Page 71 of Lord of Loyalty

He came to an abrupt halt. “You haven’t looked, have you?”

“Nay. Why should I? I assume they’ve been making repairs to an ancient tomb or monument.”

His handsome face relaxed. “Not quite. Come around the corner, and you’ll see the canvas is gone.”

It was, in truth. But what it had concealed was no old monument being resurrected, but a new one, freshly carved. When she came closer, she saw an inscription in Latin, a date, a number, and the name “Edwardus Marston”.

“What does it say?” Her voice was a mere whisper.

Will held her hand. “His date of death, his age, the fact he fell in the service of his country. He lies beneath the slab, Isobel. I had his body brought back.”

“He’s here?” She moved forward, eyes blinded by tears, and laid her hand on the sun-warmed stone.

“An odd bride-gift, I know. But I had so much for which to thank him. It seemed only right and fitting he return to England, and be near us, and his namesake.” There was an odd catch in his voice, and she wondered if Will were weeping, too. But her eyes were brimming and she couldn’t see.

“Here.” Will handed her a handkerchief she’d spent much of the winter embroidering for him. She dabbed at her eyes and saw that, down by her feet, a freshly planted rose bush was growing, bordered by sweetly scented chamomile.

She lifted her head, a new warmth invading her heart. Now, beneath the open sky with the larks singing high and loud above, her grief for Edward began to fade. Nature would always take over, instilling new life where there had only been death and sorrow before.

Her husband had given her a great gift, one that came from the heart.

“We must bring little Edward here to visit his uncle. I know the babe won’t understand the significance of this place, but if Edward’s spirit lingers here, I’m sure he would be glad to see his nephew.”

“What are you talking about, you little witch?” Will’s voice was steadier now. “Don’t tell me you can feel ghosts?”

“Perhaps I can. And I know you feel them, too, for all you’re being so noble and brave about it.”

He dipped his head and shrugged in acknowledgement. “I can never hide anything from you, can I, Lady Cavendish?”

A slight breeze whipped up, stirred by the hot summer air, and he shivered slightly. As if for warmth, he wrapped his arms around Isobel’s waist and rested his chin on the top of her head.

She gazed at the beautiful scrolling on the stonework of Edward’s monument. “Do you think he planned this?”

“What, you and me? You think he might have guessed I’d be perfect for you?”

She chuckled. “I know not how he could have when I knew it not myself.”

Will’s chest flexed at her back as he let out a sigh. “Aye—I never knew a man needed to ask a lady so many times before she accepted him.”

She lifted his hands and kissed them. “What do you think we should call our next little one? I can’t think of a female form of Edward.”

She sensed Will’s grin as he said, “How about Eurydice if it’s a girl? Or Orpheus if it’s a boy?”

“You can’t call someone Orpheus in this day and age—he’d be a laughingstock.”

“Then I’ll suggest something more suited to present times. Avice is a popular name for a girl. Or if it’s a boy, what about Hubert?”

Isobel spun around, jaw dropping, and stared at Will for a moment, then hit him hard on the arm. “Vile creature! You jest with me.”

“Ah, but I so love to tease you.” He pulled her into his embrace until her clenched fists were pressed up against his chest. “You look so wild and wanton when you’re angry.”

She capitulated immediately. “Will, I’m so grateful for Edward’s monument. It can’t have been easy to have him brought back.”

He smiled softly. “I used Leicester’s influence in the Lowlands. Shameless, I know, but the end justifies the means. I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“More than pleased. I can’t thank you enough.”

She was about to try, but the heated caress of his lips silenced her. Her hands splayed against the firm muscles of his chest as she gave herself up to his kiss. He ran his tongue temptingly over her lips, then plunged deep into her mouth, pulling her fiercely against him as he did so.

She lost herself for a moment in the luxury of her husband’s love, then eased away.

“I think, mayhap, a churchyard is not the place.”

He raised a mocking eyebrow. “No, indeed. As you reminded me, Lady Cavendish, the lord and lady of the manor must show dignity and decorum when in public.”

She gazed up at him, her handsome, golden-haired husband—and knew a need so deep, it threatened to consume her. “Will?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“I never dreamed love could be so wonderful.”

“Nor did I, my sweet, nor did I. But then, I had never met a nymph before, my Eurydice.”

“And I had never met a demi-god, my beloved Orpheus.”

He took her hand and turned her away from the churchyard, with its solemn silence and mourning souls, and led her back into the blazing sunlight of a promising summer’s day.