Everlasting (2 page)

 
But Cordelia only laughed and slyly whispered, “You cannot fool me, my dear Abrielle. You are not the only woman looking at that handsome Scotsman, for every last one of us here by now knows that his name is Raven Seabern, and he is an emissary for his majesty, King David of Scotland, an ambassador for his country to this Norman court.”

 
“There is a Scotsman at the head table?” Abrielle asked innocently, then gave a faint smile when Cordelia only rolled her eyes and covered her mouth against escaping mirth. “Cordelia, if there is any man not even worth thinking about, it is one such as he. King Henry may have married King David’s sister, and given rise to the peace between our two kingdoms, but you and I both know the deep resentment experienced by our own kinsman in the north. Terrible deeds have been done in the name of both countries on the borderlands, and both you and I are well aware that people do not easily forget.”

 
Cordelia cocked her head, her eyes impish with delight. “Oh, I
don’t know, Abrielle. Can a woman not look at a handsome man and forget where he comes from? Do not a pleasant brogue and a masculine smile make for a warm summer’s evening?”

 
Abrielle sighed at her friend’s playfulness, but inside she experienced a feeling of unease that would not go away. Would tonight’s festivities be interrupted by the arguing of prideful men? She saw more than one of her father’s neighbors here to honor him, yet giving the head table narrow-eyed looks of anger that could be directed only at the Scotsman.

 
“Cordelia, I cannot even imagine taking such light pleasure in something so serious,” Abrielle said, leaning into her friend so that their parents could not hear. “Even looking at him makes me feel disloyal. There is strife enough in our land betwixt Saxon and Norman; I need not marry someone who might well add to the tension felt by many.”

 
“Did I say anything about marriage?” Cordelia asked.

 
Abrielle frowned at her, then reluctantly began to laugh. “Nay, you did not. And this only goes to show you that I have been too deep in my cares. Tonight is for enjoyment.”

 
“Then enjoy it, Abrielle,” Cordelia replied softly, touching her friend’s arm. “You of all women deserve it.”

 
As the dinner was served, the two young women gaped in awe at the stuffed peacocks carried over the servants’ heads as they paraded about the hall, still looking like live birds floating in a river. Every course of the meal brought such satisfaction to their mouths and stomachs. They ate more than they spoke, and Abrielle felt a nervous tension thrum through her for the rest of the evening’s ceremonies. They could not be certain what would happen, and for the first time since Weldon’s death, she felt full of possibilities. She glanced at her mother and stepfather, saw their own hope in the loving looks they gave each other. If Norman and Saxon could come together as they had, then she had to believe that there was a chance for her own happiness.

 
To her surprise, she could hear much of what went on at the high table, and Cordelia nudged her when a nobleman asked Raven Seabern how he had come by his given name. The deep, gravelly tones of the Scot’s voice caused the strangest of shivers across Abrielle’s flesh. She knew she should not listen in on the conversation of others, but he so openly played to the crowd that he obviously meant his story to be heard. His voice was sonorous, its rough burr evoking the fierce, wild land from which he’d sprung. She had no choice but to listen.

 
“When my mother was expecting me, she awoke in the middle of the night ta the sound of pecking on her window. It persisted, it did, until she got out of bed and opened the shutters. In came a raven, as bold as ye please, and cocked his head at my mother.” Slipping into a deep brogue, he quoted her. “‘Saints alive,’ said she, ‘ye act as if ye belong here,’ whereupon the bird flew out and returned a moment later with a tiny branch he had plucked from my mother’s rosebush. Considering that my da hadn’t returned home, she was a-frettin’ he may’ve been thrown from his horse or waylaid by brigands. She had a servant hitch up a cart and drive her along the lane that my da usually took upon his return home. The raven flew ahead, he did, and ta my mother’s surprise, he led them straight ta my da, who’d been crossing the river when the planks fell through the bridge, dropping his steed inta the chilly water and himself firmly betwixt two rocks. My da was nearly frozen from the crisp winds, but our servant pulled him free and started rubbing some life back into his limbs. Thereafter, my mother found good reason ta be thankful for ravens, and decided when I was born ta name me Raven in appreciation.”

 
Everyone within hearing chuckled, including Abrielle, but her soft laugh caught in her throat when, as though hearing her laugh through the chorus of others, Raven suddenly swung his gaze to her and held her in its dark blue depths. Suddenly she was the captive of those fathomless midnight eyes, and while doubtless those around them went on breathing and speaking normally, Abrielle felt as if she and
the Scot were alone in the world. Though ’twas most definitely not a feeling to which she was accustomed, some burgeoning feminine instinct deep within her recognized the fiery gleam in his eyes and understood that he felt the same.

 
“So what happened to the raven in the story?” someone called out, as from a great distance it seemed to Abrielle. Still, it was enough to break the spell.

 
“Oh, my mother had him cooked for her vittles the very next day,” Raven replied, still holding her gaze.

 
Abrielle’s jaw dropped in astonishment, causing Henry’s hearty laughter to reverberate throughout the room. The king could not have helped noticing where Raven had been looking and she found herself the object of the royal stare. His Majesty slapped a hand upon the planks of the table. “The lad’s teasing you, my lady, never fear.”

 
Abrielle now found herself the focus of even more inquisitive stares. At her side, her mother glanced at her with interest, and her stepfather, on Elspeth’s far side, gave her a frown. She knew he was distracted and wished nothing to go wrong this evening.

 
Abrielle could see the sudden way that Raven’s smile changed from open humor to something more guarded, and she was uncertain of its meaning. Had he, too, realized that she was not one for a man such as he? He clasped a lean hand against the folds of plaid that lay across his black-garbed chest and spoke with a more cautious air. “Forgive my teasing, my lady. The raven stayed with us and was as watchful over my da as a dog over a bone. We never knew the reason for the bird’s attachment, excepting my da had a twin who drowned a year earlier. He had a raven that would fly alongside his cart. In any case, the bird stayed with us until he died of old age. So ye see, with the proper incentive, even a bird of prey can be tamed.”

 
Abrielle was relieved when he deliberately turned away from her to respond to something spoken softly by the king. But beneath her relief was an uneasiness she couldn’t quite place.

 
At last the meal was over and the king rose to his full height, presiding over his silent hall. Hundreds of noblemen, knights, and their families waited for what the king would announce. Abrielle saw that Vachel took her mother’s hand and squeezed gently, as if in support and courage.

 
The king spoke ringingly of the great deeds of the Saxons who fought in his name, especially honoring Berwin of Harrington, leaving Abrielle feeling proud of her late father. Her mother had tears in her eyes, and Vachel, unlike other men, showed no jealousy. He obviously loved Elspeth enough to share her with her memories. At last the king came to what affected Abrielle’s new family and their future.

 
“There are thousands of men, both Norman and Saxon, who fought in our name against the Infidels overrunning the Holy Land. The crown extends its deepest gratitude and wishes that every man could have every reward due, but we must balance the good of several men against the good of an entire kingdom. England must remain strong, and her treasury with her. So for now our soldiers have our humblest gratitude and the reward of knowing their service was invaluable. Tonight let us celebrate their accomplishments in song and dance.”

 
The king raised his hand and his minstrels began to play a rousing song on pipe and lute, but Abrielle sat numb, full of disbelief. The king’s treasury could no longer afford to be depleted, so there would be no reward for Vachel’s long years of service? Where others before tonight received wealth and titles, he would have nothing? The lump in her throat felt as if she would never swallow again, and her eyes, so strangely dry one moment, stung painfully the next. She knew others at the long trestle table were staring at them, muttering to each other, discussing her family’s future. To avoid their eyes, she fixed her attention on the goblet before her, a gift from her beloved father, presented to her mere months before his untimely death. Fashioned of silver, it
bore runic Saxon writing in a band encircling its center. She clasped her right hand around this family legacy, drawing comfort from the reminder of both her late parent and the noble Saxon heritage she shared with him, as well as strength. For now her thoughts could return to her mother and stepfather, and she turned her aching neck to look at them.

 
They still held hands, as if frozen together. Elspeth’s eyes did not glisten with tears; she was too proud for that. Her chin was lifted with hauteur, and her flashing eyes dared anyone to make remarks. Vachel’s grim expression said all. This was a blow he had not expected, and her grief for the man who’d saved her and her mother was intense and painful. How would he bear this new burden?

 
Vachel himself could barely think, so confused were his thoughts. The honor due him at last would never be; the reward he’d justly earned had gone to others, and now there was no more to be had. The king did not look at him, but he could feel the eyes of dozens of others, speculative, curious, even grimly amused, as if his woes served only to mark another tragedy that one could relate to the next gossip avid for another’s misery. Though he had been at pains to keep secret the true extent of his problems, the fact that he and his small family were close to impoverishment would fairly soon be known to one and all. He would not be able to compensate his knights, nor even to afford the running of a household. Far more devastating to his pride, and to his heart, was the knowledge that his beloved Elspeth and her daughter would be forced to share the grim consequences of his misfortune, consequences that would be immediate and unavoidable. Everyone present there would realize at this moment that Abrielle would not have the great dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of those men seeking wives, those best able to provide the standing and security Abrielle deserved, would turn their attention elsewhere in search of a maiden who would bring wealth with her. His stepdaughter would be undeservedly forced to lower her expectations. Worse,
she would be ripe for pursuit by unscrupulous men seeking to use her for her beauty, rather than treating her with the dignity a wife deserved. And it was all too possible the maiden would not find a husband at all, bringing more humiliation and heartache to both her and her mother. For who would want to marry a girl with so little to bring to the union?

 
How was he to stay in Westminster Castle after this? All he could think of was leaving, absorbing his own pain in peace.

 
Abrielle took a deep, tight breath, watching blankly as the servants cleared away the remains of the feast, dismantling the trestle tables so that the dancing could begin. Only hours ago, she had been the one men flocked to, the one treated as the great heiress. But men and fate, it seemed, were equally capricious, though men were buffeted about by fate, and she by the fate of men. First her father had died before his time, then her noble betrothed, and now the deeds and decisions of her stepfather and of King Henry himself had shaken the very ground on which she stood, taking from her the one thing that could have given her a hand in making her own future, the right to choose her husband. As she stood with her parents, the men who’d once flocked to her for a morsel of kindness now avoided even her gaze. There were true heiresses to fawn over, and she was no longer one of those. Deep inside her something shifted, and a new insecurity rose to engulf her, though she tried to thrust it away. Was there something wrong with her, that only wealth mattered in taking her to wife?

 
Cordelia was asked to dance by a young man who only yesterday had remained outside Abrielle’s door for hours in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Cordelia’s face was a mask of misery as she glanced at Abrielle, barely holding back tears, but Abrielle did not want her to suffer. She sent her dear friend off with a brilliant smile that stabbed her own heart.