“Damn his obstinate hide!” Austyn exclaimed. “Emrys promised he’d lock him up to keep him from following me.”
“Would that be Emrys there just behind him? My goodness, his head is nearly as shiny as my papa’s armor.” Holly pointed. “And look, there’s Winifred beating on a kettle with an iron spoon. What a splendid Amazon she would have made!”
The two armies met in the center of the glade, showing dangerous signs of clashing.
Austyn sighed. “We’d best get down there before they annihilate each other for the common good.” Ignoring Holly’s squeal of protest, he swept her into his arms. “I’ll be afraid to put you down for fear someone else will carry you off.”
She twined a tendril of his hair around her finger, secretly delighted. “Now that you’ve proved your faith in me, sir, you shall never again be plagued by jealousy.”
He stepped over de Legget’s body without a second glance and gave her a devilish wink. “Rhiannon never promised that.”
“She’s my daughter! I shall lead the charge into the tower!” the earl of Tewksbury was bellowing when Austyn carried Holly from the castle, a beaming Elspeth trotting at his heels.
“Like hell you will,” Carey shouted back, his words still slurred by the various indignities suffered by his lips. “She’s my lady! I’ll lead the charge.”
“Charge, ha! You can barely walk.”
Austyn tapped the earl on the shoulder.
He turned around and thundered, “Not now, lad. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Austyn waited patiently for him to swing around the second time. His beady little eyes broadened at the sight of his daughter in Austyn’s arms.
“Baby!” he cried, an angelic smile wreathing his dwarfish face. “My precious little baby!”
Holly squirmed in mingled delight and embarrassment as he threw his arms around her and smothered her face with kisses. Austyn demonstrated absolutely no desire to relinquish her to her father’s arms. Holly feared if either one of them loved her any more staunchly, she would have been tugged in two.
“How did you know, Papa?” she asked, settling back in Austyn’s arms to pat his weathered cheek. “How did you know I needed you?”
The company of knights parted to reveal a litter borne by four grumbling foot soldiers. Its occupant struggled to a sitting position, clutching a heavily bandaged chest. “ ’Twas I who told him.”
“Nathanael!” Holly breathed. “Good God, I thought you were dead.”
“So did I.” He held up a heavy chain. “But it seems my crucifix deflected the worst of the blow.” He grinned sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t scare you too badly. I must have fainted from the pain.” At a snicker from one of the foot soldiers, he snapped, “Well, it was quite intolerable.”
Her father glowered at the priest “We’d have been here sooner had he not led us on such a merry chase. We were halfway to Scotland before we realized we were heading the wrong way.”
“Now, sir, you know I’ve a deplorable sense of direction.” Nathanael’s eyes darkened as he lifted them to the tower. “The baron?”
“He’ll not trouble anyone again,” Austyn said firmly.
Both the earl and Nathanael nodded their approval while Carey limped over to slap Austyn on the back.
The earl’s gaze traveled from Holly’s face to Austyn’s. “Come, child,” he said in a voice that brooked no disobedience. “ ’Tis time to get you home.”
Holly twined her arms around her husband’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder, giving her father the reassurance he sought. “I am home, Papa.”
Austyn kissed her hair. “Let’s not be so hasty to spurn your father’s invitation. A sound night’s rest in a fluffy feather bed might be just the thing.” The flash of his dimple warned her that a sound night’s rest was the furthest thought from his mind.
“Sounds good to me,” Carey mumbled, rubbing his ribs.
“Me, too,” said Nathanael, reclining on the litter.
But as Austyn sought to pass, the priest’s hand shot out to capture Holly’s arm. Holly felt Austyn tense, but the wistful shadow in Nathanael’s eyes was brightened by his sheepish smile. “I hope you’ll allow me to bestow my heartfelt blessing … upon the both of you.”
As Austyn carried Holly toward his destrier with both her father’s and the priest’s blessing, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Perhaps tonight will give you time to get reacquainted with a friend of mine. A certain Master Longstaff who is only too eager to seek redress for a rather unkind slur you’ve cast upon his honor.”
“I can assure you I’m more than willing to soothe the saucy fellow’s vanity,” she whispered back.
At her chiming laughter, a flushed young knight slid back the faceplate of his helm, hefted his lance in salute and shouted, “To Lady Holly, who possesses the fairest face in all of England!”
The rousing cheer that went up was stifled mid-note by the sweeping look Austyn leveled on the crowd. Holly’s breath caught as his gaze lowered to caress her face with irresistible tenderness.
“To Lady Holly,” he proclaimed, his rich voice tolling like a bell in the crystalline silence, “who possesses the fairest heart in all of England.”
That heart overflowed with love as Holly welcomed her husband’s kiss.
This time there was no quelling the exultant roar that resounded through the forest as Welsh and English voices united in tribute. As Austyn swept Holly in front of him on the destrier, a joyous fanfare rippled through the air, leaving the heralds staring dumbfounded at the shiny horns hanging limp from their hands.
EPILOGUE
“Holly Felicia Bernadette de Chastel!”
Holly hid her smile behind the tiny coif she was embroidering as her husband came stalking across the meadow. His handsome face was set in a fierce scowl, but he might have looked even more intimidating were it not for the three-year-old who had secured her perch on her papa’s massive shoulders by tugging at his ears.
He stopped at the edge of the blanket to avoid trampling his infant daughter, who slept in a basket with her thumb nestled between her cherubic lips, and dangled a sheaf of parchment in front of Holly’s eyes. “Do you know what this is?”
Laying her embroidery aside, Holly absently twirled an ebony curl belonging to the six-year-old napping in her lap. “A letter from the Baron of Gloucester,” she speculated. “Ruminations on the weather. A snippet of gossip about the king’s mistress. Complaints about the size of his goiter …”
Austyn snapped open the missive, but had to pry his daughter’s hands away from his eyes before he could read it. “ ‘Don’t think me impertinent, Gavenmore,’ ” he read, “ ‘but it has come to my attention on more than one occasion that your eldest would make a suitable bride for a lonely widower such as myself.’ A lonely widower indeed! A desperate old lech, he means!” Austyn wadded the letter into a ball, growling beneath his breath.
His daughter batted gleefully at his hair. “Papa’s a big ole growly bear!”
“Papa’s not a growly bear, Gwynnie. Since the king restored his title, he’s a growly earl.” He gently disengaged her from his shoulders and sent her off to toddle in the grass with a pat on the rump before sinking down beside Holly on the blanket. His expression was bleak. “It’s starting already, isn’t it? I thought we’d have a few more years of peace.”
Holly leaned her head against his shoulder. “ ’Twas inevitable, you know. Why Felicia and Bernadette are nearly eight.”
Austyn frowned. “Where are the twins today?”
“They’re off with their uncle Carey, learning how to shoot a bow.”
Austyn shuddered. “I hope he wore his padded hauberk.”
“I’m sure he did. I think he learned his lesson when they dropped the tub of poppies on his head. I’ve not seen him without his helm since. And then there was that little incident when they burned down the north tower while roasting chestnuts on the hearth.”
Austyn shook his head. “I never
have figured out how that sheet got stuffed up the chimney …”
Holly bit off a piece of thread and murmured something noncommittal. She much preferred the spacious solar Austyn had built in place of the tower. A solar whose door was never locked unless they wished to steal a few precious hours of privacy away from the inquisitive eyes of their offspring.
Austyn ruffled his sleeping daughter’s hair, then ran a finger along the baby’s downy cheek. “They’re all so beautiful.”
Where once there would have been despair in his voice, now there was only pride and a perpetual sense of wonder that their love had brought such grace into the world. Even Austyn’s father had shared a brief taste of it. After tenderly cradling his first granddaughter in his arms, Rhys of Gavenmore had died quietly in his sleep. He now rested beneath a blanket of anemones at his wife’s side, at peace at last.
Holly reached up to caress the tendrils of silver at her husband’s temples, thinking as she always did how very striking they were. “I fear that in the next few years you’re going to come to learn that there are more vexing trials than possessing a comely wife. Such as fending off the suitors of six lovely daughters. I hope you don’t fancy yourself still cursed.”
Austyn drew her into the warm circle of his arms. “You and the girls will always be my dearest blessing.” He brushed her lips with his, igniting the passion that still flared so quick and bright between them.
The thunder of hoofbeats disturbed their tender reverie.
“Oh, Austyn, you didn’t!” Holly exclaimed as the fully armored rider approached, the celestial turrets and graceful arches of the newly completed castle providing the perfect backdrop for the dainty warrior.
He shrugged, bestowing upon her one of those crooked smiles she never could resist. “Your father donated the armor, but it had occurred to me that one of our daughters should be able to fend off her own suitors.”
The lithe rider brought the horse to a prancing halt, then reached up and dragged off her helm, sending a torrent of raven curls cascading down her back.
An impish giggle bubbled from her lips. “I saw you kissing Papa, Mama. How disgusting!” She tilted her pert nose in the air, sniffing with disdain. “I shall never bestow my kisses on any unworthy man.”
Austyn grinned. “That’s my girl.”
Holly pinched him.
The rider wheeled the horse around and urged it into a canter. Wrapped in each other’s loving embrace, Austyn and Holly shook their heads in wry wonderment as they watched her gallop fearlessly around the outskirts of the curtain wall encompassing their home.
She had inherited her mother’s grace and sense of mischief along with her father’s jousting skills and stubborn courage. Several minstrels and a handful of poets had already pronounced the dark-haired, blue-eyed sprite the fairest lady in all of England. Holly was only too eager to relinquish the title to her beloved eldest daughter, who had been conceived twelve years ago in one of the softest, fluffiest feather beds at Tewksbury …
Lady Ivy of Gavenmore!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author TERESA MEDEIROS was recently chosen one of the Top Ten Favorite Romance Authors by Affaire de Coeur magazine and won the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Historical Love and Laughter. A former Army brat and registered nurse, she wrote her first novel at the age of twenty-one and has since gone on to win the hearts of critics and readers alike. The author of thirteen novels, Teresa makes her home in Kentucky with her husband and two cats. Readers can visit her website at www.teresamedeiros.com.
If you loved
Fairest of Them All,
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TERESA MEDEIROS
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A Kiss to Remember
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My darling son, my hands are shaking as I pen this letter.…
The devil had come to Devonbrooke Hall.
He hadn’t come in a coach drawn by four black horses, nor in a blast of brimstone, but in the honey-gold hair and angelic countenance of Sterling Harlow, the seventh duke of Devonbrooke. He strode through the marble corridors of the palatial mansion he had called home for the past twenty-one years, two brindle mastiffs padding at his heels with a leonine grace that matched his own.
He stayed the dogs with a negligent flick of one hand, then pushed open the study door and leaned against the frame, wondering just how long his cousin would pretend not to notice that he was there.
Her pen continued to scratch its way across the ledger for several minutes until a particularly violent t-crossing left an ugly splotch of ink on the page. Sighing with defeat, she glared at him over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles. “I can see that Napoleon failed to teach you any manners at all.”
“On the contrary,” Sterling replied with a lazy smile. “I taught him a thing or two. They’re saying that he abdicated after Waterloo just to get away from me.”
“Now that you’re back in London, I might consider joining him in exile.”
As Sterling crossed the room, his cousin held herself as rigid as a dressmaker’s dummy. Oddly enough, Diana was probably the only woman in London who did not seem out of place behind the leather-and-mahogany-appointed splendor of the desk. As always, she eschewed the pale pastels and virginal whites favored by the current crop of belles for the stately hues of forest green and wine. Her dark hair was drawn back in a simple chignon that accentuated the elegance of her widow’s peak.
“Please don’t sulk, cousin dear,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I can bear the world’s censure, but yours cuts me to the heart.”
“It might if you had one.” She tilted her face to receive his kiss, her stern mouth softening. “I heard you came back over a week ago. I suppose you’ve been staying with that rascal Thane again.”
Ignoring the leather wing chair in front of the desk, Sterling came around and propped one hip on the corner nearest his cousin. “He’s never quite forgiven you for swearing off your engagement, you know. He claims you broke his heart and cast cruel aspersions upon his character.”
Although Diana took care to keep her voice carefully neutral, a hint of color rose in her cheeks. “My problem wasn’t with your friend’s character. It was his lack of it.”
“Yet in all these years, neither one of you has ever married. I’ve always found that rather … curious.”
Diana drew off her spectacles, leveling a frosty gaze at him. “I’d rather live without a man than marry a boy.” As if realizing she’d revealed too much, she slipped her spectacles back on and busied herself with wiping the excess ink from the nib of her pen. “I’m certain that even Thane’s escapades must pale in comparison with your own. I hear you’ve been back in London long enough to have fought four duels, added the family fortunes of three unfortunate young bucks to your winnings, and broken an assortment of hearts.”
Sterling gave her a reproachful look. “When will you learn not to listen to unkind gossip? I only winged two fellows, won the ancestral home of another, and bruised a single heart, which turned out to be far less innocent than I’d been led to believe.”
Diana shook her head. “Any woman foolish enough to entrust her heart into your hands gets no more than she deserves.”
“You may mock me if you like, but now that the war is over, I’ve every intention of beginning my search for a bride in earnest.”
“That bit of news will warm the heart of every ambitious belle and matchmaking mama in the city. So tell me, what brought on this sudden yearning for home and hearth?”
“I’ll soon be requiring an heir, and unlike dear old Uncle Granville, God rest his black soul, I’ve no intention of purchasing one.”
A bone-chilling growl swelled through the room, almost as if Sterling’s mention of his uncle had invoked some unearthly presence
. He peered over the top of the desk to find the mastiffs peering beneath it, their tails quivering at attention.
Diana slowly leaned back in her chair to reveal the dainty white cat curled in her lap.
Sterling scowled. “Shouldn’t that be in the barns? You know I can’t abide the creatures.”
Giving Sterling a feline smile of her own, Diana stroked the cat beneath its fluffy chin. “Yes, I know.”
Sterling sighed. “Down, Caliban. Down, Cerberus.” As the dogs slunk over to the hearth rug to pout, he gave his cousin an exasperated look. “I don’t know why I bothered going off to war to fight the French when I could have stayed here and fought with you.”
In truth, they both knew why he’d gone.
It hadn’t taken Sterling long to discover why his uncle wasn’t averse to a show of spirit in a lad. It was because the old wretch took such brutal pleasure in caning it out of him. Sterling had stoically endured his uncle’s attempts to mold him into the next duke until he’d reached the age of seventeen and, like his father before him, shot up eight inches in as many months.
Sterling would never forget the cold winter night he had turned and ripped the cane from his uncle’s gnarled hands. The old man had quailed before him, waiting for the blows to begin falling.
He still couldn’t say whether it was contempt for his uncle or for himself that had driven him to snap the cane in two, hurl it at his uncle’s feet, and walk away. The old man had never laid a hand on him again. A few short months later, Sterling had left Devonbrooke Hall, rejecting the grand tour his uncle had planned in favor of a ten-year tour of Napoleon’s battlefields. His stellar military career was punctuated by frequent visits to London, during which he played as hard as he had fought.
“You might consider coming home to stay,” Diana said. “My father’s been dead for over six years now.”
Sterling shook his head, his smile laced with regret. “Some ghosts can never be laid to rest.”