A Whisper of Rosemary (43 page)

Joy welled inside him and he smoothed a wrist thick wave away from her face, baring the fair skin and rosy lips of Maris.
His wife.

She stirred and sleepily rolled over toward him. Her eyes fluttered, then opened wide as if surprised to see him. Then, they shuttered and a smile curved her mouth before she opened them again, now fully awake.

“
Good morrow, Dirick,” she told him, reaching to touch his face.

“
Good morrow, beloved.” His voice was raspy with desire and sleep. “How do you feel?”

“
Wonderful,” she told him, stretching like a cat. “And ’tis all you to blame.”

He grinned down at her. “That is one blame I shall not shirk, my lady.” Squinting at the sunlight filtering through a light tapestry, he said, “’Tis morn. They’ll arrive anon to check that the sheets are blooded.”

“
Aye.” Maris eagerly drew the blankets away from their naked bodies to show the white sheet and its dark red drops of blood.

Dirick rose from the bed to use the chamberpot, and Maris followed. They embraced in passing, one long, lean, haired body pressing to a smaller, softer, rounder one.

Though he felt himself harden in response to her proximity, Dirick pulled reluctantly away. Their chamber would soon be invaded by a delegate to ascertain whether the marriage had indeed been consummated, and that the lady had indeed been a virgin…and he did not relish the thought of being interrupted thus.

“
We will leave London today,” he told her as he settled back on the bed. He felt her gaze caress his nakedness and felt a rush of delight and victory at the realization that she was well and truly his. “Michael d’Arcy has not been found, and you will not be truly safe until he is.”

Maris wrapped a light cloth around her shoulders and curled on the edge of the bed. “He is my father,” she told him unsteadily.

Dirick pulled her to rest her head on his chest. “I learned that only yesterday. I’m sorry that I did not know sooner.”

“
He killed my father—Merle.”

“
I know that, or suspected that, as well. He is the man who killed my father—the one that I spoke of to you.” Dirick tightened his lips. “I will not rest until he is found.”

Maris pulled away, sitting up to look down at him. “You will have a care, Dirick. You will not put yourself in danger. Michael has killed so many—”

“
I cannot let him go unpunished.” He searched her face with his gaze, seeing the love and respect that shone in her green and gold eyes. “You must know by now that I love you, Maris. I never thought to feel this way about any one woman, but you have driven me so mad that I realized I could not live without you…and I must ensure that the one who would see you dead is also gone. And then I can have no fear that you will be taken from me by a crazed madman.”

Her fingers smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “How lucky I am that my papa chose to repudiate my betrothal to Victor…else I would surely be a murderess on this morn.”

Dirick smiled. “Had that happened, I would have spirited you away before the ceremony that bound you to him…or after you had done the deed, I’d have been your escape route.” He frowned. “But even if I did that, there was no certainty you would have accepted my help—as you refused it once before. I must know, now—why would you think I could have been party to your kidnapping by Bon?”

“
What else was I to think when I tumbled onto the floor and looked up to see you staring down upon me?” Maris asked indignantly.

“
But…I thought you’d known me better than that…and, Maris, how could I have stolen you for someone else when I wanted you for myself? Did you not know that I wanted you? That was why I had to leave Langumont so suddenly—I could not bear to see you given to another.”

She looked at him with wondering eyes. “I did not know, truly. At the time, I could only think you had wooed me to your side so as to make your abduction of me easier. I thought ’twas you who wrapped me in that cloth and carried me to Breakston.”

“
Oh, nay, Maris. On the night we first met, I wanted you…and that desire grew, and so did the despair that I could never have you. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when Henry betrothed us…and then he showed me the missive from your father.

“
In that missive, not only did he repudiate your betrothal with Victor,” Dirick said, unable to hold back a grin, “but he also requested that, if the king agreed, I should be your husband and Lord of Langumont.”

She gaped at him. “It was my papa’s wish that we should wed?”

“
Aye, my lady, and ’twas also the wish of my father that one of his sons should wed with you as well.”

“
Aye, I certainly remember that incident. I met your brother Bernard, and although he was very kind…” Maris seemed to be considering her thoughts. “…I do not think we would have suited.”

“
Thank fortune you did not,” Dirick said vehemently. Then he smiled. “He and Joanna are like moon-faces about each other all of the time. Completely besotted.”

“
Aye,” she replied, with just as much spirit. “But of course, neither of us will ever look at the other in such a foolish way.”

Dirick couldn’t hold back a rueful laugh. “Mayhap that is true for you, my beloved, but I fear ’tis too late for me. The queen has already seen my moon-face, and it is because of her meddling, I think, that we are in this bed together.”

Her cheeks pinkened and she looked up at him almost bashfully. Then her eyes glinted with determination. “Our fathers have exacted a sort of revenge upon Michael d’Arcy, then.”

“
Aye, they have. Yet, I still must see this through to its end,” he told her firmly.

“
Dirick, you must take care…please,” she looked up at him so earnestly and sweetly, with tears pooling in her eyes, that he felt his heart jerk at the emotion there.

“
Aye, my love, I will take care. After all,” he pulled her fingers to his lips, “I have everything to live for. I have everything I could ever want. It is a miracle to me. And I have no intention of letting it go.”

EPILOGUE

Two days later

Langumont Keep

“
Come, my love.” Michael grasped Allegra’s hand and drew her up the tall, curving stairwell.

She followed him willingly—as she had ever done, and always would, until the end of time.

The tower was cool and damp. It was a part of the keep that she rarely accessed, and which normally sent chills down her spine…but today, it didn’t matter. Today, she was with Michael.

Her skirt trailed in the dust as they clambered up more steps and more steps, holding hands, silent.

When they reached the top, he opened the door and allowed her to step out onto the balcony of the tower ahead of him. She felt his strong, sturdy body behind her, solid and fearless in its warmth. The wind was stronger at this height, and the view of the blue sea sparkling to the west was expansive. The sound of the surf was lost in the breeze, lending a hollow, windy sound and giving the impression that they were separated from the rest of the world.

They were.

She looked over the lands of Langumont, seeing the village, the bailey of the keep below, noticing the thickness of the forest to the east and the varying shades of green meadow to the north and south.

She’d been happy here.

Though her heart had always been with Michael, she’d been happy. Merle had been a good husband to her. She had betrayed him in so many ways, and now he was dead…by the hand of the man she loved.

Michael had told her of his part in Merle’s death…yet, she still loved him. ’Twas her great sin, her great weakness that she would follow him willingly, anywhere, until the end of time.

“
Are you frightened?” he asked suddenly, his voice rumbling in her ear.

“
When I am with you—nay, never,” she told him, turning to face him. They could not be together here, she knew. This was their only chance.

“
Come, Allegra, let us go.”

He took her hands in his, facing her fully, and looking down at her with those blue eyes lit with an odd, unsettling light.

She moved willingly with him to the edge of the tower’s railing, stepping up on it in tandem with him. “I love you,” she told him.

“
I love you.”

And then it was over.

~~~

~*~

Read on for a sneak peek of
Colleen Gleason’s
Sanctuary of Roses
,

featuring
Lord Gavin Mal Verne
and
Madelyne de Belgrume…

Prologue

Tricourten Keep

England, 1132

“
Come, Maddie,” Lady Anne of Tricourten urged. “We’ve only till the end of Seton’s watch at the gate.” Her voice, usually steady unless she was confronted by her husband Fantin, wavered as she glanced out the arrow-slit window in her solar.

Madelyne, though only ten, recognized the fear and desperation in her mother’s eyes, and swallowed back her own terror. If her father found them, caught them leaving…nay. She would not allow the thought into her mind. Drawing the heavy cloak about her shoulders, Madelyne caught up its overlong hem and pulled the hood to cover her hair.

Anne opened the door of her solar, and, grasping her daughter’s smaller hand in her cool one, led the way into the dark corridor. The edges of their rough woolen cloaks brushed silently along the cold stone floor, and the coarse material prickled Madelyne’s neck and wrists. A mere torch lit the end of the corridor that began at the stairs descending to the Great Hall, where the sounds of drunken revelry reverberated among the rafters.

A great lump formed in the back of Madelyne’s throat when they paused at the top of the stair. One more step and they would be in view of anyone who cared to notice two darkly-cloaked figures inching their way down the stone stairs and across the rear of the hall. Her mother’s fingers clasped more tightly around hers, hesitating…and then she stepped forward and down.

Their descent was swift as they huddled along the stone wall, trying to blend with the shadows. Once upon the floor of the hall, Anne released Madelyne’s hand and darted through a shaft of light thrown by a torch, stopping in a shadowy corner. She turned back to her daughter and gestured:
Come, quickly.

Swallowing heavily, Madelyne looked out over the hall, where more flickering torches and the blazing fire at the other end lit the room enough for her to see the sweat rolling down the faces of the revelers.

Her father, Fantin de Belgrume, Lord of Tricourten, sat at the high table, holding a goblet aloft. His pale blond hair gleamed like wheat shifting in the sun, and his chill laugh sliced through the other noises to settle over Madelyne. She shrank back into the shadows when he looked toward the rear of the hall, fear rising in her throat. For a moment, all time halted and it seemed as though she could hear her heart pounding over the cacophony in the hall.

Relief washed over her when he shifted his gaze without pausing, and Madelyne suddenly became aware that her mother had moved further toward the door leading to freedom, even as she gestured for her to follow. Madelyne took a deep breath and hurried through the patch of light, gratefully melding into the dimness beyond the torch.

One of the hounds her father favored raised its head as she passed by, lifting the corner of its lip to show a sharp fang. Madelyne skirted around him, wishing she had a bone or aught to throw to the demon, and tried to ignore the low growl that rumbled in its throat. If the dog began to bark….

She forced herself to keep walking, and at last she reached a small alcove just adjacent to the door of the keep. Anne waited in this shadow, and, after a quick, hard embrace, she drew her daughter toward the large oaken door. It was slightly ajar to allow men-at-arms, hounds, smoke, and air to pass within and without the keep, and once through this entrance, they would be closer to freedom than Maddie had ever dreamed.

Thus ’twas with overwhelming relief that she followed her mother as she slipped through the opening and found herself huddled against the outside of the castle wall, blinking up at the quarter moon and starry sky.