Everlasting

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Abrielle met his gaze and smiled. “By some merciful stroke of providence, I escaped that abhorrent marriage. Considering that I am now wealthy and there’ll likely be many who’ll be appreciative of that fact and eager to assuage their own greed, I suggest that if you wish me to consider anyone, present him to me first, and then I shall tell you whether he pleases me or not. I will bear in mind any marriage proposals you may receive from prospective suitors, but I also must tell you that no amount of cajoling will sway me if I don’t care for the man. Desmond became a nightmare. I don’t ever want to wed another of similar bent.”

  She did not want to worry them by mentioning Thurstan’s strange proposal, so she kept silent, hoping that Thurstan would not be so foolish as to challenge her again.

  An amused smile tugged at Elspeth’s lips as she peered askance at her husband. “I think your matchmaking credentials have now been thoroughly singed.”

  Vachel waggled his head, as if reluctant to admit having that flaw, but a moment later a soft chuckle escaped him. “At least the marriage was short-lived. What about that young Raven Seabern?” he ventured, cocking a quizzical brow at her as he met her unswerving gaze.

  “A Scotsman?” Abrielle said, pretending shock, for not even to her own parents would she admit how frequently her thoughts turned to this particular Scotsman. Knowing, as she did, that he was not a suitable choice for husband made it even more perplexing that his should be the first face her gaze sought when she entered a room, though truly it did not need to do so, as her ears had become so sensitive to his rough-edged tone she could find him without looking. It made no sense at all, and if she couldn’t understand it herself, how could she hope to explain her tumultuous feelings to anyone else?

  Softly, Elspeth said to her husband, “We have already spoken about this matter, my dear. He is not a man she is considering.”

  Abrielle did not like how her stepfather studied her too closely.

  “You are now one of the richest women in all of Christendom,” he continued. “Soon you may have a whole league of suitors vying for your hand.”

  She arched a brow. “Perhaps I have no interest in them.”

  “But you are pleased to be a wealthy widow now, are you not?” Vachel queried, elevating a handsome brow as he awaited her answer. “Now be honest and tell me truly.”

  “Were I given a choice between poverty while married to a man I can love and honor, and wealth while being miserable with someone as despicable as Desmond, I can assure you that I’d rather be poor and wed to a man I can love. If you haven’t realized it yet, Sir Vachel, wealth is a pitifully poor replacement for genuine love and simple contentment.”

  “My dear, you’ve never known true poverty if you haven’t gone to bed hungry or been bereft of clothing to keep you warm,” he countered. Although her valiant assertions were what he would’ve expected from one so young and innocent, he was nevertheless irked by her declarations. No one who had ever experienced weeks of hunger could lightly sweep those memories from mind. Even now he was prone to wake in the dead of night with disturbing memories still fresh in his mind. To be sure, the years he had fought against the Turks and others had left a lasting mark on his memory.

  Meeting his gaze directly, Abrielle dared to challenge, “Can you honestly declare that during your lifetime you’ve experienced a serious dearth of those things you mentioned?”

  Vachel leaned back in his chair and was silent a long moment as he pondered whether to recount the hardships he had experienced or keep them to himself. Finally he decided the truth needed to be told. “If I’ve seemed eager for wealth, Abrielle, then perhaps I’ve had just cause. There were times when I experienced great hardships. I have fought here in this country for my king as well as confronting infidels in foreign lands. During those times, I was forced to sleep on a cold, hard ground without even a cloak to warm me and with my belly so empty that it refused to stop gnawing at me. Aye, there have been times when I’ve yearned desperately for a few coins to buy some small bit of sustenance to assuage my hunger, but alas, they never came during those desperate hours of need, and I was forced to bear it as well as I could. As you can see for yourself, I survived those difficult trials, but not without becoming more appreciative of a full stomach, a bed upon which I can sleep, and a weighty purse that I can call my own.”

  Elspeth looked at him in some bemusement. “Vachel, why is it that you’ve never cared to discuss those arduous experiences with me directly? If I hadn’t overheard you at your father’s funeral telling your cousins of your experiences, I would never have known how deeply you had suffered.”

  His wide shoulders lifted briefly in a casual shrug. “I didn’t think you would find them interesting, my dear. I only talk about them when I’m asked how difficult a campaign it had been over there. Few women enjoy hearing such tales.”

  “Oh, but they are interesting,” Elspeth insisted. “At least to me. From what I’ve been able to ascertain from those who went with you on the Crusades, you won the respect of even your worst enemies. As to your valor, I even overheard your cousin say that you had earned the name Stalwart Vachel because you never retreated before the enemy, though you stood facing death time and time again. The scars you bear on your body clearly evidence the battles you fought, and yet I know very little of what you actually endured during those campaigns. I know you were held captive for a time and starved until your men rescued you, but again, I only learned that much from your cousin. Why have you been so reluctant to tell me of your experiences?”

  “Those events weren’t as glorious as my cousin obviously made them out to be, my love,” Vachel replied. “Those were desperate times, and my men and I had little choice. It was either stand firm against our adversaries or be cut down by their charging horsemen. We chose to fight, and fight we did, nigh to our last breath. Rather than cutting us down as they could have so easily done, the enemy offered us a salute for our bravery in facing greater odds and gave us quarter by riding off the field of battle. I wouldn’t be here today if they hadn’t shown us mercy.” Vachel reached across the table and squeezed his wife’s hand affectionately. “How can I remember those times of danger and desperate need when I find myself in your charming presence, my dear? You make me feel like a wealthy prince upon whom rich blessings are continually being bestowed.”

  Abrielle glanced between them and realized that she had never noticed such a look of adoration on her mother’s face before, not even during her first marriage. Perhaps, after Abrielle’s own detested nuptials and subsequent widowhood, some benefits had actually been imparted to the older couple, for it was now apparent that Elspeth was very much in love with Vachel, more than Abrielle had previously supposed. Indeed, when Abrielle noticed how her mother’s fingers intertwined with Vachel’s in a loving manner, she could believe they were very devoted to each other. She found that idea rather amazing, for she had been under the impression after her father had been killed that her mother had accepted Vachel’s proposal merely to quell the attempts of unscrupulous lords and their sons to win their wagers at the cost of Abrielle’s virginity.

  Elspeth glanced at her daughter and blushed as she stated haltingly, “I have…an important announcement to make…to both of you.”

  Abrielle exchanged a curious glance with Vachel, who seemed equally bemused. In unison they peered at Elspeth and waited expectantly as she sought to clear her throat. Then, in what could only have been construed as overwhelming embarrassment, she lifted her slender shoulders in a girlish shrug and said simply, “I am with child.”

  Thoroughly astonished by her revelation, Vachel leaned back in his chair with his handsome jaw hanging slack. “Are you…certain…? Do you have any doubts?”

  Smiling radiantly, Elspeth reached across the space between them and rested a slender hand upon his. “At least three months certain.”

  “But why didn’t you tell us before now?” Abrielle insisted, thrilled by the news…and yet a little anxious for her mother’s w
elfare. After so much time had elapsed since her own birth, she couldn’t help but worry about her parent’s having difficulties in the months to come or in the final birthing process. Although Abrielle had always wanted a sibling, she certainly didn’t want one at the expense of her mother’s life. “Is everything all right with you? You haven’t been experiencing any problems?”

  “Elspeth, please tell us you are well!” Vachel insisted, turning his hand to clasp hers more firmly. “You must know by now that I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I were to lose you. I never knew what love was until you came into my life.”

  “I honestly feel fine. Truly, I do,” her mother assured them with a radiant smile. “I only wanted to make certain of my condition before saying anything to either of you. After such a lengthy passage of time since Abrielle’s birth, having another child seemed nothing more than a futile hope. However, within these past two months, everything has seemed to confirm that I am with child. Just within this past fortnight, I started feeling the movements of the babe, and they are now becoming quite strong…so I am fairly confident that my prayers will be answered approximately six months from now.”

  “Although this was the last thing I was expecting, the news is by far the best I’ve heard in some time,” Abrielle declared happily. Promptly leaving her chair, she hastened around the table to embrace her mother. “You must know from all the pleading I did as a child that I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  “A son would be nice,” Vachel murmured with a lopsided grin. “In truth, it wouldn’t matter what we had as long as the babe is perfect in every way.” Clasping his wife’s hand within his, he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss and then smiled at her with all the devotion his warmly glowing eyes could convey. “My dear, you must know how much I treasure you, so you must take care of yourself. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything were to happen to you or to the babe. As I’m not getting any younger, your announcement has come as a complete shock to me, for it was the last thing I was expecting.”

  Elspeth laughed in girlish delight and peered at him with shining eyes. “I was a bit taken aback myself when I learned I was with child. I thought I was past that time.”

  Vachel caressed her cheek as he grinned at her. “I shall have to watch over you very carefully in the coming months.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to keep her from exerting herself,” Abrielle assured him, her radiant smile evidencing her own joy. “Now that there’ll be another child in the family, this will give me an opportunity to fret over my mother for a change. She has been doing enough of that, watching over me all these years.”

  “Please! I must protest!” Elspeth laughingly declared, holding both hands up as if that would put a halt to their ambitious intentions. “I can assure you that I’m not an invalid and that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. After all, I’ve been through this before.”

  “Aye, that you have, my love, but if you’ll kindly consider the fact that you were much younger then, perhaps you would allow us to coddle you through the next five or six months,” Vachel urged, and then smiled. “Believe me, my dear, if you’re not getting any older, I certainly am, and I need to know that you’ll be there to watch after me when I’m a doddering old man.”

  Elspeth patted his arm. “Do not fret yourself, husband. I’ll be there beside you when that time comes…if it ever does.”

  Vachel raised his silver goblet in tribute to his beautiful wife. “To our growing family, my dear. May we enjoy peace and contentment throughout all the years of our lives. And as we age, may we also become wiser and take time to enjoy the simple blessings we’ve been given. I doubt I would have experienced such happiness had I not been blessed with you as my own sweet and noble lady.”

  “And may you both live to be at least a hundred!” Abrielle eagerly added, and, in more prayerful thoughts, begged that such a request might be granted. Vachel’s fear had instilled within her some of the same feelings of anxiety. She didn’t know what she would do if she were to lose her mother. Elspeth had always been such an important person in her life, more so than her father, whom she had dearly loved, but had never really understood, especially when he had allowed himself to be drawn into a deadly confrontation for the sake of his pride. If anything of a tragic nature happened to her mother, she had no doubt the pain and void she would feel would be infinitely greater. Indeed, they thought so much alike that it would be the same as losing a part of herself.

  THAT SAME AFTERNOON, Abrielle entered the kitchen to determine what vittles remained after the majority of the guests had taken sustenance and departed. Though she had put the steward in charge of feeding the serfs, she wanted to make certain that enough was being done. In her mind, she could still see that frail toddler trying to learn to walk when so weak from hunger.

  Shortly after viewing the food that remained from the meal, Abrielle realized that there were more than enough provisions to appease the hunger of the pitiful group living across the stream. In that quest, she bade several servants working in the kitchen to put whatever food had been left into crocks, kettles, and baskets and load the containers into a wheelbarrow that she had bidden a slender youth to bring around to the outer door. From there, the cart could be easily wheeled across the bridge to the area where the serfs were housed.

  However, upon hearing her instructions, an old grouch of a woman with long, streaming black hair and strange eyes sauntered forward, giving every evidence of being overstuffed with herself and fully in charge of the kitchen. The other servants hurriedly retreated. The woman sniffed as she flicked her beady eyes over the food that had already been loaded. Then, peering aside at her mistress, she tugged broodingly on her hairy chin.

  “Ever since I came here ta cook for him, Squire de Marlé made it a rule that I could take whate’er food was left and feed it ta m’ swine,” the hag stated with something approaching a derisive smirk. “He ne’er once told me I had ta share any portion of it with them lazy beggars across the brook.”

  Considering the amount of food that had been left, Abrielle could only imagine the enormous waste if a sizable portion of it was diverted to feed the swine rather than to relieve the hunger of the serfs. Flicking a brief glance over the rotund cook, she could imagine where some of it would go…no doubt down the woman’s gullet. Arching a brow, she questioned, “Good woman, what is your name?”

  “Mordea,” she replied, and then proceeded to spit a stream of vile-looking juices into a nearby pail.

  Abrielle promptly turned her face aside, seeking to control her sudden nausea. Upon recovering her aplomb, she asked, “As far as doling out such food, are you saying that Squire de Marlé never made any exceptions?”

  “’Twas always his rule from the first,” the cook stated arrogantly. “I oversee the cookin’, and whate’er’s left is mine ta take afore e’en his own swine got theirs.”

  “Just how much do you intend to take?” Abrielle asked curiously.

  Sweeping an arm about, the woman smirked. “All of it.”

  From the wary glances several of the kitchen staff were casting toward the elder, it was evident she was not one to be trifled with. This very moment the cook would learn that it didn’t matter what assurances Desmond may have given her, circumstances had definitely changed.

  “Squire de Marlé is no longer among the living, and I am mistress of this keep now. Therefore I shall be setting down my own rules for the serfs to follow, the first of which shall be that no single person has the right to establish any regulations that I haven’t personally authorized, or claim anything that I haven’t permitted them to take.” Gesturing to the other kitchen staff, she indicated the food in question. “Now, if you would, please be good enough to do as I’ve instructed.”

  “Naw ye don’t!” the hag railed, flying at her young mistress with wrinkled fingers curled into claws. “’Tis mine! All mine!”

  If she had never had an occasion to see a witch in flight, Abrielle was certain she was seeing one
now. Although she easily sidestepped the termagant, she felt her hackles rise as she likened the elder to some demonic fiend whose hatred of others had driven her into a frenzy. Obviously the other servants thought so, too, for they stared after the clumsily stumbling woman with mouths agape.

  Though the shrew’s arms flailed wildly about in an attempt to halt her forward momentum, the farther she progressed across the kitchen, the lower her head descended. A moment later, she was scrubbing the stone floor with her nose and the side of her face.

  “What is going on in here?” Thurstan barked upon stalking into the oversize room.

  Blood was now gushing profusely from the woman’s nose and mouth, prompting him to snatch a towel from a nearby table and press it tightly against the nose that had been scraped raw and even now bore a dark purplish hue.