Putting such mercenary thoughts from her mind, telling herself he wouldn’t make love to her as he did if he had married her only for gain, she dressed and hurried to the large chamber below. The men of their escort were already gathered there, eating bread and porridge and drinking ale, while Roland and Sir Melvin sat at another table.
She couldn’t help blushing when her husband looked at her and she remembered what they’d done last night—and rather loudly, too. Roland, however, betrayed no such recollection, which was just as well. Otherwise, she would have blushed even more and probably had to stifle an embarrassed giggle.
“My wife makes her apologies, my dear,” Sir Melvin began as she joined them and a servant brought her some porridge, bread and honey. “The babe’s a bit fractious—I don’t think any of us slept well last night—and my wife prefers to look after the child herself.”
“A good rest will make us all feel better,” Mavis replied, not daring to look at her husband.
Roland rose from the bench and straightened his tunic. “I shall see that the horses are ready for our departure. Again I give you my thanks, my lord, for your generous hospitality and a most memorable night,” he said, glancing at Mavis in a way that made her face grow hot again.
“And I thank you for all your help,” Sir Melvin replied, blissfully unaware of the undercurrent between Mavis and Roland that was making it difficult for her to listen. “And of course, your gift of the ox. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? It’s a fine beast.”
Mavis regarded her husband with surprise. “You’re giving the ox to Sir Melvin?”
“So he says, but really, my dear, it’s too much!” Sir Melvin quickly replied. “You lost all your things and—”
“It was not your fault,” Roland said. He regarded Mavis steadily, stoically. “And as I have explained, we’ll make better time without it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
As Roland strode from the chamber, Arnhelm, Verdan and the men of the escort jumped to their feet and hurried after him, some cramming the remains of their bread into their mouths.
While Mavis watched them go and contemplated her husband’s unexpected generosity, Sir Melvin leaned toward her and said, “He didn’t tell you?”
“No,” she had to admit, “although I’m glad he gave you the ox.”
“Not only has he given it to me as thanks for our hospitality, he won’t accept anything in compensation for your dower goods.”
Again she was pleased, and she agreed. “The fire was not your fault.”
“I confess I’ve heard nothing good of the lords of Dunborough, but I must say that while Sir Roland is a stern fellow, he’s not at all what I expected.”
Arnhelm came to the outer door. “My lady, we’re ready to leave.”
Mavis got to her feet. “Thank you, my lord, for everything,” she said, lightly kissing Sir Melvin on both cheeks. “I shall always remember your kindness.”
“And I shall always remember how you both helped us fight the fire, and your kind generosity afterward,” he said as he escorted her to the yard and their waiting horses.
Verdan helped her into the saddle while her husband swung onto his black horse. He nodded to their host and raised his hand to signal their departure.
Mavis waved her farewells, then moved her horse so that she was riding beside her husband. “I’m so pleased you gave Sir Melvin the ox to thank him for his hospitality. It was generous of you, my lord.”
“We had no more need of the beast,” Roland replied, “and we’ll reach Dunborough all the sooner without it.”
She wasn’t going to be dissuaded from giving praise where it was due. “Nevertheless, it was good of you, and I will say so.”
The tips of his ears turned red, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Delighted, she forged ahead. “I’m glad to discover my husband is such a generous man. My father, alas, has grown miserly in later years, except when it comes to feasting.”
Roland made no comment.
Still not dissuaded, she continued. “Do you have many feasts at Dunborough, I mean besides the harvest, and Christmas, Easter, of course, and May Day and Saint—”
“We don’t have feasts at Dunborough,” he interrupted. “The servants, tenants and villagers have their celebrations, but my family is not welcome to join them. My father wasn’t sorry it was so.”
“And you?” she prompted, hearing an undercurrent of sadness in his deep voice. “Were you sorry?”
He looked at her quickly, then just as swiftly away. “Sometimes.”
That glance gave her a vision of a dark-haired lad standing alone, uninvited and unwanted, at the edge of a village green while other boys and girls danced around a Maypole.
“Perhaps we can have a feast for All Saints’ Day,” she suggested. That was still some ways off and would give her time to learn about the household and servants of Dunborough.
To her dismay, he didn’t look pleased by her suggestion. “I may be a lord, but I’m not a wealthy man, Mavis, and that fire did cost us something. A feast will strain the coffers even more.”
She tried not to be, or to sound, disappointed. If he hadn’t been to many feasts, or thought of them only with pain, she shouldn’t be surprised he wasn’t anxious to host one. “Very well, my lord. But Christmas—”
“Will be celebrated with little fuss and feasting. I don’t believe in spending lavishly on frivolities.” He slid her another glance, this one expressionless, before he announced in a louder voice, “I’m going to ride ahead to seek a place to water the horses.”
Arnhelm and Verdan spurred their horses to move forward, but Roland shook his head. “Alone,” he declared, leaving the soldiers no choice but to drop back before he kicked his heels into Hephaestus’s sides and rode off at a canter.
* * *
Roland drew Hephaestus to a halt and glanced back over his shoulder to make sure he was well ahead of the cortege, then nudged his horse into a walk. He’d wanted—needed—time alone to collect his thoughts and, most of all, decide what to say to his wife.
“I fear it’s hopeless, Heffy,” he said aloud. He often talked to animals because they didn’t mock or criticize him. “I want to talk to her, but I don’t know how to speak, how to act, how to be with her, except when we’re in bed.”
When they were, it was wonderful. Beyond anything he’d dreamed or hoped for. “Perhaps that’s a start, eh, Heffy?” he said, with more cheerfulness. “And maybe one day, if I’m patient, and even if I can’t tell her how I feel, she’ll come to care for me.”
And then he might finally know what it was like to have somebody love him.
* * *
As Roland disappeared around a bend in the road, Arnhelm shook his head. “I ain’t never going to understand the nobility,” he said to Verdan, keeping his voice low so Lady Mavis wouldn’t hear. “What’s he doin’ ridin’ off like that and by himself? S’truth, if I had a wife like that, I’d never leave her side.”
Verdan guffawed. “If you had a wife like that, I’d never leave her side neither.”
“Be serious, you nit. I tell ya, it ain’t natural.”
“Oh, they’re ‘natural,’ all right,” Verdan replied. He dropped his voice even lower. “One of Sir Melvin’s maidservants—that pretty one with the fair hair—told me she heard ’em goin’ at it like rabbits last night.”
That baffled Arnhelm even more. “Then why’s he ridin’ off like that?”
“How do I know?” Verdan answered with a shrug. “He’s a lord, she’s a lady, who knows what goes on in their heads—or beds,” he added, laughing at his own joke. “Look, you, she’s happy enough, ain’t she? You ain’t seen her weepin’, have ya? And didn’t he do a fine job fightin’ the fire last night? That blonde girl thought he was like some hero out of a song.”
“In other words, she didn’t give you the time o’ day,” Arnhelm replied with a smirk.
“I was too tired,” Verdan said virtuously. “And I don’t think he’s so bad as you think. You’re seein’ trouble where there ain’t none. Don’t you want her to be happy? Ain’t you the one always sayin’ she deserved better?”
“Aye, but I ain’t so sure Sir Roland’s goin’ to make her happy.”
“And I say he is,” Verdan declared, his voice louder. “What more d’ya—”
“Enough, you big lummox!” Arnhelm warned. “She’s gonna hear you!”
* * *
Mavis didn’t hear them. Not that day, or the days that followed, as they continued north. Nor did Roland ever speak much to her. She found it difficult to find a subject that interested him beyond a few words.
That would have been more disturbing had they not shared their nights, their bed and their bodies. Roland continued to be an exciting, tender lover and she took comfort from the way he loved, telling herself that was more important than being a witty companion on the road.
Despite the pleasure of the nights, however, she was getting weary of traveling and longed to reach their destination, especially once they got to Yorkshire. It was truly wild, and rough and cold, with the wind whipping across the dales as if it had a mind to strip the clothes from your back.
Mavis wrapped her cloak more tightly about her. At least she could comfort herself with the realization that they were indeed making much better time without the wagon and ox.
Nevertheless, she had stopped asking Roland when they would reach his home, for he only ever replied, “Soon.”
Today, however, while he was some distance ahead, he was still in sight, and it was already past the noon, so perhaps they were close to Dunborough at last.
Reaching the top of a ridge, Roland pulled his horse to a halt. He sat motionless a brief moment, then turned Hephaestus and returned at a gallop.
Mavis tugged Sweetling to a standstill.
“What the...?” Arnhelm muttered, drawing his sword.
Verdan and the other men did the same, while Mavis tried not to panic.
“What is it, my lord?” she called out.
“Mounted and armed men coming this way on the road,” he said not to her, but to Arnhelm and the escort. “Arnhelm, you and Verdan ride ahead with me. The rest of you, stay here and guard my lady.”
“Aye, my lord,” Arnhelm answered, but before any of them could move, four riders appeared at the top of the ridge and galloped down the slope toward them. They wore no mail or armor or helmets, although they all had broadswords at their sides.
Sweetling whinnied and refooted, as nervous as her mistress. Some of the other horses shifted anxiously, too.
The riders were still some distance away when Roland swore under his breath. “Sheathe your swords,” he ordered.
“Are they friends?” Mavis asked, still wary in spite of Roland’s command.
“No,” he replied as the four riders drew their horses to a halt a short distance away, blocking the road. All were young, wearing clothes that bespoke wealth. The tallest wore a bright blue tunic, the shortest forest green and the cloak of the middle one was dark red. Their spirited horses nodded their heads and stamped as if chafing at having to stop.
Yet it was the man who rode ahead of them on a snow-white horse that held her attention. He was dressed in black with a thick belt embossed with brass and as he got closer, she could see that although his boots were mud spattered, the leather was of a high shining gloss.
He was also the spitting image of her husband.
They shared the same high cheekbones, the same broad shoulders and lean, muscular legs, even the same long, dark hair. But there was one difference. This man smiled broadly as he brought his horse to a halt in front of them, something her husband never did.
Nor was she the only one who noted the uncanny resemblance, for she heard Arnhelm’s gasp “S’truth!” and the equally astonished mutters of the other soldiers of the escort.
“Greetings, brother!” the stranger exclaimed.
Roland’s twin sounded like Roland, too, although Gerrard’s voice was slightly higher pitched. Up close, she could also see that Gerrard’s face was slightly rounder and less angular, as if someone had rubbed off all the sharp edges of her husband’s features.
Gerrard looked the lesser for it.
“And who is this charming young woman who is no doubt responsible for the delay in your return?” Gerrard asked, regarding Mavis with the leering sort of speculation she was unfortunately familiar with, and detested.
“My lady, this is my brother Gerrard,” Roland replied. “Gerrard, this is Lady Mavis. My wife.”
Gerrard’s grin died on his lips. “Your...? Is this a jest?”
“It is the truth,” Mavis said as she nudged Sweetling closer. Now more than ever she wished her pretty gowns hadn’t been destroyed in the fire. Nevertheless, she held her head high. She was, after all, the daughter of a lord and wife to another. “I’m pleased to meet my brother-in-law.”
Gerrard gripped his reins tighter and spoke not to her, but to his brother. “Lady Mavis—Simon DeLac’s daughter?”
“The same.”
“So you’ve made an alliance with DeLac?” he asked his brother.
“Yes.”
“I thought you were going to tell him any hope of that died with our father and Broderick.”
Mavis tried not to reveal her surprise, but this was the first time she’d heard that Roland had not come to Dunborough with an allegiance in mind. Hard on the heels of surprise came a vast and joyous relief. If he didn’t want the alliance and he cared little about her dowry, he must have wed her for herself alone.
“I can see why you reconsidered. You are truly the most fortunate of men, brother,” Gerrard continued. His lips curved up again, but this time, it was more of a sneer than a smile. “A wife beautiful enough to sate any man’s desire, a most excellent political alliance and no doubt a fine dowry to boot. You should have sent word home of this wondrous event.”
“There was no time.”
Gerrard’s brows rose. “Time to wed and bed, but not to send word?”
Roland’s frown deepened. “We shall discuss what happened at Castle DeLac when we are at home and in private. What are you doing so far from Dunborough?”
“Why, I came seeking you, brother,” Gerrard replied. “You left in such haste and without an escort, and then were so long delayed, I feared you’d fallen prey to outlaws on the road, or perhaps had hurt yourself.”
He made Roland sound like a child who needed tending.
“As garrison commander, it was your duty to remain in the castle.”
“So much for brotherly gratitude for my concern,” Gerrard said lightly, but there was anger in his eyes. “However, you must allow me and my friends to escort you the rest of the way, and you can send these soldiers back from whence they came.”
Arnhelm and Verdan exchanged wary looks.
Gerrard rose in his stirrups and looked down the road. “Where is the dowry, or was it all in coin?”
“Enough questions, and we have no need of your company. I will say when the escort is dismissed.” Roland raised his hand and signaled their party to start moving again.
Mavis maneuvered her horse beside her husband’s while Gerrard turned his onto the verge to let them pass and gestured for his friends to do the same. She could hear Gerrard and his friends whispering and laughing as they rode by.
“Gerrard needs better manners,” Roland growled.
Mavis didn’t disagree, yet because she was so happy, she didn’t want to add to the enmity between them. “It was good of him to be worried about you since you hadn’t sent word you would be returning later than he expe
cted. He was right to think you might have been attacked or hurt, even if his way of expressing that concern was less than respectful.”
Roland’s only answer to that was a sniff.
“He looks very like you. I should have realized that he would, and yet I never really thought about it. Is he like you in other ways?”
“No.”
Clearly Roland did not wish to discuss his brother, so she said no more as they rounded a curve in the road.
The massive earthworks and walls of a sizable castle rose in the distance. “Is that Dunborough?” she asked with awe, amazed at the sheer size of the fortress.
“Yes,” Roland replied with pride in his voice.
“I had no idea it was so impressive.”
“It’s the largest castle for miles around. My father spent thousands of marks on its construction.”
Despite his pride, she also caught an undercurrent of displeasure in his words. “It will surely make any man think twice about trying to attack it,” she said.
“That was his explanation for the cost.”
“The people must feel safe knowing they have such a sanctuary in times of war.”
“I hope so, for it was their tithes and taxes that paid for it.”
As they neared the first houses at the edge of the village clustered at the foot of the protective walls of the fortress, Roland rode ahead several paces again. This time, though, she was not distressed. That must simply be his way.
The village seemed a prosperous place, with more than a few buildings of two stories. Most were wattle-and-daub, and those around the village green had shops on the lower level. A stone church stood on a rise a short distance away. There was also a smithy, judging by the smoke rising from one of the buildings near an oak tree, and there were signs for a chandler, a baker and a tavern, too.
Gerrard, who must have followed after all, rode up beside her as they headed toward the castle gatehouse. “So, my lady, has my brother been bragging about his castle?”
Roland might be several feet away, but given that Gerrard made no effort to speak softly, Mavis was sure Roland—and every soldier behind them—had heard his mocking, sarcastic words.
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