Gerrard looked down at the woman who’d offered him comfort and kindness although there’d been a price. “You may stay.” His expression hardened as he looked back at Dalfrid. “There will be no such mercy for you, Dalfrid.”
“Dalfrid!” a woman’s shrill voice called out. “What are you—”
The richly dressed woman appeared behind her lover and blanched.
“Greetings,” Gerrard said with a little bow, keeping his sword on Dalfrid’s chest. “It seems, my dear, you’ll have to find another protector—or someone else’s purse to pick.”
* * *
Two days after her father died, Mavis sat in the hall, alone. She should speak to the priest about another mass for her father, who would need all the help that prayers could provide to get him into heaven. She should order chambers prepared for any who cared to attend the funeral mass. Tamsin and Rheged would surely come.
Would Roland? She had sent word to him, but he still had not arrived.
What if she’d been wrong about him from the very start? She had such faith in her own judgment, but what if his reasons for marrying her had been purely mercenary? Or the need to best his brother with a beautiful bride? What if he would always put his brother and his own pride before her happiness or even his own?
“Mavis!”
She raised her head to see a familiar and welcome figure running toward her, her cloak swirling around her ankles.
With a cry of happiness and sorrow combined, Mavis rose and held out her arms. “Oh, Tamsin! I’m so glad to see you!” she cried as she embraced her cousin. “Although...although...”
“I know,” Tamsin murmured, holding Mavis close as she started to weep. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Once she received your message, she wouldn’t have stayed away, not if the babe was due in a day,” a deep voice remarked from somewhere close by.
Tamsin’s husband walked toward them, sympathy on his face. Even so, there was always something about Rheged of Cwm Bron that made Mavis think of a savage. Roland was as tall and broad shouldered, had the same long hair as Rheged, but Roland’s power seemed civilized, controlled, like a snake coiled, or a lion crouched to spring, whereas Rheged seemed more like a warrior chieftain from a darker age.
Mavis pushed such thoughts from her mind. “Please, you must sit—both of you.” She spotted Denly near the kitchen door. “Bring wine,” she said as Tamsin sat on a nearby bench, “and cheese and bread for our guests. And please make sure there’s a chamber prepared for my cousin and her husband.”
“Tamsin’s already seen to that,” Rheged said, sliding onto the bench beside his wife. “I think she forgot she doesn’t run the household of DeLac anymore.”
Tamsin flushed, but Mavis hurried to put her at her ease. “I wish she did. Then my father might...” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply that you could have prevented his death, although if we’d postponed the wedding...”
“He did this to himself, Mavis,” Tamsin said gently, “and we both know the kind of man he was. He wouldn’t have listened to you, or me, or anyone, if we’d tried to make him eat or drink less. He would only have ignored us.”
Tamsin was right, but Mavis felt guilty nonetheless.
“I think I’ll go get some ale. It’s more to my taste than wine. If you’ll excuse me, my lady.” Rheged didn’t wait for them to answer before he headed for the kitchen.
“I could have had ale brought for him,” Mavis said with some dismay.
“He may want ale, but he’s also leaving us alone to talk,” Tamsin replied. “I wanted to come sooner, but I feared Uncle Simon would find my presence more of an aggravation than a comfort. I didn’t realize the end was so close at hand.”
“Neither did I,” Mavis said. “He looked ill, but when death came, it was so sudden. He was talking to me and he seemed to be getting stronger.”
“I’ve heard of a sick person having more vitality near the end, as if the body rallies one last time so they can make their farewells.”
“But he didn’t say goodbye,” Mavis said, regarding Tamsin with burning eyes. “He spoke of my mother. And you. At the end he was sorry for the way he treated us both. And then he said...” Her gaze faltered and her voice cracked. “He was going to make a good marriage for me. He forgot that I was already married. I suppose I should have known then that death was drawing close...or at least suspected...”
Tamsin hugged her. “You were hoping for the best.”
“I was. I was hoping...as I have all my life...always hoping...” The tears came then, hot and fast, her shoulders shaking as Tamsin held her in a gentle embrace, letting her cry out her sorrow and dismay.
When Mavis quieted and drew back, wiping her eyes, Tamsin asked, “How are you, Mavis?”
“Well enough, considering.”
“And your husband?”
“Quite well.”
“Where is your husband?” Tamsin asked more pointedly.
“At Dunborough, of course,” Mavis said, trying not to sound upset by that. Tamsin had her own life, her own husband and soon her own family to concern her; she wouldn’t burden her cousin with her troubles, too. “I saw no need for him to come back with me. I had an escort.”
“And your new home? How is it in Dunborough?”
“It’s a large household, so naturally there are some things that take getting used to, but I’m managing. I think I told you in my letter that I had to dismiss a servant,” Mavis replied, her mind racing to think of ways she could talk about Dunborough and the people in it without raising suspicion that all was not well there.
She couldn’t. Not now, so she got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Tamsin, there are things to be done. Another mass to be arranged and food to be prepared. I’ll have Denly show you to your chamber. I’m sure you’ll want to rest.”
“You should rest,” Tamsin said with the resolve Mavis so well remembered, the determination her cousin had always shown even as a little girl. “I’ll find Rheged and together we’ll speak with the priest about the mass.”
Feeling as if she had grown years older in the few weeks since her marriage, Mavis shook her head. “No, Tamsin. That is my responsibility.”
Tamsin’s gaze searched her cousin’s face a moment, then she nodded. “Very well, but promise me that we’ll speak again soon, just the two of us.”
Mavis would rather not promise, but she knew that look in Tamsin’s eye. It was no use thinking she could avoid that conversation. “Of course,” she replied before she hurried away.
* * *
Holding a mug of the rich, dark ale he’d commandeered in the kitchen, Rheged stuck his head into the hall and was surprised to see his wife sitting not just alone, but completely still and with her head bowed—a sure sign of dismay or agitation.
“Where’s Mavis?” he asked as he approached her.
“Gone to tend to household matters,” she replied, raising her head. “Something’s wrong.”
“Her father’s just died.”
“It’s more than that,” Tamsin said with certainty. “Her letter worried me and having seen her, I’m convinced that something isn’t right.”
“She’d tell you if that were so, wouldn’t she? Especially here.”
Tamsin didn’t look reassured. “I thought so. I hoped so, but now I’m not so certain.”
Rheged set down the ale he hadn’t finished and gathered his worried wife into his strong arms. “Perhaps we shouldn’t expect her to tell you all her secrets first thing. Give her time, Tamsin. Eventually she’ll tell you if she’s troubled. If she doesn’t and you still believe something isn’t right, you’ll simply have to ask her.”
“I have.”
“Then wait awhile and ask her again. I won’t have you worrying yourself sick.” He smiled at the resolut
e, loving woman he had married. “Since I know you won’t really rest until you’re sure you know the truth, we’ll stay here until you do.”
“Thank you, Rheged,” his wife replied with a sigh as she rested her head against her husband’s shoulder.
* * *
A few days after Mavis had gone back to DeLac, Roland rode away from the rest of the patrol. He wanted to be alone, away from his men and the household and all his responsibilities, to think about the short, cold letter that had arrived that morning from DeLac, brought by Arnhelm and Verdan.
Lord Simon was dead. He’d died the day after Mavis had arrived and would already have been buried by the time he received her letter. She would return as soon as she was able, and as weather permitted.
That Simon DeLac was dead came as no surprise. And had he not told her the weather wasn’t good for traveling? Nevertheless, he would have gone there, if she wished. If she had asked.
He spotted two riders coming toward him on the road. One was Audrey and beside her was the Scot.
“Sir Roland!” Audrey cried gaily, waving and smiling and riding forward to meet him.
He muttered an impatient curse. He didn’t want to talk to her. Unfortunately, she and her companion blocked the road. “Good day, Audrey,” he said when she reached him and they pulled their horses to a halt.
“A fine day for riding, is it not? No more outlaws hereabouts, I trust?”
“No. You should be quite safe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should be heading back.”
“I was planning to turn back, too,” she said. “May I ride with you?”
Roland was sorry he’d lied, but he had, so he had little choice now. “Of course.”
“I haven’t seen Gerrard for quite some time,” Audrey said after she and Duncan had turned their horses. Audrey rode beside him, Duncan a few yards behind. “Rumor has it Gerrard’s left Dunborough in high dudgeon. Some say he went to York.”
Roland didn’t realize Gerrard had gone from the village, but he didn’t want to admit his ignorance to Audrey.
“You had another quarrel, I take it?”
Audrey had obviously already heard about it, so there was no point denying that they’d argued again. “Yes.”
“Gerrard always was a hothead,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure he’ll come back soon. He always does. And no doubt you did all you could to keep the peace. He is not such a gentleman as you, Roland. And his bitterness is boundless, although understandable, perhaps. He’d hoped he was the eldest and found out that he wasn’t. Then you bring home an unexpected wife, so he’s not even second in the household anymore.”
“He was still the garrison commander.”
“Something any common foot soldier could aspire to. It must have seemed as if a stranger had usurped his place.”
Roland had never considered Gerrard’s position in that light—and he should have.
“Poor Roland! And your poor wife, too,” Audrey went on. “I’m sure she was upset by his insolence, so it’s no wonder she’s gone home to DeLac, although I wouldn’t have blamed her if she wanted to stay as far away from there as possible, given the way her father drinks.”
Roland drew Hephaestus to a halt and turned to look at her. “What did you say?”
“I meant no harm or insult,” Audrey said hastily, blushing, “but it’s common knowledge that Lord DeLac had taken to drink even before all that business with her cousin.”
Yes, he had. He was like the worst drunk in any village, and it would be no wonder if his daughter sought to escape him by any means she could, even by marrying the first man who offered who met with her father’s approval.
Had she not told him, too, how her father treated her like goods to be sold? How he had grown cruel? Who would not want to be free of such a father, as he had yearned, deep in his heart, to be free of his?
As a woman, Mavis would have no escape save through marriage or the church. And then he had come to DeLac, the heir to a vast estate, the choice of her father, too. Under those circumstances, of course she had accepted him and wed him willingly.
Although his mind could accept that reason, he felt as if his heart had turned to stone. Or died. He had so wanted to believe it was because of some quality in him—some worthiness that she had seen—that she had accepted him.
No woman of any worth will ever want a cold stick like you. No woman will ever love you unless she’s paid. You have no wit, no charm, nothing to recommend you to anybody except our father’s wealth and title.
God help him, Gerrard had been right.
“I’m so sorry, Roland!” Audrey said with a sigh, reminding him that she was still there. You deserve someone to take care of you and see that you need only concern yourself with the business of the estate, not petty domestic squabbles. Someone who knows your past and understands.”
In spite of his dismay, he answered honestly. “That would never have been you, Audrey.”
She looked as if he’d taken away her best jewels. Then she smiled, a false and brittle smile. “You certainly encouraged me.”
That was a lie, and they both knew it. “I did not. Even if you had tried to make me want you, you would never have succeeded.”
She gasped and glared at him, her face growing redder. “You think you’re so high and mighty—you and that little strumpet daughter of a sot you married. Well, you aren’t the only one with money and power, Sir Roland, and it may be that your hold on Dunborough is less secure than you think! Perhaps I’ll marry Gerrard when he’s lord of Dunborough. Now I give you good day, Sir Roland, and never seek to darken my door again!”
She kicked her horse into a gallop and rode off, followed by the Scot.
Roland didn’t even watch them go.
He slipped from the saddle and laid his head against his horse’s neck. Here at last and thanks to Audrey, of all people, he could believe that Mavis had chosen him—as a means to escape her father.
And now that her father was dead, she had no reason to return, especially after all the things that Gerrard had said. That explained the coldness in her letter, too.
He had known pain and suffering before. He had rarely felt happiness, until he’d married Mavis. Now he doubted he would ever know true happiness again.
He might never again feel so appreciated and respected, admired and desired.
Or loved.
Of all the things that Mavis had done, she had made him believe he could be loved.
“Oh, God help me, Heffy,” he murmured roughly. “It would have been better if I’d never met her.”
He would have been content, or at least ignorant of what he lacked. And yet...was that really true? Would he have been better off if he hadn’t met her? Mavis had given him a taste of what life could hold. More than a taste.
He thought of all the times they’d been alone, and not just in their bed or making love. He remembered her smiles, her voice, the admiration in her eyes, the respect, the way she’d bristled when Gerrard mocked him. Yes, she was his wife, so some of those things could be expected—but not all. Not the loving looks and tender smiles. Not the passion and kind words.
Surely she wouldn’t be so loving and sincere if she’d only married him to get away from her father.
Then, as he raised his head and scanned the autumn sky, another revelation crept into his head and heart.
So what if she’d married him to get away from her father? Theirs had been a successful marriage, at least so far, and in spite of his mistakes. His foolish jealousy. His insistence that Gerrard stay. His fear of Gerrard’s mockery.
And if he listened to anyone’s opinion, it should be that of the wife he loved. So if that meant Gerrard had to leave Dunborough, so be it. If Gerrard then went to the king, if he tried to get the marriage annulled or take Dunborough...?
Let his brother try. He didn’t care what Gerrard did, as long as he had Mavis by his side. Winning her love would be the true road to happiness.
That was worth going to DeLac and asking her to come back to Dunborough, even if he had to go down on his knees and beg, he who would never kneel to any man, not even his father or his brother, regardless of how many times they hit him. He would apologize for his anger, for his quarrels with his brother, his harsh words and grim silences. He would vow to be a better husband, a better man, more open and honest, and hopefully one day worthy of her love.
If she did return with him, he would do all that and more to try to make her happy.
His decision made, his course decided, he mounted swiftly and turned Hephaestus toward home. There were some preparations to be made, but he would leave tomorrow as soon as it was light.
* * *
Roland brought Hephaestus to a halt in the courtyard, leaped from the saddle and hurried toward the hall—to find Dalfrid weeping and cowering near the dais, with Gerrard standing over him like an avenging angel intent upon his death.
Chapter Thirteen
“Save me, my lord! Don’t let him kill me!” Dalfrid shrieked, writhing on the ground like some sort of wounded snake.
“What is the meaning of this?” Roland demanded as he hurried toward them. He was relieved to see his brother, but baffled by Dalfrid’s panicked cries.
“He’s been robbing us for years,” Gerrard declared. “He’s got a huge house in York and a mistress, too. A very costly mistress who wears satins and velvets and more jewels than a queen.”
“He’s lying, my lord—lying to cover his own crimes!” Dalfrid protested.
Gerrard prodded him with his sword. “Dog! You’re the liar!”
“Keep him off! Keep him off!”
“I went to York after our last quarrel and was in a tavern when I heard Dalfrid’s name spoken,” Gerrard said. “Pretending to be a wool merchant, I joined the conversation. It seems a serving wench had come up in the world by becoming the mistress of the steward of Dunborough—a most expensive mistress. I thought of Dalfrid’s claim that the coffers were nearly empty and it occurred to me that we may have been duped. I learned where this woman lived and found Dalfrid there. There’s no way under heaven he could have come by that house and those clothes and jewels by honest means, and thus our family’s empty coffers are explained.”
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