But Grampy Tom was never in error.
“Suppose I could. And the view from there might banish the doldrums.”
“Aye. So it will. Off thee go. Lord Jack’s already tacked.”
“Thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t dally now.”
With a yawn, Ernest wandered into the stables, stripped off his jacket and swapped his spectacles for the silver ones. He’d hardly slept a wink last night and when he’d finally dozed at dawn, it was to dream of being stuck in that damn tunnel as Hebe had cried his name from the dark forest.
Daniel tightened the girth under a snorting Lord Jack, and with a nod of thanks, Ernest led him into the courtyard. “Now, don’t give me any trouble,” he murmured as he swung himself aloft. “I’m tired, lovelorn and all in all…bloody fed up.”
For once, Lord Jack gently nodded and rather than setting off hell for leather, trotted through the gatehouse and across the moat bridge.
The carriage wheel tracks were still visible in the dust and he found it rather a gloomy thought that they’d be erased when the rains came this afternoon. In fact, there would be very little trace of Hebe Locke at the castle – just memories and his own torn heart.
They ambled through the cut meadow where the Feast had taken place – where it would take place for years to come, where generations had danced and where he had fallen in love.
With a sigh, he nudged his horse to the right and made for the high meadow that skirted the narrow track to Burford, another that had been left fallow this year. Lord Jack slowed at the yellowed grass that brushed his knees and bent his head to snaffle, so Ernest let his eyes close, allowed the scent of mallow and cranesbill to calm his mind.
Bees hummed and a blackbird chirped. And all was peace.
Ratcheting open his lids, he cast his tired eyes across the meadow once more and envisaged a Circean Hebe some day dashing through the high grass, an ivy and musk mallow crown upon her head, sprigs of blue scabious in her hand.
That glorious hair would be free and wild, swaying with every stride, and she’d wear a dress of calamine blue, its square bodice and puffed sleeves accentuating her figure.
And because he lacked sleep and bleariness coated his eyes, it took him quite some while to realise that it was no illusion.
Hebe was running towards him.
And not wishing for this to end, he spoke not but merely slid from Lord Jack, left the reins dangling. His feet landed, began to move, then quickened before he was running through the meadow and sweeping Hebe into his arms, kissing her lips and casting his hands over her shoulders and derriere.
“Forgive me, Ernest,” she blurted when their lips parted for the briefest of moments, but he crushed her to him again, ravishing and eternal. Nothing to forgive.
Little by little, their kiss slackened to sweet and soft, hands easing their possessive ferocity as he realised that Hebe had come back to him and, for the moment at least, showed no signs of leaving.
“You came back,” he whispered aloud, lips still touching, unable to cease.
Her eyes were bright with tears, incandescent with life.
“I should never have left…” She bit a lip that trembled. “But I was…so scared, Ernest. Scared of love, scared I wasn’t capable of loving as you deserve.” She touched a palm to his cheek. “Scared of the golden light when I’d lived so long in the dark.”
He twisted and kissed that palm. “Hebe, my love, I understand. I knew it would take patience on my part, and I would have waited for an eternity, if need be. I love you, deeply, and there is naught to forgive for I knew you needed time.”
“Less than a half-hour it seems.” She shyly glanced up and laid a hand to his chest, surely felt its thrashing beat within. “I-I…felt so wrenched apart in the carriage. So…thoughtless for not seeing what was before me. For not trusting in your words of sharing. Of not believing in myself.” She kissed him, chaste and true, rested her forehead to his lips. And then gazed up. “Thank you, Ernest, for giving me time to realise that. Because I love you so, and although my heart might be a little ragged, I am ready to share all that it is…with you?”
Ernest briefly closed his eyes, felt the sun and the solid earth beneath his feet, smelled hay and rosemary and a hint of autumn on the faint breeze. The perfect moment.
So he dropped to his knees…
“Ernest?”
His gaze sought the meadow bed, fingers plucking at cornflowers that bunched like a pool of sapphires and he held them forth.
“I love you, Hebe. Every part of me craves you – mind, body, heart and soul, and so I ask that you be my wife? Accept my troth? I’ll be devoted and faithful as a swan to his mate, gentle as a lamb with my love, and fierce and passionate as a stag in defence of you. Marry me? Be at my side forever?”
Hebe fell to her knees also upon the crisping grass and brushed the cornflowers with trembling fingers.
