Authors: Diane Davis White
He would not long be with them. A tear slipped down her face and she pressed closer, giving her warmth to his chilled body and drawing the tenderness from him that she knew he had for her.
"Sweeting... I would have a boon from you." His voice was low, but stronger than she might have expected from one so near death's door. "I... would that you keep safe our son and his child... and Hannah."
"Aye, old man, I shall do so." She did not lie to him or protest his dying, for she knew it to be wasted breath and wanted to squander not these last moments. "Clayton, my dearest I would have you know that I have never given up loving you... it just got twisted up with all the pain and anger."
"Sweet Mary Strongbow... you are the bane of my existence. For I vow I have not had a peaceful day since laying eyes upon you." He tried to smile but his face was a grimace of pain.
"Shush you now, Milord. You must save your strength, for I go to call David here, that he might say—"
She choked and could not complete the word.
"—Goodbye." He did it for her, on a whispered breath.
"Nay, only farewell for this life. In the next one, old man, you will do my bidding nicely, for you will have learned quite well what it means to thwart Mary Strongbow."
She heard him chuckle and smiled at the sound.
She rose from the bed and went to the door, where a footman was dispatched to fetch the rest of the family. "Wake the young master, for Clayton wants to see him as well."
She was so overwrought that she did not even notice the familiar use of his name and returned to lay next to him for a moment, knowing that once the others arrived, she would be forced to stand with them around the bed and this closeness would be over.
"Mary... I told her... about the marriage lines. She was... so angry with me. You must make her see that I meant it well... I am a selfish old fool and would that I could change it... but it is too late... too late... " He turned his head into her shoulder and wept.
The door opened slowly and Mary lay where she was for a moment, uncaring that others should see her so, for it mattered not at this late date what they should think.
David came to his parents and leaned over the bed, embracing them both as he held back a sob. "I love you both so much... mother, father... I would that you know I shall make you proud of me... and I shall carry on for you old father, I shall."
When David drew away, his mother lifted a hand to be helped from the bed, but instead of moving to stand, she merely sat close on the bedside, for Clayton Larkspur, 15
th
Marquis of Darlington, held her hand in a tight grip, and she knew she must stay close by.
Carlton came in, carrying a sleepy child, and placed him on the pillow next to his grandfather. The Marquis turned his head to the boy.
"Papa, are you then going to be with the angels? Can I come?" The child, whose love for adventure shone in his bright amber eyes, snuggled close to the old man, patting his chest with a small hand.
"I think not this time, Clay. You are not ready yet for such a journey and will not be for many years." He touched the boy's face with a bony hand, and then taking a deep breath, he spoke with certainty. "I would that you know something before I go."
David stepped forward to protest and the old man's eyes cut to him, and warned him off with a shake of his head, so David fell back, reluctant to upset his father and bring on more quickly what was inevitable.
"There is a man here who would be your father... but I adopted you, for he had gone away. Now you may call him Papa, and remember me only as I truly am... your grandfather."
"What is ad... adropted?" The boy was looking from the Marquis to David and back again.
"It means when a child loses his father, another man comes to help the child... be a father to him until his own father can come back." The Marquis held David's eyes the whole time he spoke, willing his son to understand what he was trying to do, and David, indeed, understood.
Clay sat up on the bed; still instinctively patting the Marquis on his chest, for the child was quick of wit and knew more than most could believe of him.
"Are you my Papa, then?" He looked at David with hopeful eyes, for he was a child, after all, and liked the tall man from the woods very much and knew he was safe with him.
David reached across the bed and lifted the boy, whispering, "Aye, that I am lad, that I am." He handed the child back to Carlton, who took him easily, saying, "Go to your bed Clay and we will talk in the morning." Clay pulled back from Carlton's arms, leaning toward the bed.
"A kiss Papa... a kiss goodnight." Carlton leaned the boy down and he brushed his lips over the old Marquis' forehead, and then went quietly, resting his small head on Carlton's shoulder, carried by yet another cousin... a De Lacey cousin. His eyes were drifting shut before Carlton had quit the room.
David stepped back and drew Hannah forward, his arm steadying her about the waist. She did not protest the familiarity, but leaned against his strength, glad for it. She looked down at the Marquis and tried to smile, but her amber eyes, swollen with tears, held her grief for him to see.
And her forgiveness as well.
She slipped from David's grasp, knelt by the bed and took one of his cold hands in her own. "Milord... I would have you know how grateful I am for the gifts you have bestowed. Were it not for you I would not have my son... nor yours, to fill my life and I... " she choked, "... cannot speak further... "
David, hearing her words, light and joy filled him, despite his pain and the Marquis looked at his son, and saw there the beauty of his love for Hannah and smiled, looking straight into the other mans eyes. "You are blessed to have such a woman, David... treat her gently. And keep your mother close by, for she will have need of you... and raise the boy to be like yourself... only tell him the best parts about me... "
He raised his head from the pillow and clutching Mary's hand, tugged it close to his lips, breathing his last upon her knuckles before slumping back, his eyes staring sightlessly.
David reached out an unsteady hand and touched the lids of his father's eyes, drawing them over the silver orbs.
.
* * * * *
.
The day was overcast as befitting the mood of the mourners who stood about the fresh grave. A wind had whipped up from the north, bringing the cold sting of snow-topped mountains, and added to the chill of the day.
Mary Strongbow stood apart from the others, a black rose clutched in her hands, waiting for the vicar to compete his incantation, that she might lay it upon the casket. Her eyes were dry, her chin lifted proudly and she gazed off into the distance, remembering and glad for her life, after all.
She had known great sorrow and great love, and there had been nothing ordinary or mundane there.
She looked at the sky and saw a cloud, unlike the others, for it was so transparent as to be nearly invisible, but there all the same. It hovered a moment, above her head, and a warmth stole through her, as though she had been caressed.
The cloud of mist went higher then, and drifted off toward the heavens... and Mary knew it was her Clayton, his spirit at peace as he went to meet his maker. And though she had no death wish, she anticipated joining him there one day.
David stood close by her, but, sensing her need to be apart, he did not touch her or move in his mother's direction. He looked down at Hannah, whose warmth he could feel through the glove that grasped her arm. She swayed toward him, and he drew her against his side, where she rested her slight weight with a smile of gratitude.
A quiet hush fell over the small group, and only the wind whistling through the treetops could be heard, for the vicar had finished at last.
Reaching down, David lifted a clod of earth and handed it to her, and Hannah tossed it upon the casket. Mary stepped forward and tossed the black rose on top of the small mound of dirt, her eyes brimming at last.
Clay, standing straight and quiet next to David, picked up a small clod of earth—not understanding the ritual—and tossed it in as well, bringing a smile to Mary's lips and she knelt and hugged her grandson, whispering. "He will like that most well, lad. For he was... is... so very proud of you."
Looking up to the sky, she pointed and said, "See there, little man, that wisp of cloud, alone in the sky? That then, is your grandfather's spirit... going to God."
.
* * * * *
.
The small group repaired to the manor and sat about, talking little and sipping the fine napoleon brandy that the Marquis would have loved so well. David remarked to Darwin that the old fellow would probably turn in his grave at the inroads they were making into his best stock.
Darwin, not one to speak more than necessary, merely grinned at his new master and handed him a note from the solicitor.
Though they had expected Mr. Maguire three days before, Gates had returned without him, as the solicitor had been abed with the flu and unable to travel. He had sent along his assurances that he would arrive as soon as may be, and they had to be content with that.
Clay was on his best behavior and sat next to his weeping mother with his stoically quiet Aunt Mary on his other side. He ate the iced cakes and drank the strong sweet tea and fell asleep to the drone of adult voices, quiet and somber.
Indeed it was enough to put anyone to sleep, but a five-year-old boy was certain to succumb to such sobriety. His napping was a relief to both women who had grown tired of trying to answer the boys' questions and had finally instructed him to ask his father later.
"A storm is coming on strong, Carlton. Would that you could take me to the village, for my tired old bones are ready for a nap." Gillian Strongbow, resplendent in his best Sunday clothes, sat stiffly on a hard backed chair, uncomfortable in the manor house—though his Larkspur blood gave him leave to be here.
"Aye, sir, and glad I am to take you. I would stay on awhile, then, and nap on your couch, for it will be coming down hard 'afore we arrive."
Carlton eyes cut to the window and studied the bank of black clouds coming fast from the north, and saw the sweep of rain that lay beneath them. "Let us hurry along then, old grandfather."
"Ha! I am not that old that
you
should be calling me so, you insolent pup." Carlton merely grinned at the old fellow and aided him to his feet, Gillian grumbling all the while about being fit enough to get up by himself, but not resisting the help. Carlton was nearly fifty and close upon his heels to Gillian's mind.
"I shall come along as well." Mary hugged the sleeping child and lifted him gently from her lap, bussing his soft cheek as she laid him against his mother. "I am not done in, but would bake a pie or two."
She smiled at Hannah and explained, "I used to bake always for Clayton in weather like this. He liked the coziness of it... the smells of baking, the warm oven, and the rain upon the roof of the cottage."
She gave a snort of laughter. "He would nigh stuff himself on cherry pie then lay about whining that his belly hurt him. Foolish man." She smiled at Hannah and touched the girl's cheek and made as though to rise.
David raised his eyes from the note in his hand, halting his mother's progress, a small smile for her story hovering on his lips. "Will you come tomorrow then? Mr. Maguire shall arrive by noon and we will have the reading of the will."
"And why do you need me for that? I have no claim on the estate and would not, if it were granted me." She looked a frown at her son, a spark of pride gleaming in her eyes. "You may have us for supper, for I vow I shall not want to cook again after I bake today."
"As you wish mother, but Mr. Maguire has specifically asked for you to be here. Do as you wish, of course, but it would be better, perhaps if you consented."