Never Love a Lord (Foxe Sisters) Page 29

  She turned to him. “Julian, I—”

  But someone cleared his throat pointedly and Sybilla and Julian turned to see that Graves had stepped forward.

  “Might I say something, Lord Griffin?”

  Oliver quipped under his breath, “Don’t you mean, might you ask something?”

  Graves’s head turned toward the young lord with a haughty stare.

  “That’s not what I mean at all, Lord Oliver.”

  Everyone within earshot gasped. Sybilla felt her mouth fall open.

  “Go on, Graves. Please,” Julian encouraged him respectfully.

  Graves stepped toward them and handed Lucy to Julian. Then he turned to Sybilla.

  “Madam. The day you were born, there had never been such rejoicing at Fallstowe, in all my many days here since my own birth. Never has a child brought a man such joy as you did your father. He delighted in you beyond anything of this mortal world, and he and I spent many an hour discussing your future, your talents, your inevitable success. And your mother—” Graves paused for a moment and his thin, wrinkled lips pursed, twitched. “She perhaps made some missteps. But what she did, she did to protect your father, your sisters, and you. She tried to do it all on her own, until it became clear that she would not live long enough to see its end.

  “Everything she ever told you is absolutely true,” Graves said in a voice just above a whisper. Then he stepped forward, grasped her shoulders with his bony hands and leaned his papery cheek against hers to speak in her ear. “And it does not . . . bloody . . . matter . . . anymore.”

  He pressed his cool, dry lips to her cheek before he drew away and took a courteous step back.

  “I long for your happiness above all else. Above even Fallstowe’s continuation. I can’t bear—” He broke off, and when he recovered, his haughty voice was choked, his rheumy eyes glistened. “I can’t bear the thought of you alone, when I am no longer here to look after you.”

  Sybilla broke then, rushing to Graves and embracing him, her tears staining his shoulders as they clung to each other.

  “I love you, Graves,” Sybilla said.

  “And I you, Madam.”

  At last they released each other, and then Sybilla turned to Julian once more, who now held a solemn-looking and wide-eyed Lucy, little dark shadows under her eyes from the late hour.

  She still had no chance to speak, though.

  “Now,” Julian said, “it’s my turn.”

  Chapter 32

  Julian looked down into Sybilla’s eyes as he held his daughter. He could see the overwhelming emotion on her face, how it had confused her, shaken her, and that was exactly what Julian had hoped for.

  Sometimes the truth was a difficult thing to hear. And sometimes it was only difficult to accept.

  “Until the day I heard the king speak your name, I thought you were a fable,” he said. “And when I discovered that not only were you a fact, but I would be responsible for investigating your life, I was charged with anticipation. The more I learned about you, the more intrigued I became, and the more I craved to know.

  “Then I met you. And you tried to kill me straightaway. Repeatedly, I still suspect.” He smiled at her and she returned the gesture as everyone within earshot chuckled. “And I discovered that everything I’d heard about you was true, only worse.” At that, the guests laughed out loud, even Sybilla.

  “And it was the most lovely experience,” he said quietly. “Before coming to Fallstowe, I had memorized dates, names, facts about your life. But it was only as I came to know you as a woman that I realized how phenomenal, how amazing, you actually are to have done the impossible things you have. It was only after coming here and being in this magical place—not just the Foxe Ring, but all that comprises Fallstowe, that I understood loyalty, devotion, the deep kind of love that spans castles, countries, continents . . . generations. Even death.”

  “Julian,” Sybilla said.

  “Not yet,” he insisted softly. “So who is Sybilla Foxe to me now? She is the bravest, most beautiful, honest, passionate woman that God has ever formed. I hope she will be my wife. The woman who will continue to guard and protect Fallstowe and its people, at my side.” He looked down at Lucy, who had nestled her head under his chin but was still regarding Sybilla hesitantly from the safety of his chest.

  “To Lucy?” he said, giving his daughter a squeeze and a little bounce on his arms before holding her slightly away from his chest. “You are her mother. All you need do is take her, Sybilla. Take her, and we are yours forever.”

  Sybilla smiled gently up at him and stepped forward, her hands at her sides. “If you had only asked me once more in the solar last week, I would have said yes, Julian.” Then she took hold of Lucy and brought her to her chest, closing her eyes with a sigh. “My darling girl,” she whispered.

  Julian enveloped them both as a cheer rang out through the valley, echoing up to the sparkling sky and glowing moon. He leaned down and spoke into her ear.

  “You shall be turned across my knee for certain now.”

  “Let me take my own hair down this time,” she replied.

  Julian threw his head back and laughed for a moment. And then he looked over his shoulder, seeking his accomplice.

  “Father Perry?”

  “At your side, young man.” The slender priest stepped to a spot just before the fallen down center stone, in front of Julian and Sybilla, who still snuggled Lucy.

  Sybilla looked at Julian with surprise. “Now?”

  “You don’t think I went to all this trouble just for a heartfelt chat, do you?” he teased. “Yes, now. Not a moment later. Yes, Sybilla?”

  She kissed Lucy’s forehead. “Yes.”

  She would have handed the baby to Graves, but Lucy was having none of it. And so perhaps it was fitting that the three of them were joined together as a family at the Foxe Ring as the hour courted midnight beneath that ripe moon that knew so much of the place.

  At the end of the formalities, when Julian and Sybilla had kissed each other sweetly, and then both kissed Lucy for good measure, Sybilla was surprised to see the inside of the old ruins light up like a fair. Julian grinned mischievously as he led her to the old arched doorway where, inside the ruins, Fallstowe’s capable servants were bustling about.

  A newly sawed, pale wood floor covered the dark, dreadful circle that had once been the dungeon, and atop it was a U-shaped configuration of rough-hewn tables bearing all manner of fresh spring berries and cheeses and cakes. There were casks of ale and cider and a special display of apple tarts. Musicians had set up near where the old stair snaked up the wall of the keep, and within moments, the old Foxe ruins knew life and music and joy once more as the hundreds of guests milled in and out and around the stones.

  Many young people tried their luck with the legend that night. Perhaps the resulting population surge at Fallstowe the following winter’s end was only a coincidence. But perhaps not.

  It was nearly dawn when Sybilla and Julian and Lucy made their way back to Fallstowe. They saw their already sleeping daughter to a clean nappy and her own bed and then Sybilla followed her husband into their new chamber. Nothing was familiar here, and that suited her greatly as they both undressed and crawled beneath the coverlet, each feeling the effects of the wine and the emotions of the evening. They reached for each other in the still, pale light, and were instantly asleep.

  They consummated their marriage much later in the morning, upon waking in the quiet; alone together. It was a slow, joyful union that deliberately erased the worst of the past, the unknown, for them both.

  After dressing and breaking the fast as a family, Lucy was off for a late lie-down, and Julian had neglected several important messages that needed addressing. And so Sybilla donned a cloak for the chilly rain that had enveloped the land once more and, after retrieving the item she’d brought back from London, set out across bright green fields.

  The dirt was still tawny over Sybil de Lairne’s grave. Sybilla stood for a l
ong time in the drizzle, saying nothing, hearing nothing, simply experiencing the feeling of standing on the edge of a very high precipice. She had been here before, she felt, but this time she had no desire to take that step.

  “Good-bye, Mother,” Sybilla whispered. “Good-bye, Sybil.”

  Sybilla bent at her knees and placed the miniature portrait of the two girls in the grass, one edge of the frame just touching the recently turned earth. She stood aright.

  And then Sybilla turned on her heel, her head held high, and walked through the rain back to her husband and daughter. Back to her family. Back to her heart, her future.

  And Fallstowe welcomed her.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I hope you have enjoyed spending time with the Foxe sisters throughout their adventures. Each heroine was special to me in her own way, and each gave me her own unique sort of trouble.

  Although the characters and events in all three stories are completely fictional, obviously there was a King Edward I of England during that time period. My interpretation of Longshanks is purely of my own imagination, I assure you, and nothing this king does or says throughout the Foxe Sisters trilogy is anything but fantasy.

  However, the stories of Simon de Montfort and his troubles with the Gascon barons, and later with Edward’s father, King Henry III, are all based on historical events and depict a rather tumultuous time in English history. There are conflicting opinions to this day about the motives and intentions of both Simon de Montfort and Edward I in the baronial revolts. The battle of Lewes did indeed take place, although I invented my own details. And Edward did take back the power of his father’s throne by triumphing over Simon de Montfort in 1265 at Evesham with the assistance of a woman spy.

  Her identity remains unknown.

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  Copyright © 2013 by Heather Grothaus

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3088-1