Chapter 35
Two weeks later, the grounds of Rothgar Abbey were thrown open to the world, and the world came—to dance on the lawns, feast from the long tables, and drink from the bottomless bowls of ale, punch, and lemon water.
Six maypoles stood tall, wound with bright ribbons—so delightfully phallic, Bey had remarked.
A full medieval fair took up the deer meadow, with jugglers, fire-eaters, and those skilled at sleight of hand.
There were contests in everything, from the greasy pig to butter churning, arranged so that as many country people as possible would take home a handsome prize.
There were even contests for the children, so that soon little ones were running around to show off ribbons, toys, and bells.
Their vows were said in a simple ceremony attended only by close friends and family. Afterward, however, Bey and Diana, both dressed in magnificent white brocade, both with hands covered with glittering rings, strolled around so everyone could see them and wish them happiness.
It was all amazing, undiluted joy, but then Diana felt Bey go tense beside her.
Seeking the problem, she saw him looking to where a frantic girl stood with a bundle in her arms, a bundle emitting the unmistakable staccato squawks of a very new, very unhappy baby.
The girl jiggled the bundle, looking around, and calling, “Mam? Mam?”
Understanding the effect of this, Diana hesitated between pulling him away and trying to stop the noise. She hurried forward. “Where’s its mother, my dear?” she asked, trying to think of some way to calm the baby before Bey ran away or did something else he’d hate.
Then he was there, taking the child before one of the gathering matrons could. Diana hoped it wasn’t as obvious to anyone else that he was pale and sweating. The baby didn’t magically calm, but over the angry, warbling squawks, he managed to say, “Go find your mother, child.”
“Thank you, milord,” the wide-eyed girl said and ran off.
One of the women came forward then. “Give it to me, milord. I’ll feed it till the mother comes.”
He handed the bundle over, and the woman loosened her bodice, murmuring soothingly, and put the child to the breast. After a moment or two, the cries stopped.
Peace returned.
Diana took his hand and led him back a little. “Are you all right?”
Though he still seemed pale, he smiled. “Yes. Amazingly so. I don’t suppose anyone likes that sound, but I can cope with it. I’ve always worried that I might—”
“Strangle it? Bey!”
“Just try to stop the noise.” He looked down at her. “I know now I can enjoy our children, even if they are so rude as to scream at me.”
She hugged him, there in front of an interested, indulgent crowd, and then the errant mother ran up, puffing, to thank the impromptu wet nurse, and put the baby to her own breast.
Bey gave both mothers a golden guinea, and then he and Diana strolled on. Diana hadn’t thought the day could be any more perfect, but she realized now that she’d suffered a small doubt. She’d never thought he’d hurt a child, but she had wondered whether he’d be able to enjoy their children fully.
Now she knew. It wouldn’t be easy in the beginning, but it was possible. Especially with a Malloren.
She looked around at the festivities, which seemed set to continue until nightfall. “I don’t wish to sound unappreciative of your wonderful entertainments, my lord, but when can we be private?”
He looked down at her. “Anytime you wish, my lady. The house is peaceful and ours.”
They tried to slip away, but Rosa and Brand spotted them and set up a cry, so that in the end they had to run to the house through a storm of flowers.
Every one of the family insisted on an embrace as they went—Bryght, Brand, Hilda, and Elf who hugged them twice, once for herself, and once for Cyn. When they ended up in Bey’s sunlit bedroom, the flowered carpet gained a hundred new petals.
Then catching another perfume, Diana turned to see a huge bowl of flowers by the bed—a mixture of sweet peas and poppies. She picked out one of each and, grinning, tucked them behind her low white bodice.
They undressed each other with slow delight, and slid beneath cool sheets to lie for a while simply in one another’s arms.
“Skin to skin,” she said. “This is almost enough.”
“But not quite,” he said, and kissed her. Their lovemaking was languorous and lovely, and led like a river flowing deep and smooth, to where they had so longed to be.
“And that,” said Bey a very long time later, “is perfect enough even for me.” He stroked a curl from her brow. “Truly, beloved, sometimes the gods are exceedingly kind.”