Everlasting (23 page)

 
“When I return, my visit will likely be for a much longer period of time,” Cordelia assured her. “Until then, my dearest friend, take special care of yourself. You will need to, especially after what has just come to pass.”

 
“I shall surely miss not living close to you and your family,” Abrielle assured her. “’Twould now be a goodly jaunt to reach your home, but what is that distance between close friends?”

 
“Unfortunately, I fear such a visit will have to be seriously delayed now that you’re lady of this keep,” Cordelia replied as she heaved a sigh of lament. “As mistress of those bone-thin serfs, you must remain here until you have set into motion your rules for governing this place. Only then will you be able to leave and feel confident of doing so.” Eyeing her companion, she continued, “I needn’t remind you that you’re no longer under the authority of your stepfather. You are capable of setting the problems aright and extending authority to those who will closely adhere to your directives. I shall be expecting great changes to occur during my absence…which, of course, doesn’t give you much time, considering I shall likely be visiting you ere you even think of leaving here.”

 
Abrielle laughed. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

 
“I suffer no doubt that you have the fortitude to succeed in whatever task you undertake,” Cordelia stated confidently, and then heaved a sigh of lament. “I do wish Laird Cedric didn’t live so far away. ’Twould be nice if he lived close enough to visit us, too.”

 
“For shame, Cordelia,” Abrielle scolded in laughing amusement. “Why, the man is old enough to be your grandfather.”

 
The young woman raised her nose in the air and tossed her head, giving no heed to her friend’s reproof. “Me grandfather never looked half as handsome as himself. And there I be, talking like the man. Ta be sure, not even me own da looks as fit, fine, and trim as the old laird, Cedric Seabern.” In her normal voice, Cordelia continued softly, “And then there’s the son. He’s as handsome as his sire. ’Tis plain to see they both came from fine stock.”

 
Abrielle looked away in discomfort. “He is not a man I give much thought to.”

 
Cordelia frowned at her in surprise. “Nay? He does seem to be watching you rather closely.”

 
Abrielle could only shrug. “Far too many men are watching me closely today. He is just one of many. And he’s a Scotsman, too. Do you see how my kinsmen and neighbors regard him with suspicion? I’ve asked him to leave, and I hope he will do so soon.”

 
“Abrielle, I do not understand why you would do so, why you would act in a seemingly discourteous manner, for I have never seen you be other than kind and thoughtful,” Cordelia said slowly. “And if I but had time to question you…”

 
“There’s no reason for that,” Abrielle said, giving her friend a smile. “Do not worry for me. The life I thought of as bleak has surely taken a turn for the better.”

 
IN SPITE OF the necessity of being ensconced henceforth in her late bridegroom’s spacious chambers, Abrielle made a concerted effort to
thrust aside the haunting memories of the previous night and find some genuine peace for her weary mind as she burrowed deep beneath the covers. She had no real reason to fear her future—except for her next marriage, for marry she must, and soon. It was obvious to her that men would be vying for her and her fortune, a strange twist of fate for a woman who was all but ignored at court only months ago. But Abrielle was determined that this time, she’d earned the right to control her own fate. But how would her stepfather react to such a thing? He would want to see her safely with a man of whom he approved. Now that she had most of Desmond’s wealth in her possession, Vachel would likely seek to find her a spouse with a lofty title. It was what most fathers wanted for their daughters. In his case, she could imagine that, if truly motivated in that direction, such a desire might have arisen from his own frustration after his requests for a title had been rejected.

 
Still, if Vachel’s ambitions could be realized by the very thing he had earlier been seeking for himself, that being a worthy title for his own exceptional achievements, then he would likely be content. Vachel was an honorable knight who had served valiantly during foreign campaigns and, for that reason, was rightfully deserving of recognition from his king. Lord de Marlé had been honored by Henry for his heroism after returning home. As a reward, he had been given the vast area of land upon which to build this very keep. So might Vachel be honored if she were to remind His Majesty of her stepfather’s bravery and daring feats during those years he had loyally served beneath the king’s banner. The king just needed to be reminded that there was still a knight whose daring feats had long been forgotten. And now that Vachel had wealth of his own again, the title was more important than taking more money from the treasury.

 
Abrielle’s heart began to sink as she realized she might offend Henry if she were to plead for a few moments of his time to suggest the possibility of bestowing a worthy title upon her stepfather. But perhaps her newfound wealth would bring her more royal notice.

 
Glumly she stared at the flickering flames dancing atop the stout candles nestled within the heavy sconces, wondering if she should attempt to approach any of the lesser lords with her request. No, with so difficult a task, she’d have to find an individual who was permitted fairly often within His Majesty’s presence…

 
Of a sudden, Abrielle gasped and sat upright in bed as the realization dawned on her. In spite of her needless fretting, she was well acquainted with one who could perform such a feat without evoking the king’s ire. He was none other than Raven Seabern! It would be a fairly simple matter for the Scotsman to carry her missive to Henry when he was once again called upon to deliver a message to His Majesty from his own King David.

 
And how better to rid her own keep of the Scotsman’s presence, for he would not dare to return after she’d made clear he was no longer required. All these churning emotions in her breast would depart with him, and she would be able to logically think of who would make the best husband.

 
Snuggling back into the downy pillows, Abrielle smiled in satisfaction as she folded her hands atop the coverlet and stared at the embroidered scene on the canopy above her head. On the morrow, she would begin the day by composing a letter to His Majesty. Truly, if Vachel were given a title and lands as a reward for his own notable achievements, perhaps he would then feel satisfied with what he had managed to accomplish during his lifetime rather than be wont to find a nobleman who’d be interested in taking his wealthy stepdaughter to wife.

 
AFTER MASS AND breaking her fast, Abrielle went to the lady’s solar, her own private chamber. A weaving loom stood in one corner, and a long trestle table was laid out with servants’ livery in various stages of being cut and sewn. She sent the maidservants away and
waited for Nedda to bring Raven to her. She’d been over and over her little plan, searching for flaws, and found none. It was most clever, if she did say so herself, and she truly did not see how it could fail. She would rid herself of the Scot’s very disturbing presence and lessen her stepfather’s need for a noble son-in-law at one and the same time. So delighted was she that she was smiling when the maidservant announced Raven.

 
He stood just inside the door wearing what could only be a mask of composure, for which she could hardly blame him after their last meeting. When Nedda curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind her, his surprise was obvious.

 
As Abrielle stood cool and composed, he nodded politely. “Ye sent for me, my lady?”

 
“I did, sir. I desire your help with a personal matter. ’Tis a delicate task I have in mind, one to which you are perfectly suited.”

 
“You need but tell me what it is, my lady,” he said, walking toward her, “and it is done.”

 
Abrielle held up her hand, hoping she hid the alarm she felt as he drew nearer. “You need come no closer.”

 
“There are needs, and then there are needs,” he said softly, still moving, not stopping until he was but two feet from her. “What is this task with which I am so favored?”

 
She extended her arm between them as if she were gripping a metal shield rather than a parchment missive, rolled and tied with a ribbon and sealed with the wax imprint of the de Marlé house. “When next you have business with King Henry, please give this to him for me.”

 
He didn’t reach for it. “I have na idea when next I will be in London—or Normandy, for I think that is where your king resides for now.”

 
She frowned, for this was hardly the response she’d expected. “Surely you will need to be dispatched soon for King David.”

 
“Nay, he does not require me at present. I will be staying here.”

 
“But this missive must reach the king,” she countered, frustrated to find there was a flaw in her plan after all, namely that its success rested entirely on Raven’s acting as she’d thought he would.

 
“Then so it shall,” he declared, moving another half step closer to take it from her with a smile that belied the refusal to accede to her full desire that was expressed in his eyes.

 
Managing to squelch a sigh of relief, Abrielle offered a simple smile of appreciation. “Thank you.”

 
“One of my men is an excellent courier, as trustworthy as they come. I will send him forth without delay.” He watched her smile fade. “Or is my word na good enough for ye?”

 
“I know not how good your word is. I know nothing of you.” This time she realized her words were not reasonable, for she indeed knew he was a trusted royal courier, but his response to her plan had thrown her off course.

 
“Know this, and never doubt it,” he said solemnly, holding her gaze with the intensity of his own. “My word is my bond, and I pledge it ta ye. You can rest assured your missive is as good as in the king’s hand this very instant.”

 
“Thank you,” she said with resignation, wishing she could think of a legitimate way to force him to take the letter personally. It was hard to think clearly with him so close, looming over her, so big and male in this small chamber used only by women.

 
“And how do ye fare, Lady Abrielle?”

 
Distractedly, she said, “What do you mean?”

 
“Ye’re newly a widow, with many decisions ta make. I imagine the responsibilities are vast.”

 
“Truth be told, only one person dares to threaten me at the moment,” she said pointedly, her hands on her hips, leaving him no doubt to whom she referred.

 
“Since it is nowhere in me ta threaten a woman, I can only think it must be your peace of mind I threaten.”

 
“Perhaps intimidation is a better word. Do you seek to intimidate me, Scotsman?”

 
“So ye feel intimidated, Abrielle?”

 
“Please do not call me by my Christian name alone, and no, I do not feel the least bit intimidated by you,” she lied.

 
“Good. I prefer a fair contest.” She wasn’t aware of him leaning toward her until he straightened and it was suddenly easier to breathe. “If ever I do make ye feel threatened or intimidated, ye can be certain ye are misunderstanding my concern for your welfare.”

 
“You are too concerned, sir, you and every other man who thinks to win a quick fortune.”

 
“And a beauteous bride,” he added, his smile quick and disarming. “I canna speak for any other, but ’tis the only prize I seek.”

 
His honeyed words elicited an exasperated groan from her, and she pointed to the door. “Please excuse me now. I’m sure you can well understand how pressed I am in light of recent events.”