Roger's Bride

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by Sarah Hegger


  “Roger.” Kathryn pressed her forehead into his chest. “How can you say such things?”

  “Very easily.” He tightened his arms about her. With Kathryn in his arms he could do anything, conquer the world if need be. “I love you, Kathryn. From the first moment I saw you waving your sword around like a jester.”

  She stiffened. “You said I was a good swordsman.”

  “You are now.” He smirked. “After I had the training of you.”

  “You will pay for that.” She grinned at him.

  “I look forward to it.”

  Matty harrumphed. “I am standing right here.”

  Kathryn stared at him, all her heart on view for him, and he almost disgraced himself with a few happy tears. Fortunately, standing in a bathing towel with her sister throwing a fit three feet away helped maintain his manly decorum.

  “Go away, Matty.” Kathryn kissed him.

  * * * *

  Kathryn stood beside Roger as Digory entered the hall. Roger had sent for him, but only after he spent the night making up for time lost between them.

  Digory ran his hands over his slicked back hair, and adjusted his stiff new tunic. Stopping a good distance away from her and Roger, he executed a bow. “You sent for me, Sir Roger?”

  “Aye.” Roger waved the man to take a seat. “Relax, man, let us share a goblet together and talk about your future.”

  Digory rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Begging your pardon, Sir Roger, but I would prefer to hear your decision.” He swallowed. “Not that it will make any difference, mind. I mean to get my wife back.”

  “And I mean to make sure you get her back.” Roger sat and motioned Rob to bring the flagon and goblets. “Now sit.”

  Digory collapsed into the nearest chair. “You do?”

  “Aye.”

  He took the goblet from Rob. His hand shook and wine dribbled onto his clean chausses, but Digory barely noticed. “Matty is coming home with me?”

  “If you want her.” Roger shrugged.

  Kathryn discreetly trod on his toe as she took her seat beside him. There was no need to torture the man so.

  “I do.” Digory gulped his wine. “I really do.”

  Roger shook his head. “You are certain of that?”

  “Aye.”

  Kathryn ground her heel down.

  “Very well.” Roger shifted his foot. “But I have a piece of land, not too far from the keep that needs a good farmer. It is a large piece and requires a man of experience whom I can trust.”

  Digory glanced behind him, and then gaped at Roger. “You mean me?”

  “Aye he means you.” Kathryn could not leave the poor man dangling any longer. “And we would see to it that you had help on the land.”

  Digory’s goblet clattered to the ground. Wine spilled across the fresh rushes.

  “If you would, Rob.” Roger glowered at the squire.

  Rob huffed and bent to repair the damage.

  “I…” Digory stood and sat again. “I…aye. I could…aye.” He broke into a wide grin. “Aye, my lord, that would be perfect.”

  “My bailiff stands ready to show you the place,” Roger said. “Matty waits with him.”

  “Thank you.” Digory lunged and grabbed Roger’s hand. “Thank you, lord, I mean, Sir Roger. I will not fail you.” He spun about and ran from the hall.

  “Poor bastard,” Roger murmured. “He is going to need all the help he can get to deal with your sister.”

  Kathryn wished she could disagree, but Roger spoke true. Matty had ranted and raged most of the night against returning to Digory. Finally, Sir Arthur had stepped in and with a bellow to frighten bears, told her in no uncertain terms she would return to her husband and remain there. Or she could return to Mandeville.

  Lady Mary had added that Mathilda was welcome to visit Anglesea, on occasion, but she was no longer resident of the keep. Lady Rose had added her support.

  Resigned, with the air of a true martyr Matty had prepared herself for her departure. Barely recovering herself enough to thank Sir Arthur for the plate, cookware, and pewter he sent with her.

  Kathryn had tucked the bliauts Matty had worn into the chest with bed and bath linens.

  Garrett strolled into the hall wearing a smug grin. “I see you have dealt with that problem.”

  “Aye.” Roger stretched his legs. “Have you come to lay a new problem before me?”

  “Me? Would I do that?” Garrett pressed a fist to his chest. “Nay, I have come to hear your praise on a job excellently done.”

  Roger raised his brow.

  “Ask me what I have in my hand?” Garrett waved a piece of parchment at them.

  When Roger stayed silent, Kathryn leapt in. She really did want know what made Garrett smirk. “What do you have in your hand?”

  “I have a letter from Sir Royce’s priest.” Garrett smoothed the parchment. “In it he states that it would be best if your mother remains at Anglesea for the foreseeable future. Matters, and he does not elaborate, but matters make it impossible for her to return to Mandeville.”

  Roger snatched the parchment from Garrett.

  Kathryn sensed the air thick with secrets between the two of them, but she cared only for the news Garrett brought. “My mother is to stay here?”

  “It looks that way.” Garrett chuckled.

  “Huh!” Roger lounged in his chair. “I suppose you are taking full credit for this.”

  “Indeed.” Garrett grabbed a goblet from Rob. He raised it to Roger. “To a job well done.”

  Roger raised his goblet, his gaze warm as it found hers. “To a perfect ending.”

  Epilogue

  Roger left Kathryn fast asleep in their bed, and met with Newt and Garrett in the armory. The watch called the hour well past midnight.

  Newt stood dressed for travel.

  Garrett counted out gold coins and slid them into a bag. “Send for more if you need it.”

  “Generous with my money, are you not?” Roger clapped Garrett on the shoulder.

  Garrett chuckled. “Better yours than mine.”

  Newt had grown so much since they had sent him to squire for Henry, but he still appeared hopelessly young for the task on his shoulders. When Newt first suggested this, Roger had laughed. But the boy—man—wanted to do this. He still felt responsible for what had happened to Henry.

  Garrett had persuaded Roger to let him go. At times, a man needed to do what he must to set matters right. Garrett understood that better than most.

  “You are sure you want to do this?” Roger needed to hear him say it one more time.

  “I am.” Newt nodded. “I can find my way around any back alley anywhere. I have spent my life surviving on my wits, and now I will use that in the best way I can.” He shrugged. “I know the language and I know what to look for.” He weighed the gold bag in his hand before sliding it beneath his tunic. “I will try to get word back to you, but it may not be possible.”

  The holy land lay a long way away.

  “Go with God.” Roger gripped his shoulder.

  Newt met his stare. “If Sir Henry is to be found, I will find him. Or discover what has happened to him.”

  Roger stood beside Garrett as Newt strode out of the armory. “Do you think he can do it?”

  Garrett shrugged. “If anyone can, Newt can.”

  “Pray God you are right.” Roger had not told his parents of this venture. He did not want to spread false hope and break their hearts further. Beside Garrett, only he and Newt knew of the plan.

  Mother and Father would leave in the morning and go north to William and Alice. They left him and Kathryn in charge of Anglesea. Father even seemed a little excited to be going. Mother had lost her sparkle, and Roger dearly wished for her, that somewhere between her children and her grandchildren she would find some part of it again.

  Nurse refused to accompany them, stating vehemently that she would remain at Anglesea
and raise the next generation of children. Roger applied himself diligently to the task of providing Nurse with some charges.

  Bea had already started her campaign against Garrett for a daughter. Thus far, Garrett held firm. Not for a year or two and then they would revisit.

  Roger pitied the poor sod. He was clay in Bea’s hands. He knew of what he spoke. Kathryn could ask him for the moon and he would get it for her.

  Matty visited occasionally, and his respect for Digory grew with each visit. He knew not how the man tolerated such an insistent nag.

  Together he and Garrett strolled up the stairs.

  “It strikes me that I am in need of a chamberlain,” Roger said.

  Garrett glanced at him. “You have one in Henry.”

  “If Newt can find him, and if he returns.”

  “When.” Garrett drew him to a halt. “When Newt finds him, Henry will be your chamberlain.” He climbed the stairs. “But until then, I would be happy to keep you from making a dog’s ballocks of your demesne.”

  Be sure not to miss Book 3 in Sarah Hegger’s Sir Author’s Legacy series

  CONQUERING WILLIAM

  A practical marriage…

  He married for convenience, but William of Anglesea had hoped for more than piety from his new bride. Raised in a convent and thrice widowed, prim Lady Alice of Tarnwych seems like an innocent when it comes to the marriage bed—except for the tentative passion he senses in her touch, and sees in her eyes. It seems the bold knight has a new challenge in alluring Alice. But will seducing his intriguing wife lead to his downfall?

  An inconvenient desire…

  Everything about charming, free-spirited William defies the cloistered world Lady Alice comes from. Duty brings her to their bed—and a long-held hope for a child. Yet after three indifferent husbands, the desire William shows her awakens her own. Little did Alice expect the powerful feelings he would inspire, emotions that make her ready to abandon her rigid beliefs, and the only family she’s ever known—when William’s life is on the line….

  A Lyrical Originals novel on sale now!

  Learn more about Sarah at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/30580

  Chapter 1

  If she lived to be a hundred, Alice never wanted to attend another wedding, particularly not as the bride. The odor of roasting meats almost undid her, and she took a long draught from her water goblet. A bride did not vomit all over her wedding feast.

  Her father, face ruddy with wine, sidled up and pinched her side. “God’s teeth! Smile, you stupid wench. I have found you a good ‘un this time. Far better than a butter-face like you could hope for.” Goblet held high, he strode away, sprinkling wine across the heads of those he passed. His forced laughter grated on her ear.

  To her right, her groom drank from his goblet. In a deep, smooth voice, he murmured to his mother on his other side. As he shifted, his muscular thigh pinned her skirt to the bench.

  Loathe to draw his attention, Alice tugged the dull brown wool.

  He inclined his head with a smile, moved his leg, and freed her skirt. “I beg your pardon.”

  God save her from her beautiful husband. “No matter.”

  “May I serve you more water?” Eyes deeper blue than the lake beneath the castle twinkled at her. Candlelight gleamed off his dark hair and clung to his finely etched face.

  “Thank you, but nay.”

  With another smile, he turned back to his mother.

  She would prefer if he did not smile so much. Or did not smell so appealing. His subtle woodsy-sweet spice teased her every time he leaned nearer. He did quivering things to her innards. How could she hope to hold a man such as this? Atop the scarred table, their trencher sat between them, still full of mutton, gravy oozing into a brown puddle on the table. It couldn’t be worse. Her father had outdone himself this time. Three husbands he’d chosen for her and this one, by far, the most daunting.

  Aye, but William of Anglesea would make fine children. Tall, strong boys, broad and powerfully built like their sire, and girls to take after his mother and sisters. A child of her own. A downy head nestled against her breast, a tiny body cradled in her arms. She touched her palm to her flat, empty belly, and put her hand back on the table before anyone could notice. Even butter-faces had dreams.

  A jester before the dais capered about, ringing his bells and doing his best to enthuse the assembly with joviality. Poor man raised only titters of amusement. He must have come with her father for the wedding, for they had no resident jester at Tarnwych. A few determined souls cheered the jester on his way, and a band of minstrels took his place. The cheery pipes led the lutes into songs praising the bride’s beauty and the groom’s virility. Could they not spare her those? She’d wager the minstrels would change their songs when they left for the inn tonight.

  The bawdy ballad of Alice of Tarnwych and William of Anglesea. She made up her own words to the cheerful wedding song the minstrel band warbled.

  The peacock ruts with a dull, brown wren,

  A dull brown wren, a dull brown wren

  The peacock ruts with a dull, brown wren,

  Fa, la, la, la la.

  William, the peacock, with his striking looks and finery had stood beside her in the chapel, and the top of her head had only reached his shoulder. How the ladies in attendance had sighed as he dipped his dark head and recited his vows to her, the dull, little wren in her brown wool dress with her atrocious hair confined to a wimple. Both William’s sisters boasted glorious flaxen hair the hue of summer wheat, not brazen red. Willowy and graceful they glided in rich, silk slippers like butterflies, whilst she stomped around in her sensible clogs.

  Sister Julianna leant in and kept her voice low. “This is a bad business. This family is sown with wild, spoiled seed.”

  Then there was that. Whispers of the taint on Sir Arthur’s beautiful family carried even this far north.

  “It is time.” Gracious and lovely, Lady Mary of Anglesea rose with a sweet smile for Alice. “Shall we?”

  “Aye, let us get to the meat of the matter.” Smug grin eating his face, her father thumped the table.

  Rising too, Sir William offered his hand to her. Grip warm and sure, he helped her climb over the bench, then straightened her skirts for her. No fault could she find with her groom’s manners. As far as she could see, he had no faults at all. Men like William should marry their faultless equals. How different would this be if she looked like his mother and sisters? If she could enter his bed with her head held high, confident in her groom’s delight in her beauty.

  The other women stood with her. Lady Faye, flawless and serene in her pregnancy, golden hair framing her enchanting face. Her second new sister-in-law, Beatrice. Bea, they called her, and on occasion Sweet Bea. Not as fair as Faye, but her pretty countenance made more so by the lively march of humor across it.

  God mocked her by surrounding her with all this overbearing comeliness.

  “Come along, then.” Beatrice’s smile stretched false with forced good cheer. Nay, they no more welcomed this match for their brother than she did.

  Another wedding night and she would endure.

  * * * *

  Drained, her face stiff from forcing a smile, Alice tottered to the bed and perched on the edge.

  Sister Julianna shut the door on the determinedly cheery faces of Sir William’s womenfolk. “I would not have you suffer those women at such a time.” Sister Julianna slid the bolt home. “It is bad enough your father ties you in marriage to such a family.”

  “Lady Mary seemed most gracious.” William’s mother had made a point of wishing her well and welcoming her to the family, pressing a kiss on her cheek after the ceremony.

  “Poor woman.” Sister Julianna smoothed the front of her pristine scapula. “Beset by such a husband. Your father may have forgotten Sir Arthur took his army and marched on King John, but those of us who value loyalty have not.”

  “They say the n
ew king has forgiven him.” Even this far north, King John’s infamy had touched their lives. Long, hard winters had marked the late king’s reign.

  “King Henry is but a child. We must pray that the guidance of his guardian, the Holy Father, will prevail.” Sister Julianna crossed herself and raised her eyes to the roof. “We must pray that…abomination never takes up residence beneath this roof.”

  “Amen,” Alice whispered, because Sister would expect it. She hadn’t yet seen the child Sister called the Abomination of Anglesea, but she wasn’t sure any child should bear such a name. They had named him Mathew. Several years younger than his siblings, he must suffer a lonely existence with his brothers and sisters getting wed and moving away. If not for Sister Julianna, she would have wandered her father’s keep for days without a soul bidding her good morrow, or even playing with her. Sister did not play, but she had provided company for a motherless little girl. Certainly, her father found no favor in his only child, a plain and quiet disappointment to him all these years.

  “This is not your first wedding night.” Sister Julianna folded her hands before her.

  “Nay.” It was her fourth, and she was as nervous as a first-time bride. Sir William unsettled her, left her stomach tangled. He would enter this chamber and find her not like the women he had known before. The ladies liked William of Anglesea. Her father made sure to tell her so. All the loveliest ladies of the court flocked to him. Rubbing his huge hands together with glee, her father had informed her of her good fortune, congratulating himself on the rich prize he had landed.

  “You know what to expect.” Sister turned her about and worked on the lacings of her bliaut. “As is fitting, you must submit to your husband. It is the lot of women to suffer the bestial nature of men.”

  “Aye, Sister.” Alice clasped her shaking hands together. She had done this before, her virginity long gone. What came next would be uncomfortable, a little painful, but her husband would satisfy his lusts and leave her.

 

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