Chapter Eighteen #3
Ronan knew that but the compassionate man in him, even with a child from his wife that was not of his loins, had to ask the question. “You are more than likely right,” he said. “But if she had been any further along, I would have taken the chance.”
Blayth looked at him. “Something Marian never gave you,” he said. “She never even gave you a chance, in any aspect. But you mustn’t blame yourself.”
Ronan took one last look and stood up. “I do not,” he said. “I never have. But this… this is beyond what I thought she was capable of. I suppose I should not be surprised and, in a sense, I am not. But I am bewildered.”
“Revenge,” Christian finally said. “She was trying to take revenge. You killed her lover and she was going to kill yours.”
Given the sequence of events, they couldn’t argue the point and Ronan nodded.
“It is as good an explanation as any,” he said.
“She was most definitely the vengeful kind. I’ve seen it before.
But now we must contend with Edmund de Grey, who will think I was responsible for this somehow.
Mayhap in her last action on this earth, Marian has sealed my fate.
I will forever have an enemy in Edmund de Grey. ”
Blayth shook his head. “He will not blame you,” he said.
“He only has himself to blame in the way he raised his daughter, so I will make sure he understands what happened. He will know that she was plotting to kill you and Millicent can attest to it. All of this is her doing, Ronan. Marian’s wickedness has finally come full circle. ”
Ronan wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t going to linger on it. Marian was dead and that was all that mattered. By her hand or any other, the result was still the same but his conscience was completely free.
He was free.
The thought suddenly occurred to him and his head shot up, his gaze finding Randolph.
Marriage. He was free to marry Isabeth now, in a wild stroke of fate, something he never thought he’d see in his lifetime.
Perhaps it was distasteful for him to think of that at this moment, but he was thinking of it nonetheless.
A chance to be happy.
He never thought he’d have the opportunity.
It was a new life, all laid out before him, and he struggled not to become too excited about it.
With a dead woman laying at his feet, that would have been terribly disrespectful, but the truth was that it was Marian laying at his feet.
The woman who had caused him ten years of misery, the woman he thought he’d be anchored to for the rest of his life, never to know peace or love or joy.
But all of that had changed in the blink of an eye.
He simply couldn’t keep silent.
“Papa,” he said slowly. “What we were speaking of earlier… about Lady de Brito… it is no longer necessary, is it?”
Blayth had been looking at Marian but when he heard the hopeful tone in Ronan’s voice, he flicked his eyes up, looking at his son.
The son he’d nearly lost. The son he adored more than anything.
He had other sons, younger sons, and he loved them all desperately.
But Ronan… he was his firstborn, his shining star, the man he expected such great things from.
A man who had endured unspeakable shame and misery at the hands of an adulterous wife, something that Blayth himself had a hand in.
Aye, there was guilt in his heart. There always had been.
Now, he knew what Ronan wanted. He knew exactly what he wanted.
Blayth couldn’t, in good conscience, deny him.
But it wasn’t up to him.
“You must ask Randolph,” he said quietly, looking to the big, dark knight. “By all rights, the decision belongs to him. Randolph? Do you understand what Ronan is asking?”
Randolph had been standing to the side, taking a horse blanket from one of the soldiers who had brought it to cover Marian up. He shook it out, watching the dust fly, before laying it over Marian’s body.
“I do,” he said simply.
“And?” Blayth said. “You are within your rights to deny him. No one would blame you.”
Randolph brushed off his dusty hands. “Does the lady know why I am here?”
“She does not.”
“Then do not tell her,” Randolph said, looking at Ronan.
“Do you truly think I could marry the woman you love, Ronan? I may long for a wife, but I could not marry a woman you were in love with, a woman who was in love with you. That would not be right and I would spend my entire life dealing with the guilt of it. When I marry, I want it to be to a woman who will be at least fond of me and not pining after a de Wolfe stallion.”
Ronan was so overwhelmed by Randolph’s response that he was starting to feel weak. It was too good to hope for.
“Are you certain?” he said. “It is a terrible thing we have done to you – asked you to take a bride and now asking you not to take her. I hope you know that my father asked you in the first place because he respected you, not because he was trying to manipulate you.”
“I know,” Randolph said. “But this is not the right bride. She is yours, Ronan.”
Ronan smiled, tears stinging his eyes. “My God,” he muttered. “Are you sincere? Truly sincere?”
“I have never been more sincere,” Randolph said. “Be happy, my friend.”
Ronan put a hand to his heart, a show of gratitude, of joy. “I intend to be,” he whispered tightly. “I truly intend to be.”
With that, he took off in the direction of the manse, as fast as his beaten body would take him. Randolph, Blayth, and Christian watched him go, with Christian turning to grin at his uncle before departing in the direction of the stables in order to give Blayth and Randolph a moment alone.
Intuitively, he knew they needed it.
“That was a very noble thing you did,” Blayth said. “You have my undying gratitude.”
Randolph shrugged. “There was nothing else I could do, my lord,” he said. “I am not willing to fight the ghost of Ronan for the rest of my life if I marry a woman who loves him. That would put me in a worse position than he was in with Lady de Wolfe.”
Blayth nodded faintly. “That is astute of you,” he said. “But you have my gratitude, nonetheless. You have made him very happy. I would like to reward you for that.”
“No reward necessary, my lord.”
“There is nothing you want?”
Randolph almost denied him but a thought occurred to him. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “There may be something, if you are willing, my lord.”
“All you need do is ask.”
Randolph cocked an eyebrow. “Your brother, Patrick, has a daughter named Thora,” he said. “She is a beautiful and vivacious woman and, as far as I know, unspoken for. Would you be willing to propose me as a suitor?”
Blayth’s eyes widened. “You want to marry Atty’s daughter?” he said, referring to Patrick de Wolfe, Earl of Berwick, by his family nickname. “Good lord, man, have you lost your mind?”
Randolph shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “She is lovely and eligible. She is a de Wolfe bride. If you truly think to reward me for my noble action, a de Wolfe daughter would be suitable.”
Blayth’s eyes were still wide at the mere thought.
“Randolph,” he said steadily. “Thora is the most sought-after bride in all of Northumberland, but do you know why she has not yet been spoken for? Because her father is as tall as a tree and so are her four older brothers, who are fearsome warriors that strike fear into the hearts of all men. And you want to court her with those five beasts breathing down your neck?”
Randolph grinned. “It would be an honor.”
“It would be your death!”
“Mayhap you think I am unworthy and do not have the courage to tell me?”
Blayth quickly shook his head. “Nay, lad, you are quite worthy,” he said. Then he pushed his shock aside and shrugged. “Very well. If you think you can go up against Atty and his male offspring, that is your affair. Do not say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t.”
“I can only put in a good word for you and nothing more.”
“I understand.”
Blayth wasn’t sure he did, but he let the subject drop.
The mere thought of taking de Litton to his brother as a potential husband for his eldest daughter was giving him hives.
Patrick was a mountain of a man, the best warrior in the de Wolfe arsenal, and he was terribly protective of his daughters.
Blayth was fairly certain that de Litton didn’t have a chance, but that would be up to Patrick.
A battle for another day.
Meanwhile, they had some clean-up of their own to do.
“Please find a place to put Marian until we can have a casket built for her,” he said.
“Surely Ravenscar has a vault we can put her in for now. As for de Maurienne – his body will undoubtedly wash ashore and we should dispose of it. You will want to notify the priests in town of this so when the body comes ashore, they know what to do.”
Randolph nodded. “It will be done, my lord.”
With orders set and the drama of the morning passed, men around them were returning to their duties and that included Blayth and Randolph.
Blayth left Randolph tightly wrapping Marian in the old horse blanket as he headed to the manse, to his borrowed chamber where his writing kit awaited.
He had some missives to send about Marian’s death, to his brother, Scott, as well as to Edmund de Grey, but most of all, he had a missive to send to Asmara about the turn of events and a wedding on the horizon.
Finally, Ronan will be happy.
That’s really all he had to tell her.
Sometimes, the most unexpected days brought about the greatest changes.