Everlasting (37 page)

 
She stiffened. “I have done nothing wrong. I am innocent.”

 
“I know that you are,” Vachel said, “but that does not excuse what others will believe. Your reputation has been harmed, Abrielle, though we all wish it were not so. You must prepare yourself for the thought of marriage to young Raven.”

 
With the words said aloud at last, Abrielle felt her heart shatter, and her eyes sting with tears she could not shed in so public a place. If they were alone, she would fly into a rage, giving every excuse why she would not marry such a man. But perhaps Vachel had deliberately chosen such a location for his speech, knowing that she could only protest softly and listen. Elspeth put her hand gently on her arm, but Abrielle was in no mood for her mother’s comfort.

 
She had wanted to choose her own husband, and now her stepfather was saying that yet another man would be forced on her. True, he was no Desmond de Marlé, but his fine face and form hid a man who had only showed his devotion once she had wealth. He had flirted with her when she was betrothed, another mark against him. And he was a Scot, disliked by all her neighbors for the sins of his countrymen. She wondered if she refused to marry him, would he at last hold her accountable for the secrets they shared the night of Desmond’s death? She felt humiliated and hopeless. How had this happened to her? She thought she’d been safe from the clutches of one vile man, only to find herself trapped with another.

 
She could not look at Raven, did not want to wonder whether triumph was banked within his eyes, hidden for now, but there nonetheless.

 
She was saved from having to speak more of it by the arrival of the rest of Vachel’s knights, Cedric, and Nedda. With a glad cry, Abrielle flew to the litter that carried her maidservant. “Nedda, how fare you?” she asked with true worry.

 
But the woman’s color was good, and she smiled, although lines of pain had formed about her mouth. “Well, m’lady. The leg might not even be broken.”

 
Abrielle looked up at Cedric, felt a flash of disappointment, but could not allow herself to think of what would soon come. As Nedda was taken away to be seen by a healer, all gathered around to hear Cedric’s story. He told of a small group of mounted men who’d gathered at the cottage, after their failure to find the women and the three men who had captured them. Cedric had cautiously crept to the window in a quest to see if he would be able to recognize any of them. After hiding behind a stack of split firewood that over the years had deteriorated to little more than a pile of pulp, he had peered through a crack between the two shutters that had been nailed shut over a cottage window. In spite of his efforts, the best he had been able to see of the miscreants were their shadows, and only then when they stood in front of the lantern that had been lit behind them. Nevertheless he had overheard their bickering and recognized at least two familiar voices, Thurstan’s and Mordea’s. Two of the five culprits had been in favor of terminating what had thus far proven to be a fruitless quest and strongly argued their recommendations be accepted, but Thurstan would have none of it. Since this plan seemed to have failed, he would conceive of another to win Abrielle. The culprits had ridden off together in the same direction whence they had come.

 
Though only an hour had elapsed between the departure of the miscreants and the arrival of Vachel’s knights, a sudden heavy downpour washed away all evidence of the trail that Thurstan might have left. Several men had ridden in ever-widening circles around the area
in an effort to find some indication of the direction the brigands had taken, but their attempt proved futile after the deluge of rain.

 
Vachel sighed. “It is not as if we could have done much against Thurstan.”

 
“What are you saying?” Elspeth demanded.

 
“He is a knight of property, my dear,” Vachel explained patiently. “And although he wishes a rich bride, he chose a course that many men have used before him. Possession of the woman until she’s forced to marry him.”

 
Raven felt every eye turn to him, and the fact that they all equated him with Thurstan made his blood boil, for he was a man of honor, but he knew there was little he could do to counter the thoughts of those around him. He saw his father give him a wide-eyed glance, and knew the elder was curious, but Raven would have to explain later. For now, all Raven could do was look at Abrielle, who cast him in the same light as men such as Thurstan and Colbert, men who had no honor. He felt anger, nay rage, rising up within him.

 
One of the knights spoke up. “And the only proof we have that Thurstan is the culprit comes from a Scot.” Heads nodded and voices murmured. Raven clenched his fists, but before he could speak in defense of his father, Vachel said, “Enough! Laird Cedric is a valued man in his country. He and his son are both spoken of highly by our own King Henry. I will not hear another slur against a valued guest in my stepdaughter’s home.” Mere moments later, Vachel approached Raven. “We need to speak in private.”

 
Raven glanced at Abrielle and found her looking at him with true worry. Her expression briefly changed into one of bitterness, but she looked away and did not look back. Raven followed Vachel to the man’s private solar. When they were alone within, Vachel paced, as if he didn’t know where to begin. At last, he said, “You have presented me with a grave dilemma, Raven Seabern.”

 
“I did not mean ta,” Raven answered, hands clasped behind his
back. “I but wanted ta see your daughter ta safety. Circumstances conspired ta keep me alone with her.”

 
“And circumstances conspired to have her sleeping in your embrace?” Vachel said dourly.

 
“Ye have my word that I only thought I was keeping her warm. I did not attempt ta touch her in any other way.”

 
Vachel knew the Scotsman to be a proud and noble warrior, a man who’d earned the confidence of kings. It was dangerous to question the honor of such a man. He decided not to do so and said quietly, “You know you’ll have to marry the girl.”

 
Raven stood before Vachel and nodded. “Ye know I will. I’ll see your daughter protected from Thurstan and his brigands. Keep her property and possessions hers by right alone.”

 
Vachel gaped at him, wondering about the depths to the man that Abrielle would soon be linked to. “You want none of it for yourself?”

 
“Be assured, I dinna need nor covet any of what she inherited,” Raven replied without hesitation. “Had she come ta me in beggar’s rags, I would’ve wanted her just the same. Were she ta give her consent, I’d take her ta me home in Scotland, where she’d be safe, but I wouldna want ye ta have ta endure her absence until the shock of her being taken has eased. As for her riches, ’tis hers ta do with as she pleases. I only have one request.”

 
Vachel narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

 
“That ye dinna tell her about this agreement between us.”

 
“You don’t want her to know that you’ve refused her dowry?” Vachel thought he could not be any more surprised, but Raven Seabern was an enigma.

 
“I don’t expect ye ta lie, but if it doesna come up, then nay, tell her not. She believes I only want her wealth, instead of the woman that she is. I want her ta come ta know for herself the kind of man I am and ta trust in me.”

 
Vachel took a deep breath and then held out his hand. “You’ve eased my mind, Raven.” They shook hands. “I cannot guarantee that Abrielle won’t hold this marriage against you for a long time.”

 
Raven spoke firmly. “I trust I will win her over.”

 
“If any man can prove himself to her, you can. You have my blessing. But as for the blessing of her mother…”

 
With a grim smile, Raven said, “Lady Elspeth will be just as difficult ta win over as her daughter. But I intend ta succeed.”

CHAPTER 17

 
Cedric sat in the great hall after supper, awaiting Raven’s return from Vachel’s solar. Having heard of the dilemma his son faced, he was hoping for the best, and as he knew his son well, he did not doubt that he would approach the situation with determination and aplomb. He’d heard the talk around the keep this day, the rumors and the speculation swirling among serfs and knights alike, and he’d learned long ago to let most of what was said in ignorance roll off his broad shoulders. He took pride knowing his son’s back was strong enough to do the same.

 
Raven finally appeared, his expression resolute, as Cedric had anticipated it would be. He put a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “Care ta walk the courtyard with me, son? ’Tis a fine, cool night.”

 
Raven nodded, and when they were outside, they could hear the distant sounds of soldiers settling into their barracks, of horses nickering, and the chirping of insects. It was a peaceful moment, but Cedric understood that Raven felt anything but peace and knew to wait for his son to speak in his own time and on his own terms.

 
At last he spoke, and Cedric felt pride at the resolution in his voice.
“I have won her at last, though not in the way I would have anticipated. I must state now that she and hers have attacked our honor, and though what they claim is not true, I have indeed now won her in name. But do not doubt that I will win her completely, body and soul. I swear it, she will be truly mine.”

 
ABRIELLE HAD DRESSED for bed when she heard a knock at her door. Surprised, she went through the antechamber, wondering if it was her mother, come to offer her support once again. She didn’t want to turn her away, but there was nothing Elspeth could do and talking about it only stirred Abrielle’s feelings of anger and resentment, which in turn upset her mother even more. “Who is it?” she called.

 
“Raven” came the abrupt reply. So much for holding her feelings in check, she thought, then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, struggling against a wave of anger and uncertainty and despair. As much as she did not want her misery to add to her mother’s distress, she wanted even less to give Raven the satisfaction of seeing her thus. “Go away,” she said without opening the door.

 
“I need ta speak with ye, lass,” he remonstrated.

 
“’Tis not proper.”

 
“’Tis too late ta worry about what’s proper.”

 
Sorely piqued, she swung the door open so hard it hit the wall. “Yes, it is, and all thanks to you!”

 
He nodded solemnly. “Ye’ve every right ta be angry. And so do I.”

 
“Ooh! I am so much more than angry.” She grabbed his sleeve and drew him inside, shutting the door behind him.

 
For a moment they simply stared at each other. It was as if now that they stood on the cusp of a very different future than either of them had planned, neither knew what to say. At last Raven squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I spoke with your stepfather tonight.”

 
Abrielle folded her arms over her chest and glared. “I saw.”

 
“Surely ye ken what we discussed.” She said nothing, for if he thought she would ease his path, he was as mistaken as he was devious. The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly, banishing any trace of softness from his too-handsome face, and when he spoke, the softness in his voice was far from soothing. “It has been decided—we are ta wed.”

 
He knew her pride, her courage, and was a fair way to going down on bent knee to propose formally to her when she tossed back the shimmering curtain of her hair and through gritted teeth said, “I will marry you, but I will never respect you. I told you I would never marry you, and so you made certain that I had no choice.”

 
“And I am telling you that I did not betray my honor, nor that of my family.” His voice contained an edge she had never heard before, and suddenly, despite her legacy of the Harrington impetuosity, she knew she had to tread carefully; he was a dangerous man.