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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

H e’d been too late to warn them.

Jeffrey had arrived about a day after Amaro’s chaos. He quickly discovered that Amaro had moved through Brython like a tempest, injuring Lady Leominster and killing her cousin. But he hadn’t made it out alive, thanks to Asa and Sean de Lara, who had disposed of the pieces of Amaro’s body in a manner they wouldn’t disclose. Hugo, who had known of Amaro’s vendetta, had been so distressed about the situation that Christopher sent him back to Lioncross. The man had been a wreck. But no one felt guiltier about the situation than Jeffrey. He felt as if he’d failed the entire family by letting Amaro slip away from under his watchful eye, even when Christopher had assured him that it wasn’t his fault.

But Jeffrey didn’t see it that way.

The day after he’d arrived, word was that Lady Leominster was doing well. She was eating and arguing with her husband about getting out of bed, which was a good sign. Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She’d been told about Melusine and, quite naturally, she was grieving it deeply. Her desire to get out of bed was because Curtis had sent word to the priests at St. Nicholas because they needed to bury Melusine, and Elle was adamant that she attend the burial. Unfortunately, Curtis would not let her go, and that only compounded her grief. She was angry and upset, and he’d spent two days trying to comfort her.

Meanwhile, the guests who had come for Curtis’ celebratory feast had all departed for home. This included Caius, Sean, Wolverhampton, Wrexham, and even Peter and Alexander. Although Christin in particular was loath to leave, the truth was that she had young children who needed her, as did Liora. Dustin had Christin take her son as well as her younger sisters with her, removing Andrew and Rebecca and Olivia Charlotte from the madness, while Dustin and Christopher remained behind. It was with great sadness that Curtis bade everyone farewell, promising to see them at a more favorable time.

Jeffery had watched the departures from the wall, unable to shake the feeling of doom that had settled on him. His guilt was endless. But his arrival was fortuitous, because the de Lohrs seemed to be consumed with Elle and the situation at hand, so Jeffery took command of the castle when Tristan de Royans headed home. Perhaps he didn’t feel so much like a failure when he could do something useful. But as he, and everyone else, prayed for Lady Leominster’s recovery, dark forces were seemingly at work. Two days after surviving the attack on her life, Elle began showing signs of a fever.

By nightfall, she was on fire.

The hope that had so recently been present as Elle’s healing began was dashed when a poison took hold. Hugo’s men, the ones sent to find a physic, had gone into England looking for such a man, and every qualified individual they found refused to go that far into Wales. Realizing the difficulty of convincing an English physic to enter Wales, the men shifted tactics and headed to Rhayader, the closest village, and were referred to Pliny, who knew Elle and agreed to come. But what he saw upon his arrival did not please him.

He was in for a fight.

Elle slept fitfully most of the time as the first day of fever stretched into the second and the third. She was worried for her baby, not for her own life, as Pliny forced a willow bark potion down her lips every few hours whilst working to create something he called rotten tea, an ancient recipe for healing those with poison in their bodies. Unfortunately, it took time to produce what he needed, so all he could do in the meanwhile was give Elle what he had and hope that was enough.

But fevers were unpredictable things.

The fever would ease, only to come back more strongly than before. On the sixth day, Curtis could barely rouse Elle, who slept heavily and sweated profusely. Her wound was festering, and although Dustin had washed the wound out as best she could with wine before stitching it, Pliny was convinced that some bit of fabric or another foreign body was causing the poison to rage.

That meant opening the stitches and cleaning out the wound again.

It was with a heavy heart that Curtis, Christopher, and Dustin held Elle down as Pliny removed the stitches and began to probe a wound that didn’t seem to want to heal. Elle’s lungs hadn’t been compromised by the puncture, which was good news, but she screamed in pain as Pliny probed the wound, cleaning out clots and pus until he finally came to a small bit of linen from Elle’s shift that had been shoved deep into the wound when the blade made contact. Elle had finally passed out from the pain, and Pliny quickly removed the fabric, cleaning the wound once more and stitching it up. Bandaging it tightly, he told a very pale-faced Curtis that all they could do at that point was wait.

Wait to live.

Or wait to die.

Only time would tell.

So, they waited.

On the seventh day, Christopher was in the bailey with his sons, getting some much-needed fresh air. Elle had slipped into unconsciousness at that point, and had been for over a day, so the mood was solemn. No one wanted to voice what they were thinking, which was the fact that Elle was going to die. The fever was going to kill her. Myles had even sent word to Gruffydd the day before to let the man know what had happened. But no one would speak the words aloud, even if that was the general consensus.

Christopher had to seriously wonder what her death was going to do to Curtis.

“Papa!” Douglas shouted, sitting atop a very big horse with shaggy hair. “What do you think of him?”

Distracted from his morose thoughts, Christopher caught sight of his son as he emerged from the stable yard. “Think of what?” he said. “It looks like you are riding a haystack with legs.”

Douglas frowned. “This is a very fine animal,” he told his father as he drew close. “The man I bought him from says that he has seen many a battle. He is big and tough. See?”

Christopher could only see a very beaten-down nag of a horse. Westley came up behind Douglas, stick in hand, and began to poke at the horse, hoping to annoy it enough so it would dump his brother. As Christopher stood there, a dubious expression on his face, Myles walked up beside him.

“Ah,” he said. “I see that Douglas is showing you that horrible creature he bought.”

Christopher was trying not to scowl. “When did he buy that thing?”

Myles snorted. “A few weeks ago,” he said. “He had saved enough money and was determined to buy his own horse.”

“And he bought that ?”

Myles nodded. “We tried to stop him,” he said. “Curt did, I did, but he would not listen. The man at the livery in Presteigne saw a fool in my younger brother and convinced him that the horse is a relative of Pegasus. The truth is that the old horse has one foot in the stew pot.”

Douglas was clearly thrilled with his purchase. He reined the horse in circles as Westley held on to the horse’s tail and tried to smack it with his stick. Douglas saw what his youngest brother was doing and tried to kick at him to get him to stop.

Christopher just shook his head at the antics.

“Would it be best for me to take Douglas back with me to Lioncross?” he said, scratching his head irritably. “I fear those two have been creating havoc for Curt, and he does not need that right now.”

Myles’ smile faded. “I think you should take them both back,” he said. “Curtis does not need to worry about them. As much as I love to watch my younger brothers beat on each other, the truth is that they are young. They are annoying. If you do not take them back with you, you may find them tied up and dumped on your doorstep someday. Ellie was the only one with any patience for them, and now…”

He trailed off abruptly as they ended up on the subject of Elle. Christopher instinctively turned his attention in the direction of the keep, his eyes finding the windows that were part of Curtis and Elle’s bower.

“Your mother thought she might have been better this morning,” he said. “The apothecary managed to brew that foul-smelling potion, and he started pouring it down her throat yesterday. He thinks it will help a great deal.”

Myles was looking to the keep also. “Is she awake yet?”

“Not the last time I saw her.”

Myles let out a heavy sigh and looked away. “What is going to happen if she dies, Papa?” he finally asked. “Curt will go out of his mind. You must stay until we know which way Ellie will go, because I surely cannot handle him by myself. This entire place is in chaos because of Amaro. Asa is useless because of Melly’s death, Hugo is nearly as useless because he feels responsible, and that leaves me to manage everything. I cannot do it all.”

Now, he was voicing what they had not yet been able to voice. He was speaking of death and consequences. It was like opening the door for the devil to step in and take her. Christopher put his hand on Myles’ shoulder.

“I know,” he said, trying to be of some comfort. “But you are Curt’s rock right now. He needs you, so do not collapse under the strain.”

“I will not,” Myles said. “But what about Roi? Can you not send him here?”

Christopher shook his head. “Roi is in London,” he said. “Henry is having problems with Richard Marshal, and Roi has gone to give counsel. You know that Henry relies on him.”

Myles looked at him. “I would say the possible death of Curt’s wife is more important than Henry’s issues with Richard Marshal,” he said. “You must send word to Roi and have him come. He is needed here more. Or at least send Sherry back. You cannot leave me alone with this.”

Christopher knew that. But he also knew that Peter and Alexander were important garrison commanders, and to pull them away from their own commands was beneath them.

“They have their own mighty commands,” he said. “I cannot do that. What about leaving Jeffrey here?”

Myles shook his head. “You know I love Jeffrey, but he is far too old,” he said. “He would be fine commanding, but he wouldn’t be much in a fight. I need men with strong swords.”

Christopher’s gaze moved to the wall where Jeffrey was. He could see him near the gatehouse. “This situation has him broken,” he said. “He feels responsible that he let Amaro slip away from Lioncross.”

“It is not his fault,” Myles said. “He should not take any blame.”

Christopher sighed heavily. “I know,” he said. “I told him so. What if I send Staff to you? I will if you think he would be of help.”

Myles knew Stafford de Poyer, a keen and intelligent knight who had served his father for a couple of years. Stafford’s father, Keller, had been a knight sworn to William Marshal, so Myles had known the family for several years. Stafford had only recently come to Lioncross, beefing up the border castle’s stable of capable knights.

“If you will do that, I will be grateful,” he said. “I would feel much better with Staff here. He can help me manage this beast of a castle, but I would like another knight if you can spare him.”

“Who?”

“Rhys d’Mearc.”

Christopher grunted unhappily. “I hate to part with him.”

“I know, but he is needed much more here than at Lioncross.”

“Why would you say that?”

Myles frowned. “Because you have a dozen junior knights at home,” he said. “Plus, you have Jeffrey and Staff’s brother, Cal. Those two could take on an entire army by themselves and win.”

Christopher smiled, looking up to the wall where he could see Jeffrey, who was now completely gray, with a big white beard. “Jeffrey would scare them into submission, to be sure,” he said. “And Cal is hideously frightening when he wants to be. Who do you think keeps our junior ranks in line?”

It was Myles’s turn to grin. “He takes after his father,” he said. “Keller may be incredibly old, but he is still vital. Like you.”

Christopher’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying I am incredibly old?”

Myles started to laugh. “Never,” he said. “You’re ageless, Papa. You’ll outlive us all.”

Christopher’s smile faded. “I hope not,” he said. “I do not want to outlive my children. But I would say, on the whole, that—”

He was cut off when the sentries lifted a cry, announcing an incoming visitor. Christopher and Myles headed for the gatehouse, strong and long since repaired, to see what the fuss was about. The gatehouse of Brython faced east, toward England, but the road leading to the entry curved around from the south. As they peered through the portcullis, they could see a group of people coming up the road, heading for the gatehouse.

Curiously, Christopher and Myles watched them come closer. It wasn’t a military group, but rather a collection of peasants. No one seemed to be armed. There were a few on horseback, but most were walking. Some were carrying things. Christopher ordered the portcullis lifted, and when it was high enough, he and Myles went out to greet the throng.

The sight of two armed knights coming out of the castle slowed down the procession. There was a man in the front with a walking staff, and he held up a hand for the group to come to a halt. When Christopher and Myles came to a stop several feet away, the man with the staff took a few steps in their direction.

“ Cyfarchion, fy arglwydd, ” he said. Greetings, my lord . “ Rydym wedi clywed am helynt y ferch. ”

They were speaking Welsh. We have heard of the daughter’s trouble . Myles looked at his father in confusion, but Christopher suspected whom they were speaking of. He answered in fluent Welsh.

“Do you speak of Lady Leominster?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I am Cadell. My wife and I are bakers. Sometimes, the lady comes to our shop and buys our bread. We have heard of her troubles and have come to pay our respects.”

Christopher nodded. “It is kind of you to come,” he said. “All I can tell you at the moment is that the lady is very ill. She is not receiving visitors.”

Cadell’s fair face tightened with sorrow. “That is terrible news, indeed,” he said. “We were told that she was in a bad way.”

“Who told you?”

“Pliny,” Cadell said. “The apothecary. Before he left the village with the men who had summoned him, he told others that the lady was ill.”

Christopher’s gaze moved over the group behind him. “She is,” he said. “But I will tell her husband that you have come to give your best wishes for her recovery. That will mean a great deal to him.”

Cadell gestured to the group behind him. “When someone is ill in our village, it is a tradition that we bring them gifts to help them recover,” he said. “The lady is part of our heritage, my lord. Her father was a great ruler, but she has not known a great life. We all know that. Pliny told us that marriage to the Saesneg has made her very happy. We’ve come to show our gratitude for the happiness he has given her.”

Christopher was rather touched by that. “It is very kind of you to do that,” he said. “I have been told that Brython is a special place to the Welsh, and to have an English commander is probably not what you would like. But know that the lady and her husband are ensuring that this place of legend is protected.”

Cadell gestured to the castle. “Brython is thriving,” he said with a smile. “We can see that for ourselves. When the lady comes to town, she buys food from all the bakers. She spends money at the apothecary and the merchant. She has prospered, and she comes to town to ensure that we prosper, too. It was never like that before the English came. She was never like that before the English came.”

Christopher smiled faintly, looking to Myles. “Cadell, this is my son, Myles,” he said. “He is the brother of Lady Leominster’s husband.”

Cadell dipped his head to Myles, but his attention returned to Christopher. “And you, my lord?” he said. “Who are you?”

“Christopher de Lohr.”

That brought a buzz of excitement from the group. Even Cadell seemed surprised by the answer.

“Hereford,” he said in realization. “You are Hereford.”

Christopher nodded. “I am.”

“You were the one who took Brython from Gruffydd.”

Christopher didn’t want to get into the fact that he’d conquered a Welsh castle in the presence of Welshmen. “Gruffydd is an ally,” he said. “Since the lady has been ill, we have sent him word. He knows.”

“Who knows?”

The voice came from the gatehouse, and they all turned with surprise to see Curtis coming through. He was unshaven, unwashed, and looking like a wild man with a growth of beard on his face. But he was coming toward his father and brother, his gaze fixed on Cadell.

His eyes flickered in recognition.

“I know you,” he said. “You are the baker.”

Cadell nodded. “I am,” he said, replying in the language Curtis had spoken. “I was telling your great father that we have come to see how the lady is faring. We heard she was ill.”

Curtis had spent too many sleepless nights to adequately keep his composure at the sight of so many people coming to see how Elle was doing. Any conversation about her had him verging on tears these days, which wasn’t usual for a man who was normally in control of himself. But he nodded shortly to Cadell’s statement.

“She is,” he said. “She is very ill. I am moved that you would take the time to come all the way to Brython to see to her health.”

Cadell quickly turned around, motioning frantically to someone, and the crowd parted to reveal a couple of men pulling a handcart. As the men came forward, Cadell turned to Curtis.

“You and the lady have been good to our village,” he said. “Because Brython prospers, you have helped us to prosper, too. As I told your great father, the lady spends money in the village with as many merchants as she can. She spends it until she has no more. She leaves money at the church so they can give alms to the poor. I do not know if you have realized that. Her prosperity has been our prosperity, and her happiness is reflected in her actions. It is because of you, my lord. Marrying her has changed our lives, too.”

By the time he was finished, Curtis was choked with emotion. He could only nod his head, blinking back tears, as the men with the handcart came to a halt and Cadell reached into the cart to display the contents.

“I have brought the lady many loaves of honey bread,” he said, holding up a loaf. “We have brought her baked eggs and currant buns and pies with honey and apples. We have brought baskets of food for her.”

Curtis was stunned. He went over to the handcart to look at all of the treats, and a woman approached him with folded blue material in her hands.

“For your wife, my lord,” she said, extending it to Curtis. “It will keep her warm.”

Curtis took it from her because he didn’t know what else to do. She was kindly offering it to Elle, so he took it. Before he could thank her, other people came forward, handing him things, mostly articles of clothing or blankets, telling him that they were meant for Elle and wishing her a swift recovery. A man, evidently a blacksmith, handed him a metal bracelet that he had made. It was simple and strong. Curtis took all of these things, completely in awe that so many people thought so well of his wife.

And it touched him more deeply than he could express.

“I will make sure she knows who brought these things to her,” he said sincerely. “Please tell me your names. I will not forget them. But she will want to know who to thank.”

“Gratitude is not necessary,” Cadell said. “These are small things, just small things, to tell her that we will pray for her recovery. We want her to know that we are grateful to her. God rewards those who are generous and kind, and we know that God will heal her. Elle ferch Gwenwynwyn is a true Welshwoman with a true heart. Mayhap she does not know the good that she does, but we do. You will tell her, won’t you?”

Curtis was starting to get choked up again. “Aye,” he said hoarsely. “May I borrow your handcart to take these things to her? I will return it, I promise.”

Cadell nodded, motioning the villagers away from it, as Curtis put the items in his arms next to the baskets of food. The villagers, having delivered what they had intended, turned for the road.

“If the lady needs more honey bread, do not hesitate to send word,” Cadell said. “We will send it along.”

Curtis smiled weakly. “I am certain she will want to come and get it herself as soon as she can,” he said. “She rather likes her jaunts into the village.”

Cadell grinned. “Then I will make sure I have something special for her the next time she comes,” he said. “Good day to you, my lord.”

Curtis held up a hand in parting. “And to you, Cadell,” he said. “And thank you. This means… It means a great deal.”

Cadell simply waved a hand, herding the villagers back the way they had come. They had delivered what they intended to, and now their business was concluded. Curtis, Christopher, and Myles watched them depart, heading down the road until they faded from view. At that point, Curtis turned to the handcart full of gifts.

“Rhayader is not a wealthy village,” he said. “Those people can ill afford to give things away like this. They should not have done it.”

Christopher came to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It does not matter that they cannot afford to do this,” he said. “Do you not understand, Curt? Your lady has been kind to them, and they are showing kindness in return. This is the only way they could do it. Gifts like this are worth more than gold, lad.”

Curtis did understand that, but he still felt bad that the villagers were giving over things of value. He wasn’t sure how Elle would feel about it, knowing that they could ill afford it. But as a show of gratitude, his father was right—it was worth more than gold. Perhaps, in a small way, it was acceptance to him, too, as the Lord of Brython.

If the Welsh were accepting him, then extended peace was assured.

And that was why he’d married Elle… for peace.

It had come.

“Help me get this back, Myles,” he said to his brother, who came to assist him with the handcart. “Since my wife is not eating these days, I suppose we could give it to the men before it spoils.”

They turned the handcart for the gatehouse, with Curtis and Myles pushing it between them. Christopher followed alongside, peering at all of the food in the cart.

“Elle must be fond of the honey bread,” he said. “There is a good deal of it.”

“She is fond of everything the baker made,” Curtis said. “If she knew it was here, she would rise up out of her bed and rush to eat it.”

“Then take it to her and let her smell it,” Christopher said, half joking. “If she smells it, it might rouse her.”

Curtis smiled weakly. “Pliny says she is sleeping heavily now,” he said. “The fever has gone down. He hopes it will soon break.”

As they reached the gatehouse, pushing the cart through, Christopher put his hand on Curtis’ shoulder. “That is good news,” he said. “Is your mother with her?”

“Aye,” Curtis said. “I’ve been sitting in the same chair since last night. Mama told me to get out and get some air. But I am going to take some of the honey bread and go back. Mayhap you are right—if I wave it under her nose and she smells it, it will rouse her. At this point, I am willing to try anything.”

He sounded hopeless. Christopher felt bad for the man, with every day being a day of grief and sorrow. Well did he know what it felt like to worry over a wife that was loved more than life itself. As Myles shouted to Douglas and Westley to help with the handcart and take it to the kitchen, Christopher picked up a loaf of the honey bread and handed it to Curtis.

“Do not lose faith,” he said quietly. “Women are remarkable creatures. They are far stronger than you think they are. I know this because your mother almost died giving birth to you. I endured days of horror as she struggled, and in the end, I had a horrible choice to make—your life or hers. That was what the physic presented to me. But before I had to make that choice, by a miracle, you were born. I will never forget that moment, Curt, not as long as I live. I, too, had lost all hope. But your mother… She dug deep down, tapping into that strength that all women have, and willed you to be born. She wasn’t going down without a fight. And neither is Elle.”

Curtis took the bread, hearing his father’s words that brought tears to his eyes. “I want so badly to believe that,” he whispered tightly. “I do. But every day that passes, she grows weaker. Every day that passes is a day my hope lessens, just a little. She cannot keep going on like this.”

Christopher smiled sympathetically. “She will not,” he said. “This will be over, soon, one way or the other. All I am saying is that you must have faith in Elle’s strength. The woman threw you over a wall in battle. She can fight off a fever.”

In spite of his tears, Curtis started to laugh. Christopher patted him on the cheek and pointed to the keep, a silent command to return to his wife. Taking the bread with him, Curtis obeyed.

The keep was warmly lit when he entered, with a fire in the hearth near the door and torches lit to illuminate the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, increasingly smelling the bread in his hand, to the point of taking a bite, as he came to the level where the chamber that he shared with Elle was. He realized how hungry he was and took another bite as he headed toward the chamber door, chewing with a very full mouth. Opening the door, he swallowed part of the bite just as his gaze fell on the bed.

It was empty.

Momentarily stumped, he nearly choked on the rest of the bread in his mouth, spewing it out all over the floor as he envisioned an empty bed.

Empty!

“Jesus,” he gasped, panic filling his veins. “Oh, God. Mother! ”

He bellowed at the top of his lungs, only to hear his mother answer him almost immediately.

“Curtis, hush,” she said. “Why are you shouting?”

She was sitting at the window seat off to his left, the one that was set in a small alcove that contained chairs and a chest. Most of the windows in the chamber were lancet, but there was one big window sunk into the thickness of the wall, with two seats facing one another in front of it. It was Elle’s favorite place to sit, and as Curtis’ frantic gaze found his mother, with Pliny standing beside her, it took him a moment to realize there was someone sitting opposite her.

Elle turned to look at him.

“I’m here,” she said softly. “Do not fret.”

Curtis looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost. She was wrapped up in a robe, leaning weakly against the wall behind her, but she was alive. And she was speaking to him. For a moment, he couldn’t answer. He pointed to the bed with the bread he was holding.

“You… But you were sleeping,” he said, clearly unable to process what he was seeing. “I left, and you were sleeping.”

“She was,” Pliny said. “Her fever is completely gone, my lord. She awoke shortly after you left, and we told her you had gone outside. She wanted to see for herself.”

Curtis stood there with his mouth open. Then he burst into quiet tears, covering his face with one hand to hide the emotions that were coming out all over the place. He took a few staggering steps in Elle’s direction as Dustin jumped up and rushed to him, helping him over to his wife, who weakly put her arms up to guide him down next to her. As Dustin and Pliny wandered away to give the couple some privacy, Curtis put his arms around Elle and sobbed.

“I thought you were dead,” he wept into the side of her head. “You were so ill, and I thought you were… gone .”

Truthfully, Elle felt as if she was quite nearly gone. She was horribly weak, but even so, she had demanded to sit by the window. Dustin had told her that she forced Curtis out into the fresh air, so she knew the man would return shortly. Elle was counting on it. What she hadn’t counted on was his falling to pieces in front of her. He’d been so terribly frightened that his fear brought tears of her own. She hugged him as much as she could, trying to reassure him.

“I am quite alive,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “See? Look at me. I am not dead, I swear it.”

Curtis grasped her face, gazing into those miraculous blue eyes. “God, I hope I am not dreaming.”

“You are not.”

“You’re real?”

Elle smiled weakly. “I am real.”

He fought to regain his composure now that his shock was wearing off. “But why are you here?” he said. “You should be in bed.”

She leaned against the wall again, her hands on his face. “My entire body aches from having been lying in bed for so long,” she said. “The moment I awoke, it was screaming to get out. I am sorry that I could not wait for you to help me.”

He shook his head, kissing her twice, tremulously. “That does not matter,” he said. “But… Oh, God, I keep saying this, but I cannot believe it. You’re alive.”

Her smile grew. “I am,” she said. “Did you really think I was going to leave you, Curt?”

He lifted his big shoulders. “Sometimes we have no control over things,” he said. “My father told me to have faith. He said that women are stronger than we know.”

“Your father is very wise,” Elle said, watching him lift her hand to kiss it reverently. “How could I leave you? We have a son coming in a few months. We have a life to live. I could not let you live it without me.”

He put his hand against her belly, on the heavy robe in between. “And he is well?” he said. “He has not suffered?”

Elle put her hand over his. “Pliny says that if he has survived my troubles, then there is every chance that he has not suffered,” she said. “I suppose we will find out.”

Curtis simply couldn’t speak anymore. He was overwhelmed. He pulled Elle into his embrace, finally picking her up and carrying her back to bed, because he wasn’t comfortable with her sitting in the breeze of an open window. Elle didn’t put up a fight, letting him do what he wanted to do. She simply went along with it. But when he set her down on the bed, she finally noticed what he’d been holding in his hand the entire time.

She pointed.

“Is that honey bread?” she asked.

He shook his head, putting it behind him. “It is nothing.”

“Show me.”

“You must conserve your strength.”

Elle was lying back on the pillows, looking up at him. “Curtis?”

“Aye, my love?”

“Show me what is in your hand.”

With great reluctance, and fighting off a grin, he produced the honey bread with two big bites taken out of it. Dustin, who was back at Elle’s bedside now, put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Elle sighed faintly.

“You promised not to lie to me again,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, knowing he was caught. “I did not lie to you,” he said. “I simply said that it was nothing at all.”

Elle shook her head at her guilty husband. “I am too weak to punish you, but know that when I am feeling better, my punishment shall be swift,” she said. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

He smiled and sat down on the bed next to her. “There is more of it in the kitchens that is untouched and waiting for you,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. “The villagers brought it as a show of gratitude. They wanted you to know that they were praying for your swift recovery.”

After hearing that, of course she could not become angry. In fact, she was quite touched. “Will you bring me some of it?” she said. “I think I could eat something.”

That was a good sign, but Pliny put up a hand. “Broth for you, my lady,” he said. “You have not eaten in days. We must introduce food slowly so that your belly will become used to it again.”

Elle was disappointed, but she understood. “Very well,” she said. “May I have some broth, then?”

Pliny nodded, looking to Dustin, who grinned as she leaned over to kiss Elle on the forehead. “Of course, my love,” she said, stroking Elle’s blonde head. “I will fetch it for you. Welcome back. We have missed you.”

As she headed off to retrieve the broth, Curtis held Elle’s hand, smiling at her, still incredulous that he wasn’t dreaming this whole event. Elle smiled in return, caressing the big hand that held hers. He was holding her like he was never going to let go.

Ever.

Nor was she.

“You will have to tell me everything that happened since I’ve been… asleep,” she said softly. “How is Asa?”

Curtis squeezed her hand gently. “Much as you think he would be,” he said. “He is mourning Melly deeply. We all are.”

That brought tears to Elle’s eyes. “When I am feeling better, will you take me to her crypt?”

He leaned down and kissed her hand. “Of course, love,” he said. “As soon as you wish.”

Elle wiped at her eyes. “It will seem strange without her,” she said. “But she was happy when she went, Curt. That is very important to me. Melly spent so much of her life unhappy, but I know that here, with us, she was very happy.”

Curtis didn’t want her becoming emotional over Melusine and exhausting herself over something that she could not change. “Brython has been a happy place for me, too,” he said. “It brought me to you, and for that, it will always have my deepest fondness.”

“Even after Amaro’s rampage?”

“Even after.”

She watched his face, seeing that he was sincere. “That is something we must strive to forget,” she said. “I do not want it clouding what Brython has become to us. It was a terrible event, of course, but we have many happy things awaiting us here. A home and children. They will be born here, children of two worlds. Your father said that to me once.”

Curtis kissed her hand again. “He was right, in every way,” he said. “I remember when he told me that I was to marry you, and I very nearly refused. He said something to me that seems more important now than it was then. He said that he had made his mark on the marches, and with my marriage to you, it was time for me to make my own mark. I knew what he meant, or at least I thought I did, but now I think I have it figured out.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled at her, putting her palm against his unshaven cheek. “I mean you,” he said softly. “It wasn’t that I was to make my mark on the marches. It was that you were to make your mark on me. You are the mark, Ellie. You are my mark. And you have given me a life I could have never imagined.”

It was a sweet thing to say. “Nor I,” she murmured. “Do you remember when we first met and I told you of the Otherworld? How the Welsh are waiting for our greatest prince to rise and free us from English tyranny?”

He grinned. “I do,” he said. “How Brython protects the gate to the Otherworld.”

She grinned because he was. “Prophecies are meant to give hope,” she said. “They are meant to give the downtrodden a reason to live, a reason to fight. I am not saying that it is a foolish legend, but I think that you have changed that prophecy.”

“How?”

“Because you have brought hope with you,” she said, her eyes glimmering with warmth. “You have given me a gift greater than any prophecy, greater than any army. You have given me yourself, Curtis de Lohr, and that is all I will ever need.”

Curtis leaned over her, touching his forehead to hers in a moment of complete and utter adoration. The love he felt for her, and she for him, had propelled them beyond prophecies and armies. It had moved them beyond English and Welsh. Now, they were on a plane that few people achieved in their lifetimes. Only the fortunate few would know what they knew. That the phoenix of hope could rise from the ashes of hate, and that love was the only thing that mattered in the end.

For Curtis and Elle, it was their calling.

And yet another legend of a great and timeless love was born.