Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  He reminded himself that so far, she’d shown no sign of letting him get close enough to indulge such fancies. Did she hate him simply because he was English? Or did she have something else against him? He wondered if she’d discovered he was a bastard. The lack of a more formal name than Gerard of Malmsbury might reveal the embarrassing circumstances of his birth.

  The thought made him angry. Then melancholy. But neither emotion did anything to tamp down his arousal. He must find some way to distract himself. To get the beguiling woman beside him completely off his mind.

  He took a deep breath and began to consider the improvements he planned for Tangwyl Castle.

  *

  He was asleep—the wretch! Marared shifted on the bed, her body tight with resentment. As tired as she was, slumber eluded her. But her husband had no difficulty. She could hear his slow, even breathing.

  Prick! Dolt! Lackwit! She mentally threw at him the slurs she’d heard her father’s knights use when angry. Hatred rose up inside her like the incoming tide. He slept on, unaware.

  She had to stop thinking about him. Forget his presence in the room altogether. Otherwise, she’d never sleep.

  But sleeping was the least of her worries. Her life was changed forever. The ring on her finger was a reminder of how she was bound to him. She twisted it around, feeling the smooth shape of the large cabochon emerald. Her mother’s ring. Now hers.

  She recalled the feel of his hands as he placed the ring on her finger. Hard, callused hands, the hands of a fighting man. Yet, he had been gentle enough. Indeed, she’d been surprised by his graceful, courteous manner. He was not the crude beast she’d anticipated.

  If she allowed herself to admit it, he was actually quite attractive. Brown hair, but not as dark as a Cymro’s, cropped in the English style. Unusual eyes. At first she’d thought them light brown, but there was a touch of amber and perhaps even green in them as well. She recalled how the skin around them crinkled when he smiled.

  Not a young man. He was thirty if he was a day. Perhaps that’s what lended him an air of quiet authority. That was her sense of him, like a still, deep pool. She was used to her boastful, merry, hot-tempered countrymen, and his subdued demeanor unsettled her. What would it take to provoke him? Some part of her would be compelled to find out.

  A faint smile crossed her lips. Aye, she meant to test her husband, drive him to his wit’s end. They would see how calm and unruffled he was when she told him that she never meant to allow him to share her bed.

  Savoring the thought, she settled back against the soft sheepskins padding the straw mattress.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later the weather cleared, and they left Caer Brynfawr. As they set off down the trackway, a lump rose in Marared’s throat. She glanced around at the steep hills, dark with pine and gorse. How she loved this place. She would miss every rock, every little rill and runlet of water trickling musically down the slopes. Every tree and bush. The graceful gyrfalcons and merlins soaring on the air currents above them. The Saeson might scorn this place as desolate wasteland, but it was her home, the place where her heart lay. Glancing up at the silvery overcast sky, she made a silent vow. I will return. My children will be born here, I swear it.

  As if sensing her defiant thoughts, Malmsbury guided his chestnut destrier slightly closer to her pale gray palfrey. At least she was riding her beloved Gwenevere. The mare was not only beautiful, but swift and responsive. Traveling into enemy territory, it would be good to have a quick means of escape.

  “Have you ever been away from your home before?” Malmsbury’s question, spoken in his deep, quiet voice, aroused Marared’s ire. He was trying to make conversation, to put her at ease and make her forget they were enemies. Well, it would not work.

  “Aye. I’ve been to Ireland several times.”

  “Do you have family there?”

  “My mother’s kin.”

  “Is that where you learned to speak Norman French?”

  She looked at him coldly. “You needn’t try to make conversation. I’m not a child who requires entertaining.”

  He raised his brows. “While I’ll admit I was committing the grievous sin of trying to distract you from the pain of leaving your family, I was also thinking of myself. It’s a long day’s ride to Tangwyl. I thought it might be pleasant to converse along the way.”

  She shot him an incredulous look. Did he not understand? She had no desire to share anything of herself with him.

  He glanced at the landscape around them. “I know many men who dislike Wales. But I’ve always thought this land has a kind of fierce beauty. It’s so wild and untamed.” He looked at her pointedly. “So exhilarating.”

  Was he implying he enjoyed the challenge of their marriage? The fool!

  But despite her resentment, she kept silent. She must not reveal herself too openly. If she was going to win this war, she must be clever and not give in to her temper and speak imprudently.

  “This place tests a man. Forces him to dig deep inside himself and discover how badly he wants to prevail.” Again, he looked at her. His message could hardly be clearer.

  “Are you telling me the truce is over?”

  “I was speaking about the land. Besides, I now think that comparing things between us to a battle was a poor decision. I should have chosen my words with more care. In fact, we don’t know each other well enough to be enemies.”

  “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “You may think we’re on opposite sides of some sort of conflict, but that’s not enough to make us foes. True adversaries feel a passionate hatred for each other. Such extremes of emotion take time to develop. We’ve only just met.”

  He was wrong. She was capable of hating him, even if she didn’t know him. He was a Sais. Nothing else was required to make her loathe him.

  “Besides, your father and I are allies, so that should make us allies as well.” He smiled. “I’m sure we want the same thing—peace between our peoples. Perhaps you and I simply need to start over. If you will try to overlook the coercive aspects of our marriage, I will overlook your rash insults of me and the rest of my countrymen. We could pretend we’re meeting for the first time.”

  She found his suggestion preposterous, but she dare not say so. Let him think she was willing to give him a chance. Aye, that would be the best course. Lull him into complacency. “Very well. We’ve only met. Now what?”

  “You should tell me about yourself, and I’ll do the same. I believe that’s the way it’s done in a normal courtship.”

  She felt her smile sour. This was not what she had in mind, this subtle game of wits. “What shall we talk about?”

  “You mentioned Ireland. I’ve never been there. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about it.”

  Ireland. It seemed a safe subject. “I’ve visited there several times. My mother’s family holds land in the southwest.” She took a breath, remembering. “’Tis a gentle place compared to Wales. The colors of the landscape are mellow and soft. The contours of the land flowing and graceful. There the mist kisses your skin instead of flailing it with dampness and cold.”

  “What are the people like?”

  “Not so different than the people here, the Cymry.” She used the word pointedly. Welsh was the English term for her race, and Wales their name for her country. To her, the name for her people would always be Cymry, and the term for her country, Cymru. “Like us, the Irish are independent and proud. Brave and loyal. And yet, if they suffer insult or injury, they never forget it. They will have vengeance, no matter how long it takes.” She looked at him as she said this. It was foolish to let him know the depths of her animosity, but she could not help herself.

  His face wore a slight smile. She knew that lustful, hungry expression. How many men had looked at her that way when her father’s attention was diverted? But there was a difference, a cold flutter in her stomach reminded her. This man had her father’s blessing to do what he wished with her.

  How could Da
have agreed to this? Selling her off to buy a season or two of peace? Did he not know that no matter what alliances he made with the English, they wouldn’t last? Her father might accept a truce, but other men would not. She considered the few large landowners and important clients who had not been at the meeting with Malmsbury. Men like her cousin Rhys. His father, Cynan, her Da’s brother, had never stopped fighting the English until the day he died. Neither would Rhys.

  But that did her no good now. She was wed to this man, bound to him by law. How was she to endure it? And how did she remain true to her people and survive in the meantime? Her husband was currently acting the role of gracious courtier. But over time he would tire of trying to win her over with fine manners and consideration. Then, what would he do? For all her bold words, she was afraid of Gerard of Malmsbury. She sensed ruthless ambition in those cool, wary eyes. An implacable will driving his lean, powerful body. He was not an enemy to take lightly.

  She wished she’d had Aoife come along. Her cousin had offered, but she’d told her there was no point dragging someone else into this mess. Besides she knew Aoife didn’t want to leave Caer Brynfawr. Aoife still yearned after Rory, an Irish warrior who had been sent to serve at Caer Brynfawr as part of the long ago agreement between Marared’s mother’s family and her father’s. Marared had her doubts that Rory would ever show any interest in Aoife. Even if he did, it would probably not last. Rory always struck her as the sort of man who was only interested in the pursuit.

  At the time, it had been easy to refuse Aoife’s offer. But now Marared realized how alone she was. As part of the agreement, several of her father’s men were traveling with them to join the garrison at Tangwyl, while several of Malmbury’s knights remained at Caer Brynfawr. But her father’s men would not intervene in matters between her and her husband unless they thought he was mistreating her. And this man was too clever to ever appear anything but courteous and honorable. He hid his scheming, devious nature very well. And yet, it must be there. He was a Sais.

  At least he’d given up trying to converse. There was a kind of victory in that, but a very shallow one. He might well ignore her until they reached Tangwyl, but at some point, it would be time to retire. Then they would have to negotiate their arrangement once more. Alone with him in a bedchamber in his own castle, she would not be in a position of power.

  The hills grew less steep, the budding bushes and underbrush more profuse. They were leaving the highlands. Soon they would be in enemy territory. A sense of foreboding tightened like a band around her chest. She’d visited the lands to the east of her father’s when she was a little girl. Her memories were of thick forests giving way to rolling pastureland and rivers that flowed lazily through gold-green meadows. A gentler world, much as she’d described Ireland. But even Ireland had the influence of the sea with its restless, unpredictable nature. Here everything seemed peaceful and mellow. It already felt warmer.

  She used one hand to loosen the hood of the heavy, fur-lined mantle she wore. In the lower lands of the English, she would feel oppressed and trapped. Which she was. She was bound to the straight-backed, enigmatic knight riding next to her. Most men would have taken her maidenhead, or at least tried to do so. This man had appeared willing to wait, at least for a time.

  But how much longer would he forgo the bedding? As he’d said, there was the validity of the marriage to consider. Not to mention the way he looked at her. Nay, he would not wait forever. Only until he got her alone in his stronghold, surrounded by his people. Then, when she was helpless and alone, he would force her to give in to him.

  Little arrowpoints of fear pricked her belly. At the same time, part of her wanted to get the confrontation over with. The waiting was tying her in knots.

  *

  What a contrary woman his wife was, Gerard thought as he rode beside her. She was doing her best to make it clear she did not accept this marriage and never would. Well, he was more than a little stubborn himself. She implied he would never win her regard. Perhaps not. But he would not stop trying. So far, he had defied all predictions and expectations for his life. He had reached his goals by working steadily and relentlessly, outlasting all his enemies and detractors.

  He glanced again at Marared. She had proclaimed herself his adversary, but by the saints, what a stirring, compelling one she was. His body was tantalized with the thought of what it would be like to make this conquest. She was all fire and ice. Hair aflame and cool white skin. Eyes like a cat’s. That mouth. Jesu!

  Perhaps he should try talking to her again. But so far that had yielded little, except proof of her continued animosity. Perhaps it would be better to leave her alone and see if her anger cooled. With that thought in mind, he urged his destrier ahead of her mount.

  His mood improved as they rode down a slope and gazed at the gleaming gray stone of Tangwyl Castle in the distance. This was a prize worth nearly any price. Even being wed to a woman who loathed him.

  But he would change that. After all, it was not him she hated, but who she thought he was. He would prove to her that he was different than the English knights she had known before. Not some ill-mannered, contemptible brute, but a man who respected women and treated them with courtesy and consideration. In addition, he would make it clear what he was offering her—a comfortable and luxurious life, and the kind of security most women could only dream of. He let his mount drop back beside Marared’s. “What think you?”

  She shrugged, her lovely face set in a contemptuous frown. “I’ve seen several castles in my lifetime.”

  “Tangwyl has many advantages. The river guards it on two sides, and the steep defile behind makes it difficult for a large force to launch an offensive.”

  She shrugged again, obviously uninterested. He reminded himself that she was a woman, so it was normal for her to be unconcerned with battle logistics. “The castle also has many amenities. I recently put glass windows in the solar, so you will have good light for sewing without shivering in the winter air. And all the walls were lime-washed and the rushes replaced last fall. I think you will find it quite comfortable.”

  He observed no spark of interest in her eyes, but he pressed on. “We’ve had a good harvest and there’s plenty of food in the cellars and storage sheds. Also an excellent sheep clip. This area is renowned for the fine woolen cloth our weaving women produce. We can’t compete with the Flemish imports yet, but we sell a great deal in London. Perhaps I could take you with me sometime when I visit the court.”

  She gazed at him with an incredulous expression. He wondered if she felt overawed at the idea of visiting John’s court. “If we went to London, I would make certain you had clothing that would show off your beauty. Although I know little of women’s fashions, I’m sure my overlord’s wife, Nicola de Cressy, could assist you in selecting fabrics and designs.”

  “You’re jesting, aren’t you?” She looked like a cat about to spit. “You really think I’d go to London? I’d rather enter a wild beast’s den than that wretched Saeson cesspool!”

  Gerard was taken aback. Every woman he’d ever known would have been delighted to be offered a new wardrobe and the chance to visit London. What sort of untamed hoyden had he wed? Clearly the way to this woman’s heart was not with luxury items and extravagant gifts. What the devil would tempt her?

  The familiar sense of frustration crept back, and he cursed Caradoc for his haste in seeing them wed. Because of the Welsh chieftain’s impatience, he’d had no opportunity to get to know his bride. He considered that the reason Caradoc rushed the wedding was he hadn’t wanted him to discover Marared’s true nature. Perhaps the Welshman feared Gerard would back out of the treaty at the thought of spending the rest of his life wed to such a shrew.

  But even if he had known about his new wife’s waspish temperament, he would have still gone through with the marriage. If it came down to it, he would give up his life for the sake of Tangwyl. The satisfaction of holding such an impressive castle was worth any price.

  H
is jaw tightened with determination. He’d come so far and endured so much. Even after all these years, he could still hear the taunts and insults: Bastard! Worthless whore’s son! His father’s legitimate children had hated him and never missed an opportunity to ridicule him and make him aware of his inferior status. Thankfully, his father had seen fit to place him as a page at Mordeaux, far away from his half-siblings in the east.

  But even there he’d struggled with the handicap of his birth, because he trained alongside boys who were surer of their position in society. Once they found out he was his father’s by-blow and not his heir, they had teased him relentlessly and made him the butt of their jests. He’d had to wait until he was big enough and fierce enough to defend himself to finally silence his tormentors.

  But that was only the beginning. The next step was to earn his spurs as a knight and prove himself worthy of a position in Mortimer’s garrison. Then Fawkes de Cressy had killed Mortimer and seized Mordeaux, and he felt like he was starting all over again. It had taken another seven years to gain his commander’s notice and convince de Cressy he deserved more responsibility. But he had done it, working tirelessly to perform his duties with discretion and efficiency, until it became natural for de Cressy to entrust him with more and more until putting him in charge of this strategic keep.

  He’d finally reached this pinnacle of his ambition, and Tangwyl was his to rule. But to keep it, he had to find a way to deal with this maddening woman.

  He wished he’d had more experience with the fairer sex. There’d never been time for dalliances. Like most men, he’d satisfied his needs with whores, but this woman was not some wench who serviced rough soldiers. She was a noblewoman, and one who’d clearly been indulged all her life.

  He thought of the only other lady he’d really known. Nicola de Cressy was nothing like Marared. Rather than being fiery, she was the epitome of cool elegance. Even when she was wroth, her manners were impeccable. He could not imagine her ever insulting a guest in her home or openly displaying animosity to anyone. His overlord’s wife and Marared were very different. This woman seemed passionate and impulsive, rather than composed and regal.