Bride for a Knight (9781460344804)

by Moore, Margaret

  Two more men came out of the woods on the other side to block the road behind her—James and Frederick. Like Walter, their fine clothing was ruined, as if they’d slept out in the rain, and their hair matted, with some growth of beard upon their young faces.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, wrapping her reins more about her hands, dismayed by their unkempt state and their nervous desperation that she could feel more than see.

  “We want the toll, my lady,” Walter said.

  “I believe my husband has already paid you handsomely,” she replied, trying to sound calm.

  “Come on. Let her go,” James said to Walter. “It’s your fault we lost the money. If you hadn’t played dice—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Walter snarled, glaring at him before he turned his hostile gaze back to Mavis.

  “I suggest you let me pass, lest you feel the wrath of my husband. He will be here soon.”

  “Maybe he will, or maybe he got waylaid a ways back,” Walter replied with a triumphant smirk. “A cart might have cut him off. Maybe his horse stumbled and he fell. Could be the horse is lamed. Or he is.”

  “How do you—” She caught herself. “You’re lying. If you’re here, you couldn’t possibly know what’s happened farther back along the road.”

  “If it was only us, you’d be right.” Walter whistled, and three more men came out of the woods, men even more dirty and disheveled, their beards longer and more tangled. Their clothing had never been fine; it looked like bits and pieces gathered up from a ditch. They carried swords and pikes and one had a broadax. From their hardened expressions, she could well believe they’d used them.

  “So this is the lady, eh?” one of them muttered. He walked up and grabbed Sweetling’s bridle as the horse shifted and tried to turn. “Well, you are a pretty one—too pretty for that foul bastard.”

  Mavis pulled her foot from the stirrup, ready to kick the fellow if he got any closer. “Unhand my horse and let me go!”

  “Not until you’ve paid the toll, my lady.”

  “I have no money and if you take my horse—”

  “It’s not your horse or your clothes I want—well, I do,” the outlaw admitted to the amusement of his comrades, although not Gerrard’s three friends. “But first I’ll have what your husband took from me.” He lifted the long, greasy hair covering his right ear.

  Or what would have been his right ear if it had still been there.

  She felt sick at the sight of the marred and mottled flesh. Nevertheless, she tried to keep her wits about her. “If you don’t let me go, you’ll lose more than your ear.”

  “You’ve got a weapon hidden somewhere, do you? Or just your eating knife?” Walter said. “We’ll have to search you for it and won’t that be a—”

  She lashed out with her booted foot, catching the earless man on the side of his head. He let go and she pulled hard on the reins, turning Sweetling. As she urged her mare into a gallop, James and Frederick jumped out of the way. The man without an ear and the rest of his companions rushed toward her, but Sweetling knocked aside any man who tried to get in her way.

  As soon as she was free of them, Mavis leaned low over her horse’s neck. Tears stung her eyes and her cloak flew out behind her as they galloped back along the road until she saw Roland riding toward her. Thank God he wasn’t hurt! And Hephaestus wasn’t lame!

  “God’s blood, what’s happened?” Roland demanded as they met and reined in. “You’re white as snow! Are you ill?”

  “There was a tree across the road, so I stopped. And then...there were men. Gerrard’s friends and others. Outlaws. They said...they wanted...” Her voice caught and for a moment, she couldn’t speak as the fear, previously held at bay by force of will, flooded through her.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “No. I...I got away before they could. Where were you? They said they’d blocked the road with a cart, that you’d fallen, that Hephaestus was lame.”

  “There was a cart in the road with a broken wheel. I never guessed it was a trick, a trap to keep me there while you...”

  He fell silent, choked by his anger, and he looked as if he were planning to go after them at once, by himself.

  “You’d be outnumbered, Roland,” she protested even though he hadn’t voiced any such plan, “and it’s getting late. Take me home, and then you can go after them tomorrow with more men. I want to go home, Roland, please.”

  “You shouldn’t have ridden away from me like that,” he said sternly. “No one can be completely safe upon the roads, a woman most of all, not even on my land.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, fighting back tears, sorry that she’d been so heedless, but more upset by his harsh tone. “I only wanted a gallop.”

  “And now you’ve had it,” he said, turning his horse back toward Dunborough and waiting for her to follow.

  * * *

  When they reached the inner ward of the castle, Roland dismounted and helped his distraught wife from her horse. She didn’t have to tell him she was still upset; he could see it in her face.

  To think she had been attacked, and on his land—his land that he should have ensured was free from brigands, as he should have ensured that Walter and those others were far away.

  He spotted Lizabet and called her to help her mistress while he strode toward the barracks. It might be too late to go after those louts today, but he would make certain all was ready to leave at first light. Then, by God, he would catch them, and they would pay.

  Long after the evening meal was over—an uncomfortable evening meal presided over by her grimly silent husband—Mavis paced in their chamber waiting for him to retire. If he intended to. Roland had been so angry, she could believe he would rather march along the wall walk all night waiting for dawn than come to their chamber.

  Unsure if she should try to sleep, doubtful that she could, she went to the window and peered into the yard. There was no sign of Roland, only the guards.

  “You should sleep.”

  She turned to find Roland on the threshold. “I wasn’t sure I could,” she admitted.

  He didn’t reply to that, but went to the washstand and began to wash his face.

  “I’m truly sorry I was so thoughtless, Roland,” she said, clasping her hands before her.

  Leaning on the washstand, Roland sighed deeply, then turned to face her. “And I’m sorry there were outlaws on my land.”

  Encouraged by his words and his sigh, she ventured closer. “One of them said you’d cut off his ear.”

  He frowned. “It was my father’s preferred punishment for some offenses. It was often my duty to carry out the sentences.”

  She stared at him, appalled that any father would ask a son to do such things. “As if you were a common jailer? Did you do executions, too?”

  “I oversaw them, yes, if the sentence was justified.”

  “And if not?” she asked, remembering the cruel and evil man his father was.

  “If I thought it unjust and my father wouldn’t change his mind, I left the task to the garrison commander.”

  “Gerrard?”

  “No. The old one. He died shortly before my father.”

  “But you did cut off ears?”

  “What would you have me say, Mavis?” he demanded, frustration in his voice and his dark eyes. “I am a hard man who’s done hard things. Terrible things. Things I regret every day of my life. Things that have made me even more determined to be just and fair. But if there has been a crime that must be punished, I won’t shirk from meting it out. If you wanted a soft and easy man, you should have married someone else. I’ve been told that handsome, charming men like Gerrard swarmed about you like bees to flowers. You could have married one of them, or did they not have enough wealth and power or come from the north, where your father wan
ted an ally?”

  “Roland!” she cried, aghast and appalled. “I told you there was no other man I wanted. I was prepared to flee rather than marry against my will. It wouldn’t have mattered if a suitor was as rich as a king, or as powerful, or ruled from the north to the south.

  “And if you’re jealous of those unworthy men,” she charged, “what am I to think about you? There must have been scores of women who wanted Sir Roland of Dunborough, even if Audrey D’Orleau wasn’t one of them.”

  “Women who wanted the cold, hard son of Sir Blane of Dunborough? There was not a one.”

  “Until me.”

  “Yes, until you, and I still can’t—”

  He fell silent, then marched to the door. “You should rest, Mavis, so I’ll leave you in peace,” he said before he went out and closed the door behind him.

  Mavis went back to the window and looked out at the sky, wondering if she could ever truly know, or understand, the man she’d married.

  * * *

  Roland had barely gone five feet before remorse smote him like a battle ax. Mavis shouldn’t have ridden off alone, but neither should he have been so angry with her. After all, it was not her fault there were brigands on his lands. Gerrard should have ensured his estate was safe while he was gone and...

  No, the responsibility was his. He shouldn’t have left Gerrard in charge, and now Mavis had suffered for it.

  Worse, he had sounded like a weak and jealous fool.

  He half turned, prepared to go back and tell her he was sorry. He hadn’t yet found a way to tell her how she made him feel, how pleased and proud and happy, but for this, he would somehow find the words. He must find the words.

  Is the baby going to cry?

  Tomorrow, he told himself as he started forward once more. He would speak to her tomorrow, after they had caught the rogues who had dared to threaten his wife.

  * * *

  The next day Mavis paced anxiously in the hall, awaiting Roland’s return, wondering what he’d do when he caught the outlaws, and those young men who’d been Gerrard’s friends. And what would happen the next time she was alone with her husband.

  The door to the hall opened and she swiftly turned to see who it was, although surely Roland and his men would have made more noise on their return. Instead, Audrey D’Orleau, wrapped in her fine cloak, sauntered into the hall. Her fearsome bodyguard came in behind her and stood by the door, feet planted, arms crossed.

  As Roland seemed to find it difficult to believe that she had married him because she wished to, she found it hard to accept that any woman of intelligence wouldn’t want Roland, even if she could believe that Roland himself had done nothing to encourage her. Unfortunately, Audrey D’Orleau was likely the sort of vain woman who would require very little encouragement.

  She was also the last person Mavis wanted to see. Nevertheless, she was bound by the rules of hospitality to greet her. “Good day, Audrey,” she said, gesturing for the woman to sit beside her near the hearth.

  “I heard that Marmaduke and Bartholomew were here, so I’ve sent for my dressmaker,” Audrey said as she swept back her skirts and sank into the chair. “Now that you’ve chosen the fabric, Dominique can make the gowns for you. She’ll do a marvelous job, I assure you.”

  “Given the excellent workmanship of your own clothes, I’m sure she will,” Mavis agreed with a polite smile.

  “I’m sure Roland’s been most generous.”

  “He’s a kind husband.”

  “Indeed?” Audrey replied as she adjusted her skirts to show off the quality of the embroidery about the hem. “Then all is well between you?”

  “Quite well,” Mavis lied. The state of her marriage was none of this woman’s business, and she didn’t doubt Audrey was the sort to spread rumors based on very little evidence.

  “I was concerned you’d had an argument. I saw Roland ride out today with some of his men and he looked as angry as I’ve ever seen him.”

  “You could see that from your upper window?” Mavis calmly inquired.

  “You forget how well I know Roland,” Audrey replied, not the least nonplussed. “It made me fear all is not well between you and your husband.”

  “He and his men have gone after a band of outlaws on his land.”

  “Outlaws!” Audrey exclaimed with genuine shock.

  “Yes. They stopped me on the road. Fortunately, I got away and Roland brought me home.”

  “You got away? By yourself? Where was Roland?”

  “I had ridden ahead and some of their band had pushed an empty cart into the road to delay him.”

  “You rode ahead alone? That was a foolish thing to do!”

  “I know that now,” Mavis replied.

  “Well, you’re safe now. As for those outlaws, I wouldn’t be in their boots for all the gold in England. The men of Dunborough are like rabid dogs when it comes to protecting their possessions.”

  Mavis didn’t appreciate being called a possession. Nevertheless, she said, “If they’ve broken the law, they must be punished.”

  “Of course,” Audrey agreed. “I’m sure Roland will ensure that the punishment is harsh enough that other brigands will think twice about attacking anyone on his land. It often fell to Roland to do such things. He’s always been...efficient.”

  Audrey made it sound as if Roland felt nothing when he had to exact punishments; that to him, it was simply a duty to be efficiently done. Here was proof that no matter what Audrey or Gerrard implied, Audrey didn’t really know Roland at all.

  “No doubt he will do what he considers necessary and just,” Mavis replied.

  “I thank you for offering me the services of your dressmaker,” she went on, hoping Audrey would take the hint and go.

  She did not. “I nearly forgot!” she cried, giving Mavis another false smile. “I also came to tell you that I’ll be delighted to attend your wedding feast.”

  Mavis’s response was just as fraudulently pleasant. “I’m so glad!”

  “I suppose you aren’t expecting Gerrard to attend.”

  In truth, Mavis wasn’t sure what Gerrard would do. As long as he was still in Dunborough, there was a chance he would come and disrupt the evening. “I don’t know. We haven’t seen him.”

  “Poor fellow! He spends most of his time wandering about the village, I hear, or in...well, a rather unsavory establishment, although rumor has it he only drinks there.” Audrey sighed heavily. “He was so angry when he learned Roland was the heir! I feared there’d be murder done before the day was out.”

  “You were there?” Mavis asked with surprise.

  Audrey flushed. “Oh, no. But of course I heard. Dalfrid said Roland barely batted an eye, while Gerrard raved like a...well, like a man robbed of his birthright.”

  “Except that he wasn’t,” Mavis pointed out. And if Dalfrid was telling people such things, that was another reason for him to go.

  Audrey adjusted her skirts again and didn’t look directly at Mavis when she replied. “Gerrard could contest the will.”

  “On what grounds? There is no one who can dispute Roland’s right as the firstborn son and their own father named him heir.”

  “Their own father was a cruel, vindictive villain who lied the way other men breathe,” Audrey returned with unexpected vigor before she quickly resumed her more genial manner. “And there’s Eua. She claims Gerrard was born first and she was in the household then.”

  “She’s only a servant and it’s well known Gerrard is her favorite.”

  “You’ve heard that, have you? Still, Gerrard can try. Who can say what evidence the courts may decide is more valid?”

  Mavis’s stomach twisted. If Gerrard managed to speak to John, who was said to take bribes... But Gerrard had no money of his own, so how could he possibly get eno
ugh to bribe the king? “If he wishes to lose, he’s welcome to try.”

  Finally Audrey rose. “I suppose I should be on my way, so I shall leave you to wait for Roland, my lady.”

  Mavis did not invite her to linger.

  Audrey started for the door, then turned back. “You may think Gerrard will not win a suit against his brother, but I wouldn’t be so confident if it comes before the king.”

  Mavis stood and regarded her with defiant majesty. “I trust you won’t encourage him. To sway the king requires power and money. Roland has both, Gerrard has neither.”

  “For now, my lady, but a man like Gerrard will surely find a way to obtain them,” Audrey replied before she swept out of the hall with her faithful bodyguard behind her.

  Mavis sank slowly back onto the chair. Audrey had money...but no title. Gerrard came from a powerful family...but he would be casting himself out of it if he brought suit against Roland.

  Most of all, though, to take the matter to the king would require action and determination, and she took comfort from the fact that Gerrard seemed more willing to complain and protest and argue than actually do something that would further his cause.

  * * *

  The rogues had fled on horseback, and although they’d tried to disguise their trail, they hadn’t gone far enough or been clever enough to elude Roland and his men. It took them little less than half a day to catch them in a wood near a narrow gorge.

  Despite the beards and ragged clothing, Roland immediately recognized Walter, James and Frederick, and he silently thanked God that Gerrard wasn’t with them.

  He recognized someone else, and for a different reason—Bern, the defiler of women, whose ear he’d cut off as punishment last year. Perhaps Mavis wouldn’t be so horrified by the loss of an ear when she learned what Bern had done. As for those other hasty things he’d said...he hoped she could forgive him those, as well.

  “Throw down your weapons and dismount,” Roland ordered as he swung down from his horse.

  James and Frederick instantly obeyed, tossing away their swords as if they’d burst into flames, then just as quickly getting off their horses. The others hesitated until Roland’s men drew their circle about them closer. Even the scowling Bern, who had to know there was but one outcome for him now, did as he was told.