34
CECILY
The priest’s voice was kind. That was the worst part.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Sir Julian de Veyron and Lady Cecily de Malet, that if any of you know of any impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, you are to declare it.”
Cecily stood straight beside Isabel. She did not, could not, look at Julian. The priest’s voice rolled on, the same formula spoken at countless weddings, the same words that bound countless women to lives they did not choose.
The words lodged in her throat: I object.
But nobody cared what she thought, or what she wanted. Around her, heads nodded. Someone behind her murmured approval. Her uncle stood two paces to her right, his expression one of quiet satisfaction, as though a difficult problem had finally resolved itself.
She fixed her eyes on the altar and kept her hands folded and her breathing even, and told herself this was not happening, even as the priest’s voice made it more real with every word.
Outside the church, the sunlight felt jarringly bright. Cecily moved as if in a trance until Isabel took her arm.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Isabel said. “It’s only the banns, not the wedding.”
Cecily attempted a smile, but it fell flat.
“Come with me on my rounds,” she said gently. “You will need to know the tenants. It will soon be your responsibility.”
The words, kindly meant, landed like a sentence. Her responsibility. This life, this estate—a cage slamming shut around her.
“Alright,” Cecily said with no real enthusiasm. “I’ll come with you.”
∞∞∞
They rode in a small carriage under a bright sky. The fields on the Veyron estate showed dark soil where they’d been newly plowed. Tenant children ran ahead of the carriage’s horse and then scattered when it drew near.
Isabel spoke easily as they went. “Our tenants are good people,” she said. “I give sugar treats to the little ones. Julian can’t be bothered, of course. He’s always too busy with more important things, so he says, and he leaves it to me to see how the tenants are faring.”
They came at last to a small cottage near a low stone wall by the forest’s edge where the widow Alys lived. Two boys and a girl were wrestling in the grass.
“This is the widow’s cottage,” Isabel said. “My brother wants to be rid of her because her husband died and she contributes so little to the estate. But if they are forced to leave, where will she and her children go?
Cecily noticed a man standing a little apart from them, watching, his face shaded by a broad-brimmed hat. He pressed one arm against his chest, and he moved stiffly.
Cecily saw him only in outline at first. Broad-shouldered, thin. He looked like… could it be?
No, it could not be him.
His stance was careful, as if each breath was an effort. The man removed his hat and turned around fully at the sound of the carriage.
She stopped breathing.
Finn.
Not the Finn she had last seen—strong and commanding—but different, as though the world had wrung him out. Yet it was him. She would have known him in the dark.
She fought an urge to leap from the carriage, dash across the field, and throw her arms around him to know he was real.
Instead, she drew herself upright in the carriage and squared her shoulders.
Alys came forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “Lady Isabel,” she said with a respectful dip. She waved an arm toward Finn. “This is a soldier on the mend. Came to us near broken. He’s been a help with the children and the plantin’.”
The man bowed his head slightly and stepped forward.
“Good day, Lady Cecily,” Finn said, his eyes locking on hers.
Holding his gaze, Cecily dismounted and walked toward him, leaving a surprised Isabel in the carriage.
“We have met,” she said, her voice cooler than she felt. “In Marrowden, was it not?”
A faint flicker showed in his eyes. “Yes, my lady.”
“You told the physician you were returning at once.” She kept her voice even. “He waited.”
Finn held her gaze. “Circumstances changed.”
Alys smiled uncertainly. “He speaks little of the battles. Of Scotland.”
Still in the carriage, Isabel regarded him with mild curiosity. “You are fortunate to have found good care,” she said. “I see you and the Lady Cecily have met before.”
“We have,” he answered.
Cecily inclined her head. She could feel the tremor in her hands and forced them to be still.
“The estate has many quiet corners,” he added after a moment, his voice low and measured so that only she could hear. He was looking at her so directly that it unnerved her, and she looked away. “I have found the old chapel ruins useful for walking. In the mornings, it is a good place for thought.”
The words might have passed unnoticed. But Cecily did not mistake them.
“Yes,” she said, still looking at her hands. “It is a good place. In the morning.”
The boys clamored for attention again. Alys turned to separate them. Isabel moved toward the cottage door to speak with Alys.
For a brief moment, Cecily and Finn stood only a few paces apart.
She looked into his eyes. The same eyes that pierced through her, always. He looked older, she thought. But he was alive.
She lifted her chin. “I’m glad you did not die, Finn. I thought… I thought you must have after so much time.”
He did not smile. “No. As you see, I am alive.” Then he whispered, “Now that I’ve seen you again, I feel more alive than ever before.”
She felt a warmth rise in her face, and she turned away.
Finn was alive.
∞∞∞
She rode alone to the chapel ruins on the Veyron estate the next morning.
The broken arch stood against the sky, the stone walls crumbling with age. She did not have to wait long. He came silently.
When she saw him, her knees nearly gave way. He was thinner, marked by some hardship she couldn’t name, and yet devastatingly handsome. He was her Finn—the same strong shoulders, the same curve of his mouth, the same look in his eyes that saw no one else in the world but her.
She wanted to run into his arms, but she checked herself.
“You vanished,” she said, her voice restrained. “Without a word.”
He took a step closer.
“The machine,” Finn said, his voice raw. “I only meant to test it, but it threw me forward. More than a year. Cecily, I had no way back.” His eyes pleaded with her. “All I could do was wait.”
A year. The word echoed in the space between them. Before she could fully grasp the chasm of that lost time, he spoke again. “There’s more. Something I should have told you from the start.”
But she already knew. “You’re a Veyron.” The words tasted dry in her mouth. “You lied. You are the son of the man who started all this.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should never have deceived you. But when I understood how you felt about my father, my family, I was afraid to tell you.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I was ill,” she said. “I was completely alone. And you left.”
“I know.” His voice was rough with emotion. “The thought of you alone, ill… Cecily, it has haunted me every day. That I survived to find you safe is the miracle I prayed for.”
She took a step toward him, almost reaching out her hand to touch his face.
“Finn, I’m to be married. To a Veyron. Julian, the baron of your family estate.”
“I learned of it,” he said. His jaw tensed.
He reached out and gently pushed back a lock of her hair, then wiped away a tear from her cheek.
“They took me north to fight the Scots,” he said, his gaze distant. “I was injured trying to get back to you. The widow found me.” He touched his side, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “She saved my life.”
He took a hard breath. “When is the wedding?””
“The banns were read yesterday,” she said.
His face hardened. She looked down at her hands and realized Finn was holding them.
“The banns cannot be undone,” she added.
“Then we must go.”
She looked up. “You mean, the machine?”
“Yes.”
“Where? When?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“But—”
“You cannot marry him,” he interrupted. It was a demand, not a suggestion.
“No,” she agreed. “I cannot.”
They stood facing each other, only a breath apart. She could see the pulse in his throat, the way his jaw flexed.
Part of her wanted to rage at him still, for the lies, for leaving her, for being a Veyron. But a larger part, the part that had been aching for months, wanted only this: him, here, alive.
“Cecily,” he breathed, and lifted his hand to her face.
She closed her eyes at his touch. His thumb traced her cheekbone. She leaned toward him. Then he pulled her in and kissed her, and she melted into his arms, wrapping her own arms around his neck.
Her whole body had gone soft and useless. She didn’t care. She would faint if he didn’t stop kissing her. But don’t stop, she thought. Don’t ever stop.
He kissed her lips, then her wet cheeks.
“Cecily,” he said in a choked voice, his face buried in her neck. “I’ve been mad with worry these months. Thank God I found you.”
“Finn, we must use the machine. It must be soon. Now. Or I will be the wife of that… that…”
She heard a small sound somewhere beyond the broken wall. It sounded like a foot against gravel.
They both heard it and pulled apart, turning slightly, arms still around each other, seeing nothing. Finn’s hand tightened on her waist. They stood very still for a long moment, listening.
“I’ll come for you,” he whispered.
“When?” she asked, breathless.
He hesitated. “Soon. I still need to repair the machine. But soon. Be ready.”
He kissed her again, his hand brushing her face.
Cecily left first, heading toward the path back to Malethurst. Finn waited a few minutes before following, taking a different route.
And somewhere beyond the ivy-choked wall, unseen, someone breathed and waited long after they had gone.