Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval
The Maiden Bride (32 page)
Still, she was beginning to feel the first bit of confidence that she might succeed. Her heart no longer pounded a fearful rhythm, but rather an exhausted one. But though tired, she meant to travel through the night, at least until she found another village.
She reached for a bit of brown bread she’d hastily stuffed in her sack. But before she could bring it up for a bite, the whicker of a horse froze her in her tracks.
She shrank down into a bed of queen fern. The ground was damp here, and she felt the moisture seep into her sturdy shoes. A cricket leaped off a nodding frond, landed briefly on her arm, then whirred off, indignant to be disturbed thus. But Linnea remained frozen in place. Someone was coming—she could not precisely determine his direction. But whoever it was, he boded ill for her. She had no friends, not on this precipitous flight; therefore whoever it was, he must be her foe.
She twisted her head, trying to hear past the river’s constant rush and the disparate songs of woodlark and lapwings, to the crash of heavy hooves in the forest undergrowth. But the horse was still. There was no sound.
She peered cautiously about. Where was he?
Who
was he? Or had she, perhaps, only imagined the sound? Perhaps it had not been a horse at all. Perhaps it had been the huff of a stray sheep. Or of a wild boar.
Who
was he? Or had she, perhaps, only imagined the sound? Perhaps it had not been a horse at all. Perhaps it had been the huff of a stray sheep. Or of a wild boar.
“St. Jude!” she muttered under her breath. Wild boars were fearful creatures, aggressive and mean. She’d once helped tend a woodsman who’d been gored by a boar in rut. He’d not survived.
The birds suddenly went silent. When something rustled behind her, Linnea reacted in panic. She sprang upright, and without pausing to look around, sprinted for the nearest tree.
Up she went, cloak and bundle falling where they might. She scrambled up the rough-barked ash, grabbing for a handhold, scrabbling with her feet for extra purchase. Her skirt caught, held, then ripped when she hauled herself over a sturdy branch. Was she high enough? Could a boar rear up and reach her still?
Holding another branch, she stood up, balancing herself as she scanned the area around her leafy oasis. She spied her bundle, fallen in a patch of blueberries. But her cloak was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the boar.
Then a sound came from beyond the tree’s thick trunk, and she muttered another oath. How was she to escape if some wild creature had her trapped in a tree? “St. Jude!”
When she peeped fearfully through the budding foliage, however, the sight that greeted her was so shocking she almost lost her hold and fell. For it was Axton—Axton sitting tall and grim-faced on one of his warhorses. Axton, who could reach up and pluck her down as easily as if she were a pear or an apple.
Axton, who’d come for her after all.
She didn’t know whether to exult with joy, or weep with frustration. She chose to climb higher.
With an imperceptible movement he directed the horse closer to the tree, circling it so that he had a clearer view of her in her green bower. Her green prison.
“Will you climb all the way to the top in order to escape me?” he taunted her. “Do you think it will do you any good?”
“Go away!” Linnea meant it to come out an imperious order. It was, rather, closer to an ineffectual plea. In any event, he did not heed it.
“Come down, Linnea. Before you fall and hurt yourself.”
“Go away. Begone from here,” she replied, more fiercely.
“Damnation, woman. It’s for your own good. Get down here so that we can talk—”
“Talk! Talk? Is that what you call it?” Though she was trembling with too many conflicting emotions, Linnea managed to take hold of a higher limb and pull herself farther out of his reach. She wedged herself into a fork in two branches and glared down at him. “If you truly want only to talk, then you may do so. As for me, I shall stay right where I am.”
She saw his jaw clench in irritation, but instead of scowling at her, his face took on an assessing look. Then he smiled.
“As you wish, Linnea. We will talk as we are—you up there, me down here. I came to bring you news of your sister.”
Something seemed to break inside Linnea at his reference to Beatrix. Although she feared for Beatrix and worried over her—and loved her dearly—she did not want to discuss her with him. Especially not with him.
When she did not respond, he continued. “Her wedding has been delayed.”
Linnea blinked at that. She bent down a little, the better to see him through the ash’s dense summer foliage. “Delayed?”
He shrugged. “Yes. Until Peter has been knighted.”
“Knighted?” she repeated blankly. What had Peter’s knighting to do with Beatrix?
“They will reside at our castle in Caen. He prefers Normandy to Britain. But ’tis only one day’s journey by ship and two more over land. You can visit her as often as you like. And, of course, she is welcome to visit you.”
Linnea frowned and shook her head. Nothing he said made sense. He would wed Beatrix after Peter was knighted. Then he would send her with Peter to live at Caen?
Then another possibility occurred to her—another meaning to his words—and she sucked in a sudden breath.
“Watch out!”
She grabbed for a limb just in time to prevent herself from slipping right out of the tree.
“Damnation, Linnea! I’m coming up to bring you down,” Axton growled.
“Wait!” she cried, clutching the tree tighter than ever. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but still … “Why must Beatrix not wed until … until Peter is knighted?”
He urged the destrier nearer until he was just beneath her. If he reached a hand up he could probably have touched her foot. But he didn’t do that. He simply sat there staring up at her. He’d been wearing a half-smile as he’d revealed the little details about Beatrix but it had disappeared, and now his expression was solemn. Worried, even.
“’Tis you I wish to wed, Linnea, not your sister.”
“But … but …” She heard the words but could scarcely believe them. He wanted to wed her, the second sister? “But you fought to win Beatrix. To win Maidenstone.”
He nodded. His face was creased in a frown. “And now I am fighting to win you.”
“But …” Linnea paused, trying to understand, wanting to believe. “But what of Maidenstone Castle?”
“It is in de la Manse hands now and it will remain so. For my father’s two sons to marry your father’s two daughters cannot weaken the claim.” It was his turn to pause. “Marry me, Linnea, but as Linnea, this time. As the woman I must have if I am ever to be content.”
He meant it. He really did! Emotions rose in her chest, so hard, so violent, that Linnea could not answer him. Tears made his image swim before her and she could do no more than hold tight to the tree and struggle for the breath to speak.
When she did not respond right away, however, his frown deepened and he went on. “I know you have no reason to believe I will make you a good husband. I have berated you. I have raged at you. I have forced myself on you in both anger and in the grips of a desire I sometimes hated.”
“You hated it?” she asked, her elation sinking.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I hated myself for wanting you so badly.”
“Mayhap that is all you feel for me,” she whispered, though the idea made her despair. “Mayhap it is only the physical wanting between us—”
“No! I swear to you, Linnea, that it is more than that.”
“You say that now,” she replied as all her initial joy faded into the ugly reality of the situation. “When we lie together you forget how I deceived you. How I played the whore,” she added, though the word fairly choked her.
“St. Jude!” he swore. “I was but a fool—an angry, stupid fool to have ever said that. But I know better now, and I beg you to forgive me.”
“How do you mean, know better?”
“I know about you, about the curse your grandmother said you bore. The curse of the second twin. I know how much you love your sister and how much she loves you. I know,” he added more slowly, “why you were driven to sacrifice yourself for Beatrix, and how desperately you longed to be accepted and loved.”
He reached up and she felt his hand on her foot, then circling her ankle, not demandingly nor threateningly, but gently. Sweetly.
“Know this, Linnea de Valcourt. You are loved. Your sister loves you. But more than she can ever love you, I love you. With every part of me, I love you. And I would have you as my wife, to put before all other women, to love and honor all the days of my life and beyond.”
Linnea could hardly comprehend his words, so startling and unexpected were they. Added to that, the maelstrom of her own emotions made the entire world seem to spin.
With the back of one hand she wiped vainly at her teary eyes. Beneath her he sat on his steed, his face turned earnestly up to her. He’d ridden out without helm or hood, and his close-cropped hair ruffled now in the evening breeze.
More than anything she needed to reach down and touch his face, to say yes, even though there were so many questions yet unanswered. She moved as if to come down, but he held her ankle still.
“Will you?” he asked, and she heard the uncertainty in his voice. Did he honestly fear after such a soul-baring proposal that she might refuse?
But he must have, for with a sudden move he grasped a branch and pulled himself up into the tree. In a moment he was before her, sharing the same branch, bending through the leaves to draw her into his arms.
“I love you, Linnea. ‘Tis more than the pleasure we find in the bed. ’Tis—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Your sister is not you. She could never be you, not to me. And I know now that—” Again he broke off. “Maidenstone can bring me no joy if you are not there at my side.”
Linnea cut off his words with a kiss; she could not restrain herself any longer. She pressed into his embrace, and for a dangerous moment they teetered on the swaying branch. Somehow Axton lowered them both, and without her quite knowing how, they were on his startled horse as it danced a circle beneath the ancient ash.
“You will do it? You will marry me again?” he asked, forcing her to look at him.
From her position settled sideways across his lap, Linnea gazed up into the face of the man she loved. “Yes, if you are certain.”
“I am certain.” He cut her off with a kiss that made the world tilt beneath them. Linnea melted into that kiss and into the knowledge that he loved her.
He loved
her
.
her
.
They drew away from one another and she stared wonderingly up at him. “How can you tell us apart? How can you choose me when Beatrix—”
“She is not you. I cannot say how I know, but it takes no more than a glance for me to see the difference. To see you.” His eyes ran over her face and she could feel the full force of his love shining from his eyes.
“You are certain in this,” she persisted.
“I am certain.” Once more he paused. “Are you?”
Linnea smiled, and when she did, she felt the last edge of his tension recede. “I am certain. I love you, Axton.” She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump of emotion in her throat. For so long she had been the second sister, unloved by anyone, save Beatrix. And now this man, who should want Beatrix, wanted her. He loved
her
.
her
.
As if he sensed and understood her feelings, his arms tightened around her. For a moment there were no words between them. Then without warning he kicked the horse forward and they were flying through the forest, up the road, then on toward Maidenstone.
She had not gone so very far, she realized, for beyond the fringe of trees the towers of the castle were plainly visible. But even had she run forever, she knew now she could never have escaped the hold this one man had on her.
As if he read her thoughts, he spoke in her ear. “Where were you running to?”
“I wasn’t running
to
any place. I was running … I was running away from you. No, not from you,” she amended. “From the thought of you and Beatrix together.”
to
any place. I was running … I was running away from you. No, not from you,” she amended. “From the thought of you and Beatrix together.”
At her whispered admission, Axton felt a deep pang of guilt. He’d caused her such pain. He didn’t deserve her love, but by God, he was grateful to have it.
He reined in the horse. They were on the crest of a low hill. Below them spread the fields that radiated from Maidenstone village and from the castle beyond. The last light of day glinted on the crenellated walls. The sky loomed a deep purple, ready to creep dark and quiet across the entire valley.
This was his home. And this was his woman. He buried his face in her loosened hair, breathing in the very essence of her. “I’m sorry, Linnea, sorry for every cruel and selfish thing I did.”
“No. No. ’Tis I who deceived you. If I had not pretended to be my sister—”
He cut her off with another kiss. “Never say that. Never wish that you had not done that brave and foolish deed, my love. For had you not, I never would have found you.”
She conceded that point with the sweetest, sexiest smile he’d ever seen. Then her expression grew grave. “What of your mother?”
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