“Look at that cheeky robin,” Magdalen said, her arm curled around Timothy, balanced on her hip, while she pointed up at one of the blossoming apple trees in Glemstow’s orchard. The bird, perched on a low branch, twittered and tilted its head as it looked down at them.
Timothy burbled and grinned. Magdalen kissed his cheek and then set him down on his back on the blanket she’d spread out on the grass in the shade. Edwina was taking a nap, and Magdalen had decided she and Timothy could do with some fresh air and sunshine. ’Twas a glorious day, mild with a light breeze that whispered through the tree boughs overhead and carried the fragrance of thousands of blooms; ’twas certainly better to spend such a day outdoors than inside, nursing a shattered heart.
Magdalen fought a pang of sadness, eased herself down beside the little boy, and smoothed out a crease in the blue wool blanket. A week ago, she’d returned to Glemstow. Edwina had met her in the bailey, and after tearfully hugging each other, they’d retreated to the solar, where Magdalen had told her friend that days ago, she’d received an urgent missive saying Aislinn was very ill—a story she and William had agreed upon during the ride to the keep, for to continue to protect Edwina, she must never know what had really happened. Deeply concerned about Aislinn, Magdalen had ridden off to visit her, only to be caught up in the storm. William, worried about Magdalen, had asked for Cyn’s help to find her, and when Cyn had come upon her in the forest, injured, he’d taken her to his home to treat her wound. In the meantime, Aislinn’s condition had improved, and she was expected to fully recover from her sickness. Thankfully, Edwina had believed the tale.
The night of her return to Glemstow, alone and weeping, Magdalen had drawn a picture of the vial and had written down her recollections of what had happened in the tavern, as Cyn had asked. The following day, with her documents packed in his saddlebag, William had left to meet Cyn and ride with him to London.
She hadn’t heard from Cyn since they’d parted in the tavern. She’d tried not to be despondent, but Edwina had noticed her red-rimmed eyes and insisted on knowing what was wrong. Magdalen had told her dear friend how much she’d grown to love Cyn. Edwina had offered a much-needed shoulder to cry on, but even she couldn’t answer the question that haunted Magdalen: whether she’d ever see Cyn again.
She swept aside a spider ambling across the blanket, wishing, as she did so, that she could so easily deal with her feelings for Cyn. He had kissed her, won her true love, and then had abandoned her, out of a deep-rooted sense of chivalry. She understood his need to atone for his past—and indeed, ’twas gallant of him to want to make things right—but a selfish part of her wished he hadn’t chosen his honor over her. ’Twas all so horribly unfair, that she should find the perfect man only to lose him.
On his back, Timothy kicked his legs and waved his little arms, while gazing up at the shifting branches above. White petals drifted down, drawing Timothy’s gaze, and Magdalen smiled at the wonder in his expression. One day, Magdalen hoped to have a son or daughter of her own, one as sweet-natured as Timothy. For a short while, she’d even imagined what ’twould be like to have a child with Cyn, but now—
A metallic groan carried on the breeze: the sound of the portcullis being raised.
Were the guards at the gatehouse letting William in? Had he finally returned from London? If so, Cyn might be with him.
Excitement washed through her, along with a giddying swell of hope. Could Cyn have come for her? Oh, ’twould be wonderfully romantic, and just as she’d daydreamed in the agonizing days since they’d separated…
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she stifled the anticipation. She shouldn’t dare to hope. She’d only make herself even more miserable.
Magdalen lay down on her side on the blanket beside Timothy. “Would you like me to tell you a story?” she murmured, as the baby’s hand curled around her finger. “How about a tale about a robin who longs for adventure?” As Timothy warbled and stared up at her, Magdalen began weaving a grand tale about a gallant robin who sets out on a quest to find his beloved lady the ideal spot to build a nest.
As the boughs sighed overhead, she heard voices, coming from the bailey. Men’s voices.
Most likely just some of the guards.
“—and there ’twas,” she said at last, “a magnificent oak, growing in the middle of the forest. Sir Robin soared past its strong branches, barely able to contain his joy, for he knew, at last, he had fulfilled his quest. He’d found a home. In one of the uppermost boughs, he would help build the nest he would share with his beautiful Lady Robin. Here, they would be happy, together—”
“—forever,” a male voice said.
Cyn!
Startled, Magdalen pushed up to sitting. A tingling heat skittered across her skin as she gaped up at him, walking toward her with Edwina beside him.
“I did not mean to interrupt.” Cyn’s gaze, warm with admiration, shifted to Timothy. Fine dust clung to Cyn’s cloak and leather boots, as if he’d been traveling most of the day.
Magdalen’s heartbeat quickened, became a rapid pounding. Had he come for her? She was so very afraid to hope.
“William is back also?” she asked Edwina, proud that her voice remained steady.
“He is. I had just settled for my nap when he strode into the solar. He asked me to bring Cyn to you.”
Magdalen rose, brushing out her gold silk gown with trembling hands. She desperately wanted to know the purpose of Cyn’s visit, but she also needed to protect her fragile heart; he might have come to say goodbye. Smiling, she said, “I did not hear you approach. Usually I hear the creak of the garden gate.”
“You must have been caught up in your storytelling.” Edwina winked at Magdalen before kneeling to pick up Timothy. “Come, my sweet boy. Your father wants to see you. Magdalen, Cyn, please join us in the great hall when you are ready.” She strolled away, talking to Timothy.
Silence settled, marked by the sighing of the wind and shifting of sun-drenched shadows. More white petals fell, floating around her and Cyn before settling on the ground.
“You…are well?” Cyn finally asked.
“Aye, thank you.” He looked tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes, but she also sensed about him a resolve she hadn’t noticed before.
“You are putting your full weight on your leg,” he said.
Nodding, she fingered a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear. “My leg is much improved from…well, the last time you saw me.” Anguish lanced through her at the memory of the tavern, of him telling her to leave.
He glanced across the garden, as though uneasy.
“How was London?”
“All right.”
“What happened? Did you meet with the King?”
“I met first with several of his ministers, and then with the sovereign. William attended my audience with King John and gave his account of what happened. Then I told the sovereign all…” He drew a ragged breath. “He decreed that…what happened that day on Crusade was an unfortunate accident.”
Joy welled within her. “’Tis wondrous news!”
Cyn smiled. “At last, I feel I can put the past behind me.” Reaching out, he pulled a petal from her hair. “Now, I must do what is right by you. If you will let me.”
She quivered inside. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. “Cyn—?”
“The days without you have been hell,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot live without you, Magdalen. I do not want to.”
Tears blurred her vision, and she flung herself into his arms, sobbing as he held her in his strong embrace.
He kissed her brow. “I am sorry for hurting you. I…had to set things right.”
“I know,” she whispered against his neck.
Slowly, he eased her to arm’s length. “Please. I want to do this like the knights in the old tales. I want to do this right.”
“This?” she asked, frowning.
He reached into the leather bag at his waist and then dropped down on one knee on the blanket. Sunlight glinted off the ring in his fingers: a gold band set with a round, polished ruby.
“Oh, mercy—”
“Will you marry me, Magdalen? Will you be my wife? I know I am far from perfect—”
“You are perfect to me,” she said, sniffling.
“Does that mean—?”
“Aye, I will marry you.”
His eyes lit with pleasure, and then he stood, sliding the ring onto her finger. “I visited quite a few jewelers in London before I found the right ring. I wanted a ruby, since your ruby helped to bring us together. I hope you like it.”
“I love it,” she whispered, then leaned into him for another kiss. He pulled her into his arms, kissed her, thoroughly, passionately.
Long moments later, Cyn murmured against her ear, “Edwina and William are waiting for us in the great hall.”
Magdalen giggled. “We do have good news to share with them.”
Cyn grinned. “Indeed, we do.”
She picked up the blanket, tucked it under her arm, and slid her hand into his.