Sanctuary of Roses (37 page)

“The king will not harm you for protecting
her as you did. And if he should try, I do believe Eleanor would
stay his hand.” He kissed her on the cheek, amazed at the strength
his little nun had shown over the last month of trial. “There is
the matter of the land of Tricourten and whether you shall remain
its lady…but I’ve wealth enough that should the king decide that
you will not inherit, ’twill be no hardship.”

“Aye, Gavin, and truth to tell, I should not
care if I ever were to set foot upon the lands of Tricourten
again.”

“You will not, if you do not wish, my love.
But I should not disavow the rents here, should the king allow us
to keep the lands. I shall speak with him on it, my lady. My
love.”

Content with his response, Madelyne glanced
over his shoulder and what she saw made her smile. “You may beg my
forgiveness now, my lord,” she said, nodding in that direction.

Gavin followed her gaze, twisting to look
behind him, and saw Tricky and Clem entwined in a passionate
embrace. He returned to his own love and gave her a rueful smile.
“I beg your forgiveness, my lady…for doubting the prediction of
your maid—it appears that she will have her way and her man.”

He looked at her closely and saw, again, the
bruises on her face and the streaks of blood dried on her cheek,
and realized what she must have experienced at the hands of the
madman. The pace of his heart picked up speed, and a shudder rushed
through him. “Madelyne, my love….can you forgive me for letting
this happen?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him.
“Gavin, love, please do not speak of apologies to me any longer.
You have a penchant for speaking them much too oft! Save them for
when you neglect the anniversary of our wedding or forget to bring
me a new herbal plant when you travel to London…But for now, just
kiss me.”

Epilogue

A lone knight approached the ivy-covered
walls of Lock Rose Abbey.

Dismounting from his horse, he raised a
mailed fist to pull on the bell rope, remembering the day over a
decade before when he’d done the same. The low, rolling sound of
the tolling bell rumbled through the abbey, reverberating through
the silent forest.

Moments later, the robed figure of an old
woman, stooped and slow, approached the gate. “Yes?”

“I bring word to Anne de Belgrume that her
husband is dead.”

There was a pause, then the gate swung open
silently, belying its age and the rust-colored bars. “You may wait
here.”

He took a seat on the bench in the center of
a rose garden, after tying his mount to an oak tree.

When Anne de Belgrume stepped into his line
of vision moments later, his heart stopped. She was as beautiful as
he remembered—moreso, for the years had been gentle with her. He
still could not believe that she was alive…having heard the story
of her death when Madelyne went to court.

“Anne.” He rose and reached his hands out
toward her.

“Seton?” Gladness overwhelmed her voice and
she rushed toward him.

Nothing had ever felt so good as when he
folded her into his arms, heedless of the chain mail that that
pressed into her. “Anne…oh, my beautiful one…I did not know if I’d
ever hold you thus again.”

She pulled back to look up at him. “Is
Fantin truly dead? Am I free?”

He nodded. “Aye, struck down by the husband
of your daughter. Our daughter.” He looked closely at her. “You did
not tell her.”

“Nay. I did not wish to burden her with that
knowledge. Mayhap ’twas wrong, but I believed if Fantin should have
learned it, he would have killed her. At the least, if he believed
she was his daughter, he wouldn’t harm her.” She reached to touch
his face, and the warmth of her hand stopped his heart.

“Aye. Our child…wed with a good man, safe
now from your husband…and you are set free from
this…sanctuary…should you wish to leave.” His words were a question
that he’d waited a lifetime to have answered.

“Leave? With you?” Anne breathed. “Aye,
Seton. Always. Forever.”

___________

Read on for a sneak peek
of
Colleen Gleason’s
A Whisper of Rosemary
,

featuring Bernard’s
brother
Dirick
and
Lady Maris of
Langumont…

Lord Merle nodded at his guest, then turned
to his daughter. “Maris, will you not show Sir Dirick where the
men-at-arms lay their pallets? And any other comforts he may
need.”

Maris stood reluctantly, dismay by her
father’s innocent command. The last thing she wanted was to be
alone with Sir Dirick. She’d felt his attention returning to her
again and again during the evening, and had been unable to ignore
the interest in his stare. Try as she might, she’d been unable to
keep her mouth closed and her mind on her food—as her mother had
admonished her many a time. Nay, if the man was to wed her, he’d
know from the beginning that she had her own thoughts and opinions,
and an interest in the world beyond Langumont’s walls.

“Of course, Papa,” she said in a voice that
disguised her discomfort.

Obviously, Sir Dirick did not miss her
mislike of the situation, for as soon as Merle and Allegra were out
of earshot, he said, “Lady Maris, I am perfectly able to find my
own pallet.”

“Nay, ’tis my father’s wish. I should not
put a guest out,” she smiled at him, swallowing the resentment she
felt for being pressed into a marriage she did not want. In all
honesty, it was not this man’s fault—and he seemed pleasant enough
now that he was not ahorse. “Have you bathed?”

“Nay,” he shook his head, surprise flashing
in his gray-blue eyes.

“May I offer you a warm bath before I direct
you to your pallet?” she asked. “Gustave will bring the water. I
won’t take long, and you will soon be for bed.”

“You?” Those eyes turned on her with a
sudden intensity, and he looked at her for a moment, a very faint
smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.

Maris’s throat went dry and she nearly
stepped away from him and the unexpected stirrings in her middle.
The sudden image of this man, devoid of his chausses and tunic,
settled into a tub that would hardly fit his large body, filled her
mind. His dark hair, which now curled wildly about his face and
jaw, would be sleek and dripping, his broad shoulders bare and
steam rising from dark skin—

Maris bit her lip as her cheeks flushed with
warmth. What was wrong with her? She’d never had lewd thoughts over
such a mundane chore. “Aye, of course,” she managed to say in
response to the question she’d nearly forgotten.

“Nay,” Sir Dirick rumbled after what seemed
like forever. His smooth, low voice carried easily to her ears,
even over the noise of the servants as they cleared off the tables
and stacked the benches. “I do not believe I should put myself
through such torture.”

Her heart in her throat and her mind
whirling—unsure as to what he meant by such a comment—Maris spun
away to hide her discomfiture. “Then if you would follow me,” she
murmured and blindly began to make her way between the
nearly empty tables, anxious to be rid of her charge.

As they approached a group of rowdy knights,
Maris paused, resting her hand on the shoulder of a burly,
red headed one. They quieted almost as if she’d commanded it.
“Sir Raymond, how fares your shoulder? Is the pain lessening?”

The man’s face nearly matched the color of
his hair when he turned it up to look at her. “Aye, my lady. The
pain is nearly gone.” He moved his arm as if to demonstrate.

“You will come to the herbary on the morrow
and I will check it again,” she ordered. It wouldn’t do for her
father’s best man to have an injured arm. “The last I dressed a
wound for you, ’twas only once that you came to me—and look what
has happened to it because of your carelessness!”

He grinned up at her, “Aye, my lady. On the
morrow, I will allow you to torture me yet again. ’Tis only because
your touch is so sweet that I can sit through the pain,” he teased
in the manner of a big brother.

Maris, who’d grown up with Raymond pulling
at her pigtails and chasing her through the keep with spiders,
planted hands on her hips as the other men laughed. “Aye, and you
should keep such sweetness on your tongue, or I will put you
through more tortures if you spread tales. Did I not warn you that
some day you would pay for the frog in my bed?”

There wasn’t a hint of guile in her actions,
Dirick thought as he watched. She had no concept of what she did to
a man, with those teasing golden green eyes and vibrant
smile—particularly the red-headed knight, whose besotted expression
was not quite brotherly. Whatever reason she’d been in the village
at night, it hadn’t been for a tryst—he was now certain of it.

Dirick’s skin still prickled at the memory
of her innocent offer to bathe him, and he wondered if her father
knew she’d made such a gesture. A sudden streak of heat shot
through him at the thought of her scratched and stained hands
soaping his body…but he thrust the thought away immediately. He’d
do well to find a woman anight. Mayhaps one of the maidservants
would oblige him.

Not for the first time that evening, he
wondered why he’d heard nothing of the beautiful heiress of
Langumont—from either Bernard or the court. Certainly a
well landed maid as comely as Maris Lareux wouldn’t escape the
notice of the unmarried, land-greedy barons at court.

Lady Maris’s voice broke into Dirick’s
thoughts as she led him around into the area reserved for the
men-at-arms and other important visitors. It was a large room,
cordoned off from the rest of the hall by a heavy oaken door—much
nicer than many of the men’s quarters he’d slept in throughout
England and France. A fire roared in the corner, and a serf slumped
against the wall, snoring, with a stack of wood within reach.

“You may place your pallet anywhere you
like, Sir Dirick,” Maris offered. She handed him a pile of
blankets, more than generous enough to keep one warm—especially
with a blazing fire in the same room.

“Thank you, my lady.” He took the
bundle.

She paused for a moment as if contemplating
her next words, and when she spoke, a small grin tickled the corner
of her enticing mouth.

Her words, however, when they came,
eliminated any hint of innocence. “Papa bade me see to your
comforts. If your need is as great as ’twas yestereve, I will send
a woman to you.”

Dirick felt his face flush hot as he ground
his teeth together in an attempt to maintain his dignity. Words
escaped him, and before he could gather his wits, the little minx
took his silence for dissent and whirled away down the dark
corridor.

He could only stare after her, trying to
decide whether he wanted to murder her or kiss her.

excerpt from
A Whisper of Rosemary

© 2011 Colleen Gleason, Inc.

Colleen Gleason
is the
international best-selling author of the Gardella Vampire
Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy series about a female
vampire hunter who lives during the time of Jane Austen. Her first
novel,
The Rest Falls Away
, was released to acclaim in 2007.
Since then, she has published fifteen novels with New American
Library, MIRA Books, and HarperCollins (writing as Joss Ware). Her
books have been translated into seven languages and are available
worldwide.

She loves to hear from readers, and can be
contacted through her website:

http://www.colleengleason.com

or via Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/colleen.gleason.author

Other Titles by Colleen Gleason

The Gardella Vampire Chronicles

The Rest Falls Away

Rises the Night

The Bleeding Dusk

When Twilight Burns

As Shadows Fade

Victoria Gardella: Vampire
Hunter
(short ebook only)

The Regency Draculia

The Vampire Voss

The Vampire Dimitri

The Vampire Narcise

Siberian Treasure

The Medieval Herb Garden Series

Lavender Vows

Sanctuary of Roses

A Whisper of Rosemary

Writing as Joss Ware:

(
http://www.josswarebooks.com
)

The Envy Chronicles

Beyond the Night

Embrace the Night Eternal

Abandon the Night

Night Betrayed