Everlasting

  Abrielle knew he had no intention of heading to the village. He’d lied simply to get her away—to get her alone, where she’d be helpless against him. And all it would take was one night of rape, and she’d be forced to marry him, regardless of his cruelty. It was her worst nightmare coming true.

  When she kicked him, he held her legs down; when she slapped and punched his back, he accepted it as if she could do him no harm. She opened her mouth for a loud shriek only to hear him say, “Do not scream, or my man will be forced to harm your maidservant.”

  Nedda? she thought wildly. Had they taken her from Abrielle’s bedchamber so she wouldn’t alert the keep about her mistress’s disappearance?

  “Is this the man ye refer to?” inquired a calm, deep voice that Abrielle recognized instantly.

  Raven was rescuing her once again, eliciting two warring feelings from her, as she wanted both to cry and to cheer.

  Sir Colbert stumbled to a halt and she heard the faint cry of another man who she surmised was lying at Raven’s feet.

  “I fear this man willna be of much help,” Raven continued, his amusement obvious and oddly reassuring. “’Tis a shame ye didna think this through more carefully. I want the lass at least as much as ye do, so why would I let her out of my sight?”

  Colbert suddenly made his move, flinging Abrielle off so that she landed in a heap in Raven’s arms. As she struggled to untangle herself, Colbert grabbed up his friend and practically tossed him over the horse’s back and vaulted up behind him. The sound of hoofbeats faded away.

  At last Abrielle straightened and pushed away from Raven a bit too forcefully.

  He only smiled. “Ye’re welcome.”

  “You have my thanks.” She added, “Again,” and as he looked down at her in the moonlight, his smile faded, and the intensity in his eyes took her by surprise.

  “Ye look touched by fairy dust, lass,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Unable to face the dangerous weakness he inspired in her, she turned and hurried back the way she’d come. She heard him chuckle, knew he followed her, but she didn’t stop until she was all the way back in the corridor outside her own bedchamber. She peeked inside and, to her relief, saw Nedda dozing in a chair by the fire, reassuring herself that at least Colbert had lied about that. She then returned to the corridor and knocked on her parents’ door.

  Raven waited patiently as it was answered by Vachel, who stared at Abrielle, and then at the Scotsman, in surprise. She strode past her stepfather and shut the door in Raven’s face.

  “Abrielle!” her mother cried with disapproval, coming forward as she tightened her robe.

  “’Tis fine, he understands,” Abrielle said wearily, sinking onto a stool. And then she told them everything that had happened. What she did not say was how empty and sick she felt inside, knowing that Sir Colbert hadn’t even bothered to converse with her, to court her in the usual way, as if she weren’t even worth the attempt.

  “We thought you had gone to bed,” Vachel later said as he paced, his stride long with anger.

  Elspeth hugged her. “Oh, Abrielle, how frightening for you!”

  “I didn’t have much time to be frightened,” she said glumly. “As usual, Raven had been following me.”

  “Thank God!” her mother said earnestly, an expression of relief that made Abrielle feel even worse, for it meant that she could not ever hope to control her own fate. Surely the look on the maiden’s face conveyed her sorrow to her parents, but her stepfather’s words evidenced that, indeed, her destiny did not lie in her own hands, but in the hands of others, the hands of men.

  “I cannot allow this to go on,” Vachel finally said, coming to a stop and giving them both a somber frown. “Colbert may not have meant to actually harm you, but the next cur might be desperate, should you refuse him. Abrielle, you have to marry soon, or you will remain in danger.”

  “But, Vachel, I have met no one who appeals to me. You know I wish to choose my own husband.”

  “And she certainly doesn’t want to live with an armed escort everywhere she goes,” Elspeth added.

  “Why do we not just send every eligible man away?” Abrielle said brightly. “I could live in peace, for at least a while.”

  “And have eager swains besieging the castle?” Vachel demanded. “I think not. I have conceived of an idea to have this all done quickly. We will host a tournament, where all the noble young men gather to show off their skills and to win your favor.”

  “But we’ve just sent many of them away,” Abrielle said plaintively. “Now we want them all back?”

  “We do, but only the right men, of course. The tournament participants will be here for several days, and at the end of it, you will have met enough men to make your decision.”

  “Several days?” Elspeth said.

  “We’ll invite the families of these young men as well. You’ll have more recommendations than you’ll know what to do with. You’ll be able to discover the character of every man you’re considering.”

  Abrielle sighed. “I agree. This needs to be finished.”

  Vachel rubbed his hands together. “It’ll begin in three days.”

  “Three days?” Elspeth echoed, already imagining trying to find a new cook on such short notice.

  “Three days?” Abrielle echoed, wondering if her stepfather had gone mad. “How will we accomplish this?”

  “We’ll send out heralds today. Keeping the tournament so close will encourage only northern lords to attend. You certainly do not want a husband who’s only lived on the Channel, with no idea how to deal with the Scots.”

  “And speaking of the Scots…” Elspeth began, looking at her daughter.

  Abrielle slumped back on the bed. “Raven will compete for me, as hard as any of them. He’ll win another purse, just as he did in the hunt.”

  “Perhaps we should offer more than a purse to the winner,” her stepfather said, with a crafty look in his eye. “It will encourage competition.”

  Abrielle winced. “I am afraid to ask your meaning.”

  “Perhaps the knight will win…a kiss.”

  COLBERT RODE HARD through the night and was met with the welcome he’d anticipated. Thurstan de Marlé opened his gates to the young man, sheltering him—and nurturing Colbert’s hatred of the Scot who’d foiled his perfect plan to win Abrielle.

  CHAPTER 13

  Over the next three days, Abrielle managed to stay so busy that she rarely spoke to Raven, except at meals. She knew he still kept watch over her, but she ignored him as best she could, and tried to enjoy an event in her honor. She was free of the cloud of gloom with Desmond de Marlé’s passing, and she told herself that with the freedom to pick her own husband, she had more than most other maidens.

  She kept her maidservants company making banners and armbands to identify both teams competing in the tournament. She spent hours every day in the kitchen with her mother, where they learned that Weldon’s cooks had not left, but had been forced to serve beneath Mordea the last several months. The women were grateful to have back the freedom to exercise their creativity, and the menus they all planned together would surely soothe the appetite of everyone in attendance.

  In the surrounding countryside, colorful pavilions began to spring up to house the many combatants. The castle would be overflowing with their families, parents, and siblings, all the northern lords who wished a day of excitement. Pavilions were set up throughout the wooded course to be used as refuges during the melee itself, so that knights could rest or rearm themselves.

  On the day before the tournament, the surrounding roads were filled with traveling companies approaching the castle. Children of visiting families raced through the courtyard, chased by nurses, and Abrielle dared to imagine a day when they would be her children. And she found within herself the strength to dare to dream that somewhere within these walls she would at last find the man who would be a true husband to her, with whom she would share a love everlasting.

  The only thi
ng that worried her was the attention Raven and his father received. There was a marked increase in surliness from the Norman and Saxon lords, even more so than when many of them had been present not a sennight before. Had they expected Raven and Cedric to be gone, and their very presence was proving too much provocation? The border had been enjoying an uneasy peace for several years; there was no reason for such animosity, especially toward a man who had the notice of the king. Abrielle didn’t need angry men entering a tournament and turning it into a real battle. They used their own weapons, not the blunted weapons using by youths in training. In such tense situations, too many men inevitably died.

  In the great hall that night, a feast was served that surpassed the expectations of everyone in attendance. Abrielle and her parents sat at the head table, raised on a dais. She could see her guests breaking open the fine white loaves of bread, proving that no expense had been spared. They’d roasted an oxen whole in the kitchen yard, and served larks’-tongue pie, a great delicacy. The last fresh vegetables of autumn were served in the salad, dressed with oil and verjuice. There was minced mutton with herbs and bread crumbs, cheeses served on heaping platters, and at last, a selection of tarts and pies that had everyone patting their full stomachs and sighing.

  Elspeth shared a triumphant smile with her daughter, who was caught up in the excitement and energy of a large, happy crowd. After the meal, Abrielle found herself the focus of many of the knights, all of whom wanted a token of hers to take into the melee on the morrow. She could not show such favoritism as the hostess, so she encouraged the men to seek out the other maidens in attendance.

  More than one man proved bold enough to ask Vachel why the Scot was being allowed to compete, and Vachel told the same story over and over again: Raven was an emissary of the King of Scotland and had found favor at King Henry’s court. Why should Vachel insult either king by dismissing him?

  Abrielle was dancing with a pleasant young man, who kept stepping on her toes in his eagerness, when the great double doors to the hall were thrown back. A gust of wind shivered the candle flames, and silence spread as all turned to see who was making such a late entrance.

  Thurstan de Marlé led a contingent of knights a score strong from his own manor. Abrielle excused herself from her disappointed partner to go in search of her stepfather, whom she found sharing tankards of ale before the hearth with Cedric Seabern.

  Cedric bowed to her even as her stepfather searched her face and demanded, “What is wrong, Abrielle?”

  “Did you not see who has just arrived?” she asked, sweeping a hand toward Thurstan.

  Vachel grimaced. “I did. But I could not bar his entrance, not when he was Desmond’s nephew, and well respected throughout the north. He has every right to be here.”

  “He asked my hand in marriage,” she said shortly, folding her arms over her chest in an almost protective gesture that she didn’t recognize.

  Vachel frowned at her in surprise. “He came to you instead of me?”

  “He feels the inheritance should be his, not mine, and sought access to it through me.”

  “You did not tell me this,” Vachel began slowly.

  “Would telling you have forestalled his appearance here tonight?”

  “Nay,” he conceded. “Likely it would not.”

  “I thought as much.” She sighed. “I’d hoped this tournament would be a step toward simplifying my life, but it’s barely begun and already there is another man I must do my best to avoid.”

  “Not ta intrude where I oughtn’t,” said Cedric, a sparkle of amusement in his blue eyes, “but if ye’re half as deft at shunning this new arrival as ye are my son, I’d say yer worries are few.”

  Coming from anyone else, Abrielle might have taken umbrage, but it was difficult to feel offended when Cedric’s smile and his tone were so gently teasing. Still, she felt her cheeks warm. Teasing or not, she did not owe any man her notice; perhaps the best way to get that message to Raven was through his father.

  “I assure you, dear sir, I only ignore your brave son as an act of kindness.”

  “And I in turn assure ye, lass, it’s not as a kindness he’s taking it.”

  “Naturally. You see, this kindness is directed toward the countless other eligible ladies in the land. I wouldn’t dream of monopolizing the time of a man who legend has it has turned more pretty heads than there are fish in the sea.”

  The Scotsman threw back his head and laughed richly. “By God, the lad’s met his match in ye,” he told her, looking quite pleased it was the case. “I can’t argue he’s turned his share of heads, and now he’s havin’ ta struggle ta turn the only one that matters. Don’t ye worry, m’lady, he’s a quick study and it will all work out right in the end.”

  “I’m not sure exactly what you mean by ‘right,’” countered Abrielle. “I fear you may be disappointed in the outcome. There is much between our peoples that would prove insurmountable, Laird Cedric.”

  “And that be your only reason for na including Raven on whatever private list ye’re compiling?” His mouth curved beneath his mustache. “That and, of course, your generous regard for the rest of womanhood?”

  She shook her head, firmly, since the laird was proving as difficult to discourage as his offspring. “Nay, there are other reasons. I will say only that we would not suit, and I do beg your pardon if that offends you.”

  “Not at all, lass. Ye have ta know your own mind.”

  But he winked at her over his bushy mustache, as if he was privy to her thoughts, and it seemed obvious he assumed she secretly favored Raven. Ye have ta know your own mind, he said. Raven himself had insisted it was her opinion of the man she was to marry which mattered, and no one else’s, though it would be much easier to determine what she was thinking if everyone would stop telling her what she should think. Not that she needed to devote more time to pondering Raven’s place in her life, for there wasn’t one. She had to find a man in whose love she could believe, someone without a royal emissary’s skill at dissembling. It was clear that her fate was to be in the hands of men, but at least she could chose that man. She would seize this time to find him; he must be here this night, just waiting for her notice.

  As she moved back among her guests, smiling and nodding, she saw a disheartening sight: Sir Colbert had arrived with Thurstan, and was even now standing at his side. When Colbert saw that he had attracted her notice, he gave an exaggerated bow, grinning at her. He said something to Thurstan, and both began to laugh in an ugly manner, surely at her expense. She turned away, adding another man to her list of men to avoid during the tournament. She would have to make sure she never walked about alone.

  She almost ran into Raven in her haste to stay away from Thurstan. The place was overrun by men she’d prefer to avoid, she thought as he caught her by her elbows. He used the advantage of height to look over her head as he imagined her pain, knowing that a man who’d tried to kidnap and rape her was bold enough to attend her tournament. It came as no surprise that, in her usual fashion, she was putting on a brave front, looking from Raven’s face, to his hands on her arms, and back to his face again. He released her, giving an unapologetic grin even as his admiration deepened.

  “My lady, ye’re the center of attention for every man present—whether ye want ta be or no.”

  She rolled her eyes. “At present, I’d be ridiculously content if only you did not make me your center of attention. Surely there are beautiful maidens here for you to peruse.”

  “But none shines as brightly as ye,” he murmured, his gaze softening without losing any of its wry amusement. He watched her blush and was thankful for her smooth fair skin. The color in her cheeks, or sudden loss of it, along with whatever shone or flickered in her sweet eyes, provided some insight into her true feelings, allowing him to see that she was not at all indifferent to him, no matter what she tried to make him, and herself, believe.

  “Forgive me, I must see to my other guests,” she said, moving past him.


  “I understand,” he murmured with a scant bow. “I know I’m but one of many awaiting your notice.”

  He’d spoken more loudly than he’d intended, and saw he had the notice of others besides Abrielle. Never before had he felt the animosity of so many people, all directed at him because of the country where he was born. He was more trusted in King Henry’s Norman court, where he was given free access to the king. Now he stood his ground and cocked a dark eyebrow at them, daring them to challenge him.

  But Vachel was calling for attention from his place before the hearth, and although Raven turned his head, he knew it was not wise to present his back to such dishonorable enemies.

  “Honored guests, daring knights, it is now time to choose teams for tomorrow’s tournament. I have in this leather bag a collection of stones, painted either red or green, with armbands and banners to match, courtesy of the ladies of the castle.”