Everlasting (6 page)

 
Straightening to his full height, Vachel thrust out his meticulously bearded chin in vexation. Normally his amber eyes glowed with a mesmerizing radiance of their own, but at the moment they seemed as cold and lifeless as stone as he stared across the room. He could rally no hope for the future, knowing that his family faced nothing but bleakness unless he accepted Desmond’s offer.

 
Elspeth knelt on the rush-covered floor beside her husband’s chair and folded her hands in her lap as she looked up into his frowning face. “Vachel, if you would please consider Desmond’s reputation, you would know that he isn’t a suitable husband for Abrielle.”

 
“By all that’s holy, woman, what kind of a monster do you think me?” he demanded, distraught at the idea that she would think he would barter off her daughter to provide for their family. “I could never live with myself if I were to force Abrielle into such a union. That decision is entirely hers to accept or to reject, but please consider that Desmond now has all the wealth and lands that once belonged to Weldon, enough to guarantee that his offspring will never lack for riches and position. That’s more than I can say for that small league of suitors who’ve been wont to offer themselves since all at court learned of my low standing with the king. I’ve seen starving hounds drool less over a meaty bone than the besotted buffoons who slaver in lusting eagerness after your daughter. But then, you witnessed that very thing yourself before we were married, so I needn’t try to describe the zeal her admirers have been wont to evidence.”

 
“Vachel, I understand how troubled you are by our dilemma,” Elspeth said in a quiet voice. No less distressed than he, she sought to find some ray of hope in a painfully dark future. “Do you know of anything else we can do to alter our present unfortunate state?”

 
His laughter was brief and harsh. “I fear without the occurrence of some miracle, my dear, there is no hope.” Noticing the pooling of tears in his wife’s eyes, he heaved a sigh, quickly lamenting his callousness. “I fully understand Abrielle’s aversion to Desmond,” he stated.
“’Tis no less than my own. Nevertheless, what he has recently offered appears to be our only hope. Although I will try to find a suitor more acceptable to all of us, I fear there is none who has as much wealth as Desmond now has. I truly wish we had some other choice.”

 
Her mother’s sudden sob of despair wrenched Abrielle’s heart, and she turned aside in an effort to hide the rush of tears that quickly gathered in her own eyes. They streamed down her cheeks, forcing her to wipe them away surreptitiously. As much as she disdained Desmond, she could see no option open to her now but to accept his proposal of marriage. It was either that or see her loved ones suffer. Even so, if Desmond wanted her so much, then he would have to be willing to extend far more generous terms than he had thus far offered. If she were going to be miserable, then she would have to be generously compensated for having to endure that repugnant wretchedness.

 
And after all, with no dowry, there was no guarantee that she could even find a worthy man to love her. And she shuddered at the thought that, without Vachel’s knights and the protection they offered, perhaps a man wouldn’t even feel the need to take her to wife.

 
Approaching her parents, Abrielle managed a tremulous smile as she claimed her stepfather’s attention. In an effort to hide the fact that her hopes for happiness and a worthy future with a man whom she loved seemed to be dying beneath the grievous weight of the situation in which they presently found themselves, she tried to speak with some semblance of enthusiasm. “The choice is mine to make, and I will do what I must to help,” she stated, hating the quavering weakness that hindered her voice. “I cannot…will not allow our family to live in poverty…”

 
“No!” Elspeth cried, thoroughly distraught by her daughter’s words. “We’ll find another way! Please…oh, please…no!”

 
“I’ve decided there is nothing else that can be done,” Abrielle replied, steeling herself against her mother’s desperate pleading. Upon
facing Vachel, whose dejected appearance evidenced a serious lack of relief, she quickly laid out her intentions. She had no real idea how Weldon had actually met his death, whether it had truly been an accident as had been supposed or if it had been carried out by design by the very one who had stood to inherit his wealth. Nevertheless, the premise seemed fairly simple to her that if Desmond wanted her so much, then he would likely be willing to pay a sizable sum…perhaps even a goodly portion of what had once belonged to her betrothed in order to get her. “Considering the vast riches that Weldon once had, I urge you to demand far more than Desmond may be willing to offer. I care naught for the fact that he may have been kin to Weldon. He isn’t deserving of anything that once belonged to his lordship.”

 
“And if Desmond complies with all of your demands, what then?” Vachel asked, fully agreeing with her on all counts. Even so, the idea of such a dastardly man reaping so fine a bride left him feeling more than a little nauseous. Unfortunately, at the moment there seemed to be no other way for the family to survive.

 
“Then I shall wed the man,” Abrielle replied with a serious lack of enthusiasm.

 
Elspeth moaned in despair as she clasped a handkerchief over her mouth and stared at her daughter with a profusion of tears welling in her eyes.

 
Vachel could not ignore his wife’s deepening dismay and was led to question Abrielle again as to the extent of her commitment to make such a sacrifice. “Your marriage to Desmond may be more horrible than you can imagine. I’ve been hearing rumors that have led me to believe that the man has been rather despicable to the serfs he recently inherited from Weldon. Once you exchange vows with him, you’ll no longer be able to dismiss him from your life. He will become a part of you…your spouse. You’ll have to conform to his way of life, his wishes, his demands, and with all seriousness, I must warn you that it may be more than you can imagine or will be able to tolerate in the future.”

 
“As far as I’m concerned, the matter is already settled,” Abrielle replied, steeling herself against the fears he had evoked. “Desmond wants me for his wife, and that is what he shall have…for a sizable price. If I’m going to marry him, then it will be for no less than what I demand, so refrain from giving him the idea that he can haggle for my hand. When the price is sufficiently generous and you’re nearing the end of your negotiations, then you must seek my approval before the terms can be finalized, but you must not allow him to know that you intend to discuss them with me. As far as Desmond is concerned, I will have had nothing to do with the negotiations and it will be a matter that you will personally be deciding.”

 
“Very wise,” Vachel replied, pursing his lips and nodding his head in approval. Clearly Abrielle had benefited from being so close to her late father, who’d permitted her to listen as he conducted his business affairs. “Very wise indeed. You will be absolved of all blame should he begin to resent the price he paid for you.”

 
On any other occasion Abrielle would have smiled in pleasure at her stepfather’s praise, but she feared the bargain they would be making with Desmond was equivalent to forming an agreement with the devil himself, and the idea of that frightened her. “I may very well regret it all once the vows have been exchanged,” she admitted, trying to subdue a shiver at the thought of allowing the loathsome man to touch her, much less be intimate with her. “And if you could spare a few prayers for me, you might begin to offer them now lest I be tempted to run away and hide.”

 
Although Vachel knew his wife was deeply distressed over what Abrielle was planning, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the girl’s willingness to sacrifice her own happiness for the family’s welfare. Although his men had been disposed to risk their lives to fight alongside him in numerous conflicts, the like of which even now seemed to still be raging on that same foreign soil, they had always nurtured the hope that they would all survive and be the better for it.
This thing that Abrielle was willing to do to save him from impoverishment was tantamount to tying herself forever to a hateful fiend whose first and subsequent thoughts were entirely for his own gratification.

 
He knew what Abrielle had directed him to do was not to Elspeth’s liking, and yet, with Abrielle’s willingness to sacrifice her own happiness for them, he couldn’t help but feel as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his chest. As anxious as he had been to find some viable escape from his poverty, her proposal was to him as refreshing as a breath of fresh air to a smothering man.

 
Vachel reached out and threaded his lean fingers through his wife’s as he peered at her. He tried to find some reason to be hopeful about the union. “Marrying Desmond de Marlé should make Abrielle a very rich woman,” he stated in a subdued tone. Receiving no encouraging response, he tried again. “Should Desmond expire, she’ll be able to choose another to meet her own admirable standards. It wouldn’t surprise me if a lofty title would be in the offing should she so desire it. Considering how wealthy she will likely be, she’ll be able to dictate her future as few women have ever done. She’ll want for nothing.”

 
Elspeth was so disheartened by the thought of her daughter marrying the repulsive man that she could manage no better response than a meager twitch of her lips. Even so, she knew if it hadn’t been for Vachel, Abrielle would have likely suffered the consequences of being uncommonly beautiful and totally bereft of the protection she would need.

 
Berwin’s death had engendered a difficult situation wherein many of the older Norman lords had begun laying odds on the rake of their preference who, in their opinion, was handsome and charming enough to be the final victor in the growing collection of bachelors intent upon stripping away Abrielle’s innocence without benefit of a betrothal or wedding vows. After all, many of them were overheard chortling, she was of Saxon lineage and without sufficient dowry, therefore suitable
prey for the conquering heroes, that fine collection of youthful Normans who had been spawned well after their fathers or grandfathers had landed on English shores. Thereafter, when Abrielle had turned an eager gallant on his ear with a hotly spoken rejection, the stakes had been sharply elevated. It had proven a highly amusing game for the collection of lords wagering on the outcome, for it had evoked much laughter and deepened others’ interest in the sport until many could foresee a weighty purse being divided among the winners once viable evidence of her deflowering was presented by the debaucher responsible.

 
To stave off the seemingly ever-increasing horde of young men vying to strip away her daughter’s virtue, Elspeth had deemed it beneficial to accept Vachel de Gerard’s proposal of marriage. Since then, his presence as head of the family had been sufficient to keep the lusting lords at bay and, deservedly so, to frustrate the greed of those who had been laying heavy purses on the outcome of the game they had invented.

 
In retrospect, Abrielle was thoroughly convinced that Vachel would have defended her to the death if it had come to that, for he had stood his ground numerous times before prominent nobles who had warned him not to interfere because of the heavy purses they had riding on the outcome. What mattered most to her was the fact that he had given every indication that he was genuinely smitten with her mother and would do almost anything to avoid seeing her distressed. Considering his deep regard for her parent and for herself, how could she not sacrifice a measure of her own happiness to help him, and in so doing help her mother?

 
Elspeth gazed compassionately upon her offspring. No stranger staring into those silkily lashed, bluish-green eyes would have ever guessed that underneath that softly feminine breast there beat a heart as passionately loyal to her family and to her king as any devoted knight of the realm. Sadly, it seemed those qualities were of little
benefit to a young woman. Nevertheless, Abrielle was selflessly evidencing her noble spirit in her willingness to sacrifice her own happiness to assuage the tenuous position in which their small family was presently entrapped. How could a mother not be moved to tears by her gallantry?

CHAPTER 3

 
The wedding was only three days away, and Abrielle was grateful that she had her dear friend Cordelia with her in this time of fear and worry. She needed someone to confide in, someone to distract her from her cares. She was to wed Desmond immediately after the annual de Marlé hunt, so she had no wish for the entertainment to be over quickly.

 
“According to the men, the signs point to a good hunt,” Abrielle remarked dismally as she and Cordelia ventured forth from de Marlé’s keep.