I was slammed with so much shame and regret as Reagan held me while we stood beside his mother’s bed. I should have been the one to comfort him. I should have stayed strong for his sake.
After he left, I stood staring at the too-thin corpse before me, thinking over everything that had led us up to this point. Was it truly love for Coman or was it weakness of mind that had caused her to stop eating, stop moving, stop living to the point that she had gradually dwindled away to almost nothing—just skin stretched over bone?
I had tried so hard to bring Finelle back to her former health, while also trying to coax her into a relationship with Christ, but it was all to no avail. Had I really done enough?
I had learned long ago that I could lead someone to God with my words and actions, but acceptance was up to the individual. I had talked to Finelle about Christ on more than one occasion. The sudden realization of the emptiness of my actions since Juliane had come into the picture was crushing.
How easy it was to fully depend on God while everything was going well, but the first sign of trouble had me slipping away without even giving it a thought. I had stopped attending church. I had stopped praying. I had claimed to know God’s will without even focusing on Him or asking for guidance.
I thought back on the conversations I had shared with Finelle about God. Every word had been true. Had she picked up on the fact that I was not living those words at the time? Surely God would have used them to show her the way regardless.
I was reminded of the thief on the cross next to Jesus who had asked for forgiveness at the last and had it granted. Those words were heard by others and recorded in order to teach future generations about God’s mercy and grace.
Finelle was alone in her final moments. She had been told the way. Perhaps she had made things right before she passed. It was not important if no one else heard her thoughts. God would have heard them.
I prayed while preparing Finelle for her family to come in and say their goodbyes. I started by asking for forgiveness for myself—for turning away and for not relying on Him. I moved on with my prayer to ask for comfort for four sons who had lost their mother.
Reagan was king now. The weight of the responsibility of this kingdom fully rested on his shoulders. Terence would have a hard time understanding his mother’s death. Rian, being the baby of the family, had probably been the closest to her. Garrett had harbored so much bitterness toward both of his parents. I prayed it would not be harder for him to forgive them now that they were both gone.
As soon as Reagan reentered with Terence and Rian, I quietly left the room. I was still the healer of Gilvary, but my duties with the queen were over. I went to my chambers and climbed into bed fully clothed. I had asked for and was granted forgiveness. Now it was time to have a long discussion with God to catch up on everything that had been neglected by me in the last six months.
The newly expanded and remodeled chapel overflowed with people who were there to honor the queen. It had been too long since I had been to a service in this room. I stood at the back just behind the last pew where I would have a clear view of Reagan. I had been a fool in more ways than one. I should have been sitting up there with him offering comfort in this time of sorrow.
Everything was so clear now. I loved him. I did not want to live without him. If it meant I would be queen, so be it. I would do as I should have been doing all along—depend on God to guide me, while helping me to fulfill His purpose for my life.
It had been three days since Finelle’s departure from this world. Three days since I had rededicated my life back to Christ and my longing to go to Reagan grew with each passing day.
The day after the funeral was Sunday. When I entered the chapel that morning it was for worship. I felt renewed and was excited to hear the word of God preached once again.
The chapel was not packed like the day before. I found a seat halfway down the aisle. My gaze was automatically drawn to the front pew. The service began and Reagan still was not there, neither were his brothers.
Admittedly, I was distracted by the lack of his presence at first, but by the time Pastor Dunham began to speak, I was fully into the sermon. It was not as much about the message on this day as it was about the joy of knowing I was back on the right path.
After the services I went straight to the royal chambers. There were two guards standing in front of the door instead of one. Usually I was allowed entrance without question. Of course, I had been there for the queen then and she was no longer here.
“The king is not to be disturbed today.” It was strange to hear Reagan referred to as king.
“But I need to see him. It is important.”
“Whatever it is will have to wait until after his coronation tomorrow. You can take your complaint to him then in the throne room like everyone else.”
What I needed to tell him could not be shared in the throne room. If he planned on hearing complaints after his coronation, that could take all day. The soonest I would have a chance to speak with him privately would be after supper, which he always took in the dining hall.
I was awake for most of that night which caused me to oversleep the next morning. I had missed his coronation. It was only a couple of hours until dinner, so I decided to skip breakfast. I knew on the days that he heard complaints from the people he always took his dinner in his chambers. Maybe I could catch him on his way there. The need to speak with him was nearly unbearable.
I dressed and braided my hair. My nicest dress was ironed and laid out to wear to supper that evening. I wanted to look my best for Reagan. I tried to read but could not concentrate. I paced the floor and looked at the clock again. Not even an hour had passed since I had awakened. I decided to take a walk. I could not bear to look at my chamber walls any longer.
My feet carried me in the direction of the throne room seemingly of their own accord. The closer I got, the faster my pace became until I was practically running. Several heads turned in my direction when I burst into the room, including Reagan’s. I had hoped for a smile, but his face remained expressionless.
My gaze never left his. What if he rejected me? I soon lost my battle with trying to control my emotions, which had been happening more often lately. Tears started to flow down my face while the sound of quiet sobbing filled the room. I got nervous glances from the people in line in front of me and a few allowed me to go ahead of them.
Reagan repeatedly looked my way to the point that by the time I was fourth in line, he was staring back at me. There was still no smile upon his face. Had I made a mistake in coming to him now? Whether he was receptive to my feelings or not, I knew I could not leave without telling him how I felt.
The head gardener stopped in the middle of his request for more workers to plant the spring crops to look back at me. He reached past the two people in line between us, grabbed me by my arm, and propelled me forward. “For goodness sake, Miss Gwen, come up here and say what you need to say.”
Reagan took a handkerchief out of his pocket and motioned for his scribe to hand it to me. I wiped my face to no avail. The tears would not stop coming. There was no other sound in the chamber besides my sobbing. It was as if everyone held their breath in anticipation of what I was about to say.
His voice was low and steady. The only indication that he was truly interested in what had brought me there was the fact that he was leaning slightly forward. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“I want you to . . . I want to know if you will . . . marry me?”
I waited in agony for his answer. He studied my face, but I could not read his thoughts. “If we marry, you will be queen.”
There was murmuring behind me. Surely no one else knew why he was stating the obvious. I sucked in a shaky breath. “I know.”
“I plan to raise Dunbar’s baby as my own son—my first-born son. He will be treated no different than any other children I may have. As first born, he will be heir to this throne.” There were even more murmurings coming from the crowd at this announcement.
He had no idea how much I loved and had missed that baby. My voice had steadied somewhat, but the tears still flowed. “That is as it should be.”
He stepped down from the dais to stand before me. I could almost feel his gaze as he looked into my eyes before looking intently down at my lips. I wanted him to take me in his arms and kiss me, but he did not touch me.
“So, you are in agreement with these terms?” He was being so serious.
My voice broke, and it was all I could do to get above a whisper. I nodded my head to help convey my answer. “Yes, I am.”
“Then yes, I will marry you.”
I threw myself into his arms. He held me tight as the crowd cheered.
“I thought you were coming to tell me you were leaving Gilvary. I was so scared of losing you.” His words were mingled with little kisses to the side of my face. Then he leaned back just enough to capture my mouth with his. For a moment, the rest of the world faded away.
“I love you. I am so sorry for the time we have been apart. Please forgive me. I have been so stupid.” I could not seem to stop crying.
He kissed me again. “There is nothing to forgive. I love you as well.”
He turned and looked at the gardener who was standing there grinning at the both of us. “Galen, you have my permission to hire all the workers you need. Everyone else, I will return to hear from you at three this afternoon.”
There were a few groans as everyone cleared out, leaving the two of us alone.
“I have something for you.”
I laughed when he pulled the blue topaz betrothal ring from his pocket. I had told him this was my favorite. I thought back fondly to that conversation and wondered if he had thought then that he would one day present it to me.
“I had it sized and have been carrying it in my pocket since before Winter Session. I had planned to propose at the ball.” He slipped it onto my finger. I placed my hand on the side of his face and reached up for another kiss.