Page 34

Vows

I ran as far as the threemilestone that marked the distance to town, and then I had to stop, catching my breath, waiting for my ribs to cease heaving and the fire in my chest to abate.

I perched on the large stone. The margool circled round me, brushing against my legs as though to soothe me. But nothing could tame my anticipation.

It felt like an age, but finally, I felt the soft vibration under my feet. A horse was coming, riding quickly.

I stood on the milestone, waving to catch the approaching rider’s attention so he would not thunder past.

His horse was enormous, but it suited Beran, for he was a tall and heavy rider. He saw me and pulled on the reins, not even bringing the mount to a full stop before he leapt from the saddle, taking long, quick strides toward me.

A sudden shyness overtook me as he neared, for this was not my wild, bear-like friend, but a young man, clean-shaven, his black hair neatly cut, his shirt of the finest linen, his tunic embroidered, his cloak lined with velvet, his riding breeches and boots of the finest leatherwork, this was a prince.

But the voice was still Beran’s. And the dark eyes meeting my own, as he cupped my blushing face, tilting it toward him, they were Beran’s.

“You came back,” I said, which sounded foolish, for it hardly required pointing out.

“I came back,” he agreed.

He still spoke haltingly and gruffly, but his speech had greatly improved.

“Are you glad?” he asked, searching my expression.

“Oh, yes.” I laughed, half with joy, half from nervousness, for I still could not reconcile my childhood friend with this princely man. He seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something. He was as uncertain of me as I was of him. “Yes!” I reassured him. “I am so very glad!”

And he broke into a grin as wide as my own and suddenly scooped me up from the milestone, catching me under my knees and shoulders.

I laughed in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you home.”

He set me sideways on the saddle, then mounted his horse in a smooth, practised bound. The margool swooped over us, but Beran’s horse, unlike Jack’s, was not so skittish, and only flicked his ears at the creature.

“You look well,” I said, my shyness returning again as I examined his face while he urged his horse into a walking pace. I ran a finger over his smooth cheek, then blushed and dropped my hand.

“You do not,” he said bluntly.

I flinched. What girl in love does not want to look well in her beloved’s eyes ?

A sudden image of ladies in silk gowns and jewels sashaying around the palace flickered in my mind, and I realised I must look like a wild, hoydenish thing in stark contrast to the company he had lately kept.

But the dark eyes examining my features did not express distaste or disappointment.

“You look…” He searched for the right word.

“Wild?” I suggested. “Peasant-ish? Uncivilised?”

He frowned. “Lonely.”

I swallowed. “I have been lonely. I miss Rose and Mother. And you.”

“Me last?”

I took courage and touched his face again, feeling the need to assure myself that he was really here and not some wonderful daydream.

“You most of all.”

“Good. I am not going back.”

I blinked. “Not going home? To your family?”

“You are home, Lily. You are family.”

We may as well have glided home like the margool, for I knew nothing of the rest of the short ride, for I was carried on a bright, floating bubble of joy.

Jack had put his horse in the meadow. His saddle was laid on a chair, and packs of goods littered the cottage floor.

He had been busy laying the little table with food—rolls made of fine white flour, slabs of something he called game pie, sweet, rosy apples, golden quinces, and a fruitcake with a generous slice missing.

“Shall we wait for Mother Hazel?” asked Jack, brushing a cake crumb from his chin before pouring mead into cups .

“Mother is gone,” I said.

“Gone where?”

“Gone north. On a new assignment.”

Jack stared. “You don’t mean to say you’re all alone, Miss Lily!”

“I’m not alone,” I said, taking a sip of mead. It was sweet and thick. I smiled. “You are here.”

I forced myself to eat a little of everything to please Jack, but in truth, my stomach was doing somersaults. I had to keep touching Beran’s sleeve, and when he looked at me questioningly, I said, “I am checking that you are really here.”

Jack handed me a fat letter from Rose, sealed with the letter E encircled by a garland of roses impressed into blue wax. I scanned the lines quickly, eager to read all she had to say. I would read it again and again later, at a leisurely pace.

“It sounds as if everyone adores her,” I said. “She would enjoy that.” I sighed, folding the missive up. “What is the other letter?” I asked, for Jack had taken two large, sealed documents from his pack.

“Not a letter,” said Jack, grinning and sharing a look with Beran that I could not interpret.

I took it, noticing a different imprint in the scarlet wax—the seal of the king.

I unfolded the thick paper with its deckled edges, admiring the beautiful penmanship and elaborate flourishes. I read aloud the words at the top of the page:

“ Contract of Marriage .”

I glanced up at Beran. He was watching me carefully.

“It’s for getting hitched,” said Jack, still grinning.

“Can’t read it myself, but Princess Elaine says you just have to sign your name at the bottom there, and His Highness has to put his name there, and I have to put my mark as your witness.

I’ve been learning how to do my name. Can’t do it fancy like these letters, but I can write it. ”

He looked very pleased with himself, and with everyone else.

When I did not respond, but only stared at the document, his grin dimmed.

“You do want to get hitched, don’t you? Princess Elaine said it was important. Said it weren’t the thing for her brother to live with you. Had to be done proper. And,” he added, “said it would make you her sister good and proper, though you were already her sister good and proper in her heart.”

“She said that?” I murmured, feeling tears rising. What a watering pot I was becoming of late!

Beran placed his hand over mine. “Marry me?” he said in his gruff, halting speech.

“You would leave everything?” I asked. “The palace, the fine food and luxury, for life in a cottage?”

Beran struck the table with his palm, making Jack and me jump. He still had not realised his own strength.

“Home,” he said firmly, taking my hand again and squeezing it. “With you. Say yes.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling and crying at the same time. “But don’t squeeze my hand so tight, Beran, you’re not a bear anymore.”

Jack’s grin returned as he handed me a quill and a jar of ink engraved with gliding swans.

“Princess Elaine thought of everything,” he said. “Right down to the ink.”

My hand was a little shaky, but I managed to write Lily of Rose Cottage at the bottom of the document. Beran printed Eadric of Westshires in large, childlike letters .

Jack, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated, carefully wrote his name.

“Jack Jago of Lady Rose Acres,” he read proudly. “That’s what we called our land. And the first filly born in my stable shall be Lady Rose, but the second will be named Miss Lily.”

“Thank you, Jack,” I said, touched. “So… is that it? Are we married?”

“All legal and binding! That’s what Princess Elaine says,” Jack declared, folding up the contract. “I’ve got to take it back to the palace.”

“Ring!” Beran said firmly.

“Oh! Yes!” Jack rummaged inside his coat. “Can’t forget that!”

He set a small box on the table. I lifted the lid to reveal a beautiful gold ring, its wide band engraved with roses.

“Princess Elaine had it made,” said Jack. “As a wedding gift.”

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured. “Such exquisite engraving.”

“Only the best artists work for the palace,” Jack assured me.

I held out my hand, which trembled slightly, and let Beran slide the ring onto my wedding finger. He kissed my fingers once it was in place, pulling me toward him.

“Ahem!” Jack coughed, jumping up. “I shall be off now.”

“Off where?” I asked. “You cannot ride back at this hour.”

“Had a hankering to sleep in my old tree house for many a week,” Jack said, snatching up his cloak and bag of belongings. “See you in the morning, Your Highness. Miss Lily—no, I’ll be jiggered!—I daresay I shouldn’t call you Miss Lily now! You’re a highness too! ”

I began to protest against being called anything other than Lily, but Beran had risen and bundled Jack out of the door.

“We’re not quite alone yet,” I said with a nervous laugh, as another enormous wave of shyness rushed over me.

I nodded at the margool, who was curled up on the rug with her belly full of royal delicacies.

I looked again, startled. It was not the old handwoven rug that Rose and I had made as children. It was a large, black bearskin, with splayed paws and an eyeless head.

“You brought your bearskin,” I murmured.

Beran did not answer.

It was only three strides between him and me, and I stood, feeling a little shivery and apprehensive at his approach.

But when he gathered me into his arms, holding me close, I began to relax.

He was not a stranger, this man in fine clothes, smelling of perfumed soap, laundered linen, and the crisp scent of a long ride. He was Beran.

My friend. My husband.

When he pulled back to look at me, I gazed into those familiar eyes the colour of deep autumn, ringed with black.

Eyes that had once stared out at me from an enchanted bear’s face, filled with sorrow and yearning, trying desperately to communicate what his stolen voice could not.

Now his voice was no longer stolen. Now he could tell me in words what I could already read in those eyes.

“I love you, Lily.”

“I love you too,” I whispered as his head drew near to kiss me.