It had taken time to reunite these three. For a start they’d had to get rid of their audience. Then they’d led a shaky Angel into the stables. For a moment she’d nuzzled the babies, uncertain.
Balthazar had pushed his tiny head under her udder and drunk.
Angel had licked him and then lowered her head into the manger and eaten.
But then Matilda had tried.
Angel had turned and pushed the baby away.
One baby, it had seemed, was enough.
But Raoul was made of sterner stuff. He lifted Balthazar away from the teat. He held him at arm’s length and Angel bleated her distress.
Jess shepherded Matilda back to the teat.
Angel pushed her away.
Over and over.
Half an hour. The tiny Balthazar was frantic and Matilda was starting to wilt.
And then…Angel finally lifted her head and stared from Jess to Raoul and back again.
‘Come on,’ Raoul told her. ‘You have enough heart for two babies.’
Angel seemed to sigh. She turned back to Matilda, who was still by her side. She nosed her, licked her-and finally she let her attach to her teat.
Gently, Raoul had placed Balthazar down. He wriggled his way under, and two babies had been united with their mother.
Now they walked over to the stables, half expecting their happy ending to be not so happy-for her to have rejected one again.
But the three alpacas were fast asleep on the hay. A twin lay on either side of the udder. Angel stirred and looked up as they came in and gave a sleepy alpaca yawn.
‘We’ve done it,’ Raoul said in satisfaction. ‘We’ve united a family.
‘So we have,’ Jess said, softly, from the blessing of her husband’s arms.
‘So we have.’
And two months later…another ceremony.
Two vials of ashes. One taken from a vault in Paris. There had never seemed an appropriate time, an appropriate place. The other taken from the children’s wall of a cemetery in Sydney.
Lisle and Dominic.
They were gathered together, this day. The calm old priest who’d blessed this marriage, Raoul and Jess, and all who loved them.
This was perfect, Jess thought.
They were in the walled kitchen garden. All around the edges were roses, wisteria, jasmine, hollyhocks, delphiniums, a riot of brilliant colour. In the centre were rows and rows of vegetables, enough to feed a small village. Hens-chooks?-were clucking around the edges. Doves were fluttering around the dovecote in the far corner. Through the gaps in the ancient stone walling you could see and hear the sea.
This kitchen garden was no formal garden. It was used every day, by everyone who lived in this castle. Edouard played here with his baby alpacas-though they had to be kept sternly from the lettuces. The servants gossiped here. Louise and Henri sat and held hands and watched Edouard play. Raoul and Jess sat here in the moonlight. And soon… In not so many months, maybe there’d be a crib out here, where a little one could have a daily dose of sun.
Home. Home is where the heart is, Jess thought dreamily. Home is here.
There were even two cracked and blackened pots arranged artistically on a garden bench, which Raoul refused to remove because ‘Every time I look at them I remember how wonderful life is’.
And now…
The priest said the last few words of blessing. Louise unfastened the lid of one urn and gave it to Raoul.
Jess unfastened her own small urn.
They turned together, hand in hand and faced the sea. They lifted their urns and they let the ash drift across the garden on the soft sea breeze to land where it would.
The urns were empty. Jess turned and she held her husband tight, and once again she shed tears. But this time there was no desolation.
This was right.
Lisle and Dominic had come home.
With their families.
Marion Lennox
Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on-mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion writes for the Medical Romance™ and Harlequin Romance® lines. In her non-writing life Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, kids, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive. As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories; her stories allow her to travel, and if ever there was one advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!
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You can contact Marion at www.marionlennox.com
