by Denise Lynn
‘Gregor spoke with your father and Matilda yesterday. He requested the marriage take place today.’
She’d seen the three of them huddled in the alcove after the meal last night, but had assumed it had something to do with Warehaven, not her. No wonder he’d been so angry over her comment about having choices. She groaned and fell back down on her pallet. ‘I am a lack-witted fool.’
Her mother sighed. ‘What happened?’
‘We argued.’
‘About?’
‘About whether he had to speak to Father about marrying me or not. I didn’t know he already had. And then I said something about having choices.’
‘What choices were you speaking about?’
‘That’s what he asked.’ Her mother’s groan made her cover her eyes.
‘And your answer?’
‘One of them was that I could kill myself rather than marry him.’
‘Were you aware that is what his first wife did?’
She admitted, ‘Yes.’
‘Someone needs to take a switch to your backside, Beatrice. You are no longer a child and should know better. Speaking your mind is unacceptable when you intentionally hurt someone else with your words.’
‘I know that.’
‘Obviously you don’t.’
‘It probably won’t matter, since it is unlikely a wedding is going to take place.’
‘Oh, I’m certain there will be. I’m also certain it will not be pleasant. But trust me when I tell you that your wedding night is most likely going to be hell. This is not a good way for this marriage to start.’
‘I could claim sickness.’ She did feel rather ill.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. Get up. You created this mess, you are going to face it.’
Reluctantly she rose and let her mother and Almedha do whatever they needed to do to get her ready. She sat when told to sit and stood when told to stand. The entire time her mother’s scowl of disapproval never faltered. Which served to make Beatrice more nervous with each passing moment.
A maid entered carrying her green gown. The sleeves had been repaired and the gown cleaned. Lacings had been added to the back and the neck-line widened, so that it would easily slide off her shoulders and down her arms. The sleeves would still need a good tug to get the gown off, but at least a knife wouldn’t be needed.
While the matching slippers had also been cleaned, Beatrice knew the belt had been a lost cause.
Her mother reached under the bed and pulled out a paper-wrapped package. She removed the string holding the package closed and lifted out the finest chemise Beatrice had ever seen. It was so white and so thin that it appeared almost transparent when held up to the light. And was as soft as fur against her skin.
Once dressed, her mother walked around her, picking at the fabric of her gown here and there, tugging the neckline into place. ‘It needs a belt.’
She retrieved a small chest from the corner of the room and pulled a gold-woven girdle from the contents. ‘Here, try this.’
Almedha wrapped it about her waist and fastened the clasp at the back. ‘That seems fine.’
Once again her mother performed an inspection. This time she included Beatrice’s hair, which had been drawn back into her usual single plait. She undid the braid and finger combed the waves to spread them about her shoulders.
Beatrice picked at the strands which had fallen on to her gown. ‘Mother, I hate wearing my hair down. It gets into everything.’
‘One day won’t kill you.’ She went back to her jewel chest and found a thin braided-gold circlet which she placed over Beatrice’s head. ‘This will help hold your hair in place.’
When her mother once again went back to the chest, Beatrice cried, ‘No more. I feel overdressed as it is. Please, Mother, no more.’
To her relief her mother put a gold torque back into the chest. The last thing Beatrice wanted was something heavy around her neck. It would only make her feel as if she were being choked. Which, considering how she’d behaved last night, was a possibility.
Her father knocked once on the door before entering. ‘Is she ready?’
‘As ready as she’s going to be, yes.’
‘Good.’ He came over and took Beatrice’s hands in his. ‘I must warn you. The groom is in a surly mood.’
Her mother chortled. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
Honestly confused, her father said, ‘Neither can I considering this was his order.’
Beatrice explained, ‘He is surly because I said things I shouldn’t have last night.’
‘And can I safely assume your mother has sufficiently berated you?’
‘Yes.’
‘No,’ her mother answered at the same time.
‘Beatrice.’ Her father looked down at her. ‘Do you enjoy making things hard for yourself?’
The question didn’t need an answer, so she remained quiet.
‘Well, what’s done is done.’ He nodded at her mother and Almedha. ‘We will be down in a moment.’
Her mother came over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘It will work out. Have faith.’
Once the women had left the chamber, her father asked, ‘Are you certain he is who you want, Beatrice.’
She laughed softly. ‘It’s a little late to change my mind now.’
‘No. It isn’t. I can have you away from Warehaven and safely on your way to Dunstan, Montreau, or to one of your aunts in Wales before anyone knows you are gone.’
‘No, Father. I am not going to run. I angered him that is all.’
‘That man’s anger can get you hurt, child. Once you are wed there is nothing I can do to stay his hand short of killing him.’
She looked up at him. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t. Besides, how many times did you strike my mother, or even any of us, in anger?’
‘Never. How can you think to ask such a question?’
‘Gregor will not harm me either. He will be surly. He may ignore me until I want to scream just to get his attention. He may even shout or rage. But, Father, he will never harm me.’
‘Are you trying to convince me that David’s Wolf is kind?’
‘Was King Henry’s Executioner kind to those he cared for?’
Her father smiled and kissed her forehead. ‘Fair enough.’
He took her hand and placed a gold band in her palm. ‘For your husband’s hand.’
She closed her fingers over the ring. ‘Thank you.’
‘I wouldn’t tell him from where it came. At least not any time soon.’
Beatrice laughed. ‘He’s going to know it came from somewhere. But I doubt if he’ll ask.’
Her father shook his head and sighed sadly. ‘My baby.’
‘Don’t you start.’ She shook her finger at him. ‘If you cry I am lost.’
He sniffed and then extended his bent arm. ‘Ready?’
She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. ‘Yes.’
Her father led her down the stairs and across the Great Hall to the small family chapel. Gregor waited for her at the entrance.
Their exchange of vows was brief and to the point. He took her as his wife. She accepted him as her husband. The only time he touched her was to place the ring on her finger. It was the same for her, she touched him only when she placed the ring on his finger.
They entered the chapel together, side by side, but not touching, and knelt before the altar for a blessing from both Warehaven’s and Roul’s priests.
When he kissed her it was a quick peck of his lips to her cheek.
Beatrice fought to harden her heart against his obvious anger. This was not the wedding she’d dreamt of as a child. Today, a kind word or touch would have been welcome. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry. And she refused to beg
his forgiveness. Yes, she’d said terrible things, but she’d apologised. The only thing she could do now was wait out his anger, without saying anything further to send his anger soaring.
They left the chapel to share a morning meal in the Great Hall. He led her to the dais and pulled out a chair in the centre of the high table, leaning over her shoulder to whisper, ‘If you start to cry, I will leave.’
She couldn’t remember a more miserable meal and felt nothing but relief when it was over and she could leave her seat next to him to move about the hall. What she wanted to do was to escape to the wall for a few moments, but she knew that would be deemed inconsiderate and rude.
So she accepted congratulations and best wishes from people she didn’t know, faces she didn’t recognise through her fog of self-pity. She spent a few minutes talking with her aunt about things she forgot about the minute Matilda moved on to speak to others.
She found a seat on a bench that had been placed against the wall out of the throng of people who visited and laughed and drank as if this were some festive occasion.
The whole time she kept telling herself that this was her fault. She had no right to be angry at Gregor, but she was. And each time he laughed with, or smiled at, Lady Emelina, her anger grew until she had to clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking.
‘Still feeling sorry for yourself?’ her mother asked as she sat down next to her. ‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what?’ Beatrice was surprised by the venom in her own tone.
‘That, for one thing.’
Beatrice swallowed and tried again. ‘Stop what?’
‘That’s better. Now smile.’
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘It is easy. Loosen your jaw and curve the corners of your lips up towards the ceiling instead of the floor.’
She turned to face her mother and grinned like a sodden fool.
‘Well, that’s rather ugly. Try again.’
She laughed. ‘Mother, you have lost your wits.’
‘See. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Now for the hard part.’
Beatrice dreaded asking, but knew her mother wasn’t going to cease. ‘What?’
‘Take that softer tone, smile and that easy laugh and go join your husband.’
‘He doesn’t want me to.’
‘I didn’t ask you what he wanted. I told you to go join him.’ She leaned her shoulder against Beatrice’s. ‘He isn’t going to openly attack you on your wedding day with everyone watching. He is going to pretend that everything is wonderful. Trust me, the man knows his way around David and Matilda’s courts well enough to know when to put on a happy mask.’
Beatrice doubted if that was going to happen, but sitting here sulking was doing nothing more than adding heat to her anger. She rose, shook out her skirt, looked down at her mother and smiled. At her mother’s nod of approval, she turned and walked towards her husband and Lady Emelina.
Gregor saw her and frowned.
Beatrice hung on to her smile as if it had been carved in stone. She might be lacking in court experience, but she was determined to see this through as well as he and greeted people here and there as she crossed the hall. He wasn’t going to scare her off with a frown.
When she was close enough he extended his hand and pulled her to his side. Her mother had been correct, he was going to use his finest court manners.
She knew he wasn’t happy to see her in the least by the darkness of his eyes and the coldness of his touch.
This had been a mistake. His show only served to make her angrier. The simple fact that it was false and lacked any welcome or feeling whatsoever made her want to run from the keep. But he kept a tight hold on her hand where it rested on his arm. He knew she was far from happy with him and was determined to make her suffer more for her cruelty last night.
After a few minutes Matilda joined them. She, Gregor and Lady Emelina chatted about something that had happen at court, but before she left, she leaned over to whisper in Beatrice’s ear, ‘Stand strong, girl.’
Gregor looked down at her and she noticed that the hardness of his glare had lessened slightly. She smiled up at him and lightly squeezed his arm.
But when she looked back at Lady Emelina she met a calculating stare and realised that everyone had been wrong about this woman. While she might be betrothed to another, she wanted Gregor.
Beatrice squared her shoulders. The woman could want all she wished, it was never going to happen.
Gregor must have felt a change in her stance, because he looked down at her again, this time with that all-too-familiar winged eyebrow.
She reached up with her free hand and caressed his cheek, coaxing him to lean down for a kiss. Just before breaking the contact of their lips she moaned softly as if with regret.
By the winging of both his eyebrows she knew she’d taken this pretence a step too far. He now knew she was up to something and briefly narrowed his eyes before looking back at Lady Emelina.
When she returned her attention to Lady Emelina, the woman excused herself and walked away.
Gregor tightened his hand that covered hers. ‘What was that about?’
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘What?’
‘She is simply an acquaintance from Matilda’s court.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Her former betrothed thought to teach her a lesson by using force. When I happened upon them in the garden she was sobbing, begging him to stop.’
Beatrice knew the answer, but she still asked, ‘And you went to her rescue?’
‘Of course I did.’
He made a habit of defending the weak. It was a fine and noble trait, but it was also one that could gain him a knife in the back one day. For a man who was supposed to be a dangerous, frightening warrior, he certainly did seem to come to the aid of ladies in need quickly enough.
‘Who do you think she is?’
‘A woman who wants to be in your bed.’
He released her. ‘You have lost your wits. She is betrothed to another.’
‘I don’t care if she’s married to someone else. She wants in your bed and I promise you, that isn’t going to happen as long as I draw breath.’ Beatrice kept a tight rein on her temper and suggested, ‘If you think I am wrong, go after her. See what she does.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
She waved him away. ‘Go.’
‘You must be very sure of yourself to send me to another woman’s arms.’
‘Gregor, you are far too honourable to take another woman to your bed now. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want you to.’
He strode away without another word.
From behind her, her mother said, ‘That may not have been wise.’
‘If I know nothing else about Gregor, I know for a fact that had he possessed any desire to bed that woman he’d have said so.’
‘You can’t know that for certain.’
‘He’s made it clear that I’m not to ask him a question I don’t want an honest answer to.’
‘That should provide some interesting conversations.’
‘It has.’
After her mother left, Beatrice wandered around the hall for a while before Gregor finally returned, the darkness of his eyes bleak even for him.
He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
From the coolness of his touch she knew he did so for appearances’s sake and not for any desire for physical contact. ‘Well?’
‘You have taken your distrust of me and unfairly placed it on others. She was and always is the perfect lady. I don’t understand this sudden cruelty from you. It is not acceptable, Beatrice.’
She knew she hadn’t mistaken Lady Emelina’
s intent. He was either lying, or wouldn’t recognise a woman’s advances unless they hit him with a shield, knocked him out and dragged him off to bed.
She was amazed that a man with such dark good looks wasn’t well experienced at fending off female advances. Did he really believe that his reputation repulsed women? He might frighten girls. And while women might not wish marriage with David’s Wolf, they would be sorely tempted to taste the danger he presented. And to think he’d called her innocent.
She peered around him towards the lady in question and met the woman’s ice-filled, smirking glare. Beatrice’s first impression still held firm. However, it now appeared that Lady Emelina intended to make her look like the shrew.
Beatrice drew her focus back to Gregor. ‘I apologise if I was wrong.’
He leaned closer, keeping his voice low so those passing by wouldn’t hear, and said, ‘You need to practise your court face, my lady. You aren’t sorry for your accusation in the least. I know not what you’re thinking or planning, but this needs to stop now.’
She nodded in reply. He was right. This did need to stop. Now. And since he wasn’t going to put an end to it, she would.
‘Beatrice.’
His warning tone might have been more threatening had his breath against her ear not been so warm.
‘Of all the things you could worry about, I would think women chasing after me would be the last on your list. After all, they would rather kill themselves.’
He couldn’t have slapped her any harder had he physically used his hand. ‘Gregor...’ She’d found her voice too late. He had already walked away.
Beatrice chewed on her lower lip. She had to fix this. Somehow, she had to make him understand she’d not meant that awful thing about choosing death rather than marriage to him. She had spoken such cruel words only because she’d wanted to argue and had let it get too far out of control. It had been mean, childish and she’d never before in her entire life felt so guilty and ashamed of herself.
She was a married woman now, and needed to start acting like one, instead of like a child.
A chill raced up her spine, making the fine hairs on her neck rise and dragging her out of her thoughts. Beatrice looked up to see Lady Emelina’s calculating stare and satisfied smile as she clung to Gregor’s arm.