Claire Delacroix (145 page)

Rowan frowned. “But what would you have me take to her?”

Now Gavin smiled in truth. “Naught. Naught but your bride and the man you have become.”

Bronwyn and Rowan exchanged a glance of confusion, but before either could ask, Gavin began to cough. Adhara came to his side, but ’twas all too soon that he slipped from awareness.

And not long after that, Gavin Fitzgerald ceased to draw breath at all.

’Twas Rowan who dug his father’s grave in the hills near Ballyroyal; Rowan who dressed his father for burial; Rowan who lingered by the freshly mounded grave to weep in solitude.
When Bronwyn went to his side, he took her hand, his thumb sliding back and forth across the slim band of gold.

“Let us pledge to each other at Montvieux,” Rowan said quietly, a question in his words.

“If you wish it thus,” Bronwyn agreed, knowing he would keep his vow to Gavin. She leaned against him, wanting to tempt his smile again. “But you should know that your wager is surely lost.”

Rowan looked at her in surprise.

“I am an heiress to precious little now, and certainly not the most wealthy heiress in all of Ireland.”

Bronwyn was rewarded with Rowan’s slow smile. “Then there are no questions left between us,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers. “For we will wed nonetheless.”

was snowing when they rode through Montvieux’s gates. Rowan thought that no place in Christendom could compare with the estate where he had been raised. He had never before appreciated its beauty, but in showing it to Bronwyn, he rediscovered its marvels again.

And he was very glad he had waited to take their vows in Montvieux’s chapel.

Their party was not small, Adhara and Niccolo having chosen to accompany them. Bronwyn’s parents thought to make a change, to begin anew, and Rowan suspected they would not be far from their daughter. It suited him well enough to have a family and a family’s love surround him, for, indeed, he grew used to their open affection.

He liked that he was included within their circle, just as he was.

Many of the servants from Ballyroyal came with them, including Connor and Marika, who seemed much enamored with each other. Thomas talked nigh twice as much as he had before, and the boy was learning languages at a ferocious rate. Adhara’s horses had been brought as well, many of them sold to fine families along the route to cover the cost of passage.

Niccolo had made a strong case for visiting the city of his birth, and they came to Montvieux by way of Venice and the
Italian cities. Rowan had sworn he would never willingly board a ship again after that journey, and he heartily doubted that Troubador will permit himself to be led into a ship’s hold again. Indeed, Rowan would be satisfied to remain home for years, after such an adventure.

If he still could call Montvieux home.

’Twas Christmas Eve and the bells were ringing, the snow falling in massive flakes, the sky perfectly black overhead. The horses halted in the bailey and Rowan’s arrival was greeted with cheer by the ostler. Rowan captured Bronwyn’s hand in hers and led their party to the chapel, knowing that his adopted family would be at mass.

And so they were. The chapel was garbed in greenery for the occasion, the smell of the fat beeswax candles as warm and welcoming as ever a smell could be. Burke was here, his wife, Alys, ripe with child; Luc and Brianna and their cooing babe on the other side of the chapel. Margaux knelt at the altar, accepting the priest’s blessing last as was her habit.

Rowan halted in the portal, waiting for his foster mother to turn. She had aged, he noted, and she needed Burke’s aid to rise to her feet once more, despite her cane. She turned regally once on her feet, though, her chin high, and made to lead the recessional as the priest began to sing once more.

Then she halted to stare.

“Rowan.” His name left her in a breath so filled with hope and delight that Rowan felt his throat tighten.

He stepped into the chapel, Bronwyn’s hand fast in his own. “Margaux.” He bowed, then closed the distance quickly between them, out of courtesy for her. “I would have you meet my lady, Bronwyn of Ballyroyal and her parents.”

Margaux greeted them politely, her gaze returning to Rowan’s face. “You did indeed arrive for the Yule,” she
declared, her usual authoritative manner restored. “Though only in the barest margin of time.”

“I was delayed in courting a bride.” Rowan winked and was reassured when his foster mother snorted.

“How like you to …”

“To bring my betrothed home to be wed at Montvieux.”

Margaux blinked. “You are not yet wed?”

Rowan smiled slowly, his thumb sliding across the ring Bronwyn wore. “It seemed only courteous to let my mother attend a ceremony of such import.”

Tears welled unexpectedly in Margaux’s eyes and Rowan could not bear the sight of them. He cast a glance over the chapel. “And indeed,” he found himself saying, “I could not imagine taking such a pledge anywhere else.”

“Tell her of Gavin,” Bronwyn prompted.

“What of Gavin? Where is he? Have you seen him?”

“He died, defending my betrothed’s family,” Rowan said quietly. He watched Margaux bite her lip and marvelled that she would come so close to tears. “He said something that made no sense to me.” Margaux met his gaze with open curiosity. “He bade me return here, to grant you the only desire you ever had of him. Do you know what he meant?”

Then Margaux did cry in truth. Rowan was so astonished by this that he did not know what to do. Bronwyn nudged him and he caught his mother’s shoulders in his hands, letting her lean against his chest while she wept.

He was certain he had never seen Margaux cry, nor indeed show any vulnerability before others.

“Miserable man,” she muttered against his tabard. “He would die just to ensure that I could not thank him for this.”

Rowan looked at his brothers, both of whom shrugged. “I do not understand.”

Margaux wiped her eyes and flicked a telling glance at Rowan. “Your father’s son, there is no doubt of that.” She
fumbled at her belt before Rowan could reply and lifted a tiny chamois sack.

He had seen it many times before, though she seldom carried it with her. “Why do you have the seal of Montvieux with you at mass?”

“I thought to surrender the estate to the church on this night, but in the end, I could not do it.” Margaux tipped her head back to hold Rowan’s gaze. “And ’twas a good thing, for my son has need of a holding.”

Rowan’s gaze flicked to his older brother. “I thought Burke had a holding, by way of Alys.”

“He does.”

Rowan stared at her, incredulous at his intuitive guess. “You would never entrust me with anything of import,” he whispered.

“Perhaps that was my mistake. Galling as ’tis to admit, Gavin Fitzgerald taught me a simple truth this day.” Margaux smiled thinly. “A son is not wrought of blood alone. You are my son, Rowan de Montvieux, for I raised you to be my son.” She took the sack and pressed it into his hand. “And you will be my heir.”

Rowan looked up, only to find his brothers grinning.

“He was always her favorite,” Burke teased, affection in his grin.

“And that despite his mischief,” Luc agreed. “His betrothed is probably pregnant.”

“What?” Margaux demanded, then pounded her cane on the floor. “Is she?”

“Of course,” Rowan agreed with a smile for Bronwyn, whose eyes began to shine. “Bronwyn is no longer the most wealthy heiress in all of Ireland, if indeed she ever was, but I will have her as my bride all the same.”

Burke cried out in delight. “Ye gods, we have won a
wager with him, after all these years.” And Luc began to laugh.

Margaux started muttering about bastards, but neither Bronwyn nor Rowan were listening to any of them.

Rowan lifted his hand to Bronwyn’s cheek, amazed that she would be his bride. “I love you, Bronwyn,” he murmured. “Would you make Montvieux your home?”

Bronwyn smiled the smile that would always make his heart leap and leaned against him. “Would you take such an obligation as this?”

Rowan shrugged. “There would be a great enough risk of failure to suit me well.” He winked at her. “Perhaps the longest odds of all my days.”

“My home is wherever you are,” Bronwyn whispered, and lifted her face for his kiss. Rowan bent to claim Bronwyn’s lips with a triumphant kiss, knowing that she alone could have opened his heart to the treasure that was love.

Aye, though he might have lost his brothers’ dare, his heiress had brought him the richest legacy of all.

And that was a far, far better prize in the end.