Barbara Leigh
Page 25
“I doubt my lady Serine will be much enthused at the thought right now,” Ethyl said cryptically.
“That is why I suggest we come to her aid.”
“What do you say, old man?” Ethyl asked suspiciously.
“I say that I love you. Not only in this life, but in the life there is hereafter. I want a bond made between us that can never be broken.”
Ethyl caught her breath. “As do I,” she managed to say.
“Then I ask you, Ethyl, to marry me and become my wife in this life and throughout eternity.” His eyes softened as he beheld her radiance.
“With all my heart,” she answered as she bowed her head in what he took to be submission. In fact, she dared not let him see the expression on her face in that moment, for had he seen, Drojan would have realized that had he not asked her to marry him, Ethyl would have asked him to be her husband.
* * *
They were wed on the steps of the village church, and as they returned to the hall the wails of a newborn babe reached their ears.
“Aha,” Baneford gloated, “it sounds as though the child has been born. Strong and healthy, I vow! A good omen on the day of your wedding. Perhaps you will be next!”
Ethyl shot the man a glance that would have melted iron. She would have welcomed Drojan’s child...had it been some twenty years earlier. But at this time in Ethyl’s life the last thing she needed was a babe, and even if it were possible for her to give birth to Drojan’s babe, she could not hope to live to see the child grow to adulthood.
Why wish for the impossible? Why bay at the moon? Ethyl had everything she could possibly want, and resented anyone implying that she should ask for more.
Her expression caused Baneford to recognize the age of the couple to whom he spoke. “Then again, perhaps not,” he deferred.
“Amen to that,” Drojan and Ethyl said in unison.
The shouts of congratulations were stilled as Rory appeared at the top of the stairs. In his arms he held the smallest of bundles, and on his face was the smile of a man who has been touched by God.
“Rejoice with me!” he called out over the hall. “Rejoice, for my lady has blessed me with the fairest of daughters. A child has been born to Sheffield, and the curse of Corvus Croft has, at last, been broken.”
And the people voiced their plaudits, forgiving any misdemeanor that might have taken place prior to this day, lost in the miracle of birth.
Ethyl pressed Drojan’s hand and went up the stairs as Rory and his newly born daughter descended. She slipped into Serine’s apartment and was pleased to see the younger woman awake, but she was pale against the linens of the bed.
“She is a beauty, Serine, and Rory could not be more proud had you given birth to a score of sons.”
“I still hope to do that,” Serine said weakly. “Do you think he is pleased?”
“The man could not be happier, and it is the same for us all. Tomorrow Drojan and I will return to Corvus Croft and tell them that a strong, healthy child has been born, and they need have no fear, for, as Rory said, the curse is broken.”
Serine took a deep breath. “They told me that while I labored, you and Drojan were married.”
“Baneford suggested that it would be a shame to waste a well-prepared marriage breakfast. Drojan and I decided to do everything we could to appease the man.”
The women laughed together. “Rory and I will be married this afternoon and you and Drojan can preside on our behalf at the banquet tonight. If it would please you.”
“Being Drojan’s wife pleases me,” Ethyl said bluntly. “All else is of little importance, but I cannot deny that I enjoy it.”
She glanced over her shoulder as the door opened and a determined Dame Margot ushered Rory into the room.
“I simply do not recall anyone taking a newborn babe from its mother so soon after it is born,” she fussed. “It cannot be good for the child.”
The baby looked at them with muddy blue eyes and yawned mightily.
“It looks to me as though the child is none the worse for wear,” Ethyl observed. To her surprise, Rory placed the child in her arms and went to Serine’s side. His soft voice, rough with emotion, vibrated through the room like music, ages old. The words of a man paying homage to the woman he loves for giving him immortality.
Ethyl watched them, sharing in their love with the knowledge of her own feeling for Drojan...her husband. Her eye misted and she was lost in memories of the past and dreams of the future.
The baby kicked impatiently and Ethyl looked down into the tiny face, the smooth blush cheeks and the intelligent eyes, slightly crossed beneath a puzzled scowl.
The eyes were Serine’s and the scowl Rory’s, Ethyl decided. A wonderful bundle of pulchritude placed in a small package. The child began to fuss, and Ethyl took the opportunity to place the tiny girl in her mother’s waiting arms.
Ah, yes, there was no greater happiness than that experienced at the birth of a babe. A new life, a new beginning, with all of life beckoning. Ethyl backed away from the bed, leaving the little family together, but, as she glanced back one last time to burn the memory of this moment into her mind, she could not help but wonder what a child born of her love for Drojan might have been.
A great warrior? A seer? Perchance a wizard, gifted with the abilities to form the lives of many peoples. Of course, it could not be, but this was a time of miracles, and Ethyl, the woman who had never dared to dream, walked down the stairs toward her new husband with a small, secret smile on her lips.
In the age of miracles there were no limits as to what the future might hold.
Serine looked at Rory with a puzzled frown. “How strange that she neglected even to say goodbye. Think you she is hurt that we have a babe and she is destined to have none?”
“Come, now,” Rory chided. “Why would a woman of Ethyl’s age desire a child? She could not hope to see him grow to manhood. ‘Tis more likely her thoughts were on the journey that she and Drojan will take on the morrow when they return to Corvus Croft.”
As he spoke the name of his village, Rory’s eyes misted and he looked off through the window of the solar.
Serine put her hand on his. “Does your heart grieve for your homeland? For I know that my soul cried out for Sheffield while I was away, until the day I realized I carried your child, and then the craving ended.”
He bent and kissed her hand. “I thank you for allowing me a glimpse into your mind, for, indeed, I believed for a time that your only thoughts were for Sheffield.”
“My thoughts and my love are for you alone,” she assured him. “And I hope someday it will be that we can again return to Corvus Croft without fear.”
“Once Drojan and Ethyl have spoken to Guthrie I have no doubt but that we will be welcomed with open arms,” Rory said. “My people decided to steal children because there was no alternative other than annihilation. Thanks to you, that problem no longer exists. Soon the town will again ring with childish voices. The people dare not condemn me for turning their own ploy against them and stealing back the children I had first stolen in their behalf.”
“Then perhaps we will return to your home in the future.”
“It would seem a shame for our daughter not to know of her heritage.”
“Our child is a girl, Rory,” Serine reminded him.
“According to Celtic law a woman can inherit,” Rory told her. “All I have will be hers when she reaches adulthood.”
Serine’s eyes glimmered with wonder. “You mean our daughter will inherit McLir Manor?” she asked in wonder.
“I have said it is so,” Rory stated. “Hendrick has lands here in England. Estates placed so far apart can be nothing less than a hindrance.”
Serine pondered Rory’s words. What he said was true, and the sole ownership of McLir Manor made the tiny bit of life that Serine held in her arms a force to be reckoned with. She smiled as she raised her eyes.
“Perhaps now your people will not be so anxious to place the
blame of their ailments on the brew.” Serine tried to keep the self-righteousness from her voice, but it was a futile effort.
“I have no doubt that my people have already come to the conclusion that the brew does nothing but good for those who would reap the benefits, as we have done.” His eyes fell on his little daughter, and went back to his wife. “I have but the deepest respect for the brew of bitter herbs,” he said. “Without the brew I would never have lived to know the miracle of our love.”
He pressed Serine’s fingers against his lips as his daughter’s tiny hand closed about his finger and his heart stood still with happiness. “You see, Serine, I love you. And together we will find happiness, for our love burns warm and bright no matter where we abide.”
“Warm and good and life-giving—” Serine placed her hand over that of Rory and their daughter “—and burning through our lives, just as the brew burns through our bodies when it heals the hurts of the past and gives us the strength to look ahead to the future.”
“To the future.” Rory repeated Serine’s words as Hendrick’s voice floated up to them from the courtyard and their daughter sighed contentedly, secure in the cocoon of their love.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8355-8
For Love of Rory
Copyright © 1995 by J. Rite Alarm, Inc.
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