But some part of him insisted he must temper his domineering stance. He didn’t want his wife to be afraid of him. That was no basis for a marriage. He inclined his head to her. “My apologies for losing my temper. ’Twas inappropriate. You made a simple request of me and I refused it. There was no need for me to take out my frustration on you.”
She gaped at him. As if he was as much of a mystery to her as she was to him. The thought calmed him further. But it didn’t weaken his resolve. He did not intend to abandon his own bedchamber.
“We are man and wife now. ’Tis fitting and reasonable we share a bed. I can think of few circumstances when it would be otherwise. For you to have your courses is a natural thing, and you should not feel embarrassment or shame because of it. If you do, you will have to overcome your feelings. I will not agree to being banished from our bedchamber. Nor from our bed.” He nodded to the massive piece of furniture.
Some of her defiance returned, and she looked as if she was on the verge of protesting. Then she seemed to think better of it. She nodded. “As you wish, milord.”
Chapter Eleven
Marared moved away from the window, uncertain what to do next.
Malmsbury’s hazel eyes still bored into her. At last he broke off his gaze. “There are a few more things I must see to for the trip to Abergavenny. I’ll send up Edith to assist you.”
As the left the room, she exhaled, feeling the tension drain away. The feeling did not last long. In moments, she started pacing.
Gerard of Malmsbury was like no man she’d encountered. She’d thought him weak and easily controlled. He was not. She’d thought him cold and aloof. He was not that, either. She was used to overwhelming people with her volatile moods. That didn’t seem to work with Malmsbury.
He’d met her wild temper with dispassionate reserve. Responded to her sensual nature with a fiery ardor of his own. When she coolly rejected him, he stood up to her, intimidating her with his size and strength. And then, after he’d well and truly frightened her, he turned into back into the perfect gentleman.
Which was the real Malmsbury? How was she ever to know? How was she to outwit someone who always seemed to be one step ahead of her?
She felt hopelessly frustrated. It was bad enough she had no idea how to deal with Malmsbury. Worse, she did not know how to deal with her feelings for him. He infuriated her, frightened her, and enticed her. She was drawn to him, her body craving his.
She paced, struggling with her dilemma, until Edith arrived. “Milady, I brought some cloths.” The maid indicated the basket she carried.
“I don’t need them. I only said that to avoid Malmsbury.” Marared glanced at the serving maid and saw she’d shocked the young woman speechless. She fixed Edith with a stern look. “Don’t ever get married. Avoid it if you can. You might be able to do so, since you’re not from a noble family. You may think I’m very fortunate to have been born a chieftain’s daughter. I was fortunate. Until I was forced to wed Malmsbury. Now I have no power over anything. My life is not my own.”
“That’s not true.” Edith spoke softly, and yet her tone was confident. “You have great power. Anyone at Tangwyl will obey any order you give.”
“Unless it contradicts my husband’s wishes. Then they will not.”
This seem to appall Edith even more. She frowned, her blue eyes disbelieving. “But that is as it should be. The scriptures say a woman must obey her husband. ’Tis the natural way.”
Marared snorted. “Natural for whom? I’m quite certain the scriptures were written by a man. Or several men. There were no women involved.”
Edith was silent for a few moments. Then she asked, “Was it not like that in your father’s household? Did your mother not defer to your father?”
Marared tried to recall the interactions between her parents. “My mother died when I was fairly young, but I don’t remember my father ordering my mother to do things. Nor do I recall that she always did as he wished.” And yet…she always supported him. She loved him and was unfailing loyal and devoted to him.
She would not tell Edith that. To do so would point out the glaring differences between her parents’ relationship, and hers and Malmsbury’s.
Edith went to the chest and put the cloths away. Her tentative manner suggested she was trapped in the room with a wild beast, and she feared making any sudden moves lest she startle it into attacking.
If only Malmsbury saw like her that. He wasn’t afraid of her. Indeed, it was the other way around. She feared him. Not because she dreaded he would strike her or abuse her. Nay, it was his kindness and utter reasonableness that terrified her. That and the desire he aroused. Even now, she longed for him to return. She wanted to be near him, to have his body close to hers.
*
The rain poured down and the sky was a dull, gloomy gray. Despite the fact that she was on the way to meet Aoife and her plans were the falling into place, Marared’s mood was as bleak as the weather.
It had taken three days for the message to get to Aoife and for her to respond, and they had been miserable days for Marared. Although, the nights were what really took their toll. Nights when she lay beside Malmsbury, listening to his slow even breathing, his body shifting the rope supports of the bed when he moved or turned over. Every little thing seemed to remind her of the intimacy they’d already shared.
She couldn’t forget what they’d done in the bed a short while before. The memory haunted her, and her body felt horribly, wretchedly deprived because they weren’t doing it again. Her skin ached for his. Her breasts throbbed, longing for the touch of his big, warm hands or the delights of his mouth suckling and nuzzling.
It was torture to lie beside him and know what she was missing. Her deprivation fueled her anger and determination, and made her resent him all the more. She couldn’t wait to be quit of him. Of his stubborn, calm reasonableness. It wore her down like the steady, relentless waves of the sea. Breaking through her defenses and making her vulnerable.
The thought of it made her want to urge Gwenevere into a run and flee Malmsbury and their escort at this very moment. But even if she could get away for a time, he would track her down and take her back to Tangwyl, and then she would be trapped forever. Nay, she must keep to her plan.
She peered through the falling rain, seeking comfort in the thought they were getting closer to her beloved homeland. But it was hard to see anything through the blur of water. The rain beat steadily on the hood of her oiled leather cape, and the dampness and chill seeped through her layers of clothing to make her shiver. Malmsbury was probably right. They should have sent another message, delaying the meeting until the weather cleared. But she hadn’t wanted to wait, and so she’d insisted they set out as planned.
She grimaced as she thought of poor Aoife, also forced to travel in the awful weather. After this, she would owe her cousin even more than she already did. Maybe she could ask her father to insist Rory marry Aoife. But that wouldn’t be right. And it wouldn’t solve Aoife’s dilemma, that the man she desired had no interest in her.
She and Aoife were certainly a pair, Marared thought glumly. Aoife longed to be married, even though the man she’d chosen, Rory, didn’t love her. Marared, on the other hand, knew she would be quite content if she never married anyone. She had no use for love, or any of that silly nonsense. She wanted to be free, the same way Rory did.
There were other similarities between her and the handsome Irishman who was the object of Aoife’s desire. Rory longed to return to his home country. Only his duty as one of the warriors bound to serve at Caer Brynfawr, held him in Cymru. Marared felt sorry for Rory. The weather in her homeland was harsher than that in Ireland, especially in the mountains. The scenery was also different, too. The territory Rory hailed from in Munster was open pastureland, with broad, glistening lakes and small fishing villages along the coast.
But at least he was a man, with the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Her father could have insisted Rory be one of the men wh
o traveled to Tangwyl with Marared. But he had not, knowing Rory would be even more homesick further inland. Of course, if Rory had come to Tangwyl, then Marared could have easily asked Aoife to join her there. Although then there would be no way to set her plan in motion.
Her plan. Would it work? Would her cousin Rhys agree? There were risks. Raids were always dangerous, especially when made on a prosperous, well-defended keep like Tangwyl. And the raids might not be enough to break the truce. Her father could argue he had no control over the rebel warriors and therefore, their actions did not invalidate the alliance.
But Malmsbury would have to spend time and resources dealing with the raiders. If the raids became frequent and disruptive, her husband might finally decide this alliance, and marriage, weren’t worth it.
Although it wasn’t entirely his decision. He’d wed her on the orders of his overlord, Fawkes de Cressy. And Malmsbury did not strike her as a man who would go against his overlord. Especially after de Cressy had raised him up from an ordinary knight and made him a lord.
Seeing the flaws in her plan aggravated her despondency. All she wanted was for her life to go back to the way it had been. To be able to ride freely in the hills at home and watch the new lambs frolic. To admire the goshawks floating majestically on the downdraft. The play of light over the landscape as the sun peaked out from the clouds. The golden blaze of gorse on the hillsides, and blue speedwell and pale daisies gleaming in the grass, with orange and white butterflies fluttering above them.
She sighed. Although she hated to admit it, part of what she yearned for most was her childhood. But even if she remained at Caer Brynfawr or wed one of her countrymen, her life would be much less carefree than it was back then. Indeed, living at Tangwyl, she probably had more ease and freedom than she would if she returned to her homeland.
But she hated it at Tangwyl. Despised being idle and useless. The tedium of sewing for hours in the garden or grooming Gwenevere until her coat gleamed. But what else could she do? There was no place for her at Tangwyl. The household functioned perfectly without her. The only reason for her to be there was to seal the alliance, and to provide Malmsbury with an heir.
That thought aroused another, unsettling one. She might be pregnant right now. Despite her excuses to Malmsbury, her courses hadn’t come. If there was a child on the way, her father would never let her return home, even if the alliance was completely shattered.
She would not think about that. But she would focus on her plan. It had to work. She couldn’t keep coming up with excuses as to why Malmsbury couldn’t bed her. And if she gave in and let him do as he wished, she would eventually lose all will to fight him. She could not let that happen. She could not.
They followed the river north to Hereford, a bustling market town. As they entered the settlement, Marared glared at the square-towered church. “I can see the English have taken over this place and built their ugly buildings.”
Malmsbury raised a brow, but didn’t respond.
Marared knew her words were peevish and spiteful. The English had controlled this area for many years. The locals had clearly come to accept them. They probably even considered themselves English.
The weather had cleared and as they rode past the town, Marared could easily make out the gray stone of the priory, with the great arches of the church rising above the other buildings. Malmsbury rode ahead to speak to the porter at the gate. Marared scanned the trackway leading from the other side of the valley. Had Aoife and her escort already arrived?
Malmsbury returned, his expression unreadable. “Lady Aoife and her party are not here yet.” His mouth quirked, as if he was amused. “I must say, the abbot is not exactly pleased by your visit. You will only have a short while to speak to your cousin. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather meet Aoife somewhere else in the valley, now that the weather has cleared? You’d be able to talk more at your leisure.”
Marared shook her head. In the priory, they would be allowed to meet in a private room, and she would not have to think about Malmsbury waiting nearby.
“As you wish,” he responded.
Marared urged her horse forward. Her plan was set in motion; she would see it through.
Inside the priory, a holy brother took Marared’s horse and another led her to the guest house. Her guide was young, with full lips and dark, mournful eyes. Marared couldn’t help wondering how he’d ended up at the priory. He didn’t seem happy at all. Or maybe he was dismayed at having a woman invade his private realm.
As they made their way along the little-used pathway, Marared had the sense the young brother was trying to keep her out of sight of the other monks, as if she were something shameful or dangerous, something that should be kept hidden. She thought angrily of some of the scriptures Father Idwal quoted. They implied women were not only inferior to men, but a source of evil, since they led good men astray.
What nonsense. So far, in their relationship, it had been Malmsbury who had led her astray. He’d made her forget her vow to do everything she could to escape this marriage. Now she was back on course again.
The brother took her to a small guest house, furnished only with benches and a rough plank table. But there was a blazing fire in the grate and the room was warm and comfortable. On the table was a platter of bread and cheese, and an earthenware ewer.
Marared ate and drank eagerly, not caring that the wine was sour and the bread tough and hard. Then she sat restlessly, fidgeting as she worried Aoife wouldn’t come.
Finally, her cousin arrived and collapsed on the bench across from her. She looked out of breath and harried. “What is it, Marared? What’s happened?”
Marared went around the table and hugged her cousin. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“If nothing’s wrong, why am I here?”
“Take a breath and have something to eat and drink. I’ll explain while you do so.”
Aoife nodded and took a drink of the wine Marared offered her
As her cousin began to eat, Marared remained standing, her body alive with the nervous energy as she tried to decide how best to explain. “Nothing awful has happened, Aoife. Indeed, Malmsbury has been a perfect gentleman and everyone at Tangwyl Castle treats me well. But I haven’t forgotten that my husband is my enemy. I still intend to escape this marriage.”
Aiofe paused in eating. “By the rood, you are stubborn. I thought by now you would have adjusted to your new life. You say nothing is wrong, that your husband treats you well. Then why are you so dissatisfied?”
“Malmsbury is the enemy. Don’t you see? I can never be content married to him. To do so would be to give up all my convictions. To forget everything I’ve been taught.”
“Taught by whom? Your father? ’Tis clear he’s changed his mind. If he can come to view the English differently, then so can you.”
“But what about my brothers, who died at the hands of the filthy Saeson?”
“They didn’t die at the hands of the English. They died because they chose to fight them. There’s a difference.”
Marared clenched her jaw. Aoife would never understand. But her cousin did. Rhys would help her, if she could convince Aoife to get word to him. “I’m determined in this. You won’t dissuade me.”
“I suppose I won’t.” Aoife resumed eating. Marared waited until she was finished, then sat down across from her. She leaned over the table and spoke in a quiet voice. “I need you to get a message to Rhys ap Cynan.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
Marared glanced around the room and spoke in even softer tones. “I want him to raid Tangwyl. I must convince Malmsbury my father has broken the truce so Malmsbury will send me back to Caer Brynfawr.”
Aoife looked alarmed. “I don’t think it will work. Your father only has control over his own warriors. He can’t be held responsible for the actions of renegades like Rhys and his men.”
“We have to make things difficult for Malmsbury. We have to make him see the t
ruth. That his kind doesn’t belong here and never will.”
“The English have been in this country for hundreds of years.”
“Exactly. Our people have been here for far, far longer than that. Since our ancestors erected the ancient standing stones.”
Aoife’s expression grew wry. “I might remind you that you’re half-Irish, and your mother’s people were once bitter enemies of the Cymry. Since her blood runs in your veins, you can hardly claim to be a pure Cymraes.”
“But I feel like I am! I feel like the very essence of my homeland runs in my veins!”
“Perhaps Malmsbury will come to feel that way, too. Or at least your children will.”
At the mention of children, the sickening thought returned. She might already be carrying Malmsbury’s child. She pushed the horrifying notion away and glared at Aoife. “You won’t help me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Aoife’s dark eyes grew tender. “You are my kinswoman and I love you. I want you to be happy.”
“Then do this for me.” From her cloak, draped over the chair, Marared took out the missive she’d written. “Get this to Rhys. I beg you.”
Aoife took the missive reluctantly. “You know Rhys can’t read. Nor can any man in his warband.”
“Rhys is resourceful. He’ll find someone to tell him what it says.”
“You’re certain you want to do this?”
“I’m certain.” In truth, Marared wasn’t certain at all.
A moment later, she asked, “How are things with you and Rory? Has he shown any sign of warming to you?”
“Nay. But it doesn’t matter so much now.”
“Why not?”
“One of Malmsbury’s knights, he…” Aoife looked away.
“You mean you don’t care about Rory anymore? You’ve already switched your allegiance to one of the enemy?”
Aoife’s gaze turned clear and direct. “’Tis not like that. Guy’s different than the rest of the Saeson. He’s always smiling and jesting. He makes me laugh.”
Lord of Hearts Page 11