Lord of Legend

by Charlene Cross

  A frown crept across Chandra’s brow. “Are you saying I should just accept what is to come? That I should yield to the king’s wishes and those of my soon-to-be-husband?”

  “What are their wishes?”

  “I’ve been ordered to produce an heir or at least become pregnant before a full year turns after saying our nuptials.”

  “And you oppose this?”

  “Should I not?”

  “As a woman and a wife, not to mention a subject of the Crown, what other option do you have?”

  Chandra scrutinized Winnie. “None,” she admitted finally.

  “Precisely,” Winnie replied. “The outcome remains the same. You and Master Aleck are to be married. Out of marriage comes children. It is a fact of life.”

  “But I don’t love him,” Chandra insisted.

  “Do you believe it is a prerequisite before having knowledge of each other?” Winnie asked bluntly, and Chandra blushed. “If that were so, my dear, half of all marriages would never be consummated. Possibly more. I do not speak simply of the nobility. To be certain, with them marriages are made to combine wealth and power. Love has nothing to do with the couple’s joining. Still, people of lesser circumstances are wedded without the benefit of love.

  “When my Felix and I were first married, we had known each other only a few short weeks. I was the eldest of six girls. Times were not the best in my family. Food was scarce, my mother was ill. So when Felix offered for my hand, my father insisted that I marry. I did so simply to ease the burden that the others carried. It wasn’t until I was expecting our third child that I realized I had grown to like Felix Marlowe. By the time I’d given birth to my sixth and last, I was quite fond of the man. Were anything to happen to him now, I don’t know if I’d survive without him, simply because I love him so. To say you do not love Master Aleck now does not mean you will not love him in the future.”

  “Your story is much like a fairy tale,” Chandra said, “but your husband did not murder your cousin. There was hope for you both. For us, there is none.”

  “You use the word murder most freely. Did Master Aleck stalk your cousin and slay him in the shadows?” Winnie waited, but Chandra didn’t respond. “If so, then yes, I would call it murder. However, if, as I was told, Master Aleck sought to defend himself against another and the young man vaulted unexpectedly into the middle of the fray, Master Aleck’s blade striking him inadvertently, I would say your cousin’s death was a mischance, unintentional and without design or malice. Master Aleck suffers because of what happened. This I know. Were he able to change it, he would. Yet you seem unwilling to forgive him. Why is that?”

  Chandra said nothing. Unable to hold Winnie’s gaze, she looked away.

  “Maybe it is not my affair,” Winnie said, rising from the bed, “but in my opinion, you are avoiding the truth. You conveniently hide behind your cousin’s death as you would a shield. I think it is time you looked inside and discovered why you are compelled to do so.”

  Long after Winnie had helped Chandra out of her dress and retired to the small adjoining room, Chandra ruminated over what the woman had said. The truth? She had avoided it, but no longer could. She faced it fully, and Chandra felt even more torn than before. Caught between loyalty and what someday might very well be called love, if it were given time to blossom, she found herself at an impasse.

  She was a Scot, chief of her clan. Strength, allegiance, duty were expected of her. She could give no less. As The Morgan of Morgan, she had to think of her kinsmen first, herself last. So much was expected of her, so much lay on her shoulders. To be a woman, one imbued with the normal hopes, dreams, and desires of her gender, figured not at all. Especially if, as a woman, the man she wanted was English. To admit candidly that she cared for Alexander Hawke meant she would be ostracized. Because she wished to remain head of her clan, she’d kept her feelings secret—even from herself—and had done so from the moment his arresting blue eyes had first looked into her own. That was why she’d hidden behind Devin’s death, why she used it as a shield, why she would continue to do so. How else could she keep the man she desired at bay? He was, after all, forbidden to her.

  Now that she was being forced to marry him—the Sassenach who’d invaded their lands, killed one of their own, and abducted their chief—would her clan see her as a traitor? Or would they recognize that she’d been powerless and excuse her for what she could not control? Their king had ordered them wedded, had he not? Chandra counted on her clan’s understanding; but to have it, she must remain constant and true. To them, the Sassenach was an enemy; therefore, he was hers also. If only it could be otherwise. But, alas, it could not.

  Knowing she had little choice but to forever deny what she felt, for her loyalty belonged first to her clan, she tucked the truth away again, disavowing she’d ever discovered it at all. Yes, they would wed. Yes, they would come together as man and wife. And yes, she would give him an heir. But she could never give him her heart. At least, not openly.

  On a heavy sigh, Chandra slipped beneath the covers of her bed. Sleep came quickly, and she was carried north to the place of her birth where she felt safe, protected. From the hill opposite Castle Lochlaigh, she viewed her home. There, above the fortress, circled the winged hunter. Patient and silent, the great soaring bird searched for its vulnerable prey. Not even in her dreams could she escape the legend. He was always with her, as he always would be, that masterful hawk forever in control of her destiny.

  Chandra’s cold fingers rested on Aleck’s forearm as he led her from the chapel. The ceremony completed, the service having been read from the Book of Common Prayer, the wedding procession wound its way to the banqueting hall and the feast that awaited them. Certain her legs would give way, Chandra found herself leaning against her new husband. Embarrassed by her sudden lack of vigor, she sought to stand alone, but her knees wobbled uncontrollably. Without his support, she was unable to take another step. She wondered if this would be the way of their marriage: she forever relying on his strength to get her through the days to come.

  Having depended upon herself for so long, she balked at such a notion. No man would hold rule over her, she vowed silently. Then she was mindful that when she’d pledged her troth to Alexander Hawke, she’d waived her freedom of choice. He was her husband, and by that position alone he retained supremacy over her. She had to obey him in all things. A distressed groan slipped through her lips, for Chandra just fully understood what she’d relinquished. Why had she consented to this marriage? Being confined to the Tower would probably have been less restrictive. There she’d at least have kept some dominion over herself, her cell functioning as her own tiny kingdom for all the years of her imprisonment.

  “Wishing you’d chosen another course?” Aleck asked, leaning close to her ear. He drank in the sight of her. Clothed in a blue satin gown richly embroidered with silver thread; her long hair flowing to her waist, which, on her wedding day, marked her virginity; she was nothing less than stunning. However, a thick ribbon of black crepe was wound around each slender arm, detracting from her otherwise flawless appearance. Viewing the ugly wrappings, Aleck became annoyed. “Is it Devin’s loss or the loss of your freedom that you mourn?” She didn’t respond to either question. Aleck studied her carefully. “Were I to venture a guess, I’d say it was the latter. Besides wearing black, mutiny shines in your eyes. ’Tis obvious you are making some sort of statement.”

  Chandra shot him a hard look. “Well, you are wrong,” she lied, although her show of mourning was indeed her way of being rebellious.

  Aleck’s eyebrow arched. “Do I also err when I submit that you now wish you’d chosen confinement in the Tower instead of marriage to me?”

  “No, you don’t err. I’ll not deny the Tower carries greater appeal. Had I a clearer head, I would have told James that.”

  They had passed through the intricate mazes of galleries and courtyards to stand at the entry to the hall where the feast was set. Aleck smiled down on her. �
��But, alas, our sovereign never heard those words, and now it is too late. Tsk, tsk. You are married and naught can change it,” Aleck teased; then he chuckled and winked. “You’ll soon change your mind as to which you prefer, little one.” Her hand came away from where it rested atop his arm, his own fingers lifting it, then his lips brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “Especially since we have not yet shared a bed.”

  At the touch of his lips, fire shot up Chandra’s arm. With his words, her breath caught in her chest. Then, as his arresting eyes met hers, glinting in the most tantalizing manner over her hand held a mere whisper from his sensuous mouth, giddiness overtook her. Unable to hold his gaze and still retain her sanity, Chandra quickly looked away. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she entered the hall, her legs less steady than before. The sensation unnerved her. It was as though she’d sipped too much wine, though she hadn’t taken a drop. Intoxicated—that was how Alexander Hawke made her feel. Moaning softly, she wished he didn’t have that effect on her. How could she conceivably fight against his overpowering masculinity when finally they were alone? An impossibility, she decided. And it was so unfair.

  They were enemies, held nothing in common—yet they were now husband and wife. After the wedding feast, which had been prepared for what she assumed were an intimate few, he would take her to his bed. She couldn’t deny being drawn to him. His attraction was overwhelming. No woman appeared able to resist him. Although she tried to mask it behind a motherly sternness, even Winnie wasn’t immune to his captivating ways. Yet Chandra worried whether she could give herself to him without being continually attacked by feelings of remorse.

  All during the ceremony she’d thought of her clan. Betrayer! Whore! Slut! Those were the words she’d heard, and had nearly repeated one of them while uttering her vows. Thank goodness she’d caught herself prior to its having slipped through her lips, saving herself much embarrassment. She dreaded what awaited her once the feast ended and they retired to his room. She’d promised herself that she would remain true to her clan—but in the end, who would actually hold her heart? Her family? Or, as Devin had titled him, her lord of legend? Her legs wobbling uncontrollably, she felt forlornly certain it would somehow be the latter. Betrayer!

  A strong hand settled at her waist, and its owner guided her to the head table. “Thank you,” she whispered, slipping into her chair.

  “My pleasure,” Aleck replied, seating himself.

  Chandra’s gaze turned to him. Arrayed splendidly in black and silver, her new husband was, as always, most handsome. She wondered why he appeared so relaxed. Never had he objected to being forced to wed. It was as though he welcomed the loss of his freedom—if, indeed, he’d lost it at all. The Lady Emory, she’d noted, had approached him on more than one occasion over these last several days. What words had passed between them, Chandra couldn’t say, for she’d always been too far away to hear. For some reason, it vexed her that his former mistress—if she was his former mistress, as Winnie had assured Chandra—would take such blatant liberties in the public eye. At Lord Montbourne’s betrothal ceremony, too! Watching him still, Chandra considered what role she was meant to play in their marriage. Besides that of breeder, was she expected to serve in any way at all?

  While Chandra studied him, Aleck in turn surveyed her. “By your frown, I’d say something troubles you. Dare I ask what it is?”

  The sound of his voice snapped Chandra from her trance. “Nothing troubles me,” she said, and her attention fell to her hands, clasped in her lap.

  “Look at me, Chandra,” Aleck said. When she continued to view her hands, he captured her face, gentle fingers nudging it toward him until she looked up. “Do not hold your feelings from me. If something gives you worry, tell me.”

  Briefly she searched his eyes. Wondrous, she thought. And compelling. Feeling as though she were sinking into those mystical blue orbs, she blinked. “I was merely thinking that you’ve managed to take all this—the betrothal, our wedding—quite well. I was just wondering why?”

  Aleck bit back a grin. “Do you wish me to throw a tantrum? If so, I’ll attempt it, here and now.”

  Stunned, Chandra watched as he started to rise from his chair, drawing a deep breath as though he thought to shout down the rafters. Immediately her hand caught his arm. “Sit,” she commanded in a harsh whisper, then glanced around her. “’Tis not the place to make a spectacle of yourself. Nor of me.”

  A chuckle escaped him as he fell back into his seat. “Already you sound like a wife. You give orders well.”

  “Only when necessary,” she responded, then looked out over the hall. The “intimate few” that Aleck had said were invited had grown to nearly two hundred guests. “Are all these your friends?” she asked, noting there were not enough places set at the tables for the crowd.

  “The original list was one-quarter this size. ’Tis known that these things have a way of getting out of hand. In our case, I suppose everyone is eager to see the woman who downed the great Aleck Hawke, the man who insisted he’d not remarry.”

  Chandra studied him intently. “If, as you say, you were so set against remarrying, why did you not object to our being forced to wed? I don’t understand you.”

  “Sweet wife, you are far more appealing than the Tower. Let it rest at that.”

  His wife’s next words died in her throat as several people rushed toward the dais, offering their congratulations. For the moment, Aleck was saved further explanation. He watched Chandra converse with an elderly countess whose name had slipped Aleck’s mind, and wondered what he’d tell her. The fact was, he’d offered no objection to James’s command simply because he didn’t disfavor having the Lady Lochlaigh as his wife. How would she understand such a justification when he barely understood it himself? Whether it was to appease his own guilt, or from an overwhelming need to protect her, or something else entirely, he couldn’t say. But he wanted her. It was possible that he desired her because she posed a challenge, for he knew she didn’t want him. Whatever it was, she was now his. So she would remain.

  More and more of the guests, invited or not, came forward. As the bride and groom accepted their greetings and well-wishes, Chandra felt a bit out of place. The women who were close to Aleck’s age or younger inspected Chandra carefully, apparently searching out all her flaws. Their words were friendly, but she suspected that after the lot of them had departed, they would all gather elsewhere to discuss what, in their estimation, the new Countess of Montbourne lacked. Only a few of the female well-wishers were genuine in offering their congratulations, but Chandra noted that these women were generally elderly and had by now lost all interest in the male gender, their own husbands included.

  While several young women flirted shamelessly with Aleck, possibly trying to see if his bride was the jealous sort, Chandra stared out at the sea of faces. A sadness encompassed her, for she knew none of these people. Never had she thought she’d share what should be the most memorable day of her life with strangers. Then again, she’d never thought she would be forced to marry Aleck Hawke. Fate, she concluded, didn’t always cooperate with one’s own wishes.

  As her gaze swept the hall, Chandra spotted a familiar face. Lord Whitfield lazed against a column at the room’s rear, his attention apparently trained on the head table. She wondered about Aleck’s response when he learned his cousin was in attendance. Then the Lady Emory came into view. Stopping beside Jason, she spoke to him briefly. He seemed to shrug, then pushed away from the column. Offering her his arm, Jason guided the woman forward, and Chandra grasped that they were coming toward Aleck and herself.

  “The bastard is certainly bold.”

  Hearing Aleck’s words, Chandra’s head swung round. “I could say the same for your mistress. Or was she part of your original guest list?”

  “Former mistress,” Aleck pronounced, his eyes still on the pair. “The Lady Emory no longer holds my affections. And, no, she’s as much an interloper as my cousin.”

  The Lady Emory no long
er holds my affections. But he must have loved her once, Chandra thought, watching the woman as she gracefully made her way toward the table. The Lady Emory was undeniably stunning. Knowing the two had shared the most intimate relationship possible, Chandra couldn’t help feeling somewhat inferior, she lacked her rival’s sophistication and experience, as well as the Lady Emory’s great beauty. Because of her less remarkable features, along with her naiveté, Chandra felt certain the rather roguish Lord Montbourne would be very disappointed in his new bride. Then she wondered who had actually ended the affair. Her husband? Or the Lady Emory?

  “Cousin,” Jason greeted Aleck, drawing Chandra’s attention. He and Felicia stood in front of the table. “You look rather glum for a man who has just captured the loveliest maiden in the land. Or is it my presence that puts such a sour look on your face?” He bounded up onto the dais and perched a hip on the table’s edge. “Not to worry. I’ll soon retreat, as will the charming Felicia. We just wanted to wish you our best.”

  “Best? I cannot imagine there being such a thing with you, Whitfield,” Aleck said, his tone unfriendly. “Nevertheless, offer your congratulations, then remove your backside from the damask. You’re wrinkling it.”

  Undaunted, Jason smiled. “Tsk, tsk, cousin. I do hope your mood lightens, lest you frighten your bride.” He turned to Chandra. “Your hand, milady,” he commanded. Palm up, he wiggled his fingers; Chandra’s hand came away from her lap and settled into Jason’s. With, a wink and a smile, he lifted it to his lips. As his kiss fell on the backs of her fingers, he saw his cousin stiffen. “I have a gift for milady,” he said, pulling back. He turned Chandra’s palm upward. From his free hand dangled a gold chain adorned with a pendant dotted with emeralds, a smaller replica of the one Aleck wore. He dropped it into her hand, pressing her fingers around it. “’Twas our grandmother’s,” he said, “made especially for her and given to her on her wedding day. It matches the family heirloom handed down from generation to generation. I believe the original hangs around your husband’s rather stiff neck. Now the more delicate version is yours. Along with my gift, I offer this wish: May your lives together be forever happy.”