Dirick had not been far from her mind in the last days, though she’d only seen him briefly when they met upon the road from London. She’d angered and embarrassed him in front of his men and her men, yet he’d done naught but give her a brief, pointed warning.
She sighed and broke a twig from the forsythia. Fingering the soft, tender blossoms, she closed her eyes. In two days’ time, she’d belong to him…and though she’d fought the idea of marriage long enough, somehow she’d come to accept—nay, she must be truthful if only to herself—come to welcome that she would be Dirick’s wife.
A pleasant shiver spiraled down to her belly, fluttering and heating her insides. Her mouth became dry at the thought of his lips, his hands and that great, muscular body against hers, touching her, joining with her. The heat she’d come to associate with Dirick pooled in her middle, surging to her womanly place, causing her breasts to tingle, and she drew a deep breath.
She suddenly became aware that she was not alone.
Her eyes flew open and she saw a page standing there, just off to the side, as if waiting for her to acknowledge him. He held a silver goblet encrusted with rubies and sapphires, and when her attention rested upon him, he gave a short bow, proffering the cup.
“My lady Maris, I am sent by your husband with this gift to quench your thirst. ”
Her face heated at the possibility that Dirick was nearby and had seen her mooning over him. When she looked about, however, she saw that no one else was in the vicinity, and she returned her gaze to the page. “Is he not to join me?” She tried to submerge the pang of disappointment.
The page shook his head. “Nay, lady. The lord said only that ’tis a gift to you, his bride, and that he looks to the day you shall become one. ”
Maris took the goblet, admiring its weight. “Thank you, and you may thank my lord for his thoughtfulness as well. ”
The page bowed, turned, and walked sedately from the courtyard, leaving Maris alone with the bees.
Ruby wine glistened in its silver cup, and she took a sip before resting it on the bench beside her. Mayhap Dirick, too, was willing to put their differences behind them as their wedding day drew near. It would be more than she could hope that he would welcome their marriage for more than the riches and lands she would bring him.
Another sigh escaped her lips. She could not deny it any longer: she loved him.
Though he caused her ire to rise at their every meeting, he was never far from her thoughts…and the memory of his touch lived in her dreams.
The soft rustle of someone’s approach brought Maris’s attention from the goblet beside her. Without looking up, she knew it was Dirick.
“My lady. ” He greeted her solemnly, almost warily.
She raised her face to him and was immediately ensnared in his piercing grey-blue gaze. “My lord. I did not think you would join me. ”
He looked at her, tilting his head to one side as if surprised as her reaction. “The ladies told me you’d come for some air. I thought to sit with you for a time, as I’ve been otherwise occupied with the king for the last days. ”
Her heart leapt. He had sent her a gift, and then he’d sought her out. “Please have a seat. ”
“Our betrothal contracts have been finished,” he began, sinking onto the bench next to her.
A sense of disappointment settled in her middle. He’d not come to be with her for any other reason than to talk of their contract, and of the lands she would bring him. “Verily they meet your approval,” she replied coolly, refusing to look at him or his gift, “and that of the king. ”
She felt him nod next to her. “Aye. They are more than fair, and follow the wishes of your father. ”
“My father?”
“In the missive he sent to the king, he repudiated your betrothal with Victor. He also named you as his heir, though you are not of his blood, and—”
“What?” Maris turned to him, shock numbing her. “What did you say?”
“You did not know?” Dirick’s face showed his concern.
“That I am not of my father’s blood? Nay! Nay, I did not!” She felt lightheaded, lost, paralyzed. “How can that be?”
He reached for her hand, and the warmth of his fingers over her suddenly icy ones was welcome. “I am sorry that this is a surprise. Your father stated that he married your mother though he knew she was with child, but because he was unable to father a child, he chose to accept her babe as his heir. ’Twas the agreement he made with King Stephen. ” The breeze ruffled his hair, tossing a wave onto his forehead as he gazed at her.
“Who is my father?”
He stroked her hand. “I do not know that, my lady. He did not say in the missive. ”
“Jesù,” she breathed. “And that is why he and my mother never had another child. ” Tears dampened her eyes and an empty, bereft feeling settled with her heart. “He was my father, though I am not of his loins. I do not care that another man sired me. ”