Bride for a Knight (9781460344804)

by Moore, Margaret

  “You are both grown men of noble birth, yet you’re fighting like animals!” Mavis declared.

  “I was defending myself,” Gerrard muttered, glaring at them both, “although no doubt Roland will claim it was me who started it.”

  “Roland, please! Make him go!” Mavis desperately persisted, her hands clasped like a supplicant, her patience at its end. “I will not bring the child I carry into such turmoil!”

  The two men, so alike in feature but so different in every other way, turned to stare at her.

  “You’re with child?” Roland asked after a moment of stunned silence.

  “A miracle, apparently,” Gerrard said with another mocking smile even as a yearning, wistful look came to his eyes just like Roland’s in her father’s solar.

  “Are you with child?” her husband asked again.

  “I think so. I hope so.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  She went to him and looked at him intently, willing him to listen to her. “If I am—and even if I’m not—things cannot go on this way. Gerrard must leave Dunborough completely if there’s to be any peace in our household.”

  Her husband’s stern expression didn’t change as he regarded her for what seemed an eternity. “As I have told you before, Mavis, I will not force him out.”

  Gerrard grinned with triumph while Mavis regarded her husband with dismay. “Roland, please!”

  “I will not cast him out,” he coldly repeated.

  If he could speak to her thus, if he could so blatantly ignore her feelings...

  She turned on her heel and left them, heading for the bedchamber, where she could be alone.

  “Leave my hall, Gerrard,” Roland said with that same stern frigidity after she had gone, “lest I change my mind and exile you from Dunborough forever.”

  Gerrard did not move.

  Roland took a step toward him.

  Scowling, his face red, his hands still balled into fists at his sides, Gerrard started for the outer doors.

  They opened before he got there and Arnhelm, mud splattered and exhausted, stumbled in.

  * * *

  Fighting a wave of nausea, Mavis sat slowly on the bed. She didn’t know if she felt ill from witnessing the hostile quarrel in the hall and Roland’s refusal to make his brother leave, or if she was, indeed, with child.

  Rising again, she went to the window and, despite the cold breeze that threatened rain, opened the shutter and took in deep breaths. That made her feel a little better.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool stones and tried to accept her husband’s decision, but were they forever to be subjected to Gerrard’s anger and mockery and disrespect?

  She had lived her life neglected and ruled by her father, her opinions and feelings ignored. Her position had been usurped by her cousin and although she loved Tamsin, she had felt the scorn from those who assumed she was glad to give up the responsibility to another, or was too stupid to oversee the household.

  Now Roland was paying no heed to her opinions, as if she were no more than a servant.

  Or just a wife to share his bed and give him children after all. A beautiful wife to make a mean-spirited, mocking brother jealous.

  Swift footsteps sounded in the corridor leading to the chamber. Taking another deep breath, she prepared to face her husband, come what may.

  Roland entered the room without knocking, a travel-worn Arnhelm right behind him. The soldier pulled a parchment sealed with wax from his belt before she could even greet him.

  What had transpired in the hall below was suddenly forgotten, for this could herald nothing good.

  “I have a letter for you, my lady, from your father,” Arnhelm announced. “I was to put it into your hands alone.”

  She let her breath out slowly. At least her father wasn’t dead, and Tamsin and Rheged were all right.

  His brows lowered, Roland stuck out his arm to prevent Arnhelm from handing her the letter. “It can wait. The lady is unwell.”

  “I’m well enough, especially when he comes in such haste,” she said, stepping briskly forward to take the letter. “I need to know what news he brings.”

  “You can wait for her answer in the hall with Verdan,” Roland said, and his words were not a request.

  Arnhelm looked at Mavis, who nodded her agreement, then tugged his forelock. “Until later, my lady.”

  Mavis managed a smile before he left the chamber.

  She broke the seal. One glance at the handwriting, spidery and thin, told her that her father was very sick, and his written words confirmed it. “My father is ill and wants me to come home at once,” she said as she read.

  Roland frowned. “It’s not easy to travel at this time of year, especially if you’re with child.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything about that. It’s too early to be certain, and my father must be very ill, or he wouldn’t have sent a message in such haste. I must go to him.”

  “You would risk bad weather and worse roads, and possibly the health of our unborn child, to tend to the man who had little use for you except as something to bargain with?”

  “I can’t forget my duty as a daughter. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go back.”

  “And if I forbid it?”

  In spite of what had passed between them, she hadn’t expected that. “Do you forbid it, my lord?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his visage stern. Forbidding. Unyielding, with no trace of the gentle lover or that wistful man in her father’s solar.

  Where had that other Roland gone? Was he refusing to let her return to DeLac to prove to everyone that he alone was the ruler of Dunborough? If so, he should find another way. “Unless you intend to lock me in this chamber, my lord, I’m going to do what I think is right. I shall return to DeLac as my father requests and I intend to leave at first light tomorrow.”

  She waited, tensed, for Roland to again refuse to let her go or to say he would prevent it.

  He did not. Instead, he marched to the door, where he paused, one hand on the frame. “Since you will likely not be back in a sennight, there will be no wedding feast.”

  Then he was gone.

  Mavis sat heavily on the bed, relieved he had accepted her decision even if he hadn’t done so graciously. She had made her point and carried the day.

  So what of it if her victory felt hollow?

  As for the wedding feast, Roland was quite right. She would likely still be in DeLac in seven days’ time, and who could say when she would return?

  * * *

  Roland strode to the stable, but not to take Hephaestus or Icarus or any other horse out for a gallop. He wanted to be alone, and there was a place at the far end of the loft, away from where the grooms and stable boys slept, that was also shielded from sight. He had found it years ago when he was just a lad and sought a hiding place from his father’s anger, Broderick’s blows and Gerrard’s mockery.

  When he opened the stable door, Hephaestus neighed a greeting and he paused a moment to stroke his horse’s soft muzzle—but only a moment, lest someone come in and see him climbing up the ladder.

  Bent over to avoid the beams, he made his way to his secret place, where a little louvered window provided some air. He lay down and looked up at the thatched roof that he had stared at so many times before. He asked himself the same questions that he had so many times before, too.

  Why did everyone always tell him what to do? Why did everyone try to rule him, even now? Even though he was a grown man and a lord, everyone seemed to think they knew better than he did and always had. His father, Broderick, Gerrard, Dalfrid, Audrey and now Mavis—they all seemed so certain they knew better, or that he was wrong.

  He had hoped that things would be different with Mavis. He had believed that she re
spected his opinion and would listen to him. Instead, she couldn’t accept that he was right to let his brother stay. But how could he exile him? Whatever else he was, Gerrard was his brother. And look what had happened when he’d compelled Walter, James and Frederick to go. If Gerrard fell into bad company, or outside the law, if he wound up dead or imprisoned, he would never forgive himself.

  Could Mavis not see that even as she felt duty-bound to go to her neglectful, greedy father, he was duty-bound to keep his brother from harm, and her, too, even if she didn’t agree with his decision? She was his wife, after all. His beautiful loving wife, who surely could have had her choice of other men, but who had chosen him, or so she claimed.

  Was it truly possible that he had been her first and only choice? That nothing except pleasing herself had caused her to make that decision?

  How much he wanted to believe it! How desperate he was to think she was sincere.

  As for Gerrard’s claim that he had married Mavis to make his brother jealous...he couldn’t deny there was truth in that. When he had seen Mavis crying that first morning, he’d comforted himself with that very thought.

  Even if that had been true then, he couldn’t let his brother know that, let alone Mavis. He had already done enough damage to their marriage with his quarrels with Gerrard. He wouldn’t risk more.

  But neither could he have anyone, especially Gerrard, think she told him what to do.

  Yet his feelings for her—whether only desire or more—were so strong, his need to have her respect and admiration so powerful, he couldn’t trust himself not to weaken in her presence and let her sway his actions.

  Therefore, he had best keep away from her until he could retain his self-control. Better to risk gossip of a quarrel between them than have Gerrard or anyone else think he was her slave.

  So he decided that despite the possible danger of a journey, he would let her go back to her father.

  Although he could not suppress a sigh.

  * * *

  “He’s a monster, I tell you! A selfish, mean-spirited, greedy oaf!” Gerrard cried, striding around the main chamber of Audrey D’Orleau’s manor house like a bull on a rampage. “He no more deserves to rule Dunborough than his horse—or his wife!”

  Audrey adjusted the long, folded-back cuff of her velvet gown. She had long ago learned it was best to let men in such a humor rant and rave until they grew calmer. Besides, she wasn’t really listening. She had also learned long ago that Gerrard would never believe Roland could act in good faith, regardless of any evidence to the contrary, just as Roland believed Gerrard could never be anything but selfish and lazy.

  “He goes off to Castle DeLac vowing that there will be no alliance with that arrogant scoundrel DeLac only to come home with the man’s daughter as his bride. Now he’ll do whatever she says. I swear she’s bewitched him!”

  Audrey sat up a little straighter on her goose-down cushion and reached for the excellent wine in a silver goblet. It, and the equally expensive carafe, rested on a small oak table with wonderfully carved legs. “She is beautiful, but I find it difficult to believe that he would pay heed to any woman, no matter how lovely,” she honestly replied. “After all, this is Roland we are speaking of.”

  She could see Gerrard hoodwinked by a beautiful woman and a slave to his lust, but not his brother. If it were otherwise, she would have persuaded Roland to marry her as soon as word came that he was the heir. “No doubt he saw merit in the match after all,” she observed. “DeLac does have friends at court and he’s rather wealthy, too. I’m sure the dowry was considerable.”

  Mavis also had a title, the one thing, besides a husband, Audrey lacked.

  Gerrard made a derisive sniff. “All her dower goods were destroyed in a fire, or so they say, but the loss of the dowry doesn’t seem to trouble Roland in the least. To be sure, she’s a beauty, but when has Roland ever cared about a woman’s looks?”

  “Exactly,” Audrey murmured, smoothing down her heavily embroidered skirt and sighing heavily. “But she is his wife, and there’s nothing to be done about it, although you could go to the law, I suppose, and demand an annulment on your brother’s behalf.”

  “An annulment?” Clearly that thought had never occurred to Gerrard. “On what grounds?”

  “The lost dowry. Who is to say whether everything was as valuable as DeLac claimed? Did I not hear that the prize he offered in a tournament recently turned out to be made not of real gold and gems but painted metal and paste? There is no way to be sure what the value of the dower goods were. It could well be that Roland didn’t even take the time to examine everything on the wedding day, especially if he was anxious to bed the bride.” She delicately cleared her throat. “My attorney in York is very learned in such matters.”

  Gerrard’s eyes gleamed with hope and happiness, only to dim a moment later. “What if Mavis makes trouble? She seems to genuinely like Roland, as difficult as that is to believe.”

  Audrey got out of the ebony chair and strolled toward him. “How a woman looks, what she says in public and how she feels may be very different things. As we both know, Roland isn’t exactly a man of passion. She might be...disappointed, shall we say? And only too willing to help us find a way to free her from an unhappy marriage.

  “However, I would say nothing of this to anyone except me and my attorney for the time being. We want no word of this to reach Roland, or he will find a way to thwart you.” She was careful to make it sound as if her scheming was all for Gerrard’s advantage. “My attorney’s name is Magnus Carl and his house is near the minster. Anyone in the market can direct you.” She widened her eyes. “Come to think of it, Magnus also knows several of the king’s household knights. Perhaps he could help you gain an audience with John himself, so you can also take up the matter of your inheritance.”

  “You’re a clever woman, Audrey,” Gerrard replied, obviously much—and rightly—impressed. “If I can get an audience with the king, I can tell him how I was cheated of my inheritance.” He smiled, his lips curving up slowly. “Perhaps I should let Roland have his pretty little bride and seek only the estate. After all, Roland will have DeLac once Mavis’s father dies, and I doubt John wants too much land and power in any one nobleman’s hands. He should be eager to give me Dunborough.” His insolent grin broadened and he stroked her cheek. “If I had a rich wife, I could better do battle in the courts and win my proper title as well as my inheritance.”

  It was possible Gerrard could convince the king that he deserved to be lord of Dunborough. He could be very charming and persuasive, and he was right about John not wanting to have too much land in any one man’s hands. “But I have no title,” she feebly protested. “I’m only a wool merchant’s daughter.”

  “What care I for titles?” Gerrard replied, his voice low and husky. “You’re a very desirable woman, Audrey,” he murmured before his lips came down on hers.

  No man ever wants what he can get easily. Her unhappily married mother’s words echoed in her ears and she immediately pushed Gerrard away. “I’m flattered, Gerrard, very flattered. But I... We...” She shook her head. “Your proposal has been so sudden, so unexpected! I can hardly breathe or think.”

  “Why do you need to think?” he replied, pulling her back into his arms. “I want you, Audrey, and you want me. I can feel it in your arms, your lips.”

  This time, when Gerrard kissed her, she didn’t protest. Nor did she stop him when his hand cupped her breast.

  Heavy footfalls sounded outside the door and Audrey quickly broke the kiss. “That’s Duncan.”

  “What does it matter?” Gerrard muttered, reaching for her again. “He’s only a servant.”

  That was true, but this interruption was also a timely reminder that she mustn’t sell her maidenhead unless she was guaranteed a title. “You had better go, Gerrard. We wouldn’t want to give Roland any more e
xcuse to slander you.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  She deftly sidestepped him as he tried to embrace her. “Think of my reputation,” she pleaded. “I’m a woman without a husband and I can’t risk being gossiped about. You’re so handsome, women will be quick to assume...well, you know. And my sister surely won’t approve.”

  “There’s no need to fear gossip if we wed, and Celeste is in a convent.”

  “But we aren’t wed yet. Until then, I have to take care, and it would surely be only right to tell my sister of our intentions first, even if...”

  Gerrard scowled. “Even if she hates me.”

  “She is my only sibling.”

  Frowning, Gerrard stared toward the door. “Then I shall leave you with your money and your bodyguard.”

  “For now!” she cried as if he’d cut her to the quick, cursing herself for speaking of Celeste. “Only for now!”

  Mollified, he smiled one of his devilishly attractive smiles. “For now.”

  She went to the door, opened it for Gerrard and discovered Duncan standing in the corridor just beyond. He made way for Gerrard, who mockingly tugged his forelock as he passed the Scot and breezily said, “Farewell, Audrey. I’m off to York!”

  “What the de’il was that rogue doing here?” Duncan asked, not hiding his disdain, when Gerrard had left the house.

  “He only wanted a shoulder to cry on,” Audrey replied, “and a little advice.”

  That is all he’s going to get until he has a title, she finished in her thoughts, and I won’t mention Celeste again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What a pleasant surprise, my lady!” Sir Melvin cried as Mavis, followed by Arnhelm, Verdan and four other soldiers from Dunborough, entered his yard. This time, she had sent Arnhelm and Verdan on ahead to request a night’s lodging. She hadn’t simply ridden through the gates and ordered Sir Melvin to accommodate them.