Page 88 of Ella’s Desire

Because as much as he was looking forward to giving her the present, now was for celebrating her gift.

Ella had never been happier than she was the day of her wedding. Her story had taken such a wonderful turn: an unwanted union with the most incredible man, their unexpected love, and the beauty of life growing within her even as they said their vows. For all the times she had worried over how wrong it all was, it was now so perfectly right.

And it would continue to be so.

They made their way into the great hall where the silver had been polished and Nan had laid out a feast worthy of a king. Bronson led her to the dais. Though he tried to hide it, the day had exhausted him. His steps were slower, more measured. Despite the joy lighting his handsome green eyes, his face was still an unhealthy pallor.

She had been hesitant to accept his idea to wed before he was fully recovered, but he had been insistent, and she had been so eager. It had been all too easy for him to convince her. They would not leave Werrick Castle until his health was restored and would see to Berkley Manor being prepared in the meantime.

Ella sank into her chair beside Bronson and linked her fingers through his. A small plate of various nuts caught her eye. She would have to save several of them to give to Moppet and his newfound lady squirrel later. Ella’s darling pet had taken to a smaller squirrel in a tree in the gardens—his own happy ending.

While she missed having Moppet’s comforting weight at her side in the bag she used to wear, she was grateful for him finding his own way. It was, after all, why she worked so hard to heal animals. To give them the life they had before once more.

Bronson’s gaze on her stomach pulled her attention from the plate of nuts. “Are you pleased?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He stretched his fingers to gently brush over her stomach. “I couldn’t be more so.”

It was all the conversation they were able to have for the moment, as their family and friends came forward to offer their felicitations. Marin and Bran were the first, wishing them the same bliss that they had found in their union, followed by Anice and James with their small son and Piquette. It was good to see her sisters so content in their marriages.

Next came Cat who made Ella promise to allow her to visit, followed by Leila who had recovered from the guilt of Bronson having taken the dagger meant for her. After all, he had saved her life in doing so, but she had saved his by tightly binding his wound. After her sisters came Brigid with Lark, followed closely by William and Hardy. The dog had not left Lark’s side since her rescue, as though sensing her need for protection.

William had agreed to oversee the running of Harlick Castle, the property included in Ella’s dowry, in addition to his duties at Werrick Castle. But Werrick Castle would have to find a new steward eventually to allow William the opportunity to have a new life. That Brigid and Lark had eagerly agreed to reside at Harlick Castle might have had some impact on his decision.

Last of all came Ella’s father. He regarded them both with a wistful smile. “Your mother was a romantic like you, Ella. I can feel her here in this room, beaming with pride for you.” He reached over the table and squeezed Ella’s hand. “I will always love you, daughter.”

He nodded to Bronson. “I know you’ll take good care of her.”

Bronson inclined his head in agreement. And with that, the feast began. The food was cooked to perfection, the wine ran without limit, and on and on the musicians played, filling the great hall with merriment.

The food and drink restored some of the color in Bronson’s face. He looked at her now, his expression tender. “I have yet to give you your wedding present,” he said.

She lifted her brow. “Oh?”

He made a show of pulling open the breast of his doublet, concealing what was within as he slowly drew it out. She craned her neck with curiosity and saw the edge of a book between his fingers.

“Is it Roman de la Rose?” she asked excitedly.

He shook his head as that lazy smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ll not have heard of this book.” Before she could ask any more questions, he held it out for her.

The cover was smooth, worn leather, the kind that appeared to have been well handled. It did not appear like other books with their ornate impressions and gilding. Nay, it looked like one she might write herself.

Her interest piqued further, she drew it from his hand and opened it. A slanted script filled the page. But not of her own writing.

She lifted her head in question. “Is this a story?”

“Aye.” He took a sip of wine. His knee bounced under the table. Was he nervous?

“Who wrote it?” she asked.

He set his goblet on the table and fingered the stem. “Someone who most likely has no business attempting to write.”

She glanced down at the pages and read the first line.

The betrothal was unwelcome, both for the arrogant courtier who had spent his life only worrying about himself, and for the golden-haired beauty in a faraway land.

She gasped and snapped her head up. “Did you write this?”

He shrugged, his unease making him reticent. It was endearing, this shy side of her husband.