Bride for a Knight (9781460344804)

by Moore, Margaret

  Whatever was between these two men, Roland was a nobleman, the lord of an estate and her husband. She wasn’t about to let him be treated in such an insolent way, even by a brother. She couldn’t challenge Gerrard with sword or mace, but she had other weapons, and she would use them to put this fellow in his place.

  “No, he hasn’t really spoken of Dunborough,” she replied with a little smile that hinted at pleasant reminiscences. “We spoke of other things when we were alone...or didn’t speak at all.”

  Her reward was the brief flicker of surprise that crossed Gerrard’s features before he replied. “I’m shocked he managed to speak to you at all. He’s usually tongue-tied around women.”

  She wished she had known that before. It would have saved her much dismay.

  “Even ones he’s known for years,” Gerrard added.

  “It’s true that he doesn’t chatter on as so many shallow young men do,” she replied with cool politeness while trying not to wonder who those “other women” might be, and if any of them were pretty. “But then, he has no need to talk to be impressive. He has a certain...how shall I put it? Commanding presence? Aura of invincibility? Strength? A woman has only to look at him to know that she would always be safe and protected by such a man and then there’s...” She delicately cleared her throat. “Well, there are some attractions that are perhaps best kept to oneself.”

  She had hoped her implications would silence Gerrard. Unfortunately, she was wrong.

  “No doubt she’ll have something in common with Audrey, then, eh, brother?” he called out. He looked back at Mavis and smiled with triumphant glee to see her surprise—and something else that she couldn’t quite hide. “He hasn’t told you about the lovely Audrey D’Orleau? Why haven’t you told her about Audrey, brother?” he shouted. “Why haven’t you mentioned the woman everyone in Dunborough assumed you’d marry?”

  This was more than a vague mention of other nameless, faceless women. This was a specific woman, a lovely woman, and one expected to marry Roland.

  Then she remembered who was speaking and what Lady Viola had said about him. She wouldn’t take Gerrard’s words and implications seriously. “We had more interesting things to do than discuss old friends of the family.”

  “I can think of a few interesting things I’d like to do with you, too,” Gerrard said, his very voice a leer.

  Roland reined in abruptly and jumped down from his horse. As Mavis and the others halted their mounts and watched in stunned surprise, he marched up to the grinning Gerrard, grabbed him by the leg and dragged him from his horse.

  “S’truth!” Arnhelm gasped again.

  “Aye!” Verdan replied with equal shock, while Mavis could only stare.

  “Have you gone mad?” Gerrard demanded as he scrambled to his feet.

  His friends trotted up from the back of the cortege, clearly angry.

  “What the devil are you doing?” the one in red demanded, while the other two looked on with eyes as wide as children’s.

  The man in red also seemed about to dismount until Roland’s brother held up his hand to stop him. “There’s no need for you to interfere, Walter,” Gerrard said. “This is between my brother and me.”

  Roland paid not an ounce of attention to his brother’s friends. “How dare you speak to my wife in that insolent manner?” he demanded. “And why should I tell my wife about the daughter of a wool merchant?”

  “Why not, unless you wanted to keep your past liaison from her?”

  A knot formed in Mavis’s stomach.

  Roland strode closer to Gerrard, until they were nose to nose, mirror images glaring at each other. “I had no past liaison with Audrey, as you well know,” he said sternly, and with such fierce conviction, the seed of jealousy that had been planted in Mavis’s heart withered. “And in future you will treat my wife with the respect that is her due.”

  His hands on his hips, Gerrard barked a laugh. “You’re the lord of Dunborough only because you were born minutes before me. As for Audrey, everyone in Dunborough’s seen you go to her house. What for? A friendly chat? With the richest and most beautiful young woman for fifty miles?”

  “To offer her advice, because she sought it.”

  “Advice? Is that what it’s called these days? Perhaps it is, by callous, arrogant men like you. As for respect, I will grant it when it’s earned and not before.”

  Turning to Mavis, Gerrard made a sweeping bow. “Nevertheless, my lady, I do beg your forgiveness for my impertinence. My mind was boggled by such loveliness and I forgot my manners.”

  He once more addressed his scowling brother. “If you want to impress your wife, Roland, I can think of better ways to do it than by attacking me—although such other means might well be beyond your powers.”

  “Shut your mouth and get back on your horse,” Roland ordered as he stalked back to Hephaestus and put his foot in the stirrup.

  “Mustn’t make a spectacle of ourselves, is that it?” Gerrard replied, slapping the dust from his breeches. “It’s too late for that.”

  While Roland mounted with stern dignity, Gerrard threw himself onto his horse with reckless abandon, to the obvious entertainment of his friends.

  “A fine fellow you’ve married, eh, my lady?” he said to Mavis, his horse prancing. “A proud prude of a man who stole his brother’s birthright and uses women only for gain.”

  “That’s a lie, as well you know, while you spread rumors that are based upon the gossip of idle tongues,” Roland retorted.

  Laughing scornfully, Gerrard punched his horse’s sides with his heels and rode through the looming gatehouse at a gallop. His friends likewise put their spurs to their horses and followed, the one in red named Walter smirking and the other two young men grinning like jesters.

  “God save us,” Arnhelm whispered to Verdan. “What a—”

  “Aye,” Verdan interrupted. “Ain’t he just?”

  Mavis silently agreed with their sentiments and unspoken epithet. She’d been warned that Roland and Gerrard hated each other, but even so, she hadn’t expected their animosity to be so blatant and so fierce. As for this woman Audrey... Thanks to Lady Viola and the knowledge that Roland hadn’t married her for financial or political gain, it was far easier to believe Roland’s stern refutation than Gerrard’s mocking accusation.

  Without a word, without any readable expression at all, not even anger, Roland led the cortege through the gatehouse, under the portcullis and across the outer ward. They went through another gate in another wall to enter the inner ward, and through the final gate into the cobblestoned courtyard. Rows of soldiers stood on the wall walks, watching as they passed, and in the yard, more soldiers waited stiffly at attention, clearly mustered there for Roland’s return. Several servants likewise waited near what had to be the hall. Only one man stood at his ease, leaning against a wall, his ankles and his arms crossed and an insolent grin on his face.

  Gerrard.

  Ignoring his brother, Roland dismounted and helped Mavis from her horse. He moved with even greater dignity here, as if he was a king and this was his country, while Mavis was all too aware of the shabbiness of her attire, and that her arrival was unexpected.

  “This is Lady Mavis, my wife,” Roland announced in a loud, clear voice.

  The soldiers didn’t move. The servants only glanced at one another. No one said a word, not even in a whisper or muttered aside, including Arnhelm and Verdan.

  Mavis suspected news had already reached Dunborough that Roland had a wife, no doubt thanks to the man leaning against the wall.

  “Where is Eua?” Roland called out.

  A serving woman, narrow hipped and middle-aged, pushed her way through the knot of servants. Her clothes were clean, her dun-colored hair mostly covered by a wimple, and there were lines around her mouth as if a frown was her usual ex
pression.

  She was certainly frowning now.

  “Show my wife to my chamber,” Roland said. “It’s been a long journey and she should rest before the evening meal.” His gaze scanned the yard. “Where’s Dalfrid?”

  “At the mill. We’ve sent someone to fetch him,” the serving woman replied. She spoke without deference or even respect, although Roland was the lord.

  But then he had only recently come into the title. At least Mavis hoped that was the explanation for her insolence. Otherwise, this did not bode well.

  “When Dalfrid returns,” Roland continued, “tell him I wish to speak with him in the solar.” He wheeled around and fixed Gerrard with a glare. “After I’ve talked to my brother.”

  Gerrard’s only answer was a shrug of his broad shoulders before Roland started toward the hall.

  God save her, surely they all wouldn’t be so insolent to Roland!

  She was so taken aback, it took her a moment to realize Roland had left the courtyard without speaking to her.

  “I look forward to seeing you later, my lady,” Gerrard said as he passed her, his tone amused, and he impertinently winked.

  Eua grinned at that, while Arnhelm and Verdan frowned.

  Mavis drew herself up and regarded Eua with all the dignity she possessed. She must make it clear at once that she was to be treated with respect. She was as certain of that as if Tamsin was there to tell her so. “I am your lord’s wife, Eua, and the chatelaine of Dunborough. You had best remember that, or you will be shown the gate. Now please take me to my chamber.”

  The woman flushed, but gave no other sign that she felt chastised before she led Mavis toward the hall and what must be the family chambers beside it.

  Chapter Six

  Gerrard sauntered into the solar that had been their father’s and slid down into one of the ornately carved chairs. Crossing his arms, he put his boots on the massive table in the center of the chamber and raised a brow as he regarded his brother. “Well, Roland, here I am,” he said, his tone as much of an insult as his smirk.

  Roland wanted to wipe that mocking grin off his brother’s face. It wasn’t just the disrespect he’d shown to him. He was used to Gerrard’s impudent mockery. It was the way Gerrard had addressed Mavis and looked at her, too, and while she’d acquitted herself admirably...

  Yes, she had—and come to his defense, as well. Indeed, she’d succeeded in a way he never had in a battle of words with his brother.

  That was cause for some satisfaction and pride, so it was with considerably less force than he might have used that he struck Gerrard’s feet from the table.

  He also should have known better than to believe Gerrard would show any sign of envy, even though it had to be there. He had seen the way Gerrard had looked at Mavis and then his awestruck expression when he’d found out she was his brother’s wife. He didn’t doubt that explained a good portion of Gerrard’s anger, too. For once, Gerrard would know how he had felt when his brother did something unexpected that affected them both.

  “Are you drunk?” he asked as his brother’s boots hit the flagstones. “That would be the only excuse you could have for speaking to my wife as you did.”

  “Ah, yes, your wife,” Gerrard replied, putting his feet back up on the table. “Your very unexpected wife. How did that happen, I wonder? It couldn’t be because you were stirred by her beauty. Not you. And it couldn’t be because you wanted an alliance with DeLac. You were against that even before our father announced his betrothal to the man’s niece. DeLac wasn’t to be trusted, you said. He would play us false. He’d find a way to deceive us or refuse to come to our aid, should we have to ask him. Yet here you are with Simon DeLac’s daughter for a bride. I’m sure the dowry was substantial, but she’s still Simon DeLac’s daughter, and unless he’s undergone some kind of miraculous change, he’s still the same deceitful rogue.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Roland replied, once again striking his brother’s boots from the table.

  Gerrard jumped to his feet. “No, you don’t, my lord. I’m only the garrison commander you left in charge with barely a word of warning. Yet lo!” He made a sweeping gesture. “The castle is still here. Nothing has crumbled. There’s been no riot or insurrection. So you see, dear brother, I am not completely incompetent. But what of your heedless actions? You ride off like a madman after hearing of our father’s and brother’s deaths and that you’re now the lord, then don’t come back for days. And what do I discover when I go to look for you? That you’ve married the daughter of Simon DeLac!”

  Marching closer, he jabbed his finger into Roland’s chest. “Were you drunk when you took that woman for your bride?”

  Roland swatted his brother’s finger away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Is that what she said on your wedding night?”

  Roland’s hands balled into fists as he fought the urge to strike his brother. “I should know better than to expect you to speak with any respect, but you will not mock my wife.”

  “I wasn’t mocking her. I was mocking you.”

  “Get out!”

  “Not until you tell me why you married her,” Gerrard returned as he planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Let me hear your sound and logical reasons, for there’s no way under heaven love or desire had anything to do with it, in spite of how she looks.”

  Roland straightened his shoulders and lied. “For the same reason our father and then Broderick agreed to wed her cousin. We need allies in the south and DeLac is a powerful man. I will never trust him, but he’s still our ally for all that.”

  “And the dowry? Considerable, no doubt.”

  “Enough.”

  Gerrard’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”

  “As lord of Dunborough, I need not—”

  “God’s blood, did that old buzzard manage to give away his daughter without a dowry—and to you?”

  “There was a dowry, and I need not say more to you.”

  “He got you to take her for nearly nothing, didn’t he?” Gerrard crowed. “I never thought I’d see the day that any man ever got the better of you in a bargain, not even when it’s for a woman who looks like that.”

  Roland took out the purse of silver that had been part of Mavis’s dowry and tossed it on the table.

  Gerrard picked it up and weighed it in his hand. “Is this all? Audrey will be outraged.”

  “Audrey’s feelings are her own affair. I made her no promises.” Indeed, she’d barely paid attention to him while his older brother was alive, and he had never, for one moment, considered marrying her, no matter what Gerrard said. Hopefully, he’d made that clear to Mavis, too. “The wagon carrying the rest of my wife’s dower goods was destroyed in a fire when we stopped for the night.”

  The moment Roland saw the skeptical look that came to his brother’s face, he was sorry he’d bothered to tell him. “Whether or not you care to believe me, that’s the truth.”

  Gerrard’s expression changed to one of bogus, wide-eyed innocence. “Why, of course I believe you, brother. That would explain the lack of baggage in your cortege. How unfortunate for your bride, among so many other misfortunes. Tell me, Roland, when you and DeLac were making your bargain, did you ever spare a moment’s thought for her?”

  Roland had barely thought of anything but Mavis since the first time he’d seen her, but that was a weakness he would certainly never divulge to Gerrard, or anyone else. “She chose to be my wife.”

  “Chose? Probably as much as we chose to be our father’s sons.”

  “She did choose, and that is all I’m going to say on the matter.”

  “No doubt that’s all the gentle love talk you’ve shared with her, too. ‘Marry me or not—what is your choice?’ God’s blood, to think of a beauty like her married to a cold fish like you!”
>
  “No doubt you’d rather see her married to a wastrel who drinks and wenches away his nights.”

  “At least I know what to do with a woman in my bed.”

  “Or so the whores let you believe.”

  The mocking grin that Roland despised came back to Gerrard’s face. “Perhaps I should offer her some brotherly comfort.”

  Roland took a step closer. “Stay away from her, Gerrard, or by God, I’ll—”

  A low cough came from the direction of the door. Both men turned to see the steward standing on the threshold.

  “Come in, Dalfrid, and tell my brother all my latest transgressions,” Gerrard said to the slender, gray-haired man holding several scrolls. “He can tell you all about his wife, too. Oh, don’t try to look surprised, Dalfrid! I’m sure Eua told you he has come home with a wife. But you can also lose that gleam in your eyes. She doesn’t have a dowry—or at least not much. He says there was a fire and her dower goods lost. If that’s so, though, I wonder why my coldhearted, ambitious brother didn’t send her back to her father.”

  “Leave us, Gerrard!” Roland ordered.

  “Gladly,” his brother said with an airy wave of his hand as he continued toward the door. “I have no wish to listen to the both of you discuss accounts and other mundane matters.”

  Clearing his throat again, Dalfrid sidled into the room, bowing humbly and glancing at the purse of coins as he put the scrolls of account on the table. “Naturally I was told of your marriage, my lord,” he said in that smooth-as-curds voice of his. “And that your bride is quite beautiful. I wish you joy, my lord.”

  Roland threw himself into the chair behind the table, then rose again when he realized he’d just sat where his father used to preside like a king upon his throne. Issuing orders. Making threats. Meting out what passed for justice in his twisted mind. “Thank you, Dalfrid,” he said, coming around the table, then leaning back against it and crossing his arms. “Now, what has been happening here while I was gone?”