Bartholomew shook his head sadly, turning from the bloody scene of the boar’s demise and giving Dirick his full attention now that the hunt was over. “He was naught more than a boy when his papa and mama jumped to their death from a tower at Gladwythe. ”
“He found them?”
“Aye. They’d jumped together, holding hands it looked, and landed thusly in the bailey at Gladwythe. ”
Dirick stared at him for a moment, a chill creeping down his back. The pieces slipped into place and he felt the blood drain from his face.
“Ludingdon, are you well?” asked Bartholomew as if from very far away.
“I must go. ” Dirick wheeled Nick around, his heart slamming in his chest. He drove his heels into Nick’s sides, leaning forward over the stallion’s neck, urging the horse on. “Tell the king I’ve found him!” he shouted over his shoulder as horse and man thundered through the brush.
He felt the saddle slip as Nick leapt over a tree trunk, and before he could think, its girth loosened, then gave way and suddenly, he was falling, falling.
His last thought before he hit the ground was that he had been sabotaged.
Maris opened the heavy gold box and gasped, sinking onto her bed.
“’Tis beauteous!” she exclaimed, pulling a rope of fine gold links from the small chest. Topazes and emeralds dangled randomly from the necklet that would wrap around her neck at least thrice. Each jewel was set in an ornate, filigreed hasp, each one different and a work of art in its own right.
“’Tis a wondrous bride’s gift,” said Madelyne with a twinkle in her eye. “Lord Dirick is a generous groom. ”
“Aye. ” Maris looked down at the small chest that rested in her lap. The box itself was a lovely gift, and along with the bejeweled necklet it held bespoke of the value Dirick placed upon his bride. She could not hold back a smile of pure joy. Mayhap he did care for her as much as he desired her lands.
She poured the gold rope back into the chest. Delivered by one of her own men from Langumont, the box had been tied with a golden ribbon and sprigs of rosemary, lemon verbena, and violets. Maris sniffed the small purple flowers and placed them, along with the herbs, on top of the necklet, and closed the chest. Her stomach fluttered and she smiled again.
Tonight, she would lie with Dirick, would feel his lips and hands over her body, would mate with him and feel his skin next to hers, would become his. Anticipation sent a shiver down her spine.
Today, she would marry the man she loved.
The fear and hesitancy were gone, and in their place was comfort, love, and happiness that she would belong to Dirick, with Dirick, and would live with him, bear his children and rule their lands at his side. Maris took a deep breath, hardly able to credit the fact that she was welcoming—even embracing—the event of marriage after having fought against it for so long.
An urgent knocking on the door drew her from her woolgathering, and Maris and the other ladies watched expectantly as a maidservant went to answer it.
“My Lady Maris,” Michael d’Arcy nearly burst into the room when the door opened. “There has been an accident! ’Tis your betrothed husband!”
Maris jumped from her stool. “What is it? Is he badly hurt?” Her heart lod
ged in her throat, and she was dimly aware that Madelyne was drawing a cloak around her shoulders.
Michael shook his head soberly. “Maris, I do not know. They are summoning the physicians to him, for he fell from his horse during the hunt. They are afraid to move him. You must come with me. ”
“Of course. ” She moved quickly toward the door, trying to quiet the tension and fear thrumming through her veins. “I must fetch the medicines from my chamber,” she told Michael as they started down the hall.
“Nay, there is no time. He has called for you to come to his side, and ’tis best that you come with me now…Maris, ’tis no small hurt, and he wishes to speak with you. ”
The fear in her middle grew and she found herself hardly able to breathe. To lose love so soon after finding it would be more than she could bear…especially coming so closely upon the heels of her father’s death.
Maris clenched her fist in the folds of her skirt as she was propelled along by Michael’s very firm grip. She would not think about that possibility. She would not.
At the stables, she was faintly surprised to find Hickory saddled and ready, with Victor holding the reins. “Come, lady, before ’tis too late,” he urged, helping her into the saddle.
Michael mounted his own horse and nudged Maris and Victor ahead of him through the bailey. They trotted quickly through the entryway, over the drawbridge, and away from the keep.
Bon de Savrille emerged from a corner of the bailey just after Maris and her escort passed by. His face was creased with concern as he hurried into the stable and selected a horse under the watchful eye of the marshal.
“Hurry, man,” he demanded, looking in the direction in which she’d disappeared.
At last, he was given the reins and he vaulted into the saddle. With a loud “Hah!” he whipped the stallion and thundered through the bailey and across the drawbridge, following the path of the two men and the woman he loved.