“I will not be forced into an arranged marriage.”
Tavis caressed her fingers. “You will not have a choice. You cannot refuse an order issued by the King.”
“I will ride to London. I will demand an audience—”
Tavis shook his head. “’Tis not just the King you would have to sway. You are an exceptional prize, Helena. I promise you, no lord who is offered your hand in marriage would ever let you slip from his grasp.”
***
Helena’s head pounded. She’d been so preoccupied with her father’s illness, she hadn’t considered all that might happen in the coming days.
Oh, mercy, but she didn’t want to become a pawn of the crown, to be granted without the slightest consideration for her wishes to a nobleman she’d never met. And yet, Tavis was right; that very well could happen.
“What are you thinking?” he asked gently.
“I will not wed a man I do not know or care for.” Desperation threatened to choke her. “I will not!”
“I do not want that for you, either. You deserve a marriage founded on love.”
She blinked away tears. Did she dare to agree to marry Tavis? Was she foolish not to seize the chance to commit to a life with him?
Tavis brought her hand to his lips. “My feelings for you are true, Helena.”
“They may be, but—”
“We can make matters work between us, if you are willing.”
“Can we? Even if we were to become betrothed today, your life is in Galloway, and—”
“Your life can be too. You would enjoy Scotland.” He winked. “Living there would be a grand adventure. And, if you still dream of visiting London, we could even journey there for a week or two. I could show you the finest areas of the city.”
While part of her resisted his offer, part of her yearned for the adventures of which he spoke. She’d never been to London, and she’d like very much to go. She also wanted to see the rugged but picturesque Scottish lands she’d heard so much about. And Tavis… As she looked up into his handsome face, she believed she could lose herself in the all-consuming love that he offered so readily.
She’d also become a mother to Merry.
One day, she might even bear children born of her and Tavis’s love.
If she dared…
The enormity of the decision weighed upon her conscience. She’d always imagined her betrothal to be a joyous occasion, one celebrated with her sire. He wanted her to be happy; he’d told her how proud he’d be to see her wed to a young lord she treasured.
How could she become engaged, put herself first, when her sire wasn’t able to rejoice in her betrothal? Her father needed her. Her responsibility now was to him, to helping him recover. Tavis was right; she must have faith that he’d get better and would once again be able to rule his lands.
Promising herself to Tavis today would be akin to betraying her sire…and she couldn’t bear that kind of torment.
Tavis had dropped down on one knee on the floor, while still clasping her hand. Gazing up at her, he asked, “Will you become my wife, Helena? Please?”
I will, her heart cried. Oh, but I will. With tremendous effort, though, she forced down the words.
Placing her free hand over his, she said quietly, “As much as I want to, I cannot accept your proposal.”
Tavis’s features clouded with disappointment. “Helena.”
“I just…” Her voice hitched. “I cannot consider a betrothal this day.”
“Not even after all we have discussed?” He stood, but he didn’t release her hand. “Do you not believe that my feelings for you are genuine?”
His anguished tone made her want to weep. “I know you care for me—”
“I do. Very, very much.”
“All I ask is for a few more weeks. I pray that by then, my father will be well again. When we become betrothed, ’twill be for the right reasons.”
Tavis’s gaze sharpened. “You are not refusing me forever, then?”
“I certainly am not.”
Relief glinted in his eyes, but she ached inside to know he was still upset. Leaning in, she kissed him full on the lips.
His arms went around her, crushing her to him. “I am not giving up on you, Thistle. We belong to one another. We always have, and I will do whatever I must to make you my wife.”
He kissed her so thoroughly and skillfully, she was breathing hard when their lips parted. “If that is so, you will return in four weeks.”
“Three,” he countered, nibbling her mouth.
“Nay, four.” She shuddered as his lips trailed down her neck.
“God above, but you are stubborn.”
“Please, Tavis.”
He growled, kissed her again, and then slowly drew back to hold her at arm’s length. “Four weeks, then.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, but his gaze held regret. He let go of her arms, and she immediately missed the warmth of his touch.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, and after a moment’s silence, he said, “Merry and I will leave for Galloway as soon as possible.”
She’d expected him to return to Scotland soon; yet, with the finality of his leaving, a numbing coldness ran through her. “Why not leave tomorrow at dawn?”
“I want to make a start on our travels today.”
She forced a smile; inside, she wept. “If there is aught you need for your journey—”
“I will ask. Be well, Helena.”
“You also.” She wanted to say so much more, but ’twould not be fair to him. She could only watch, the words jammed in her throat, as he strode out of the chamber, leaving her with the memory of his kisses.
Chapter Eleven
Nine days later
Helena sat at the lord’s table in the quiet, sunlit great hall, adding the weekly expenses for food and household goods into the leather-bound ledger. The carpenters had started on the new stable, and there were costs to include for lumber and other building supplies.
Crandall, who was now awaiting trial in London, had already paid most of what her sire owed to the crown, so thankfully, the expenses coming in now were nowhere near as daunting as before.
As her quill scratched ink onto the parchment, she heard someone approaching. She glanced up.
The captain of the guard bowed. “For you, milady.” He handed her a cloth-wrapped package secured with twine. Tied to the top of the parcel was a thistle.
A gift from Tavis.
Helena’s pulse quickened as she set down her quill and took the parcel.
The captain of the guard bowed again and strode away, and she ran her fingers over the beautiful woolen fabric. Joy and anticipation rushed through her, for she’d missed Tavis so much since he’d been gone. A dull pain had gathered inside her and stayed there, ever since she’d waved goodbye to him and Merry and watched them ride away, her father’s destrier in tow. At night, as Helena had lain in her bed, she’d wondered if Tavis still thought fondly of her, or if he’d decided, in the days since he’d left, that he was wiser to end their relationship. How she hoped he was still willing to wait for her, for their days apart had proven to her how deeply she cared for him. She did love him, and she would tell him so when next they met.
While she’d silently struggled with her anguish, her father had grown a little stronger each day. She’d sat with him every afternoon, encouraged him to take short walks up and down the passageway, coaxed him to drink plenty of broth even when he’d protested, and read him a few of the old tales from the book he’d asked her to fetch. As she’d learned anew of the adventures of the bold knights and brave damsels, she’d realized Tavis had been right. Their love was akin to that immortalized in legend.
The voices of several maidservants entering the great hall pulled Helena from her musings. With shaking fingers, she untied the parcel from Tavis. The woolen cloth was in fact a scarf. A parchment sealed with wax and some rolled up linen tumbled onto the table as she unfolded the fabric. Wh
en she drew the edges of the linen aside, wilted flowers spilled out, along with a slip of parchment that read: With love from Merry.
Tears burned Helena’s eyes as she carefully assembled the bedraggled little bouquet. They were the loveliest flowers she’d ever been given.
Catching her breath, trying to ignore a flare of disquiet, she picked up the parchment. Would Tavis tell her, in this letter, that he had decided he no longer wanted a betrothal? She hesitated, but then broke the seal. Flowing lines of black ink covered the page:
My Dearest Helena,
I write this in hopes that your father is much improved, if not completely well again. My sire is haler than when I arrived at Dumfries, but is still not fully healed. Mother told me that he almost died. I know you will understand how enraged I was by her words.
Father and I have both sent letters to the King and are working to ensure that Crandall will not escape justice. There is more I must tell you, but I will save those revelations until I see you—
Helena’s hand fluttered to her throat.
—in a few weeks.
Her heart soared. Tavis hadn’t forsaken her.
I think of you every day, Thistle. I long for your kisses and your embrace. Soon, I will ride through Kellenham’s gates to sweep you into my arms and make you mine, as I should have done years ago.
With all my love,
Tavis
For good measure, she read the letter two more times.
“You are smiling,” her father said from nearby. “I have not seen you smile like that in days.”
“Father?” She set the parchment down to find him standing below the stone dais, supporting himself with a wooden cane. Somehow, he’d managed to get dressed…or mayhap he’d convinced one of the servants to help him?
“Why are you out of bed?” As she hurried around the long oak table on the dais, he shook his head and walked toward the hearth. “Father, wait!”
“I am fed up with lying abed,” her sire said. “I want to be well again.”
“You will be, but in the meantime—”
“I should rest. I know.” With a grumpy sigh, he sank into one of the carved chairs near the fire and mopped his brow with his tunic sleeve.
Helena sat in the opposite chair. “Father—”
“Enough, Helena. I do not want coddling. I am grateful for all of your care, I truly am. Yet, I refuse to be an invalid any longer. I have responsibilities as lord of his castle, and I will not neglect them.”
“With respect, Father, you are still recovering and—”
“Not up to long days. Agreed. I can still do what I can.” His gaze held hers. “You have done a fine job managing Kellenham, Daughter, but there are others who need you.”
“Others?”
“Tavis. Merry.”
Blushing, Helena looked down at her folded hands. She hadn’t told him of her feelings for Tavis or of his proposal—she hadn’t wanted to burden her sire with such important matters until he was well—but he’d obviously heard some details from the servants.
A wry chuckle broke from her father. “Did you think you were the only one who received a missive this morning?”
“Tavis wrote to you as well?”
Her father nodded. “He told me that he loves you and asked for my permission to marry you.” Her sire’s smile broadened. “A gallant man, that Tavis.”
She couldn’t hold back a smile in return. “Oh, he is, Father. I was going to talk to you about his proposal, I truly was, but I thought it best to wait until you were better.”
Her sire’s expression changed to one of fatherly concern. “Do you love him, Helena?”
She swallowed hard. “I do.”
“Do you want to be his wife? To spend the rest of your living days with him?”
“Aye, but… ’Twill mean leaving you and Kellenham—”
“As is right.” Her father’s eyes glittered with emotion. “You deserve happiness. ’Tis what I have always wanted for you, years ago and now.”
“Years ago, my marriage to Tavis was to be arranged, a union to forge allies—”
Her sire held up a hand. “True. After meeting his father several times, though, and learning more about the de Rowennes, I believed Tavis would be a good match for you. It matters not whether a man is Scottish or English; an honorable man is an honorable man.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Swiftly rising, she went to her father and embraced him. As his arms wrapped around her, she whispered, “I will miss you.”
“As I will miss you.” His hug tightened. “I will visit, though, and you can come here whenever you wish.”
He held her for long moments, until at last, she drew back and dried her face. Grabbing hold of the cane, he pushed to his feet. “Come. Help me with my reply to Tavis. ’Tis not every day I grant your hand in marriage, and I want to get it right.”
Chapter Twelve
Late July, 1214
The clip-clop of hoof beats on the drawbridge drew Helena’s gaze to Kellenham’s bailey, barely visible through the leafy, fruit-laden boughs of the apple trees in the castle garden. Frowning, she closed the book of folk tales she’d been reading and set it aside on the stone bench. She and her father were not expecting visitors today. The carpenters had taken the day off, since they were waiting for roofing materials to be delivered. Who, then, could be arriving?
Tavis, her heart whispered.
Tucking stray hair back behind her ear, she tamped down a flare of excitement. Tavis wasn’t due to visit the keep for several more days. He’d reminded her in his most recent letter.
Still, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the gatehouse.
The tree boughs swayed in the afternoon breeze, blocking her view. She stood and peered into the bailey.
A rider emerged from the gatehouse, sitting tall upon his horse.
Light glinted off an object fastened to his cloak, drawing her gaze down to the young girl sitting in front of him on the horse. Yet, Helena had already recognized the man.
Tavis. Oh, God, Tavis!
Helena ran to the garden gate, yanked it open, and raced out into the bailey.
He saw her and his face broke into a broad grin. Merry waved.
“Tavis!” Helena cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing.
He halted his horse and dismounted then lifted Merry down.
The little girl ran to Helena and wrapped her arms around Helena’s waist. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Helena said, ruffling Merry’s hair.
“I did not bring Dandelion,” Merry said. “He stayed at Dumfries.”
“I see.” Helena’s eyes were damp as she looked up at Tavis. He was smiling. How handsome he was, his hair a bit longer than before, his jaw dark with stubble.
What should she say? How did she tell him how incredibly glad she was to see him and how much she loved him?
“I am a few days early,” he finally said.
“I know,” she whispered, her fingers still stroking Merry’s tresses.
“I could not go another day without you.”
“Oh, Tavis—”
“I hope you do not mind that I did not wait four weeks.”
She mock-frowned. “Hmm. Let me think about that…”
“I see Sylva,” Merry said. Breaking away from Helena, the little girl ran off. Tavis stepped forward and at last, Helena was in his arms. She caught his face and kissed him, over and over. He groaned and kissed her back. He tasted of heartfelt promises, and true love, and…
Whistles and clapping intruded, and Helena drew back, to find they were surrounded by servants, including Sylva, who had her arm around Merry. Helena’s father was there, too, smiling.
Helena’s face grew hot, while Tavis chuckled and kissed her cheek. Then, he dropped down on one knee on the hard-packed dirt. From his cloak he withdrew a ring set with a blood red stone.
Helena gasped, for the gold ring had been designed to resemble a thistle.
“Lady Helena
Marlowe,” he said solemnly, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Will you be my wife?”
Without the slightest hesitation, she said, “I will.”
As more whistling and cheering erupted, he slid the ring onto her finger and then stood. With a triumphant cry, he kissed her, so deeply, her head spun. Laughing, Helena kissed him back, her soul brimming with so much happiness, she could barely breathe.
“May I be the first to congratulate you two,” her sire said. He winked at Helena and clapped Tavis on the shoulder.
“Thank you, milord,” Tavis said.
“When you are ready, come to the great hall. We will celebrate this wondrous occasion.”
As her sire strode away, Tavis murmured, “Only one thing could make this day more perfect.”
She kissed him again. “What is that, my love?”
“If you finally said you forgive me.”
Helena squinted as sunlight glinted off his brooch. “Forgive you? Whatever for?”
“That day at the lake.”
“Oh, Tavis. I forgave you for that a long time ago.”
“Thank God.” He kissed her, and as she savored the bliss of being his, she knew their days together would be filled with adventure, laughter, and love—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
About Catherine Kean
Catherine Kean is an award-winning, Kindle Unlimited All-Star author of medieval romances. Her love of history began with visits to England during summer vacations. Her British father took her to crumbling medieval castles, museums filled with artifacts, and historic churches, and her love of the awe-inspiring past stuck with her as she completed a B.A. (Double Major; First Class) in English and History. After finishing a Post Graduate course with Sotheby’s auctioneers in England, she worked in Canada as an antiques and fine art appraiser.
After she moved to Florida, she started writing novels, her lifelong dream. She wrote her first medieval romance, A Knight’s Vengeance, while her baby daughter was napping. Catherine’s books were originally published in paperback and several were released in Czech, German, and Thai foreign editions. She has won numerous awards for her stories, including the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence. Her novels also finaled in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards and the National Readers’ Choice Awards.
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