Forever His(139)

“It is not for her. It is for you,” he said firmly. “You, my Lady Roussette. I thought of you by that name last night while you slept, and I knew that was how I would always think of you.” He put the torch back in its bracket and stepped closer, tilting her face up to his with one hand. “But it was not until this morn that I realized the import of that name. I summoned the craftsmen to have them mark the letters over every arch—because as they are part of the stone, and will be forever, you are part of me. It is you who are meant to be my wife, Roussette. You are my Lady R.”

“But I can’t be! The book said—”

“Nay. Do you not remember?” He went down the hall to the guest room, and returned with the guidebook from her purse. He handed it to her. “Read it, my love. Tell me again what it says.”

Celine took the guidebook with trembling fingers. “This can’t be true. I can’t be Lady R. It’s Rosalind. It has to be.” She opened to the page that talked about Gaston and his wife and their important son. “Here. It says right here—” She pointed and started reading. “ ‘Seldom did the chroniclers of the medieval period record the names of women, who were not seen to be as important as men when it came to the matter of making history, and that is the case with the wife of Sir Gaston de Varennes. History has recorded her only as Lady R, but the couple provides—’ ”

“That is the line. Read it again.”

“ ‘The couple provides one of the most interesting and little-known—’ ”

“Nay, the one before.”

She frowned up at him, still not understanding, then looked down at the book again. “‘History has recorded her only as Lady R.’ ”

“Again.”

Celine’s heart began to beat fast. “‘History has recorded her only as Lady R.’”

“Lady R. It does not mention Rosalind at all,” he said triumphantly. “We assumed that your chroniclers meant that I was to wed Lady Rosalind, but that is not what it says. It is you, my love.” He buried his fingers in her hair. “You and I who are meant to have a son who will one day save a king’s life. You, my Roussette, whom I will love as I love no other.”

The book slipped from Celine’s numb fingers and fell amid the stone chips and dust on the floor. What she had pretended as a child, had dreamed of all her life when she looked up at those entwined letters ... of a dark knight on a charger who would sweep her away ... of a love so strong, so legendary, that it would still be talked about centuries later ...

She sank into Gaston’s embrace, held him with all her strength, her pulse racing wildly with joy. “It’s all true,” she sobbed. “Oh, my God, it’s all true.”

“It means that you must come back to me.” His arms tightened around her, his breathing rough and warm against her hair. “You must find a way, Roussette. Whether it takes months or years matters not. You must find those in your time who might help you. Scholars or—”

“Scientists,” she said into his tunic. “My family knows plenty of scientists. People in astronomy and physics and—oh, I’ll talk to all of them! I’ll talk to whoever will listen. I’ll find a way. I’ll come back! Gaston, it has to work!” She was trembling with a surge of hope that would have sent her to her knees if he hadn’t been holding her so tight.

“You will find a way. You will be able to return home, and your surgeons will make you well, and then you will come back. Because that is what is meant to happen, my Roussette.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her deeply. “We are meant to be together.”

She melted into his kiss, feeling the strength of his conviction and the power of his love warm her, feeling certain, for the first time, that nothing could keep them apart.

***

“Your book says that we are to name him Soren.” Gaston stood before the huge kitchen hearth, staring down into the flames with a goblet of wine in one hand. “It was my father’s name.”

“I like that idea,” Celine said, stirring onions, vinegar, and pepper into the salsa she was improvising. With most of the servants gone, including the best cooks, she had decided to commandeer the kitchen and make dinner. With a little meat and some cheese, she could do a decent imitation of enchiladas. “It’s a nice tribute to your father. Soren de Varennes. A good, strong name.”

“Aye, for a strong, bold son.”

Gaston’s wistful voice made Celine smile. She could already picture their son, as tall and handsome as his father, growing up in a home filled with love.