Everlasting (48 page)

 
“She did!” Abrielle cried indignantly. “I am here, Thurstan, and I yet thrive!”

 
His head hung for a moment, all of his plans falling into ruin around him. But he gathered the last of his strength and shouted, “You’re a traitor, Abrielle of Harrington!”

 
His refusal to use her married name made her flinch.

 
“You’ll never be able to return to the country of your birth,” he added savagely, falling heavily to his knees.

 
“Your words mean nothing to me!” she cried. “Raven is my husband, and by the blessings of God and king and my own woman’s heart, to him I’m bound.”

 
As she looked into Raven’s beloved face, rain began to fall, dripping down his skin like tears of joy. In the distance, she heard the cheers of their tired people.

 
“I will honor my own heart,” she continued, still letting her voice rise in ringing tones, “because not only are nations at stake in these terrible times, but families. I owe my husband the honor of my loyalty.”

 
Raven put his hands on her waist, pulling her against him. “I love ye, Abrielle,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I’ve loved ye
from the moment I first saw ye standing so poised and brave at the king’s court. I love ye enough ta trust that together we can solve whatever life offers us. Ye have my heart, lass, and I can only pray ye trust me with your own, to keep and cherish it forever.”

 
With a glad cry, she threw her arms around his neck and clung, lifting her face to the heavens, letting the rain mix with her tears. “I do love you, Raven, my husband. I love you for your honor and your courage—and your persistence, for I did not make it easy on you. I am so sorry it took me so long to know and understand the man you truly are.”

 
They kissed deeply and smiled at each other and kissed some more, and with each meeting of their lips gave a fresh promise to each other for a lifetime of happiness.

 
The rain quenched the fires, and as Thurstan breathed his last, the rest of his men deserted him to flee into the forest. The threat was over, and the Seabern family could begin anew.

 
That night, when the wounded had been treated and the roof temporarily repaired, Raven and Abrielle shared the precious news of their unborn baby. Both families congratulated each other and were wont to toast the young couple. But Raven and Abrielle saw little of this, for they were staring into each other’s eyes and seeing the wondrous future.

EPILOGUE

 
Neighbors from far and wide were invited to Laird Seabern’s keep to enjoy a hearty feast and meet his numerous guests, all in celebration of his son’s marriage. Several young Scotsmen closely eyed the only available maiden among the visitors and could not easily ignore the effervescent joy that seemed to radiate from the beauty. Her parents were especially amiable as well, but as much as the hopeful bachelors sought to make the lady’s acquaintance and impress her with stories of their own derring-do, much to their amazement, she seemed more inclined to linger in the presence of the elderly laird and listen to his stories.

 
Little more than a month later, these same Scotsmen were wont to shake their heads in utter bemusement over the nuptials taking place between the comely young lass and the elderly laird within the wee church in the glen. Why, the elder was more than twice their own age, they were wont to whisper among themselves in amazement. If this had been an arranged match, surely when she repeated her wedding vows her elation would have been greatly dimmed by the morose circumstances surrounding her marriage. But they saw no hint of the
possibility that she was enduring any dismay or regret. If anything, the lass seemed unusually elated and, for the better part of the evening, disinclined to be separated from the aging, yet still very handsome laird. As for the groom, he proved vigorous enough dancing to the pipes that many of the younger lads who sought to leave him gasping for breath had difficulty keeping stride with him.

 
Reginald evidenced his own delight over his daughter’s marriage by presenting a dowry that staggered the imagination of the younger Scots who attended the wedding. They were just as amazed by the dower the groom gave his lordship, a piece of land adjoining the laird’s holdings, large enough to suffice for the building of a grand manor.

 
“Should ye ever consider becoming my neighbor in the not-too-distant future,” Cedric announced with a chuckle.

 
A wide grin stretched across Reginald’s lips as he inclined his head in appreciation. “Isolde will now be content, having the beginnings of a home wherein she can nurture our grandchildren.”

 
The hearty laughter of the two older men filled the hall as the younger bachelors glanced at one another in growing bemusement. The latter group was more inclined to think the elder Scot incapable of siring offspring. After all, he had only produced one son in all the years he had been married to his first wife.

 
“Our first will bear the name Reginald,” Cedric declared, raising a tankard in toast to his friend. “And if mayhap it be a girl, then I’ll be giving the honors ta the Lady Isolde.”

 
All lifted their drinks in toast.

 
In a quiet corner of the great hall, Abrielle and Raven rested from the dancing, content to sit together and watch quietly. Vachel and Elspeth sat with them, and all were in a good humor, at peace with the world.

 
Elspeth smiled fondly at her daughter. “Your happiness pleases me, my dear. I prayed for this for so long.”

 
To his wife, Vachel said, “Then when we have to return home in
the coming months, can I trust that your heart will not break over parting with your daughter, however briefly?”

 
“You cannot be discussing leaving,” Abrielle said, squeezing her mother’s hand. “We have only just arrived, and you promised you would not leave until the babe was born and it was safe to travel.”

 
“And we will keep that vow, of course,” Vachel replied. “And we might have to remain to see our own grandchild born.”

 
The women grinned at each other.

 
Then Vachel glanced at Raven and cleared his throat. “Daughter, we’ll need to discuss the management of your estate while you’re in Scotland.”

 
Abrielle waved a hand. “You may discuss that with my husband, and don’t think that will bother me. I trust him to see to it.”

 
Raven frowned and slightly shook his head at Vachel, but Abrielle, focused on her husband, noticed immediately.

 
“And what was that for?” she asked, looking between them.

 
Vachel gave a deep sigh. “Now, Raven, there’s no keeping this from her.”

 
“What?” she demanded, her nerves growing taut.

 
“See, you’ll upset her by withholding the truth,” Vachel continued. When Raven only shook his head in surrender, Vachel turned to his stepdaughter. “My dear, it is you who must make the decisions about the de Marlé keep. You are its owner.”

 
“But surely it was the only dowry I could offer to Raven.”

 
“And he refused it,” Vachel said.

 
She stared up at Raven, soft lips parted in surprise and growing embarrassment. “But…I thought…Raven, every man should have a dowry from his bride.”

 
“But I didna need one,” he answered. “If I’d have taken it, ye’d always have had a suspicion that ’twas why I married ye.”

 
She bowed her head. “Oh, Raven, I feel like a fool.”

 
“Nay, my love. Just talk ta your stepfather and tell him what’s ta be done with your estate.”

 
She took a deep breath. “Vachel, as long as you will see that the serfs are taught skills to benefit the keep as well as themselves, then I gladly yield that task to you, along with the bulk of my fortune, until I need it for my own family. In the interim, I shall expect a full accounting at least four times a year. Of the profit, you may take a suitable portion as payment for your services. Are you agreeable?”

 
Vachel and Raven glanced at each other in surprise at the knowledge Abrielle displayed, but Elspeth was unsurprised, and she could not resist a smug smile at her husband.

 
Vachel had done as much with the wealth he had given to his father and had reaped nothing in return, since the fortune had been bestowed in its entirety upon his older brother after the elder’s death. “Five of every hundred that I manage to earn above your present total would be adequate.”

 
“Ten would be better,” Abrielle replied forthwith, seeking to assure him that he could expect her to be fairer than his own kin.

 
After clearing the hard knot of emotion that had formed in his throat, Vachel said, “You are being far too generous, Abrielle, and I’m honored by your trust. I shan’t disappoint you.”

 
Abrielle looked at Raven, feeling so happy and full of peace. Their most serious mistakes concerning each other were behind them—not that there would be no disagreements in the future between two such stubborn people.

 
She was gazing into his eyes, letting her love show, when Raven said, “Come with me to our chambers, my love. I have something to show you.”

 
Blushing, she excused herself to her amused parents and, after waving to a blissful Cordelia, followed Raven. Once inside their chambers, she came to a stop, seeing a small wooden cradle before the hearth.

 
She inhaled swiftly, feeling tears trembling on her lashes. “Oh, Raven,” she whispered, hurrying forward to touch the smooth wood, see the intricate carvings of sun and moon and stars on the headboard.

 
“I’ve been making it in secret for our child,” he said softly, his hand on her shoulder. “I wanted it ta be a surprise. But now I can bring it inta the light of day, just like ye’ve brought my love, where it’s flourishing. I canna imagine my life without ye, lass.”

 
Her smile was tremulous. Together they knelt beside the cradle, the fire glowing on them softly, and thought about the babe in her womb and the love with which they’d bring it into the world.

 
About the Author

 
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, creator of the modern historical romance, died July 6, 2007 in Minnesota. She had just turned 68. Her attorney, William Messerlie, said that she died after a long illness.

 
Born on June 3, 1939 in Alexandria, Louisiana, Mrs. Woodiwiss was the youngest of eight siblings. She long relished creating original narratives, and by age six was telling herself stories at night to help herself fall asleep. At age 16, she met U.S. Air Force Second Lieutenant Ross Woodiwiss at a dance, and they married the following year. She wrote her first book in longhand while living at a military outpost in Japan.

 
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