His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) (36 page)

“Sweet Maeve,” Kieran whispered, kneeling to her. “You astound me always. Your strength, your understanding. Men all over the world would wish for your character, myself included.”

The fervency of his words took Maeve aback. Then he took her hands in his and squeezed.

“I do not deserve you. I know thus. I-I should have told you before we wed about the bargain with King Henry, but I knew if I told you, our marriage would be forever chaste and no babe would be conceived. I put my freedom above yours, and I am sorry for it.”

Did he mean those words? Could he? “Kieran—”

“Let me finish,” he urged, shaking his head. “It wasn’t until you ordered me gone that I saw all I had lost in losing you. I realized”—he paused, gripping her hands even more tightly—“I had allowed my parents’ marriage to color my judgment.”

“Your parents?”

Kieran swallowed, forcing himself to face the past he had spent years avoiding, facing the ugly times at Balcorthy for Maeve’s sake—for their sake.

“My parents wed because of a royal decree. I know not why the match was arranged, but it was calamitous from the first. They had not a civil word to say to one another through the whole of my youth, for he was wont to battle and bosoms. My English mother was a quiet woman of reflection, religion, and study. I suppose, somewhere in my head, I imagined myself too like my father and you like my mother.”

“And you doomed us from the start?”

He nodded. “I could not see any other possible ending, and I feared their fate would become ours.”

“What happened?”

“After years of bitter feuding, my mother wrote her family and begged them to come take her away. Her brother agreed and brought an army to Balcorthy for the task. Desmond was infuriated and beat her near to death for her perfidy.”

“And you saw it?”

Kieran nodded. “’Twas not the first time. He accused her of leaving him for a lover. She had none. I think she merely wanted freedom. She hated this country.”

Understanding began to dawn on Maeve’s face.

He continued on. “Desmond was ready for my mother’s family to arrive, and he trounced them in battle, killing my uncle.”

Maeve gasped at the eerie similarity.

“But my mother would not be denied this want. Before she even learned of the battle’s outcome, she set Balcorthy afire, picked me up amongst the flames, and took me to England. I-I had not been back to Ireland since that day.”

Recoiling in shock, Maeve felt at that moment how difficult his return to this land must have been and all the reasons why he had sought freedom so recklessly.

“She told me my father died in battle, left me at Guilford’s doorstep, then took herself off to a convent. I saw her but once more before she died.”

Maeve wanted to cry for him, for the confused boy who had lived such violence and betrayal, abandonment and uncertainty.

She touched his face. “Oh, Kieran. How I wish I could take that from you.”

“You can,” he whispered, his gaze delving to her eyes, willing her to feel his care. “Let me stay.”

Shock transformed her features. “You want to live here?”

Kieran nodded, his stare unending. “After I left, I realized I—I love you.”

Maeve gasped, then lapsed into a stunned silence. Could he mean thus? His earnest expression, those blue-green eyes tangling with hers, seemed so sincere.…

“I know I have much to learn as a husband. If you will have me, I will stay here, lay my heart at your feet, and love you always.”

With those eloquent words, Kieran turned to her a face so earnest Maeve knew not what to say. He wanted to stay and he loved her? She swallowed against confusion. ’Twas all so quick. But her heart knew for certain she loved him as well.

“I know we still have the matter of politics between us,” he said, rushing into her silence. “And I cannot fight for the Irish cause. Such would bring harm to Guilford, Aric, and myself, as well as betray my honor. But I can vow to do my very best to be the voice of reason with the other Palesmen. I will do all I can to see the rebellion ended in diplomatic ways whilst encouraging the English to leave you in as much peace as can be. I will do all possible to avoid the shedding of anyone’s blood. This I promise.”

She believed him, felt so connected to his heart, his soul. Maeve knew he would live up to each of his promises.

“But,” he went on, his voice growing taut, “if you wish me gone, I will go now and never bother you again. The choice is yours alone, sweet Maeve.”

Her choice? For a man of Kieran’s ilk to give her such power over his life, his future… Aye, he loved her well indeed. As she loved him.

Tears stung her eyes as joy washed over her in towering tides. She stood and flung herself into his arms.

“If you ever leave me again, you’ll not have to worry about the rebellion, for I will kill you myself.”

Maeve’s broken voice and ardent declaration were the sweetest sounds Kieran had ever heard. He drew his arms around her and held tight to his wife, this amazing woman he loved with all his soul.

“Never will I leave,” he whispered as he clasped her warm, freckled cheeks in his hands. He was stunned to see tears making silent silver paths down her face. “Nay, do not cry.”

“I cannot stop. I am overwhelmed by my good fortune. I love you.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, inhaling her springlike scent. Relief and joy filled him, and yet he needed to know all of what lay in her heart. “You’re certain you can love
me
? You no longer wish you had wed Quaid?”

Maeve shook her head. “Quaid and I were promised from the cradle, and he was my dear friend. But he never made me feel…whole. I never loved him as I love you.”

Kieran sighed in relief. “Oh, my sweetest Maeve. I cannot stop loving you.”

With a heartfelt smile, she met his gaze, love warming her golden eyes. “I never thought you could love me. I never thought you would love at all.”

“Nor did I,” he whispered, soothing her with the gentle touch of his thumbs across her cheeks. “But I do, so much.”

She drew in a ragged breath. “I wondered why you could not love me, why you could not stay.…”

“’Twas hard for me to believe such joy could come from so forced a union.”

“But it can,” she whispered.

“It has,” he agreed. “And with you at my side, I have no doubt I will always know joy.”

Smiling through her tears, Maeve rose up to the tips of her toes. Kieran met her halfway and sealed their union with a kiss destined to last a lifetime.

EPILOGUE

Langmore Castle, Kildare, Ireland

March 1491

Kieran smiled as the group, so like a family in all the ways that mattered, gathered around the cradle.

“She is beautiful,” whispered Gwenyth, sending him a misty-eyed gaze. “And look! Her little mouth moves as she sleeps.”

“She is lovely. I see why you are such a proud papa,” said Averyl, placing a sisterly kiss on his cheek.

“Aye,” Kieran answered. “But I cannot take much of the credit. Maeve had the biggest hand in Elinora, even down to the red hair.”

His wife cast him a rueful grin. “Aye, you had the diverting part.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” Averyl asked her, hazel eyes dancing as she juggled a dark-headed boy not yet six months old on her hip.

Laughing, Kieran took the few steps to stand beside Aric, Drake, and Guilford, all recently arrived to see his new addition to their informal clan.

“What news brings you from London?” he asked the group.

Aric answered first. “Beyond the usual court intrigues, King Henry is keeping an eye on the rebels’ pretender. Perkin Warbeck appears to be the lad’s real name. With his Irish backing disarmed now, Margaret of Burgundy is rumored to be taking the boy to France, to seek support there. But I’m sure naught will come of it, now that the king is prepared.”

“Aye,” said Drake. “And old Henry was so happy for the information, Aric has become quite the favorite at court.”

“Rumor has it,” said Guilford, “that he will even make Aric the godfather of his coming child, to be named Henry after his father if ’tis a boy. I would call that an honor indeed.”

Aric’s face flushed with color. “If the king is pleased and England is well, that will satisfy my ambitions. I have much more interest in home and hearth these days.”

Upon hearing his words, Gwenyth glanced up at her husband, then, smiling, went to his side. “I have much interest in you, too,” she whispered.

Laughing, Aric kissed his wife and tucked her under his arm. Their daughter, soon to see her first year done, toddled about their feet.

“And what of you, Drake? ’Twas a mighty long winter with little word from you and Averyl.”

“We spent much of the winter at Abbotsford, Averyl’s home. The keep’s repairs are nearly complete; the crops are again flourishing. And her father took a widow to wife close to Christmas, so we simply remained there for a time.”

“She is a wonderful woman. And best of all,” said Averyl as she approached, “no one at Abbotsford will starve this winter—or any other, I believe—and the Campbells and the MacDougalls have ceased their petty squabbles.”

Drake took his younger son from her arms, then looked at his other two children standing near. He flashed his wife a contented smile. “That’s right, wench. You learned the value of a good MacDougall man at your side.”

Averyl rolled her eyes at the teasing. “Nay, you boaster. ’Twas the love of a good Campbell woman that made you worthwhile.”

He ran a tender thumb across her fair cheek, brushing the golden hair at her nape. “You are right, love.”

In the sweet moment of silence, Drake kissed his infant son’s forehead. Averyl added her affection by patting the boy’s shoulder—and looking at his father with love.

“Now we are glad that you came to your senses and took Maeve to wife,” Averyl offered.

“And that we
finally
had the opportunity to meet her,” complained Gwenyth with a grin.

Maeve, certainly the loveliest lady in the room by Kieran’s estimation, joined the group, completing it. “As I am finally glad to meet you. I will look forward to hearing tales of these three ruffians.”

Collectively, the trio groaned.

“I could start with that tale of the day I caught you boys watching the bathing castlewomen,” Guilford offered, winking at the wives. “Not a single one of them under forty, and these lads were barely thinking of becoming men.”

The women all laughed. The men groaned again.

“’Twas an accident,” Kieran pleaded. “Have mercy!”

Guilford joined in the laughter. “As you wish. Have no doubt I am well pleased, Kieran. Maeve will keep you in line, and well you need it.”

Kieran reached for Maeve and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. “She does, I do, and I could not be happier.”

“Well, this is a fine state.” Guilford’s blue eyes snapped as he thrust his hands on his hips. “Here we have three warriors—well trained, I might add—utterly tamed by love. What have you to say?”

“The battle was a sweet one,” said Aric, watching Gwenyth.

“Aye, beyond a doubt,” added Drake, smiling at Averyl.

Kieran reached for Maeve’s hand. “I agree, and it seems fitting that God has blessed us all in love—and friendship.”

“God willing, He always will,” said Guilford with a smile.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear Reader,

As depicted in
His Rebel Bride
, Pro-Yorkist supporters in Ireland indeed tried twice to oust Henry VII with a pretender to his throne.

In May 1487, Lambert Simnel (real name unknown) was crowned in Ireland’s Dublin Cathedral Edward VI of England, claiming he was Edward, earl of Warwick, a nephew to the late King Edward IV. Simnel was a boy of eleven and of humble origins, and a pawn of the pro-Yorkist forces. Henry VII, enraged by this turn of events, brought the real Edward, earl of Warwick, from the Tower of London for all to see, but support for the pretender grew in Ireland anyway. The pro-Yorkist forces attacked the English in June 1487, at the Battle of Stoke, where they were decisively beaten. King Henry pardoned the boy afterward and put him to work in the royal kitchens. Eventually, he rose to the role of king’s falconer. He died peacefully in 1525, at the age of fifty.

In 1491, the second such pretender, Perkin Warbeck, emerged. He was the son of a French official and, while working in Ireland, gained the support of the Yorkists. After a time, he claimed to be Richard, duke of York, the youngest of the “Princes in the Tower.” For the next few years, Warbeck traveled with Margaret of Burgundy, sister to the late King Edward IV, gaining support and recognition from many governments, including that of Maximilian I in Germany. In October 1494, Warbeck proclaimed himself Richard IV and returned to Ireland to raise an invasion force. Henry VII, however, had already arrested most of the English nobility who supported Warbeck. In 1496, he turned to the Scottish for help, which resulted in nothing more than a brief border skirmish. He tried again with Cornish backing in September 1497, without success. He was captured a month later and placed in the Tower, very near Edward, earl of Warwick. Together, these two young men plotted a conspiracy, for which they were accused of treason and executed at Tyburn in November 1499. Warbeck was then aged twenty-five.

The English-Irish conflict began heating up in earnest in 1495, when the Drogheda Parliament bound Ireland firmly to English control, ending independence for the Irish parliament. But I like to think Kieran and Maeve could brave the rough waters of politics and remain steadfast in their love.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed
His Rebel Bride
and the entire “Brothers in Arms” series.

Shayla Black aka Shelley Bradley

THE LADY AND THE DRAGON

By Shayla Black

Coming November 11, 2014

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here
to pre-order!