Once a Bride

by Shari Anton

  The moment had arrived, and he could truthfully say nay because he wasn’t worthy of Eloise.

  “Aye, my lord. Me.”

  Roland prepared for battle. John’s stunned look wouldn’t last long. But instead of seething anger, the outburst finally came out in hysterical laughter.

  “You? Absurd! A sixth son with no more than a horse or two to his name? Surely, we can do better for her!”

  So Roland believed, but he wasn’t about to give up after a single volley. As in every battle, sometimes one needed to try several strategies in order to win the day.

  Striving for a tone of calm reasoning, he answered, “If you object to my suit, then pray give me a list of others who may consider the marriage. I would be happy to pass it along to Geoffrey.”

  John slowly sobered. “There must be someone.”

  “As you say. ’Twould help if the man you chose is here in London, so the marriage can be performed immediately, so there will be no legal entanglements over the transfer of her dowry. Who shall we ask who might be able to overlook the possibility that you will be branded a traitor?”

  He saw the answer in John’s face. No one.

  “You reach damned high, lad!”

  So Roland knew and had admitted as much to Geoffrey.

  “I am well aware that under other circumstances I would not be considered.”

  John’s eyes narrowed. “You were sent to Lelleford to oversee the holding, not court my daughter. Was that your plan all along, to seek Eloise as your reward from the king?”

  He nearly laughed at the accusation.

  “Nay, Sir John. I had no such intention. Verily, I wanted nothing to do with her at the time. If you will remember, we were on less than agreeable terms.”

  “Ah, yes. She thought you a disagreeable toad.” Roland thought he could very well go through the rest of his life without hearing that again.

  “She did. And I thought her too brazen and strong-willed for my taste. I had no designs on her whatsoever.”

  “Eloise is still brazen and strong-willed, always will be, and yet you would take her to wife?”

  In a heartbeat, and for good or ill, he allowed his mask of calm reasoning to slide away and expose his heart. Let the father take whatever shot he wished.

  “I assure you, Sir John, if Eloise came into my reach, as Geoffrey put it, barefoot in her shift, I would still take her. The dowry is of no import, your daughter is.”

  John’s disbelief came fast and hard. “You expect me to believe you have developed an affection for Eloise? Come now, Roland, admit you crave the land, the money. For what other reason would you place your future in royal service at risk?”

  Roland shook his head. “I love your daughter, Sir John. For no other reason would I consider the marriage.”

  John bolted from his chair and turned his back. Roland drew steady breaths against the sour roil of his stomach, prepared for John’s outright refusal. After several long moments, wondering if John meant his silence and refusal to face Roland as his answer, he rose from the chair. His heart heavy, he took a step toward the door.

  “You will protect her with your life, Roland.”

  He nearly melted into the floor.

  “I do most humbly swear.”

  “Then I will allow the marriage on one condition.” John finally turned around. “The manor in Durham. Kenworth may try to take it by force if his trickery fails. You will spend whatever you must to man the manor to the rafters and not let Kenworth have it. On my oath, if that manor falls, I will return to haunt you.”

  “You have my vow.”

  “Then have Geoffrey draw up the betrothal contract. Eloise is aware of every last piece of pewter that comes to her.”

  He noticed Sir John said nothing about obtaining Eloise’s agreement, but then, most fathers didn’t consider the daughter’s feelings in such matters.

  Roland considered Eloise’s opinion of vital importance, and given her nature, obtaining her agreement might be harder than wrestling it from Sir John.

  Chapter Eighteen

  STUNNED, ELOISE listened as Geoffrey and Roland presented her with very good reasons why she should marry with all due haste.

  They’d told her about the lack of success in finding Brother Walter and had given her no time to recover before they launched arguments for this ridiculous scheme. She’d be protected, they claimed, and her dowry safe from the king’s hands and thus out of Kenworth’s reach should her father not prevail.

  The two had worked out the details while she slept, she realized, each backing the other—against her or for her, she hadn’t yet decided.

  ’Twas the part they hadn’t yet told her about that frightened her to her toes. They’d not yet named the man they intended to approach.

  She couldn’t bear to look at Roland, who seemed anxious for her to agree. So she stared at Geoffrey, whose intentions were good, his reasons strong—and right now she wanted to hate him for it.

  She’d always known someday she would marry to further her father’s ambitions or to seal an alliance. For the reason she’d not protested her betrothal to Hugh, doing her duty as a good daughter ought.

  Foolishly, she’d hoped for more the next time. She’d even allowed herself to think she might have a say on the second betrothal. Useless dreams. Senseless wishes.

  “You have been too quiet, Eloise,” Geoffrey said. “What are you thinking?”

  “That you have both let your imaginations run amok. What man with a stable mind would take me? Granted, my dowry is sizable, but sweet mercy, Father is charged with treason! What fool man would wish to link his good name to ours with that threat of taint. Geoffrey, you cannot foist me off onto an unsuspecting soul!”

  “Eloise—”

  Geoffrey held up a hand to stay whatever Roland was about to say. “Did you think I would pull some poor man off the street and hold him at dagger point to marry you?”

  “Of course not, but you must admit the choices are limited, if there are any choices at all.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have never known you to debase your worth. Your dowry aside, you have much to offer a man in your own right. God’s wounds, Eloise. What makes you think I need to search under rocks to find you a husband?”

  Eloise swallowed hard. He’d given her a grand compliment, even if in an offhanded manner. Geoffrey loved her, she didn’t doubt it. He’d once crossed the Channel in an effort to assure her happiness, and suffered horribly for it. Her brother would never, ever, force her into something she found abhorrent.

  She gave him a weak smile, all she could muster. “What is it you want of me, Geoffrey?”

  “At the moment, a stronger smile. I know you can do better. I would rather you fight me on this than just give in.”

  “Do make up your mind. You and Roland have spent the better part of an hour battering at my defenses.”

  “Then I beg your pardon. I did not mean to weaken you, only to give you all the reasons why we propose a marriage. You may refuse if you are opposed.”

  Eloise looked down at her hands, the palms reddened from rubbing them together so hard. “I assume you have already gained Father’s agreement.”

  Geoffrey merely nodded.

  “And the man you have in mind is neither cruel nor teetering on the edge of his grave.”

  Geoffrey glanced at Roland. “Hardly a tyrant or too old to perform husbandly duties.”

  “Enough,” Roland commanded, then pointed at the door. “Geoffrey, Timothy, out.”

  Both men obeyed so quickly she barely had time to realize the door closed behind them when Roland held out his hands. She took them and rose from the edge of the bed. He pressed their clasped hands to his chest. His heart beat very hard, the look on his face pained with uncertainty.

  “Eloise, as Geoffrey said, you are allowed to refuse.” Roland drew a deep breath, and Eloise felt her heart begin to keep rhythm with his. “Marriage is for life, your life. Neither of us intends to force an unwanted marriag
e on you. If you do not give your consent, we will find another way to shelter your dowry.”

  “There is no other way. Roland, are you saying you believe I should refuse?”

  He shook his head. “Just the opposite. I am hoping you will agree, and perhaps find contentment, even happiness.” His hands tightened around hers. “Eloise, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Stunned, she stared into his beloved hazel eyes as a thrill washed over her. Her fondest wish had come true, and she would shout a joyful agreement if not for the set of Roland’s mouth, if not for the flat delivery of the proposal.

  Geoffrey had talked Roland into agreeing to this marriage, just as he’d presented his reasons to her, making everything sound so sensible.

  She wasn’t the only one who should have the right to refuse.

  “You need not do this.”

  “I know, but I cannot say I find the prospect unpalatable. What of you? I know I am not the most worthy man in the kingdom. Do you think we can make a decent marriage?”

  How terribly unromantic. But then, he didn’t propose out of love. She was very aware of what he gained by marrying her, land and wealth.

  Once more the men in her life had decided what was best for her—and perhaps this time they’d gotten it right.

  Roland obtained the income he needed to support his knighthood, and she got the man she loved. Not a bad bargain. And perhaps, with time, he might learn to love her, too.

  ’Twas certain she had no fear of the marriage bed. Eloise felt the heat rise to her cheeks, remembering their tryst on the mattress behind her.

  “I believe we can deal well enough together.”

  “Then you consent.”

  “Aye.”

  His relief was immediate—a blowing out of breath, slumping of shoulders, and light laughter.

  “I should rather face a troop of Scottish pikemen than have to go through that again.”

  She squeezed his hands. “You were afraid?”

  “You have no notion. Convincing your father was less trying on the nerves.”

  Her father. Mon Dieu, he’d agreed! She wouldn’t have thought it possible. And knowing how her father’s mind worked, Eloise realized his consent must have come with a price.

  “In return for his agreement, what does he demand of you?”

  “That if the worst comes to pass, I must arm the manor in Durham and defend it at all cost against Kenworth.” He let go her hands and gathered her in his arms, hers naturally sliding around his waist as if they’d embraced hundreds of times, not so few. “You are not to worry over that however. We will deal with all as needs be. Right now I just want to hold you and allow my mind to become used to the notion that we are to wed.”

  “I will strive not to make you regret marrying me.”

  His kiss was warm, tender, arousing. And to think she would soon have wifely rights to his mouth, his body.

  “No regrets,” he said on a sigh. “Well, perhaps just one. We must allow Geoffrey back in to draw up the agreement.”

  She smiled at his disgruntlement, hearing a promise for later, to which she added her own vow. “Only for a bit, then we can toss him back out.”

  Eloise sat back down on the mattress while Roland opened the door. Geoffrey entered grinning, parchment, quill, ink bottle, and jar of sand in hand. His smug confidence deserved a swipe.

  “I refused.”

  His grin froze, and he juggled the items in his hands.

  “Have pity, Eloise,” Roland admonished her, barely holding back a laugh.

  “Must I?”

  “Punish him later. He has work to do.”

  “Oh, very well.” Eloise smiled sweetly. “He has much to answer for.”

  Geoffrey leaned toward Roland. “She did accept, did she not?”

  Roland burst out laughing.

  For the next little while, Geoffrey wrote furiously to complete the agreement that bound her to Roland. For life. As his wife. All through her telling of what came to him with this marriage, Roland either paced the floor or stared out the window.

  The list was long, beginning with the two manors and their location and what knight’s fees they owed and the income he could expect. Furniture, jewelry, plates and platters, flagons and knives, tablecloths and bedding.

  He raised an eyebrow at the sum she named in gold coin.

  Geoffrey never batted an eyelash or asked if she remembered correctly.

  “I also want Mother’s loom and two dozen sheep. And a milk cow and a maid. Isolde goes with me, if she so chooses.”

  Geoffrey stopped writing. “Those are not a part of your dowry.”

  “They are now. If Father expects Roland to defend the manor in Durham, we shall need those items.”

  “Sounds practical to me. Anything else?”

  “Those should be enough.”

  Geoffrey added the items, sanded the parchment, then rolled it up. He handed it over to Roland.

  “All that is required is your and my father’s signatures. Be sure to have it witnessed by at least two people. Edgar and Oswald should do.”

  Roland tapped the scroll against his palm, but what disturbed him he didn’t say. He rolled back his shoulders and addressed Geoffrey.

  “Were you able to find a priest who is not fussy about having the bans read?”

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

  Geoffrey nodded. “A cousin of Mistress Green’s serves at Westminster Abbey. We have only to send for him, she says.”

  “Then do it.”

  They’d said she should marry with haste, but so fast?

  “Should we not wait until morning? ’Tis getting late, and the priest may not be able to come immediately.”

  Roland bowed his head and slowly approached her. He cupped her cheek. “You deserve better, much better, but I fear we must wed tonight. On the morn I must leave for Evesham. Your father believes that if Brother Walter is still alive, we will find him at the monastery there.”

  She grabbed hold of his wrist, torn between excitement at this new development and sadness that they’d have only this one night before he must leave her.

  “Oh, Roland.” She wanted to say more, but words failed. How could she beg him to stay when her father’s life might depend upon his success?

  Roland bent over, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “You may still withdraw. Be sure, Eloise.”

  She looked into his hazel eyes, saw her future, her love, and his worry.

  “I am content.”

  Eloise paced the small open space at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Roland. ’Twas already getting dark. He should be back by now.

  Trying not to worry, she adjusted the small wreath of greenery Mistress Green fashioned for her to wear as a circlet over her veil. Within the strands of ivy—commonly known as an amulet for marriage—the apothecary had woven marjoram for happiness and sage for wisdom. Lovely sentiments. ’Twas the saffron, which Mistress Green claimed a powerful love potion, that made Eloise blush.

  The dear widow now stood with her cousin the priest, Geoffrey, and Timothy, discussing the latest affairs in the city, to which Eloise paid no heed.

  She’d given thought to changing her gown, but the only other she’d brought along was her crimson velvet. Worn twice. Once on a wedding day gone horribly wrong, the other on the day Kenworth arrived at Lelle-ford. Bad omens, a little voice had whispered, so she left it hanging on the peg.

  What takes him so long?

  Had Roland been attacked? Had he changed his mind? Or did her father refuse to sign the document because of the items she added?

  She rubbed her hands together, worried that perhaps in a small show of spirit, she’d botched the bargain altogether.

  When at last the bell over the door rang, Roland walked in, smiling and waving the scroll. “Sir John balked at the cow, but he relented and signed.”

  Then he reached for her hand, placed the scroll on Mistress Green’s worktable, and guided her over to th
e priest. Eloise forgot the haste and all of her worries, and concentrated on repeating words of love, honor, and obedience to Roland.

  Then the priest turned to Roland, and as her groom began to say the vows that bound them, he raised her hands to his chest. She felt his heartbeat, fast-paced but strong, beat after beat.

  This time her groom would live through the ceremony, and she realized Roland sought to reassure her. When tears welled up, she blinked them away, though a couple escaped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

  Sweet mercy, she was, most definitely, content.

  She is truly mine, now.

  The phrase repeated over and over in Roland’s head. If he gave himself time, repeated the phrase enough, perhaps he would begin to believe.

  His palms sweated. His stomach flipped. ’Twas all he could do to keep his knees from melting.

  What had he done to deserve such a prize? ’Struth, he wasn’t worthy of Eloise at all. Yet here she stood, smiling with tears in her eyes.

  He would never, ever, understand the way of a woman’s tears, and could barely keep from brushing the glistening drops from her cheeks. But holding her hands where she could feel his heartbeat seemed more important.

  Ah, Hugh. I am sorry you are gone, but do not ask me to feel remorse that Eloise is now mine. I cannot do it. Now I understand what you felt when you looked at her. I was wrong, Hugh. Forgive me.

  And in his heart, Roland knew Hugh wouldn’t ask, nor would he hesitate to forgive.

  They would make a good marriage, he and his bride. He would settle for nothing less. He’d make her happy, he vowed silently, as aloud he pledged to love, honor, and protect.

  Nor could he help a smile when ordered to be fruitful and multiply.

  “Have you a ring?” the priest asked.

  “Aye,” he answered, and let go Eloise’s hands to fetch a ring from his money pouch. He held up a ring of gold set with rubies, and watched her eyes go wide with recognition. “Your father could not be here, but wanted to be with you in spirit. He loans us this until we can get you a proper ring of your own.”

  This time Roland understood the tears. He’d damn near shed them himself when Sir John pressed the ring into his hand.