June 1177
at Château de Villonne
My dear Eglantine—
I sincerely hope that this missive finds you and yours in good health. All is most well here, and I would send my thanks for your speedy dispatch of my spouse last spring. Burke arrived home with naught but a blackened eye to show for his journey. I suspect there is a tale to be told, for he smiles with all the mischief of our son Bayard when asked about it. I similarly suspect that I shall never know the truth of it—but ’tis enough that he was home for the arrival of our second son.
Aye, Amaury entered our lives with a roar this month and thus far has captivated all, including his daunting grandmother. Do you recall Margaux de Montvieux? She is little changed, though she shows a softness of nature in the company of the boys that one might not have expected. She and my father have yet to agree on any matter of import and, for the sake of peace, we endeavor to ensure that their visits are separately timed.
Your own mother visited us this summer, for she accompanied Brigid and Guillaume from Crevy when they came for the christening of Amaury. ’Twas an event of great boisterousness, for all our blood came to share our celebrations. Bayard along with Rowan and Bronwyn’s son, Nicholas, took to tormenting Guillaume and Brigid’s young Niall, doing so until the babe wailed. At five summers, Luc and Brianna’s Eva is of an age to ignore them all, while her younger brother Connor watched the older boys with what might have been awe. God help us when they are all old enough to run about.
The priest seemed quite relieved when the ceremony was completed and the chapel was rid of us!
Further to your own family, Guillaume confessed to having found the seal of Arnelaine in his own office, though he could not understand how it came to be there. He believes that Theobald did not wager it, after all, though you and I know well enough that my Burke had it briefly in his possession. How odd that Guillaume found the seal a few days after Burke’s visit to Crevy-sur-Seine!
Arnelaine is now beneath the competent hand of a vassal and this season’s crops are said to be promising—but Guillaume pledges that the seal is yours, should you wish to return. Given the tales that Burke shared with me, however, I heartily doubt you will take advantage of his offer. It sounds as though you have found happiness, finally, Eglantine, and never has a woman more soundly deserved such happiness than you.
Belated congratulations from me on your nuptials and every good wish for your continued good fortune. I send you a gift with this missive and within the care of Alienor’s spouse. It seems he had much fortune at the Champagne fair, though with such wares I could not have expected much else.
This gift is a most uncommon but undoubtedly useful one. The companion of Iain is a Gael who has been in my employ several years—she is both a healer and a midwife and skilled beyond compare. When Siobhan confessed that she missed her homeland, I thought of Alienor and the child she carries. I should not like to think of any woman enduring childbirth without an experienced hand and fear that in your locale, skilled midwives may be rare.
And so, I dispatch Siobhan to your care, hoping she can be of aid to you and yours. I ask only that you take her beneath your hand as though she were a vassal of your own. She is as loyal as she is gifted.
With every good wish for your harvest and your health—
Your friend,
Alys de Villonne
Lady of Montvieux
& once Alys of Kiltorren
Eglantine folded the missive, knowing she would read it a thousand times again at her leisure. She met the gaze of red-headed woman before her, noting the freckles across that woman’s nose, the lines of laughter fanning from her sparkling eyes, and the solid capability of her hands. Iain was already gone, seeking Alienor, the light of victory bright in his eyes.
“Welcome, Siobhan,” Eglantine said in Gael, rolling the name over her tongue as Duncan had labored long to teach her. “Welcome to Ceinn-beithe.”
Siobhan smiled. “Aye, ’tis good to hear my mother tongue again. But tell me, Eglantine, if you were born to this land, how do you know Lady Alys? Were you acquainted with her when she lived in Ireland?”
“Nay. I was not born the land of the Gael.”
“Nay? But the language falls so smoothly from your tongue.”
“You shall have to tell my husband that, for he has much to say of my pronunciation.”
Siobhan laughed. “Perhaps you should have been born here, for you look as though you belong in these parts.”
Eglantine smiled, liking that thought. “Do I then?”
Siobhan’s smile broadened. “Aye, it matters naught where one is born, as long as one discovers where one is truly meant to be. Is that not the truth of it?”
A man’s cry echoed over the holding and Eglantine watched Duncan climb the rocks bordering the sea. Esmeraude squealed with laughter as he swung her high, then planted her upon his shoulders. Jacqueline ran alongside laughing, the three of them barefoot, tanned and wet, no doubt from the sea.
She knew the moment Duncan’s gaze landed upon her and they shared a smile, its heat undiminished by distance. He turned his footsteps immediately towards her and raised his voice in song, her daughters lending their voices to his.
Eglantine watched them stride towards her, her heart filled nigh to bursting. And she knew that Alys’ midwife spoke the simple truth.
Eglantine was home because here, at Ceinn-beithe with Duncan by her side, was precisely where she belonged.
“Aye, Siobhan,” she murmured, smiling for Duncan even as the midwife wandered away. “That is indeed the truth of it.”
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