“Is that why he did not send word to me?” she asked. “Because he lost his hand?”
Mark nodded. “He wanted to, every minute of every day. He was just unsure how to tell you. Then he decided that he must tell you in person, but the new king has kept him busy in London and he’s not had the opportunity to leave. So he sent me to tell you that he is alive and more deeply in love with you than he has ever been. And he said to tell you that he is sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Mark shrugged. “On that, he was not clear. For perhaps not sending word sooner or for perhaps losing his hand; I do not know. But one thing is certain; Gaston would not be alive had Matthew not sacrificed his hand. It was the most selfless act of loyalty I have ever seen.”
A warm, fluid feeling swept her. It made her weak. “As I would expect nothing less from The White Lord,” she murmured. “Mark, is he somehow afraid that I will love him less without his hand?”
“He is diminished.”
“Nay, he is not. Matthew Wellesbourne is greater than he ever was.”
“Then he will need you to convince him of that. He did not want me to tell you about his hand; he will be arriving soon and would tell you himself. He merely wanted me to tell you that he was alive and well, but I knew when I arrived that I could not keep such news from you. Perhaps this way, it will be less of a shock.”
Alixandrea felt such relief, such comfort, that she very nearly collapsed. “Then if my husband will be home soon, I must make sure that Wellesbourne Castle is ready to receive The White Lord.”
Mark could only nod his concurrence. Alixandrea sat for a moment, pondering all of the news this day had brought her. It occurred to her that it was cold and dark in Audrey’s little garden. She rose with heavy assistance from Mark. She was having difficulty standing, difficulty digesting the events of the day. But one thing was certain; Matthew was alive and he was coming home. If nothing else in her life had ever given her even a moment’s sweet joy, this one thought did.
Mark held on to her arm to steady her as they walked from the garden. When they reached the gate, he even held out a hand for Caroline. The petite red head took his arm, affectionately, as if the two of them had been doing it all of their lives. He leaned over and kissed her once again, so very glad to see her. The events of the last few weeks had made him re-think everything in life. He knew he had been wrong.
Mark had finally come home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The dawn wasshades of pink and blue, splashing hues across the night sky as the sun threatened to rise. It was a peaceful morning.
Alixandrea was sleeping soundly until a massive body suddenly climbed into bed next to her. Huge arms pulled her close and there was hot breath in her ear. Startled from a deep sleep, her momentary shock was replaced by elation.
She could smell her husband’s distinctive musk, warm and masculine and comforting, before she ever saw his face. She could only pray it was not a dream for she would surely die to awaken from this bliss and find it unreal.
Rolling onto her back, she was confronted by a very familiar, very weary face. Matthew Wellesbourne smiled warmly at her, his blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears of joy. Alixandrea’s first reaction was to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze him like a vise.
“Matthew,” she gasped.
He laughed softly, his face buried in her neck. “Good morn to you, love. Did you sleep well?”
Half-asleep and emotionally brittle, she burst into tears. “Matthew, I do not care what has happened,” she wept. “I love you more than anything in the world. You are my husband and I would be lost without you. Whatever you are, whatever you may be, I will never leave you.”
It all came out as a rambling mess. He pulled back, gazing down at her with a serious expression. “That was quite a speech. Is there anything else?”
She wept in response and he smiled gently, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her wet eyes. He could not seem to stop kissing her.
“No more tears, sweet girl. I am home to stay, I promise.” He gathered her up tightly against him, relishing his first feel of her in ages. It was sweeter than he had remembered. “I am so sorry, Alix. So sorry you had to go through all of this turmoil. But I am back now and all shall be well again, I swear it.”
She touched his face, feeling the stubble. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. “I love you, Matt,” she sobbed softly. “I am so glad… so glad.…”
She could not finish. He cradled her against his powerful body, holding her with two good arms and one good hand. He could feel her arms moving over him as if inspecting him to see if he was indeed sound and whole. The sobs were like music to his ears. Then, one hand began to move down his left arm. He knew what she was seeking and lifted his arm to show her before she could find it.
His left arm was stumped at the wrist. A soft linen sock fit over the top of it, like a glove, extending up to his mid-arm. It simply covered the nub. Her sobs lessened as she inspected it, carefully and silently.
Matthew closed his eyes as she did so; it was a strong moment, and a defining one. He had been dreading it for weeks but now he thought himself an idiot. Alixandrea responded exactly as he had expected her to; not with revulsion, but with interest and tenderness. He did not say a word as she ran her hand over the cleaved edge of his wrist, becoming acquainted with it. Then she kissed it.
“I would see your flesh,” she sniffed as she went to remove the glove.
He shook his head. “Not now,” he murmured as he pulled his arm away. “It has not healed completely and knowing your weak stomach when it comes to wounds, I would rather you wait.”
She grinned, knowing he was more than likely correct. He knew her well. But it did not stop her curiosity. “Did you… did you find your hand?”
