’d fought so long and hard for.
The truth, though, was that the home was not half so valuable as the woman. He could be happy with Maidenstone, now that he had Linnea. But without Linnea …
He shook his head and hugged her tighter to him. Thank God he would never have to be wit
hout Linnea. Thank God and thank St. Jude.
St. Martin’s Paperbacks titles by
Rexanne Becnel
HEART OF THE STORM
THE MAIDEN BRIDE
OUTSTANDING PRAISE FOR THE ROMANCES OF REXANNE BECNEL
Heart of the Storm
“Great characters, a riveting plot and loads of sensuality … A fabulous book. I couldn’t put it down!”
. —Joan Johnston, author of Maverick Heart
“Destined to be a bestseller from a star of the genre!”
—Romantic Times
“Well-written and enjoyable.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Tempestuous and seductive, this winner from Rexanne Becnel will enthrall from the first page to the last.”
—Deborah Martin, author of Stormswept
Where Magic Dwells
“A passionate, compelling story filled with engaging characters.”
—Library Journal
“Rich settings always bring Becnel’s medieval novels to life.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Enthralling … Another irresistible medieval romance from one of the best.”
—Medieval Chronicle
Dove at Midnight
“Rexanne Becnel understands the medieval mind-set, and her beguiling characters’ passions and adventures will hold you enthralled … She is a master of her craft.”
—Romantic Times
My Gallant Enemy
“A love story of old to thrill and delight. Much intrigue and an awesome, arrogant, but lovable hero and the lady who turned his heart upside down.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Author’s Note
Medieval attitudes toward twin births varied from place to place and century to century. There were those who believed multiple births only occurred if the mother had been intimate with more than one man, or with the devil. In those cases the mother was often put to death immediately upon the birth, along with her innocent babes. Other cultures revered twins, believing them the children of a god, and therefore a blessing upon their village or town.
Another belief was that they were the symbol of good and evil, that they fought within the womb to be born first. It was also believed that they shared one soul, and that the first born received all the goodness of that one soul, while the second received all the evil. In such cases, as in the one I have depicted in THE MAIDEN BRIDE, the second child was put to death. Or at least she was supposed to be …
THE MAIDEN BRIDE
Copyright © 1996 by Rexanne Becnel.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eISBN 9781250011121
First eBook Edition : September 2011
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition/September 1996