Roger's Bride

by Sarah Hegger

  Roger drew his sword and thwacked at a grasping bramble. “Explain to me again why we are sneaking around like a pair of thieves instead of approaching the manor directly.”

  “Because if we enter the manor we will have to deal with Ranulf.” If he knew Ranulf he wouldn’t continue to blast her with questions. Ranulf kept a steady eye on his future wealth, wrapped up in his pretty sister. “And if Ranulf is about, Cecily will do nothing more than simper and giggle.”

  Roger grunted and thwacked at another leaf. “And you are certain this Cecily will know of your sister’s whereabouts?”

  “Nay, not certain.” Kathryn prayed for patience. “But as sure as I can be. Cecily is the only friend Matty has. She trusts her. Matty would not return to Mandeville.” She turned and presented her argument with a flourish. “Hence, she would come to Cecily.”

  Pausing mid-thwack, Roger frowned at her. “Lead on then.”

  An obliging hedgerow allowed them to enter Cecily’s rose garden without detection from the manor.

  “Where—”

  Kathryn motioned Roger to silence. He would give up their position if he kept yammering like that.

  Ranulf walked beside Cecily in the gardens behind Castlereagh Manor. Kathryn had not been entirely honest about her reasons for not wanting to run into Ranulf. Although with Roger by her side, she felt no fear. Still, yesterday’s adventure had taught her avoiding a fight beat more blood-letting.

  Roger covered her mouth and dragged her behind a large flowering hawthorn. The whole thing accomplished with breath-catching swiftness and no more sound than a robin fluttering through the branches.

  “Now what?” He glowered at her. He did that a lot, or he laughed at her, which she rather liked. The glowering he needed to stop.

  “I told you.” She peered through the thinner branches at the edge of the hawthorn. Ranulf and Cecily kept at their slow procession like they partook of a death march. “We wait. He escorts her to this particular spot and then goes about his business.”

  Roger leaned over her, dwarfing her with his bulk. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because neither of them has the imagination to do any different.” Roger smelled like a warrior, of leather, horse and old blood-infused chainmail. Kathryn drew shallow breaths. If her dearest wish came true, she imagined she would end up smelling that way before long. Best she get used to it. “If Matty was frightened and could not come to me, Cecily would be her next choice.”

  “Then let us go and ask her.” Roger strode toward the garden.

  Kathryn barely grabbed his arm in time and hauled him back behind the hawthorn. “Are you mad? Ranulf will see you.”

  “Ranulf is a man.” He raised his brow at her. “I will simply explain our predicament and he will get his sister to tell me what she knows.”

  Kathryn hadn’t factored that into her plan. Besides being a man, Ranulf would also squirm like a boot-licking cur at the idea of ingratiating himself with the powerful Angleseas. After all, there remained an unattached Anglesea brother for Ranulf to lust after. She steeled herself. “Ranulf must not see me.”

  “Ah.” Roger smirked and folded his arms. “Now we get to the truth. And why must Ranulf not see you?”

  Roger would stand there looking smug until she told him. “He does not approve of me. If he sees me, he will lock Cecily away and we will wait out here until Judgment Day.”

  Roger cocked his head. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do?” Kathryn ducked her chin to her chest. Roger had leapt insultingly fast to the conclusion Ranulf based his dislike on her actions. It might have been any reason. Ranulf might be mad for all Roger knew. However, it had transpired that Ranulf possessed a touch more sensitivity than she had thought. Foolish man! It had been but a race, and Father had made her return the horse to him.

  Roger shifted his weight and stared.

  “There was a horse race,” she said, fiddling with the lie of her tunic. “I won, Ranulf lost and had to give me his horse.”

  “Your father allowed you to enter a horserace with a man?”

  Blast his perception! Kathryn peeked around at Cecily and Ranulf again. If Roger kept chatting their time away, they might lose their quarry. “Not exactly. I entered as a boy. I thought the entire thing a huge jest.”

  “Let me guess,” Roger spoke right beside her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Ranulf and whoever else saw the race did not share your sense of humor?”

  “Aye.” They had got off topic and it would be best to return swiftly. “Cecily often spends the afternoon sewing beneath the trees. She says the light is good. Ranulf will leave her shortly and then we will slip closer.”

  “Where is the horse now?” Warmth surrounded her from Roger’s proximity.

  “My father made me return it. He said it was not fairly won, and I could not keep it.”

  Ranulf walked Cecily into the shade of an ancient elm, and assisted her as she sat. They spoke for a long moment, and then Ranulf handed Cecily a cloth sack. They chatted for a while longer. Surely, Ranulf did not intend to sit by her side and watch Cecily sew?

  “Ah,” Roger murmured, his breath stirring wisps of her hair. “It seems you were right. There he goes.”

  Ranulf strode back to the manor, his short legs giving him the jaunty strut of a bantam rooster. How could she have ever thought he might make a good match for Matty? She had nearly condemned her sister to a life of squat, bad-tempered children.

  They waited until Ranulf disappeared behind the side of the manor into the stable yard beyond.

  “Come.” Kathryn threaded her way closer to Cecily. Still aware there could be watchers in the manor, they stuck to the hedgerow that bordered the formal gardens.

  Motioning Roger to stop, she crouched behind a cluster of rose bushes Cecily tended like her own babes. “You stay here. If Matty has spoken of you, Cecily will be frightened of you, and she has about as much spirit as a pudding.”

  “Indeed.” Roger clenched his fists on his thighs

  “Never mind.” Kathryn patted his hand. “I will set Cecily straight. I will have to convince her you are not at all fearsome before she will tell me anything. But looking as you do, with your beard and your hair…” Which brought another thing to mind. “And when we do find Matty, you and I are going to have a long talk about your ham-handed approach to courtship.”

  He cupped her nape and growled her name. “Kathryn.”

  See there, he had neatly demonstrated the problem. Matty did not care to be growled at. Kathryn found it rather thrilling, but she and her sister were not woven from the same cloth. “Stay here.”

  Roger dropped into a waiting crouch behind the roses.

  Kathryn crept as close as she could.

  Cecily sang to herself as she plied her needle through the cloth. Good Lord, the girl mangled the tune almost beyond recognition. She would wager Ranulf kept his sister from singing when prospective suitors arrived. Pretty in a soft, plump way with her dusky cloud of hair and her rosy cheeks, Cecily held the key to Ranulf’s ambitions, and he sought and discarded suitor after suitor. He saw his sister as the coin to purchase his better future.

  “Psst.”

  Cecily started and stared at the rose bush. “Is anybody there?”

  “It is me, Cecily.”

  She dropped her sewing and clasped a hand to her throat. “The rose bush?”

  Not the brightest light in a summer sky. “Nay, Cecily, it is Kathryn.”

  Cecily frowned. “Who?”

  “Kathryn of Mandeville.”

  “Oh.” Fluttering her hands, Cecily giggled. “I thought the rose bush spoke to me.” She chewed her lip as she studied the rose bush. “Are you a rose bush now?”

  A snort made her whirl about. Roger, the conniving cur, had sneaked closer. Kathryn motioned him back to where she’d left him.

  Roger tilted his head, and raised his brow.

  “Nay
, Cecily, I am not a rose bush. I am hiding in the rose bush.”

  As adorable as she was vacant, Cecily grew thoughtful. “Why?”

  “So, Ranulf does not see me.”

  “Oh.” Cecily’s pink bow mouth formed an O. “Ranulf does not like you because you stole his horse.”

  Stole his horse! “I did not—”

  Roger covered her mouth and dragged her ear to his lips. “Find out where your sister is.”

  With as much dignity as she could muster, Kathryn wriggled free. She would deal with his habit of hauling her about later.

  “Cecily, I am looking for Matty.” Kathryn crawled back to her former position. A rose thorn jabbed at her neck.

  Roger snapped it off for her.

  Cecily’s shoulders drooped. “Nay.” She shook her head, swishing her silky hair. “She is not here.”

  “Aye, but do you know where she is?”

  “Nay.” Cecily blushed prettily. “I did not see her.”

  “Are you certain, Cecily?”

  Head tilted up, Cecily said, “I did not see her. She did not come here. I do not know where she is.”

  “She lies,” Roger muttered.

  Kathryn threw him a look that advised him to shut his pie-hole. “When did you not see her here, Cecily?”

  “Three days ago.” With a little squeal, Cecily jumped to her feet. “I did not see her. She did not come here. I do not know where she is.” Her voice rose on each word.

  “Of course you did not.” Kathryn kept her voice soothing, whilst keeping a wary eye for Ranulf to appear. The man had the sense of a hunting hound when it came to his sister.

  “Of course I did not.” Cecily took her seat again, and patted her hair back into place. “Nobody can say that I saw her.”

  “Indeed.” Kathryn forced a hearty chuckle. “You are the very best of friends to keep her secret so well.”

  “I am.” Cecily flushed and giggled. “I have kept all her secrets.”

  “All her secrets?”

  Cecily’s expression grew guarded. “You should go before Ranulf returns.”

  “Surely you can tell me.” Kathryn crawled closer. “I am Matty’s sister. She tells me everything.”

  Cecily plopped her sewing in her lap, and smirked. “If Matty told you everything, you would not be here now.”

  Apparently, there did exist a trace of wit in that empty head. “Perhaps she did not find me in time to tell me.”

  “You cannot get around me.” Cecily looked smug as she made a stitch. “I am the very best of friends, and I shall say no more.”

  “Cecily.” Kathryn had almost reached the bench. She could not go much further without risk of being seen. “I am worried sick for my sister. I need to find her.”

  “She told me about you.” Cecily tutted and placed another stitch. “She told me that you would force her to marry that awful man. He is big and hairy and he frightens her. He wants her to have hundreds of children.” Cecily dropped her sewing into her lap and shuddered. “Hundreds.”

  “There was a misunderstanding.” Something moved around the side of the manor. Kathryn slunk back. “You know I love Matty. I would never force her to marry a horrible man.”

  Cecily resumed her humming.

  “Cecily—” A jab in her back nearly made Kathryn squeal. She whirled.

  Grimacing, Roger motioned her to return to him.

  Kathryn shook her head. She could get Cecily to spill her secrets. “She could be hurt, Cecily.” She used her most cajoling voice. “In danger.”

  Poke went Roger with the stick in her back.

  She grabbed the stick. “She could be exposed to all sorts of brigands and bad men.”

  Cecily shook her head. “She is fine.”

  Roger attempted another jab.

  Kathryn yanked the stick. “You cannot be sure of that, Cecily.”

  Roger held on.

  “But I am.” Cecily drew her needle through the cloth. She glanced at Kathryn with a sly smile. “And if you do not go away, I will call Ranulf.”

  Roger nearly tugged her off her feet and Kathryn dropped the stick and conceded.

  They retreated through the rose bushes, back to their hawthorn. Kathryn had been so sure she could get more out of Cecily. She stomped to Striker, needing to ride fast enough for the wind to snatch the curses from her mouth.

  “Where are you going?” Roger trailed her.

  “For a ride.” Kathryn put her foot in the stirrup.

  Roger grabbed her ankle. “Firstly, I have a fair idea of how wild you ran at Mandeville, but when you decided to follow me around the kingdom, you put yourself in my care.” He held up a finger to forestall her argument. “And secondly, that was very informative and well worth getting pricked on the ass.”

  “She knows more.” He could not have missed that.

  “Of course she does.” Roger nudged her ankle to the ground. “And now we know that she knows more and that gives us an advantage.”

  Hardly! Kathryn snorted. “What sort of advantage?”

  “That is a most disagreeable habit,” he said. “Snorting like a randy bull. Something else happened in that interaction that you are overlooking.”

  She nearly snorted again, but stopped herself. Randy bull, indeed. Did he not know he had no business speaking to a maiden of such matters? Not that she was a typical maiden, but still, a girl had to have some standards.

  Roger rested his hand on Striker’s pommel. “Cecily, although no deep thinker, also realizes she said too much. What would you do if you were keeping a secret for someone and you learned danger was heading their way?”

  “Oh.” He was right, brilliantly, blindingly, wonderfully right. “I would warn them, or try to send someone to warn them.”

  “Exactly.” He winked at her. “Now unless I misjudge the situation, Cecily will not be going herself to warn your sister.”

  “Nay, indeed.” Kathryn would pay good coin to see Ranulf if his precious sister jaunted off on her own. “But there could be hundreds of messengers leaving the manor.”

  “Hundreds?” Roger raised his brow at her.

  One day she would get some nails and fix that thing to his head.

  “At most, my father sends two or three messengers in the course of a normal day. We will have to pick the most likely suspect, and take a chance Cecily’s intelligence does not extend to a deeper level of subterfuge.” He tipped her chin up. “Now, would you rather go for a ride or have me find you something to eat?”

  A brilliant smile birthed in her belly and spread. “Food.”

  Chapter 10

  Kathryn might have to make Roger her favorite knight as well as her brother by marriage. Other than a brief tussle over her entering an inn, they passed the lengthening spring afternoon in perfect accord.

  By dint of threatening to tie her up, Roger entered the inn alone but returned laden with a bounty to make any girl’s heart sing. Fresh meat pies with golden, flaky pastry that melted in her mouth, and perfectly seasoned pork that exploded on her tongue in a medley of herbs, meat, parsnip, carrot and potato. A wheel of pungent soft goat cheese that he spread over oven-hot bread for her. God bless the man, he’d even found sweet peaches, which he pared for her and placed on her knee. The inn’s wine he judged as suspect, and so he added small beer to their feast.

  Kathryn had never enjoyed a meal more. Seated beneath the shade of an ancient willow, her bare feet dangling in the icy cold waters of a chattering stream. From where they sat, on a hill above the manor, they had a perfect vantage point.

  With her belly cheerfully full, she lay back and shut her eyes, and trusted Roger would keep watch. The chill of the past days had disappeared and the sun lay dappled warm on her. Matty would prattle about freckles, but Kathryn paid that no mind.

  “Why did she run?” Roger’s voice merged with the trill and chirp of a robin in the tree above her.

  “Matty?” Kathryn cracked he
r eyes open.

  Roger watched the manor, his harsh profile etched against a pale blue sky behind.

  “Matty is…” How to put a lifetime of knowledge into a few words that would not offend? “Delicate. Like a fragile flower. She is not made to weather harsh storms. My sister is a bloom to be sheltered in the protection of a mighty oak.” She’d answered his question rather well.

  Roger rested his elbows on his raised knees and chuckled. “The mighty oak being me?”

  “Indeed.” She grinned in response. “It is a perfect match.”

  “Other than the tiny detail that the lady fears me so much she risked the wrath of all by taking to the hills.” Roger shook his head, as if he could not quite believe it. “I do not understand what I could have said or done differently.”

  “I do not think it was all you.” The idea that Roger blamed himself twanged through her on a sharp sting. “Our father has a fearsome temper. It has made Matty timid.”

  “But not you.” His gaze swept her from crown to toe. “It has made a fighter of you.”

  “I was born that way.” She had always been thus. “Somebody has to shield my mother and sister from his anger.”

  “Why does that someone have to be you?”

  She pushed herself onto her elbows. His line of questioning made her uncomfortable. Aye, there had been times when taking a beating for Matty had rankled, or when lying awake from the pain of having stepped between her father and mother she had whispered that question in the dark recesses of her mind. The answer remained the same. “Who else?”

  Expression thoughtful, he cocked his head. “You are a woman of uncommon courage, Lady Kathryn of Mandeville.”

  Heat suffused her, even as the compliment pleased her. It made her voice brusque as she dropped onto her back and hid her face with her arms. “Watch the manor.”

  A breeze danced through the willow strands. Water gurgled and splashed the stones, and Kathryn drew deep on the crisp air.

  “What makes you so certain I am the right man for your sister?”

  Good Lord, he was garrulous today. “I just know.”

  “How?”