Regina Scott (23 page)

Will was more aware of Jamie hovering in the background. As soon as the physician had vacated the spindle-backed chair that had been drawn up to the bed, Jamie took it.

“You gave me quite a scare, Father,” he said, fumbling with his already crushed cravat. His eyes were too large in his face, reminding Will of the day he’d first seen his son again.

“So you’re not ready to have a go at being earl just yet,” Will teased, hoping to reassure both of them.

Jamie smiled, but his color remained pale. “No, sir.” He glanced over his shoulder as the valet let the physician out, then refocused on Will. “Mr. Haygood is in the village jail, by the way. Lord Widmore plans to return him to London after the summer party to stand trial for treason.”

Then Samantha was safe. Will relaxed against his pillow. “Good. And I know the truth about your uncle’s death. I’ll be glad to tell you the details, if you tell me something first. Where is Samantha?”

Jamie’s smile hitched up. “Downstairs, wearing out the new carpet in the withdrawing room. I gather you two have come to an understanding.”

“Not yet,” Will warned. “But I realize what’s kept her from accepting marriage, and I believe I can overcome her reservations. Before I do, I must ask you—would you have any trouble accepting her as my wife?”

“None,” Jamie promised, and so quickly Will had to believe him. Then his son made a face. “But I won’t be calling her Mother. That would be entirely too odd.”

“Agreed,” Will said with a smile. “With her permission, you may continue to call her Samantha in private and use your ladyship or the countess in public. Assuming she’ll have me, of course.”

Jamie rose. “Oh, she’ll have you. You don’t threaten everyone you love with murder if they fail to take good care of a certain gentleman unless you have marriage in mind.”

“You never know,” Will said with a laugh cut short by a throb from his shoulder. “She is an Everard, after all.”

Jamie had reached the door. “Then you’ll just have to ask her,” he said. “I’ll bring her back shortly.”

Will watched as the door shut. Indeed he found it ridiculously hard to take his eyes off the portal as the moments ticked by. His valet asked after Will’s injury, and Will waved him away with his other hand.

Could he convince Samantha that he loved her? Was his promise that he would be beside her through thick and thin enough to let her know she needn’t fear the darker side of her emotions? Was there anything he could do or say that would make his second proposal more successful than his first?

The door opened, and Samantha flew into the room. Will braced himself, but she checked her headlong flight just short of the bed and stood beside him, eyes teary, chest heaving.

“Oh, Will,” she said. “I’m so sorry!”

“I did tell her the physician’s assessment,” Jamie assured Will, following her to the bed.

She held up one hand as if to stop him. “I’d already quizzed the man in any event. And I have a great many things to apologize to your father for, if you please.”

Jamie raised his brows and began to back away. “Perhaps I should wait in the corridor.”

“No need,” she said, gaze fixed on Will. “I’d actually like a witness to what I have to say.”

“Samantha,” Will started, but she had gone down on both knees, so that her face was level with his. Those dark brown eyes were more solemn than he’d ever seen them. The scent of roses drifted over him, sweet.

“I know this is highly unusual,” she murmured. “But then, both of us have lived unusual lives.” She reached out and took his free hand, her grip strong. “My darling Will, you proposed to me earlier today, and I, in my pigheaded stupidity, refused.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Will corrected her with a smile.

She laughed. “I notice you didn’t take exception to the pigheaded part.”

Will knew better than to attempt a shrug. “I’m not stupid either.”

She sobered. “Indeed you aren’t. You are brave and kind and thoughtful, and you have proven that you love me,” she sucked in a breath, “more than life, it seems. How could I fail to love such a man? So this time I will ask you. Will you marry me?”

The room was silent, and Will thought Jamie and his valet were holding their breaths. Yet all he could see was Samantha. Her rosy lips were trembling, her face puckered as if she had put all she had into a fervent wish for his acceptance. What man could have refused?

He pulled his hand from hers and touched her cheek.

“My lady, you honor me. I would be the luckiest man alive to be your husband.”

She threw her arms around his neck, kissed him with all she was. His shoulder protested. He ignored it. What was a little pain to knowing he would spend the rest of his life with this marvelous woman?

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
he Dallsten Manor summer party was in full swing. From the carriageway, Samantha could smell the ox roasting on the spit, hear the squeals from the children on the whirligig. Villagers cavorted around the lawn, laughing, calling to friends. Flags flew from every corner of the manor.

She watched with a smile as Justin hit his uncle Richard’s ball and tumbled it down the slope into the pond to the cheers of the dozen other children who had joined in his game of smack ball.

“He’s getting entirely too good at that,” Jamie complained on her right.

He was dressed to join in the fun, in a tweed jacket and chamois trousers. Her travel pelisse with its black military braid seemed far too somber. But the gown of yellow silk packed in her valise was perfect for how she meant to spend her afternoon.

“And I’m glad he’s enjoying himself,” Samantha countered. “I hope everyone takes as much joy from the day.”

“Everyone but Prentice Haygood,” Jamie agreed. “He’s still cooling his heels in jail and looking forward to a talk with the War Office.”

“Who should be considerably less busy after the news we heard yesterday,” Samantha replied.

“Good for Wellington,” Jamie agreed. “A decisive victory in Vitoria! I can’t believe Napoleon is nearly beaten at last. We’ve been fighting him for most of my life!”

“Indeed, we have,” Will said from the interior of the carriage as his valet climbed down from settling him. “Are you certain you don’t want to stay for the celebrations, Samantha? You did promise me a dance.”

She’d wanted to dance at the summer party most of her life, even before they’d heard the news about the Battle of Vitoria. This place, these people were part of her. Leaving them would have been a great tragedy. She saw that now.

Leaving Will would have been worse. She knew they were meant to be together. She had convinced him to elope with her to Gretna Green today. That way Dallsten Manor and the legacy would be safe for their children. And she could help ease the burden he carried in worrying about his estate.

The physician had not been pleased with their decision to travel only two days after Will had been shot, but he could not argue that Will was well enough for the journey. Samantha thought Will looked rather handsome in his navy coat, one arm in a crimson sling like some wounded general returning from battle.

She hadn’t been sure what her family would think of their plans, but they’d all encouraged her when she’d admitted her and Will’s intentions at a late dinner last night. Richard and Jerome had assured her Will was a great fellow; Adele and Claire had promised her happiness lay ahead. Imogene had squealed for joy, clapping her hands and offering a toast.

“I knew you were a clever girl,” Mrs. Dallsten Walcott had proclaimed with a superior sniff as she set down her glass. “We’ll have the Countess of Kendrick in our family at last.”

From the head of the table Vaughn had leveled his silver fork at her as if extending a blade. “If you have any difficulty with the fellow, come see me. I’ll be delighted to teach him a thing or two.”

Samantha had winked at Imogene. “You forget. I’ve already beaten him in a fencing match. I don’t think we’ll need your sword or consequence to settle any difficulties we might have.”

She still could not believe those difficulties would not come. But she knew now that she and Will shared a love that could overcome obstacles. She had to put her faith in him and in God.

And now her bags were packed and stowed atop the carriage with Will’s. Richard and Claire were journeying with them to act as witnesses so there would be no doubt that this marriage was legitimate and blessed by her family. All she had to do was climb aboard.

She glanced back at the house where she’d grown up, the people who’d known her since she was a child. They were lined up before the door, her cousins, her servants, her neighbors, all smiles, all ready for her to take this next step in her life.

She was ready as well.
Thank You, Lord!

“Let’s go,” she said, and Jamie gave her his hand to help her into the carriage.

Handkerchiefs flew, hands waved and voices called in love as the carriage started down the drive, Richard and Claire’s following.

“So you’re willing to give up dancing for me,” Will teased, as if fearing she might succumb to a fit of the dismals despite their upcoming nuptials.

Samantha shook her head. “Oh no, my love. The way I see it, we have the rest of our lives to dance together. Today is only the beginning.”

Will slid his good arm about her shoulder, and she snuggled against him. She had come to Dallsten Manor to say goodbye, and instead she’d come home at last.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
A Royal Marriage
by Rachelle McCalla!

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing
The Heiress’s Homecoming.
I hope you enjoyed seeing the last Everard meet her match. I certainly can empathize with Samantha’s bewilderment over her future. Making big changes in our lives is seldom easy. As I type this, my youngest son is about to head off to college and make me an empty nester, and my oldest son is about to make me a grandmother! I’m very thankful for them and for the opportunity to keep writing books I love.

If you’d like to learn more about upcoming books, be sure to stop by my website at
www.reginascott.com
or visit me on my blog at
www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com
.

Blessings!

Regina Scott

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

1. Samantha fears she has inherited more from her father and mother than the Everard legacy. What kinds of stories did you inherit from your family?
   

2. Samantha fights to keep her emotions from ruling her. When is it appropriate to lead with our feelings?
   

3. Will struggles to open his heart to love again after the tragic deaths in his family. How can we be open to love at any stage of our lives?
   

4. Will refuses to dwell on his past in the diplomatic corps. How can our past experiences enrich our lives rather than hold us back?
   

5. Prentice Haygood’s ineffectual facade hides a cunning mind. How can we know a person’s true character?
   

6. Jamie longs to be seen as an adult. How can we help the teens in our lives transition to responsibility?
   

7. The three male Everard cousins are very protective of their younger cousin Samantha. When does protection hinder our growth as individuals?
   

8. Samantha sees God’s love in the rainbow. Where do you experience God’s miracles?
   

9. Samantha feels as if she’s carrying a heavy burden. What makes something a burden in our lives?
   

10. Samantha struggles with carrying her burden alone. How can we carry the burdens given to us without bowing under them?
    

11. Everyone in the Evendale valley looks forward to the Everard summer party. What traditions in your family or community do you look forward to?
    

12. Samantha fences—an unusual pastime for a lady in the early nineteenth century. What are your unusual pastimes? Why did you choose them? What do they say about you?
    

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

You find illumination in days gone by.
Love Inspired Historical
stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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Chapter One

Castlehead, Lydia, A.D. 801

“A
ship approaches, Your Majesty. Her sail is spread with the Carolingian cross.” Renwick, chief messenger among the Lydian guard, bowed low before the king.

“Charlemagne.” His Royal Highness, King John of Lydia, lowered the sword with which he’d been sparring with his younger brother, Prince Luke. Why would the Holy Roman Emperor send a ship to Lydia unannounced? Charlemagne’s realm had expanded vastly under his leadership, but John had assumed the renowned ruler would have no interest in the tiny kingdom of Lydia. Was he wrong?

King John turned to face the messenger. “She approaches directly?”

“Making for the wharf at high speed, sire,” Renwick panted as though he, too, had run to reach the king quickly.

“Then we shall make haste, as well.” Sheathing his sword, John headed for the courtyard gate, the fastest route to the Mediterranean shore.

“To the lookout tower, Your Majesty?” Renwick appeared confused by the king’s choice of direction.

“No, Renwick.” John led the way. “To the wharf.”

Prince Luke ran beside him. “Why would Charlemagne visit Lydia? We are not his vassals.”

“I doubt it is Charlemagne himself,” King John acknowledged. “The emperor regularly sends emissaries throughout his empire to report back to him.” He prayed that was true this time, irregular though it might seem.

“But Lydia is not part of his empire.” Luke chafed visibly at the idea.

“We are part of Christendom. As such, we ought to ally ourselves closely with the Holy Roman Empire. Such a position could prove to be advantageous.” John reached the end of the wharf and shielded his eyes from the sun, examining the quickly approaching vessel, her sails emblazoned with the distinctive Carolingian cross, four triquetras joined at the center to form the distinctive symbol of Emperor Charlemagne’s reign.

“Three masts!” The sight filled John with awe. Lydia had no ship to match it. And yet, “She looks to be wounded.”

“Aye, brother.” Luke clapped one hand on John’s shoulder and pointed with the other. “Her foresail has been rent and hastily mended. Do you think she has weathered a storm?”

“Or an attack.” John met his brother’s eyes.

“Saracens?” Prince Luke spoke the word softly, as though saying it aloud might draw the vicious pirates closer.

“They raid the Mediterranean waters regularly.”

“Never so close to Lydia.”

“We don’t know how far this ship has come,” King John acknowledged. “Or whether the Saracens may have taken her.”

“Taken her?” Fear sparked in his brother’s blue eyes as he looked out to the ship and back at the ramparts of their castle. If the pirates had taken the ship, they could approach under Charlemagne’s cross and dock before the Lydians realized trouble had reached their shores. The castle’s defenses might be breached before they could even prepare for battle. “Why would Saracens approach so boldly?”

“For no good reason.” John shook his head. He didn’t want to believe that Saracen pirates had taken the emperor’s ship, but given her condition, it was a distinct possibility. “Let us pray for Lydia’s safety.”

While the brothers murmured hasty yet heartfelt prayers, King John heard the rumble of boot steps on the wharf. He turned to find Eliab and Urias, two courtiers who’d been his father’s close advisors, panting as they trotted down the wharf.

“Your Majesty,” Urias called out. “You should not be out here!”

“This does not look good.” Eliab gestured to the ship as he bent to catch his breath.

“His Majesty should hide until we’ve determined the motives of the approaching vessel.”

John dismissed their concerns. The pair often treated him as though he was still a child, though he’d weathered twenty-eight winters and had ruled Lydia capably since his father’s death four years before. “I may determine their motives much faster if I stay here.”

“They’ve put down a boat!” Renwick had hardly taken his eyes from the ship.

“They’re worthy seamen, then.” John approved of the ship’s rapid loss of speed. They’d obviously put down an anchor. It was wise. He’d never docked such a large vessel alongside the wharf, and though he couldn’t be sure the depth of the ship’s rudder, he doubted they’d have made it to the dock without scraping against the submerged rocks that hid not so far below the water at low tide.

“What are they loading?” Luke studied the men as they carried a large fabric-draped bundle onto the boat. From the care they took in handling it, the cargo must have been delicate. The dark green cloth glistened in the sunlight like silk. Whatever was wrapped inside must be quite valuable.

A plump, wimpled figure was loaded next, with no shortage of howling admonitions. Then six burly men boarded and took to the oars with vigor, slicing through the water as though Charlemagne himself was watching.

“I believe that bundle is a person.” John observed the way they’d propped the bundle in the stern with the wimpled woman fussing over it. “A slender figure, perhaps a youth or a child.”

“Or a woman,” Prince Luke offered.

“On a ship?” Urias scoffed.

“It
is
possible,” Luke pointed out as the boat drew nearer and its contents easier to see. “The cut of the silk clothing is certainly suggestive of a female. And it would explain the lady in waiting.”

“Bah. A nurse to the child,” Urias insisted.

“Whatever it is, I hardly think myself to be in immediate danger from it.” John felt glad that he hadn’t run and hidden as his father’s advisors had suggested. Granted, he had an obligation to protect the throne. Urias and Eliab were understandably skittish about the issue of safety, having been with his father, King Theodoric, when he’d died defending one of Lydia’s villages on the Illyrian border.

But King John had two younger brothers and a much younger sister, as well. Prince Luke was a worthy leader, and Prince Mark would be, too, if he ever returned from his long journey by sea. God would provide a leader for Lydia. When his wife had died in childbirth three years before, John had resolved that his line would end with his death. He would not ask another woman to risk her life trying to bear an heir for him.

“You don’t suppose it’s a ruse?” Eliab watched the fast-approaching boat with skepticism. “To lull us into thinking we’ve nothing to fear and take us while our guard is down.”

“Eliab, you are far too suspicious,” John chided him. As the boat moved closer, the shrieks and groans of the white-faced woman in the wimple grew louder. If she was part of a ruse, she was overplaying her role. Rather than pay the woman much heed, John examined the faces of the other men in the boat. To his relief, none of them had the stature or features of Charlemagne.

John had met the emperor once, before Charlemagne had been crowned Holy Roman Emperor of all Europe. Then King of the Franks, Charlemagne was an impressive bull of a man who ruled with an iron fist. Despite the power and gusto with which he governed, the man was also an intellectual and a devout Christian of renowned faith. John not only respected and admired him, he also feared him.

And he feared, too, the reason for this unannounced visit under Charlemagne’s sails. Protocol would have had them send greetings well in advance of their visit so that John would have an opportunity to make preparations to host them. Obviously, there had to be some reason the men hadn’t wanted him to meet them well prepared.

The wimpled woman howled. She swayed on her feet but refused to sit. Her cries carried ahead of the rowboat through the warm August air. “
Must
you lurch so? Oh, I fear I shall faint before we make it to the shore!”

The rowing men grimaced, and John suspected they’d have liked for the woman to faint, if only to still her cries. As the boat drew nearer, the man closest to the prow, the only man without an oar in his hand, called out, “Greetings in the name of Charlemagne, Emperor of all Rome.” The man spoke in impeccable Latin. “What lands are these?”

John could only hope his own linguistic training was up to the imperial standard. “Friends, this is the Christian Kingdom of Lydia.”

A relieved smile spread across the man’s face, and John realized his expression had been quite anxious up to that moment. The man tossed a rope. “We seek King John, the healer.”

“You have found him.” The symbol of cross and crown that decorated John’s habergeon signified his position. He caught the rope and pulled the boat toward the dock with a mighty heave. Behind him, Luke and Renwick grabbed the line, while Eliab and Urias stumbled over themselves.

The man’s smile grew broader. “Then God has surely been with us. I am sorry to arrive unannounced, but we had no alternative.” As the boat was pulled alongside the length of the dock, the man bounded onto the wharf and bowed low. “I am Boden, a servant of Charlemagne and acting captain of the emperor’s ship.”

“
Acting
captain?” John looked the man over. Clearly the youth was a strong and strapping lad, but he hardly seemed old enough to be a captain. Indeed, he was certainly younger than John or Luke.

“Alas, my beloved father was commissioned captain by Charlemagne himself and vested with a mission of the utmost importance—to carry the emperor’s most precious cargo. But we were attacked at sea by Saracens, and my father died defending his ship.” Boden’s face blanched as he spoke.

“You have done well to continue on his mission.” John hoped his words would provide some comfort to the youth.

But Boden only shook his head. “I implore thee, Your Majesty John the healer. You are our only remaining hope that this mission might succeed.” He raised his hand toward the boat.

The wimpled woman had quit her moaning and now peeled back the silk veil that covered the face of the bundled figure the men had so carefully loaded onto the boat.

John saw a flushed jawline and rosy lips that could only belong to a woman. So Luke had been right. This was no boy but a female of about twenty years of age. In fact, whoever she was, her features were beautiful, her complexion pale, save for a flush John recognized all too well.

Fever.

Her drawn lips confirmed it. The woman was suffering. No wonder Boden had twice referred to him as John,
the healer.
It was a title he was loath to use, but one which desperate men rushed to give him, especially when they had need of a man to stand between their loved ones and the advancing scythe of death. Yes, he’d been trained by his mother as a healer—a practice her family had observed for generations. When he’d taken to his studies with far greater success than his brothers, some had said he had a gift.

Now he considered it a curse. He hardly considered himself worthy of the title
healer.
Not when he’d failed to save his own wife or the mother who’d trained him.

Boden nodded to the lady in waiting, who peeled back more of the cloth.

“Ah!” Urias and Eliab recoiled at the sight of the infected gash above the woman’s right eye, which followed the curve of her eyebrow. The angry wound had swollen her eyelid shut, festering across her face in fever-reddened waves.

John understood immediately. He’d seen injuries that had deteriorated to a similar state before. Rarely had the sufferer survived. Rather than ask the men to lift the young woman, John lowered himself into the boat and approached her. He could smell the rancid scent of the infection and recognized with dismay the golden yellow crust that seeped from the gash.

The sight and smell carried as clear a message as any tolling death bell.

The lovely woman had less than a day to live.

And the herb that could save her grew half a day’s journey into the mountains, in the borderlands Lydia shared with the Illyrians. John’s father, King Theodoric, had died defending those borderlands. And yet, as John observed the woman’s fever-flushed features, he realized she’d have to have crushed hare’s tongue leaves applied to her injury by nightfall. Even then, it might be too late to save her.

He turned to Boden. “Was she injured two or three days ago?”

“Three days,” Boden answered. “How did you know?”

Relieved that the Saracens hadn’t attacked closer to the Lydian coast, John nonetheless felt the weight of the young woman’s grim prognosis. She’d already gone too long without treatment. “Infections of this nature always run the same course. Once the secretions turn yellow, the sufferer has less than a day to live.”

Boden’s face blanched, and his men at the oars hung their heads.

John didn’t doubt the sailors had been at the oars to bring the ship to Lydia—with her sails rent and patched, they’d have rowed in desperate hope of saving the woman’s life. Obviously the woman must have meant a great deal to them for the men to take on such a strenuous task. John wished he could tell them their efforts hadn’t been in vain. “You mentioned the emperor’s precious cargo.” He began the question slowly and found his throat had gone dry.

As he’d feared, Boden pointed to the woman. “
She
is the precious cargo—Princess Gisela, one of Charlemagne’s daughters. She has been pledged to marry an Illyrian prince. We were to have her delivered by Christmastide.”

“You were running ahead of schedule.”

“That we were,” Boden acknowledged with a bittersweet smile, “until the Saracens found us. If she dies, there will likely be war.”

“War!” Urias exclaimed.

“And you’ve gotten us involved in it?” Eliab added.

John raised a hand to quiet the courtiers. “Boden made the right choice.” He looked at the flushed face of the princess and felt sorrow rise inside him. Such a beautiful young woman. It would be tragic for her to die so young. His heart beat out a desperate prayer that somehow, in spite of his failures as a healer, God would see fit to spare the princess from death.

* * *

Princess Gisela felt the boat rock as someone stepped out from it. The sun burned hot against her face, even hotter than when the stifling veil of silk had covered her. Or perhaps her fever had grown that much worse.

“Can you save her?” Hope sprang to Boden’s voice.

“I
could.
” The voice of King John, the healer, followed him as he climbed back onto the dock. “Hare’s tongue leaves have proven an effective cure against this type of yellow secretion. But the leaves must be freshly picked, and the nearest plants grow in the mountains on the Illyrian borderlands. A swift rider could reach them by nightfall.”