A Bride for His Majesty s Pleasure

‘I couldn’t let that happen,’ Max told her. ‘Not when I hadn’t told you or shown you how important you are to me—how much I love you and value you. How much I respect you, and how much I can’t bear the thought of my life without you. How much hearing you praise the work of Veritas—work which is so important to me and whose importance I haven’t been able to share with anyone since my parents died—blew me away with pride and delight. We haven’t known each other very long, Ionanthe, but I can tell you honestly that being with you has been like finding the true heart of my life, its true purpose and its true meaning.’

‘Oh, Max…’

As she leaned towards him Max cupped her face and lifted himself up so that he could kiss her.

‘No—you mustn’t,’ Ionanthe protested. ‘You could be injured. You mustn’t move.’

‘I won’t move—if you stay with me.’ His voice grew strong as he added, ‘Stay with me, Ionanthe. Stay with me for the rest of our lives and help me to become worthy of the values and hopes we share.’

There was no time for her to do more than nod her head, because the village doctor had arrived, quickly pronouncing that Max had had a remarkable escape and hadn’t broken anything, but that he was likely to be badly bruised.

The father and the grandfather of the child

whose life Max had saved had, of course, to shake his hand and thank him, and then all the men were hoisting him up on their shoulders for a triumphant journey back to the castle. Ionanthe joined the women and children following in their footsteps.

Surely there could be no frustration as tormenting as that which kept the one you loved at your side but out of the intimate reach you both craved? Ionanthe thought ruefully, as she and Max played their roles in the great hall at the party around the Christmas tree.

They hadn’t even been able to snatch a few precious minutes alone together after their return from the accident, such had been the eager demand of her people to thank Max for his bravery.

Now the youngest children were snuggling sleepily in the arms of mothers and fathers as the final carol came to an end and the last cup of spiced wine was drunk.

A sweet, sharp thrill of excitement mingled with apprehension zinged through Ionanthe when at last they were free to leave—circumspectly saying their goodnights, and even more circumspectly walking down the long stone corridor together in silence. But what if she had misunderstood Max earlier? What if he had not meant those oh-so-sweet words he had said, which had completely taken away the sting of her earlier pain?

Ionanthe’s heart started to beat faster. They had reached their room. Max put his hand on the door handle and looked down at her.

‘It’s gone midnight. That means that I can give you my gift.’

He’d got her a Christmas present? Ionanthe felt guilty. ‘I haven’t got anything for you—’ she began.

Max shook his head and told her softly, ‘Oh, yes, you have.’

They were inside the room, private and shadowed, warmed by the fire in the hearth and even more by their love.

As Max took her in his arms, Ionanthe protested, ‘You’re going to be so dreadfully bruised and sore.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Max agreed. ‘But not tonight.’

And then he was kissing her, fiercely and hungrily and demandingly, and she was kissing him back with all the sweetness of her love and all the heat of her desire. And nothing, but nothing mattered other than that they were together.

Still holding her, Max reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed an envelope, which he handed to her.

‘What is it?’ Ionanthe asked uncertainly. It looked bulky and formal, and for some reason the sight of it had made her heart plummet.

‘It’s your Christmas present,’ Max told her. ‘Open it and see.’

Reluctantly Ionanthe detached herself from him and opened the envelope, hesitating a little before she removed the folded sheets of papers inside it.

That it was some kind of legal document she could see immediately, but it took her several minutes and three attempts to read the first page before what exactly it contained could sink in.

I appoint my wife, Ionanthe, to the board of the Veritas Foundation as co-CEO, with powers equal to my own within that role…

There was more—a great deal more legal jargon—but the meaning was plain enough: Max was entrusting to her a half share in the operation of his foundation.

‘You really trust me that much?’ was all Ionanthe could manage to say.

‘More,’ Max told her truthfully.

He had wanted to show her beyond any doubt how he felt about her in so many different ways, and he could see from her expression that she knew and understood that.