Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

Strangling her. Oh God, he was trembling, he just couldn’t help it. He stood there like a palsied man, trembling, so weak with relief, with gratitude to Jenny MacGraff that he wanted to shout with it.

Meggie smiled when her father shoved Thomas out of the way, came down to sit beside her on the cot, and held her close. He buried his face in her hair. “My dearest heart, you’re alive. This was too close, Meggie. Far too close. Your voice—that will probably take some time to heal. Are you all right?”

“Oh yes,” Meggie said, “I’m just fine now,” and she looked toward her husband, who was staring down at her, and that look on his face was one of hunger, immense hunger. “Let me see my husband, Father,” and Tysen smiled, hugged her one last time and went to stand by William, who was holding Jenny tightly against his side, and there was Jeremy, smiling toward her, nodding, and there was gratitude and immense relief in his eyes.

“Thomas,” she said, everything she felt in her voice, shining on her face. “Please come and hold me.”

When his arms went around her, when she was pressed against his shoulder, breathing in his scent, when she felt him trembling, she knew everything was going to be all right. She realized in that instant that she felt whole and somehow new. Life was different now because she was different. She saw things in a way she never had before. She knew what was important now, knew it all the way to her soul. It was her husband. It was Thomas. She looked again at Jeremy, saw a man she would like and admire for the rest of her life, her children playing with his, this man, her almost dratted cousin, who cared enough about her to come with her father and Mary Rose to Pendragon.

He was Jeremy now. He was exactly what he should be.

She felt Thomas easing her back in his arms, and she smiled up at him, touching her fingertips to his lips, seeing all of him now, seeing the endless love for her in his dark eyes, the fear that he’d almost lost her this one final time. He was hers now, and she wanted him with all her spirit and heart.

She said, wishing she didn’t still sound so very much like a croaking toad, “My throat will be all right. I’m very sorry that you’ve been so scared for me.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t talk. I don’t want you i

n more pain.”

“Believe me, it doesn’t hurt me to tell you how I feel. I have never been more pleased to see anyone in my whole life. When you came bursting through that door, I knew that our life would never be the same again. There would be no more doubts, no more suspicions, you would never again wonder about what your wife thought and felt. I saw you, Thomas, really saw you. I realized that I love you. With all my heart. I love you more than I could ever imagine loving anyone, ever.”

He hurt her he hugged her so tightly against him, but Meggie didn’t mind. She closed her eyes, kissed his neck, and felt his heart beating, steady and strong, against hers. She looked over at William, who was still hugging Jenny tightly, whispering against her temple, kissing her hair. It made Meggie wonder if just perhaps there might be something worth saving in William after all. One thing she knew for sure, no one would ever know that he wasn’t the earl of Lancaster’s second son.

Epilogue

IT WAS A beautiful summer morning in late July. Just outside Kinsale, at the edge of Pendragon land, lay the freshly prepared Pendragon Racetrack, newly initiated this very day. The dowager countess of Lancaster, Madeleine Malcombe, was the mistress of ceremonies. Like Lady Dauntry of the famed McCaulty Racetrack, she stood on a dais, surrounded by at least one hundred people.

Cats heaved and panted and tried to escape their trainers’ arms.

She called out, loud enough to be heard all the way to Cork, “CATS READY!”

Miss Crittenden of the Pendragon mews, who’d been meowing her head off, struggling to get free of Thomas, her secondary trainer, the only one strong enough to hold her steady, suddenly stiffened like a cannon, every muscle tensed. She was ready to run.

“CATS SET!”

There were twelve new racing cats, some confused, some eager for whatever was going to happen, some bored, some wishing there was food in their trainers’ hands, some wanting just to bathe themselves or sleep in a nice shady spot under a bush.

None of the participants, none of the attendees, none of the trainers, particularly Meggie, had any idea at all of what was going to happen.

Madeleine yelled, her hands cupping her mouth, “FREE THE CATS!”

They were off, at least five of them were, Miss Crittenden among them, thank the good Lord else Meggie’s credibility would have been sorely in question. She was running behind Jubilee, a howling black beast with witch green eyes, from Jenny Malcombe’s new, exclusive training mews, who was running straight and fast.

Meggie felt a moment of base envy. Jenny shouldn’t know success this quickly, it wouldn’t be fair, not after all Meggie’s work, all her dedication.

Meggie yelled, “Run, Miss Crittenden! Get Jubilee, pull him down, chew his neck! Run!”

The crowd, until this moment, not really knowing what to do, took up chants for the racing cat each of them was rooting for to win.

The noise was deafening. This was both good and bad. The noise made Jubilee and Miss Crittenden run all the faster because Meggie had shared with Jenny that they must accustom the cats to cheering, and so they had until all the stable lads were hoarse.

Two of the cats, calico sisters, nearly three years old and fast, suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, sat back on their haunches, stared a moment at all the ridiculous shouting and jumping people, and began licking each other, even though their ears were forward, taking in all the cheering. Meggie knew this was their way of coping with this unexpected chaos.

Butch, a lean and hungry black-and-white spotted mouser from the Witcherly mews, suddenly rose straight in the air, his hair sticking up, an impressive distance up since he was a longhair, and fell flat onto his side, evidently insensible from all the excitement.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came Brutus, Thomas’s dog. He burst onto the track, right behind Miss Crittenden and Jubilee. Both Jenny and Meggie were now standing at the finish line, frozen in horror as Brutus caught up with Miss Crittenden, grabbed her tail in his teeth, and hurled her a good six feet off the track.

No one had thought to mention that a dog anywhere near a cat racetrack wasn’t to be allowed.