A tragic tale, indeed.
“Davies would not let men take you away,” Eolande insisted after a moment, knowing she was on a sensitive subject. “If he knew men had come to abduct you, I know he would protect you to the death.”
But Grier shook her head. “I would not let him lay down his life for me,” she said, giving Eolande’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “Besides, Mother Mary Moria can protect me far better than any Welsh warrior can. Once I tell her that I have no desire to be wed, and that I intend to take my vows, she will chase them away in spite of my father’s wishes.”
There was that confidence in her voice again, something that Eolande heard quite often. Grier was, if nothing else, a confident young woman in a world where that wasn’t often seen. It was interpreted as defiance, or rebellion, but in Grier’s case, neither was true. At least, it hadn’t been until today.
Today, Eolande could sense a storm coming.
The door rattled before she could reply, sending her scurrying back to her chair as the panel swung open. While Eolande cowered, Grier faced the open door with the same courage as she faced everything else. She was cool and collected as the Mother Abbess appeared again, this time in the company of a very big knight.
The Mother Abbess snapped her fingers.
“Eolande,” she hissed. “Come with me. Now.”
Eolande shot out of her chair, rushing to the Mother Abbess and trying not to crash into the knight in the process, who was stepping into the chamber just as she was coming out. He was so big, however, that Eolande had to squeeze past him, brushing his arm, as the Mother Abbess extracted her from the chamber. Once she was clear of the door, the knight reached over to shut the panel behind them.
There was an odd silence in the chamber now. It was an uncomfortable one, and Grier eyed the man with dark eyes and copper curls down to his shoulders. She didn’t back away from him but she certainly felt like it, wondering rather frantically why the Mother Abbess had left her alone with a stranger. Never one to shy away from a situation no matter how frightened she was, Grier spoke.
“Who are you?” she asked, not too politely. “What do you want?”
The knight bowed, his behavior courteous even if hers wasn’t. “My lady,” he said. “My name is Dastan du Reims. I was your father’s captain at his death, and had been for the past seven years. May I extend my condolence at your father’s passing?”
Grier studied the man. He was handsome, perhaps having seen little more than thirty years. He also had a somewhat genteel manner about him, which seemed rather odd considering he was dressed for battle. He looked as if he’d killed a man or two in his time.
“I did not know my father, my lord,” she said honestly. “You may as well be speaking of a stranger.”
The knight nodded faintly. “I know, my lady,” he said. “As your father’s captain, I can assure you that he expressed regret over the state of his relationship with you.”
Grier was watching him with big eyes that missed nothing: a flicker of a brow, the twitch of a lip. She was watching him more closely than most because, in truth, she’d never really been this close to a knight before. Men were not allowed inside the abbey for the most part, and when there were male visitors, like Davies, they were kept outside in a sequestered area. That made this knight’s presence here something of an anomaly and Grier’s curiosity was natural.
But that curiosity didn’t dampen the suspicion she felt at his appearance or in the message he bore, especially after what Eolande had said. Perhaps, they have come to ransom you! Although Grier didn’t think that was the truth, it lingered on her mind. It kept her manner standoffish.
“He never expressed such a regret to me, my lord,” she said with blunt honesty. “That he did to you I find rather curious. Were you with him when he died, then? Did he express these regrets to you on his death bed?”
Dastan shook his head. “He did not, my lady,” he said. “He was wounded in battle, as was I. I was being tended to when your father was brought to the field surgeon. But by that time, he had already passed away. Your father was a kind and generous man, my lady. It was an honor to serve him and to carry out his wishes.”
There was something in the way he said it that made her look at him in a knowing manner. “And that is why you are here,” she said. “To carry out his wishes.”
Dastan hesitated a moment before he nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
Her gaze lingered on him. “Someone told me that you had come to abduct me and ransom me back to my father.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “I can assure you that is not the truth,” he said. “Your father is dead. Should you wish confirmation from the priest who conducted his mass, I can produce him. It will take some time, but I can prove it.”
Grier could have agreed with him and demanded he provide the priest, but she thought that a man with a guilty conscience would probably not have made such an offer. Perhaps she was naïve about it, but she believed him. Therefore, she put aside Eolande’s conspiracy theory, hoping she wasn’t wrong about it.
“There is no need to produce the priest, at least not at the moment,” she said. “I will believe you for the time being. But let us return to the discussion of my father’s commands. You have come here to carry out a specific command, have you not?”
“I have, my lady.”
“And what will you do if I refuse?”
Dastan kept his polite manner in the face of what sounded like a challenge. “Is that what you intend to do, my lady?”
“It is.”
He nodded as if in complete understanding. “I see,” he said. “Then allow me to make this plain. You will do as you are told to do, and if you believe you have a choice in this situation, then you are sadly mistaken. You are your father’s heiress; with you rests all of Shrewsbury, so your duty to you father and to your family is greater than your duty to God. In fact, you can do God more service with the Shrewsbury fortune than you could ever do within the confines of St. Idloes by wearing rough woolens and praying day and night. You will control a vast empire, my lady, and whether or not you assume that burden is not your choice. You will do as you ordered to do.”
For a man who had been polite since the moment he entered the chamber, that firm statement showed Grier just how powerful and intimidating the knight could be. His features hardened and his voice growled. Grier had been plain and now he was being plain, as well.
But she still wasn’t going to surrender.
“Then I shall take this to the archbishop,” she said defiantly. “I was given over to St. Idloes as a child, to be raised by nuns and to take my vows when I came of age. That plan has not changed in spite of my father’s death. You cannot force me to assume something I do not wish to do.”
Dastan drew in a long, thoughtful breath. Crossing his arms casually, he pretended to consider her words. But the truth was that there was no consideration; he was going to let her know just how foolish her statement was.
“Actually, I can,” he said. “Your father left provisions for a large donation to the abbey upon his death because he knew he would remove you from its walls and he wanted to compensate them for the years that they have fed and housed you. If they want the money, then they will have to turn you over, and if you think for one moment they are going to turn down such a large donation, then think again. You would be wrong.”
That brought a reaction from Grier. Her eyes widened and she stiffened. “But…!”
Dastan threw up a hand to silence her. “At this moment, I have been sent to bring you to the chapel, where your new husband awaits,” he said. “We can do this one of two ways; either you can walk with me in a civilized fashion or, if you refuse, I will tie you up and carry you. I am bigger than you, and stronger, so you cannot overpower me. For the sake of your dignity alone, I should think you would walk with me, but I shall leave that up to you.”
He sounded final. Grier’s first reaction was to scold him, to chase him away. But looking into hi
s square-jawed face, somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t be chased. She may have been stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She was starting to think that perhaps none of this was going to go the way she wanted it to and her composure began to crack.
“But… but this is cruel,” she said, trying not to sound desperate. “My father sent me to St. Idloes and, until today, it was my belief that I should take my vows and live my life as a nun. That is what I wanted; it is what my father intimated would always take place. And now I am expected to marry and assume my position as the Duchess of Shrewsbury? I know nothing of such responsibilities. I would not even know where to start!”
Dastan wasn’t unsympathetic. “I realize that,” he said. “My lady, your father’s death was unexpected and, to be truthful, never did he mention his plans for you to me. It was only after his death, when we found the missives to be read upon his death did we know of his plans. He had selected a husband for you and he wants the de Lara dynasty to continue. You are the last of your family, my lady. If you do not marry and procreate, hundreds of years of the de Lara legacy will die with you.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Grier supposed she knew that. She’d always known it. But it was something she’d pushed aside and buried, digging such a deep hole that she hoped such an idea would never resurface. With a heavy sigh, she turned away.
She could feel the defeat creeping over her.
“I had a brother, you know,” she said, glumly. “I was six when he was born. That was what killed my mother. My brother lived for an hour. A solid hour. And then he died and I was sent away, to live here at St. Idloes. I know I am the last of my family but my father never impressed upon me that I should continue his legacy. How can I? I am a woman.”
“You are a woman with a great and honorable family name,” Dastan reminded her firmly. “You are to be married into another family with a great and honorable family name. It will be the joining of two great lines and will ensure the Shrewsbury survival.”
More defeat swamped her. Grier was coming to realize she wasn’t going to talk her way out of it. She could be stubborn about it, or scream and run, but she would be caught. She could fight and kick, but men bigger and stronger than she was, as du Reims had pointed out, would subdue her.
Was that really what she wanted?
It wasn’t. She was bold and mulish at times, but she wasn’t a fool. And she most certainly didn’t want to embarrass herself. So, this was to be her fate.
An unexpected and unwelcome fate.
“Then who is this man I am to marry?” she finally asked, clearly dreading the answer.
A flicker of smile licked Dastan’s lips. He could hear how much she was hating all of this. She could hate it all she wanted so long as she didn’t put up a fight, and he was secretly quite glad that she hadn’t. He had no wish to wrestle the woman to the altar. Not that he blamed her for her position; he didn’t. She’d been socked away in St. Idloes for years and, in spite of what he’d told her, the old duke had barely mentioned her. She had been an afterthought. Or, at least, Dastan thought so until he saw the documents that had been produced after de Lara’s death. Then, it was clear she hadn’t been an afterthought at all.
He’d been concerned with his legacy, and his daughter was the key.
The nun will carry on the de Lara name.
“He is waiting for you in the chapel,” he said after a moment. “May I escort you to him, my lady?”
Grier wanted to deny him. Very badly, she wanted to. But she knew she couldn’t.
“If you must,” she muttered.
“I must,” came the quick reply.
A glance at the knight showed the man with a twinkle in his eyes and that only served to annoy her.
“If you take delight in this, I swear I will fight you all the way,” she said.
The twinkle in his eyes was still there, but his jaw tightened and his lips stiffened. “I have no delight, my lady.”
“Swear this to me.”
“I do.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. Something about the man told her that he was laughing at her and she hated it. Perhaps she’d embarrassed herself already and didn’t know it or, worse, he knew something she didn’t know. Maybe it was about her husband. Maybe he was the biggest joke of all.
God help me, she prayed silently.
She was about to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
“Just get it over with and you can go about your life,” William said. “Marry her and run. Or, better still, marry her and leave her at the abbey. Beget her with your heir and you need not think of her ever again!”
Dane knew William was trying to help in his own sloppy way. Leaning against the cold, stone wall of St. Idloes cavernous chapel on a dark, misty morning, Dane was slumped, looking at his feet, waiting for the arrival of the old duke’s daughter.
My wife.
He sighed heavily.
“You know I cannot do that,” he said.
“Why not?” William demanded.
Dane glanced up at him. “Must I explain this to you, Willie?” he asked. “She is the daughter of Lord Garreth. If I disrespect her, then I disrespect him. And I would not dream of showing the man any disrespect.”
William knew that, or at least the reasonable part of him did. But there was an entire side to William Wellesbourne that was full of spit and madness, like the soul of an unruly five-year-old child existed in the body of a grown man. But there was another side to him that was oddly wise, brilliant, and a skilled fighter. William was a paradox that had him both frustrating and trustworthy all at the same time.
“You know why he sent her to the convent, don’t you?” he asked.
Dane rolled his eyes. “I am certain you are going to tell me.”
William began to tell his story with glee. “Because she is hideous,” he said, bending over Dane and hissing at him. “She is a hideous beast, as ugly as sin, and he’s tucked her away in the convent to hide her from the world. She’s like Medusa, Dane – those who look upon her will be turned to stone.”
Dane shook his head at William’s theatrics. “Oh, shut up.”
William grinned; any time he drew that reaction, it was like throwing fuel on a fire. “I can see her now,” he said. “Eyes like a cesspool, hands like claws, and a face like a goat.”
“She sounds delightful.”
“Just your kind of woman!”
With that, William pulled at his jaw, making his face seem long and horrific. He even bleated like a goat, which made Dane turn away from him, afraid he was going to laugh at the man. If he did, and William saw him, then he would never stop. His harassment would go on and on until Dane grew annoyed enough to throw a punch.
“Think of it!” William followed his victim as he headed towards the chapel entry. “Your children will look like the spawns of Satan. There was a reason that girl was put in this convent, Dane. Run, man! Run as fast as you can away from here!”
They were passing near the entry to the chapel at this point, past Boden, who had been listening to William taunt his brother. Boden was a bit of a character himself and he didn’t like it when William upstaged him, and he especially didn’t like it when William went after his older brother. Therefore, as William walked past him, pestering Dane, Boden threw a punch that caught William in the belly. Dane heard the man grunt as air escaped his lips, turning with disinterest to see William bent over, holding his stomach, as Boden stood over him.
“Leave him alone,” Boden growled at William. “He is nervous enough without you making a fool of yourself.”
William was grossly unhappy that Boden had punched him. “Keep to yourself, little man,” he said. “The conversation was between me and your brother.”
But Boden wouldn’t back down. “You will leave my brother alone. And, might I remind you, he is your liege since you came to Blackmore. You will show him all due respect.”
William stood up, a frown on his face, and Dane could see there was going
to be trouble. He hissed at the pair, holding out a big hand.
“Enough,” he muttered. “William, keep your mouth shut and go see what is keeping the priest. Boden, keep watch beside the entry door. I would have this ceremony completed without having to worry about you two coming to blows.”
Boden snarled at William, who pointed a finger at him even as he backed away. “Another time, Boring Boden,” he taunted the man. “Another time!”
Boden’s eyes narrowed dangerously but he didn’t reply. The truth was that he and William adored each other for the most part, but there was a good deal of rivalry between them. They were both young and full of themselves, which put Dane in a bad position at times. Not that either man had failed him when it counted but, at times, it was like separating two rutting cats. As Dane tried to forget the tussling pair, another knight approached him.
“Should I keep Willie away from Boden, my lord?”
Dane turned to Sir Syler de Poyer, a knight who had served Shrewsbury but a knight he’d now inherited.
Syler was a cousin to Dastan’s wife, from the Norman-Welsh de Poyer family. He was stocky, muscular, with enormous hands and big, brown eyes, and as loyal as a favorite dog. Dane never had to repeat a command to Syler. Everything he said was instantly attended to. Syler was no-nonsense and infinitely patient, especially when it came to William and Boden, who were constantly trying to outdo each other. Therefore, it was a relief to have both Syler and Dastan to balance the foolery of the other two, but Dane shook his head to the man’s question.
“Just keep an eye on William,” he muttered. “I will take care of Boden. If you see the two of them starting to go at it again, you have my permission to bash skulls.”
“I will, my lord.”
Dane knew he would, too, which gave him some comfort. Now, he could focus on what he needed to do without worrying over William and Boden scrapping.
It was a wait that was soon to be over.
As the sun began to sink low in the western sky, Dastan finally emerged from the cloister with a small figure next to him. Dane knew it was a woman because he could see the curve of her figure, even beneath the unflattering woolen garments. In truth, he hadn’t honestly been nervous leading up to this day, he was merely resigned. But the moment he actually laid eyes upon the woman he was to marry, he could feel a twitching in his belly.
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