by Sarah Hegger
Table of Contents
THE BRIDE GIFT
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Afterword
THE BRIDE GIFT
SARAH HEGGER
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE BRIDE GIFT
Copyright©2014
SARAH HEGGER
Cover Design by Christy Caughie.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-437-1
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Acknowledgements
A special thanks to all those strong women who have been an example and a constant support, especially my mother and my sister, Kate. To my two great daughters, Olivia and Caitlin, for being so patient with the long hours. And to Chris Kennedy who has walked every step of this journey with me. A big shout out to Kim Handysides for being the world’s best critique partner.
And always, to my husband, Brent, who is so much more than a knight-in-shining-armor.
I would also like to mention the wonderfully supportive group of writers at Soul Mate Publishing and my editor, Char Chaffin. You are awesome, all of you.
Chapter 1
Spring, 1153, North of England
Guy of Helston hated heights.
Dangling sixty feet from the ground and hanging on by his fingernails was not what he’d had in mind when he declared at the tender age of eight summers that come what may, he would one day win a title. Mayhap it was his just deserts for foolishly declaring to his brother, Crispin, he would stop at nothing to achieve his ambition.
Guy grabbed the next handhold. It had seemed such a good idea from the ground. Roger had made it sound like the logical course. For certes easier than lengthy explanations yelled at the gatehouse for all within earshot to hear. The earl had led him to the hidden postern gate and they’d slipped undetected through the curtain wall into the inner bailey.
The castle bristled with men at arms. A witch’s cauldron of trouble brewed around their lady. Change crackled in the wind with new rumours circulating faster than flies on a midden heap. The war between King Stephen and Empress Maude ripped through the land and threatened all.
An owl hooted. Roger’s warning.
Guy froze.
A soft tramp of feet signalled the guard. Beneath him, two men at arms passed into view. All it would take was for one of them to glance up. The sentries stopped and changed direction. He counted a heartbeat more and continued his ascent.
Closer he climbed to the open casement. He forced himself to go slowly. One hand at a time, find the foothold before moving on. A slip now would mean certain death.
The casement inched nearer. He got his fingers over the edge and hauled his aching muscles onto the window embrasure. He rested with half his body hanging off the edge and his boots still wedged against the rough rock. The rope around his waist jerked.
“Jesu.” He glared into the shadows below him. Could he not just have a moment to catch his breath?
He slithered into the dark beyond the embrasure. Then stopped, his senses alert to discovery.
Silence.
He jerked the line. The rope grew taut, and Guy braced his feet against the wall. Roger was many summers past the wall scaling age, but needs must. The rope strained across Guy’s back as Roger climbed.
Roger was a smaller man, but compact and muscular. Guy gritted his teeth, his muscles protesting the extra effort. He didn’t make a sound as he hauled, hand over hand, the rope hissing softly over the edge of the casement. He prayed Roger was right and the lady was not a light sleeper.
A fine tremor shook Guy’s arms.
Roger’s head finally popped over the lip of the embrasure. The earl was breathing hard, perspiration streaming in rivulets down his cheeks. He slipped over the edge and landed beside Guy.
“What did I tell you?” Roger whispered. “She has the place sewn up tighter than a duck’s arse.” He beamed with pride. “That is my Nell.”
Jesu, a woman ruling a keep. He’d heard some jests, but that was a good one.
Roger crouched beneath the embrasure, catching his breath. Rising to his feet, Guy undid the rope and placed it beneath the casement.
The shutters were open to admit the cool spring night, but it was still dark inside the solar. The warm air smelled of wildflowers, delicate and feminine. He stood out like a pair of dog’s ballocks with his large, sweating body.
Roger rose and waved Guy forward. He inched a foot out in front of him and located the soft edge of a carpet. It would mute their footfalls.
Outside the keep walls, his men were ready. They could stay out there until judgment day, however, unless the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. The king would have received the news by now and wouldn’t be far behind. Guy prayed his years of loyal service would buy him some clemency. Roger depended on it.
From just the other side of the door, people slept, talked and went about their business of getting ready for the new day.
He scanned the interior. Darker shadows coalesced into the larger shapes of furniture. They were in luck; no servant shared the chamber.
Roger approached the huge bed, which dominated the room from a raised dais.
The draperies were opened, and Guy could just make out the recumbent form on the bed. He stayed near the foot, partially concealed by the bed draperies.
Hair streamed across the pillows in the predawn light. Ro
ger had not exaggerated; it was a fair face. The clear line of her brows rose in a determined arch above the delicate bones of her face. Her mouth was ripe and full and tilted up slightly at the corners, lips made for kissing. In other circumstances, Guy might have paused a moment and availed himself of the opportunity.
Leaning forward, Roger placed a hand over her mouth.
She woke with a start, her eyes flying open and her nostrils flaring over the edge of Roger’s hand. Legs flailed beneath the bed linens as her hand shot forward.
Roger grunted softly when the blow connected with his shoulder. Her other arm arced toward his head, but he was quick enough to catch it. Her chest rose as she sucked in an enormous breath.
Guy tensed, his hand reaching for the sword strapped to his back.
“Nell. Do not scream.” Roger’s whisper was hoarse in the stillness of the room. “Quiet, Nell.”
She located her uncle and stilled.
Roger carefully removed his hand.
“Roger?” Her stare was fixed on the man by her side. “Where, in God’s name, have you been?”
“Hush, Nell,” Roger hissed.
She scrambled into a sitting position, clutching the bedding to her chest. In the moonlight, she appeared too fragile for what awaited her.
“What are you doing here? Why are you sneaking about in the dark? How did you get past the men at the door?”
They were all fair questions; Guy remained still and let Roger make the explanations.
“We climbed.” Roger drew his shoulders back. “We scaled the wall and came in through the casement.”
“Why?”
“I did not want to alert anyone that we were here.”
“But why?” Her forehead creased in a deeper frown. “They are all anxiously awaiting your return. We have worried ourselves to illness.” Anger crept into her voice. “We received the news from court four days ere that you have refused the king’s call to arms. And now I find you climbing the keep walls. Are you mad?”
“Nay, Nell, not mad but banished.”
“King Stephen has banished you?”
Roger hastily motioned her to lower her voice, lest an alarm be raised. “Aye.”
He backed away from the bed looking worn and older than his years. Guy knew this banishment was like an open wound for the other man. “I—”
“You have been banished?” Her whisper grew more demanding. “How did you let that happen?”
Guy honestly didn’t believe Roger had been presented with any other choice. It wasn’t his place to say, however, so he kept silent.
“Now, Nell.” Roger attempted to take command of the situation.
“You knew the king was wroth with you. Why did you refuse his call to arms now?”
“It must end. You know that as well as I.” Roger’s whisper was rough with impatience. “‘Tis the same year after year, Nell. The king wants yet more men and yet more arms for this infernal war with Maude, and we bear the cost.”
She glared up at Roger, the line of her jaw firm and uncompromising. “Could you not dissemble?”
Roger wasn’t going to escape that lightly. His niece was a feisty one.
“Could you not feint?” She made a decisive slashing motion with her free hand. “Now you are banished. How could anything be worth that?”
“There is only so much a man can take.” Roger’s chin jutted out. As did his niece’s. They stayed locked in their silent battle for a long moment.
Her shoulders slumped suddenly, as if the weight became too much to bear. All the fight seemed to rush out of her on a sigh. “I have been so worried about you. I thought you might be dead.”
Her voice quavered on that last sentence, and Guy’s guts tightened. Sweet Jesu. Please, no tears. He couldn’t abide the tears.
“There now, sweet Nell.” Roger lowered himself onto the bed beside her. He gathered the girl into his arms. “Whist now, Nell. All is not lost and I came as fast as I could. Hush now, sweeting.”
Guy shifted his weight, uncomfortable at witnessing such a private scene.
Her eyes flew to him. Her mouth dropped open. “Who are you?”
Guy would as lief be strung up by his toes than answer her question. This was Roger’s idea, not his.
“Er, Nell.” Roger drew back from her gently. “May I present Guy of Helston?”
“The ‘Scourge of Faringdon?’”
Guy clenched his fists. The name was like a curse he never escaped.
“Nell,” Roger admonished, “he does not like to be called such.”
“Then he should not have earned it,” the lady snapped. “What is he doing in my bedchamber?”
“He is your . . . husband.”
Chapter 2
“My what?” Helena’s mouth dropped open.
“We must make haste, Nell.” Roger rose to his feet again. “It will not go well for you if the king discovers I was here.”
His bluster was nothing more than a craven attempt to charge over any further need for explanations. Helena held fast to the edge of Roger’s tunic. “Explain yourself.”
“I have done so,” Roger huffed impatiently. He gestured toward the enormous, still shape at the end of the bed. “Guy is your husband.”
“He is not,” she replied. “I do not have a husband, and I do not have a husband because I am to wed Colin.”
“Colin!” Roger barked and then hastily lowered his voice. “Are you still gnawing that old bone to death?”
Helena glared back at him. Still gnawing that old bone, indeed. “I am going to marry Colin. You know it. He knows it. Everyone knows it.” If it weren’t for that shadow near her bed, she would be sorely tempted to box her uncle’s ears. “Colin is the perfect husband for me. You know why I must marry him.”
“Well, you cannot marry him now.” Roger leaned forward until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Because I have already married you to Guy. Do not speak to me of Colin. Colin is—” Roger swore beneath his breath.
“I love Colin.”
Roger ran impatient hands through his hair. Abruptly, his shoulders slumped as he resumed his seat beside her and dropped his chin onto his chest. His soft sigh cut the air.
A terrible feeling of dread churned in her belly. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the sudden chill.
Roger looked weary and defeated, and Helena wanted to reach over and shake him. She wanted him to bellow and thunder at her and then she could fight him.
“It matters not,” Roger murmured at last.
The man at the foot of her bed hung just outside of her vision, but his shadow seemed to grow until it cast its pall over her.
“I must go. I leave tonight for Normandy and Empress Maude. It is my only chance,” Roger said. “She welcomes those who oppose King Stephen with her.”
Helena opened her mouth to speak, but Roger gestured sharply. “There is no time and you must listen.” He turned toward the silent man. “I did what I thought was best, Nell. You must believe me.”
How could Roger think this was best for her? He must be addled.
“My last act as your guardian was to stand in for you and marry you to Guy.”
This is but a jest. She shook her head mutely. The words stuck in her throat.
Roger gripped her shoulders. His face grew fierce. “He is a good man, Nell, a noble man and a strong one. He will protect you, and you will need it in the days to come.”
“Nay.” She tried to free herself from Roger’s grip. None of this made any sense. Roger couldn’t be banished. He had trod this line with the king many a time. He couldn’t be sitting before her with this nonsensical tale of exile and marriage.
“Aye, Nell,” he insisted. “There was no time for it to be any othe
r way. Guy has the king’s favour. The king will be wroth about this marriage, but Stephen will forgive him the next time he needs Guy’s battle hardened knights.”
“But—”
“Nell.” Roger shook her hard enough to make her head snap back. “Ranulf knows of my banishment.”
“Ranulf knows?” Fear lanced through her.
“He petitioned the king for your hand. We had to act.”
Helena forced her hurtling mind to stop and plan. “The king cannot give me to Ranulf,” she declared. “I will shut the keep. I will fight him. I will never marry Ranulf.”
“Sweeting.” Roger cupped her cheek gently. “You will never marry Ranulf. Guy will see to it.”
“But Colin . . .” The words died on her lips. A dull ache throbbed beneath her ribs and it became laborious to draw breath. Oh, dear Lord, there was so much to take in. “We are betrothed,” she finished weakly. Silently she beseeched Roger to agree.
Roger shook his head. “Ah, my sweet girl.” An almost unbearable sadness creased his beloved features. “It was not to be. Colin could never stand against Ranulf and Ranulf knew it. I am done for. I cannot shield you any longer, but Guy can. In time, you will come to trust him as you do me.”
“I shall not.” Of this much, she was absolutely certain. She would trust no man but the one she had chosen for herself.
“You will be safe.” Roger tapped his finger to the edge of her nose as he always did when he wanted her to mind him. She turned from his touch. “King Stephen trusts Guy, he likes him and, more importantly, he needs his skills and his men. He will accept this marriage.”
“And me?” She didn’t care about the king or any of them. “What if I do not accept it?”
“You have no choice,” Roger murmured regretfully. “‘Tis done, and the king will have received word.”
“The church will contest—”
“Nell.” Roger bade her face him. “The church has already sanctified this marriage. You are wed to Guy of Helston. I came with Guy so you would know, for certes, this was my will for you.” He kissed her on the forehead.