Page 14 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

H ad she fallen asleep?

Anwen jolted awake. Indeed, she had. Cradled in Rystan’s arms, as if they were man and wife. Yet they were not. She sat up, looking for him and finding Rystan striding toward her.

“You can not stay.”

It was a statement, not a question. One underscored by the fact that he was now fully dressed.

“Nay, I can not,” he said, sitting on the bed beside her. “But this will be the last night we sleep apart from one another. I will secure Blackwood’s priest to witness our exchange of vows in the morn.”

“Will he do it?”

His smile was so unlike the one he’d given her during their lovemaking. It was almost ruthless. “Aye. He will.”

She sat up, re-positioning the feather-filled pillow behind her. “Tell me.”

He immediately understood.

“After we are wed, I will send word to my father. He may be unhappy with me for forsaking my inheritance, but still, he is the Earl of Vale. I will request he agree to grant you sanctuary should you need it. And I’ve no doubt he will.

No family of his would be left unprotected, especially a woman he has always held in high regard. ”

His promise was expected, but did not alleviate her concerns. She knew the earl liked her and wanted their marriage and had no doubt he’d not turn her away, were she and Rystan to marry. But such an act hinged on the earl retaining his position. . .

“In addition,” Rystan added, taking her hand.

“You will be placed, as a precaution, under the formal protection of the Guardians of the Sacred Oak. Sir Eamon has agreed to serve as your personal champion and Fitzwilliam as your legal steward. Your name and rights would remain intact, even without your mother’s favor, under such an arrangement.

I know relying on the protection of men—my father, the Guardians—is not the same as claiming those rights for yourself.

Yet it is the best I could do under the bounds of the world we’re in.

But I swear to you, Anwen, this is not meant to bind you, only to ensure your protection should you need it. ”

“Someday, perhaps not in my time, protections may be available to women such as me. Yet even my mother, who rules in her own right, holds onto that power with less influence than her male counterparts hold.”

“I would welcome that day.”

And because he meant it, and for many other reasons, she would accept what he offered.

“Thank you,” she said. “For making such arrangements. Though I hope not to need them.”

“As do I,” he teased, aware they were in place in the event of his own death. “And when we are finished here, I would be glad to escort you home to speak to your mother.”

Somehow, likely because Rystan knew that as angry as she was for what her mother had done, she loved her still, he had guessed her other silent concern.

“You would do so, even after all that has transpired?”

The fire cracked behind them in the silence between her question and his response.

“With you beside me as my wife, aye.”

As she looked into the eyes of the man she would marry, Anwen tried not to let those lost years interfere. They were gone, in the past. No amount of wishing otherwise would bring them back. “I love you, Rystan. Whatever is ahead for us, we will face it together.”

He squeezed her hand. “I predict an end to this war once this Order is fully established.”

“Do you believe it, truly?”

He sighed. “The men they plan to recruit, in one place to continue their training. . . I believe much is possible. But first, you should sleep, ma belle. We’ve an exciting day ahead.”

When he leaned down to kiss her, Anwen closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Later, when the click of the door behind him signaled she was alone once more, she finally allowed her eyes to close.

They only re-opened when a hard knock was followed by what appeared to be every maid at Blackwood streaming into her bedchamber.

“Nay, the seamstress can not come here,” one said.

“I will fetch Amalia. She will speak to Lady Evelina,” said another.

Four. Nay five. Anwen blinked, wondering if perhaps she was dreaming. After dismissing her own maid, waking to such a flurry of activity was very much unexpected.

“What,” she asked. “Is happening?”

In unison they stopped stoking the fire, sorting through her trunk and every other activity that Anwen simply could not explain.

“A wedding,” one of the maid’s said.

“Your wedding,” said another.

“This is the most exciting thing that has happened since we arrived. Sir Rystan asked that we assist you.”

Your wedding.

“It is barely morn,” Anwen observed. “He has procured the priests’ acquiescence already?”

The youngest of the maids giggled. “Drug the man from his bed, or so we’re told. He is belowstairs, waiting. The writs are all signed.”

She smiled. Anwen did not doubt the truth of the maid’s words. Rystan was a man of action, so it should not have surprised her. And yet, to wake up to this. . . she was. . . getting married!

Jumping from the bed, she looked back at the coverlet.

“We will remove it and bring a fresh one.”

Grateful, she smiled at the maid. “Who is Amalia? And Lady Evelina?”

The maid who said she would fetch Amalia had already fled the bedchamber.

“Amalia is the maid of Lady Evelina, Lord Ashcroft’s daughter. As such, she is permitted in Blackwood. Both are very kind and will aid us. You need a proper gown?—”

“And headdress and shoes,” said another. “A ring or token.”

“And the witnesses, of course, but they’ve already been procured.”

It was amidst this flurry of activity Anwen found herself bathed and dressed in a beautiful royal blue gown with sleeves sweeping the ground, standing in the center of her bedchamber surrounded by five maids from Blackwood Castle, Lady Evelina and her own maid, Amalia, who was indeed very kind.

“I can hardly believe this is happening,” she said as the women admired her.

“And we,” Lady Evelina said. “Are glad to be of service. The gown looks lovely on you. I insist you keep it.”

“Nay,” she said, prepared to argue against it.

“There is little use attempting to dissuade her,” Amalia said wryly. “Once my lady has determined something, none can alter her thinking.”

Anwen was grateful for the gown later when she walked from the keep to the chapel where they were told the priest and Rystan waited. As she approached the steps, Rystan descended them, ignoring the priest’s calls to return to him.

He was dressed in a full knight’s regalia with his family’s crest emblazoned on a dark blue tunic, the dye as rich as one she’d ever seen.

“You appear very much like an earl's son,” she whispered as he reached her.

“And you, very much the most beautiful woman in all of England. And beyond.”

She grinned. “Have you seen very much of this ‘beyond’ to know such a thing?”

“There is no need to do so,” he crooked an elbow, and Anwen took his arm. “I am the luckiest man in the realm, this day.”

“And I,” she replied as they walked toward the chapel steps. “The luckiest woman.”

Before they reached the others, Blackwood’s servants and few recruits, its instructors and the dour-looking priest, Rystan stopped.

“The vows I am about to make to you Anwen, to cherish you above all others, are not simply words but my oath. Never will I make such a mistake to lose you again.”

“Then let us go,” she replied, moving once again. “So that we may pledge that same oath to each other.