‘It’s possible you are not meant to be a nun.’
‘Eric, I don’t know. All I can say it that I have felt half-dead these past weeks. With your agreement, I should like to consider marrying you.’
He looked quizzically at her. ‘You think marrying me would bring you to life?’
With difficulty she met his gaze. ‘I don’t know, but I would like to consider it. We were friends when we were young, we liked each other.’
‘So we did.’
‘Marriages have been founded on far less. I think we should use the next few days to see if we might suit each other.’
He drew his head back. ‘You would be happy to become my wife?’
‘I am happy to consider it, but only if you want it. I would not wish to marry you if you did not want me.’
Slowly, he looked her up and down. His eyes were dark and something in his expression brought warmth to her cheeks. ‘Any man would surely be happy to call you his wife.’ His face lightened. He took his hand in his and carried it to his heart. ‘My lady, even if you hadn’t a penny to call your own, you would be a desirable woman.’ With a grin, he lifted her hand briefly to his lips. ‘Lady Rowena, you are beyond compare.’
A pang went through her. Naturally, Eric would want her for her lands. As would any man. Rowena had always known her true worth as a daughter and heiress to the County of Sainte-Colombe. No man of any sense would ever put her person before her lands. Ignoring the pang—it couldn’t be disappointment—she looked expectantly at him. She wanted to hear his agreement, she needed the words. ‘So, you would be happy to consider my father’s proposal?’
‘If we came to an agreement, would it be a real marriage?’ he asked, staring at her mouth.
Rowena shifted as an inexplicable wave of heat rushed through her. ‘It...it should be in name only, I think, certainly at the beginning.’
He grimaced.
‘Eric, it...it is a long time since we have seen each other. We have become as strangers.’
He cleared his throat and squeezed her fingers. ‘If we decide to marry all shall be as you wish, my lady, though I give you fair warning the idea of a marriage being in name only holds no appeal. A marriage is not considered valid until it is consummated.’
She bit her lip. ‘I do not feel ready for consummation, sir.’
‘I shall do my utmost to ensure you change your mind about that, and quickly. I want heirs.’
Cheeks burning, she nodded. ‘Eventually, of course. I understand the duties of a wife.’
‘We need to retreat,’ he murmured. Backing her into the shadows away from the guardrail, he grasped her other hand.
Rowena’s breath left her. She poised herself for flight as broad shoulders blocked her view of the hall. Eric’s scent—a heady mix of leather and horse, woodsmoke and man—filled her nostrils.
‘Relax, Rowena,’ he said softly. ‘If I may call you that?’
‘Please do.’ Managing to free one of her hands, Rowena had placed it against his gambeson with the vague intention of warding him off before she realised she wasn’t afraid. Her throat worked. ‘Wh...what are you doing?’
‘I am going to seal our betrothal agreement, I am going to kiss you.’
Her gaze flew to his mouth. It was smiling. It was extraordinarily attractive. How strange, she wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t dreading his kiss. ‘We are not actually betrothed, Eric,’ she said as steadily as she could. ‘We are merely considering becoming betrothed. We have to see if we think we will make a good match.’
His smile grew and his eyes danced. ‘As you say.’
He lowered his head, still smiling, and Rowena’s fingers curled into the leather of his gambeson.
Lightly, he kissed her forehead. Her stomach swooped. He kissed her temples equally lightly, and the muscles in her belly tightened. His musky male scent seemed familiar and something about it was sending messages to her brain, messages that spoke of safety. Of warmth. Of a haven in a world she had never understood.
And then his lips found hers and Rowena could no longer think. Here was warmth and gentleness. She heard flurried breathing, hers. There wasn’t enough air. Her heart was racing and her fingers were itching to slide into his hair.
Taking her by the waist, he pulled her flush against him. When she heard a very male murmur of satisfaction, she realised that she had gone up on her toes the better to reach him. Something about this man—his kiss, the careful way he was holding her—made her feel as though she wanted to climb into him. Gripped by shyness, she hid her face against his leather gambeson. What was wrong with her? She had been lost in that kiss. Lost. Not once had she thought of taking her vows. Not once had she thought of Mathieu.
‘Rowena.’ The humour in his voice eased both shyness and shame, and she opened her eyes to see him shaking his head at her. ‘Our marriage will be consummated quite soon, I believe.’
Frowning, she drew back. ‘Sir, just because we have shared a kiss does not mean I will marry you. We have not yet decided, we might discover we loathe each other.’
A dark brow lifted. He tucked a wayward curl back under her veil and crooked his arm at her. ‘As you say, my lady. Shall we go back into the hall and see what Helvise has found us in the way of refreshment?’
Chapter Four
That night, lying in bed in his bedchamber at the other end of the gallery, Eric couldn’t stop thinking about Rowena. Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe was here at Monfort and he had her father’s blessing—in a manner of speaking—to marry her.
Should he woo her? Since Rowena had confessed that she was prepared to consider him as her husband, he would be mad not to at least try and make her like him. If he courted her, if he gave her more reasons to want him as her husband, well, that could only count in his favour. He had hoped to marry some day. Why not Rowena?
Rowena wouldn’t necessarily be a biddable wife. Her privileged upbringing guaranteed that, not to mention that she had her father’s pride. Nor was Eric about to delude himself that she loved him, which made making her like him even more crucial. He must ensure that he made it impossible for her to refuse him. Such a chance would never come his way again.
Marriage to Rowena would give him the elusive sense of belonging he’d ached for ever since he’d stood shivering outside the Jutigny gate. He would have a family, a family he knew and understood. And maybe, just maybe, he’d have someone to stand at his shoulder when insults concerning his humble birth were hurled his way. He’d learned to stand up for himself, of course, and that had strengthened him, but it would be good to know he was no longer alone. Not to mention that he’d have the security of land in Champagne as well as in Sainte-Colombe. What a gift that would be.
Eric would be the first to admit that the events of the last couple of days had left him reeling. Lord Faramus’s request had been so unexpected. Not only that, Eric had conflicting feelings about Rowena herself. He wanted her in the basest, most earthy of ways. With her delicate body, forget-me-not-coloured eyes and flowing golden hair, she was the personification of all that was feminine. In his mind, Eric conjured her image and smiled into the dark. She was such a fragile-looking creature.
However, he wasn’t blind to her nature—that apparent fragility masked the most stubborn of wills. Rowena was strong enough to pit herself against her father. Witness her refusal to marry Lord Gawain; witness her using the convent as a refuge. She was also clever enough to know when she needed to back down. The woman had pride, but she was too sensible to allow it to trap her in the convent till the end of her days.
Dieu merci, thank God, it seemed she was prepared to change her mind about becoming a nun. He couldn’t wait to see her lose some of that aloofness.
Dieu merci, she was prepared to consider him as her husband. He wanted to be the one to unravel that repressive golden braid, he wanted the right
to run his fingers through those silken strands that smelt like a summer meadow.
Shifting on the bed, Eric put his hands behind his head.
Dieu merci, she’d grown so pretty. The trouble was that just looking at her had his thoughts in a tangle. He wanted Rowena and he wanted to belong, two desires that were twisted together so tightly there was no separating them. Marriage to Rowena would give him both of those things.
He let out an exasperated sigh. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him. That didn’t matter, what mattered was that he must make her like him. If he married her and their marriage wasn’t to be blessed with love, so be it, few marriages were. He would, however, do his best to ensure that it would be harmonious. It would be a success.
He had passed the first hurdle, she had agreed to consider him as a husband. He was pretty certain that she liked him, he would build on that. It would be worth his while to set everything aside for the next few days and court her. Properly.
Remembering her skittishness concerning consummation, he frowned into the gloom and prayed her reluctance didn’t go deep. Surely she had learned that from the nuns? He must show her she had nothing to fear. He would enjoy exploring the carnal aspects of marriage with Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. If that kiss had been anything to go by, she was more than ready to begin.
Mon Dieu, if he played this right, he might soon have a willing wife in this bed.
* * *
In the bedchamber on the other side of the minstrel’s gallery, a single candle glowed on a wall sconce. Rowena was also finding sleep elusive, although for very different reasons. Helvise wasn’t proving to be a very biddable maidservant. In truth, she was being so difficult that Rowena could only conclude that she had taken a strong dislike to her. Helvise was presently lying on a simple bedroll beside her bed, despite all Rowena’s attempts to make her swap places. Leaning up on her elbow, Rowena frowned down at her. It wasn’t that Helvise had actually disobeyed her, but...
‘Helvise?’
Helvise’s pallet rustled. Unlike Rowena’s mattress which was filled with down, the bedroll they had found for Helvise was stuffed with straw and Rowena felt guilty. There was so little room in the chamber that in order to fit the bedroll in, half of it had been shoved under her bed. The result was that Helvise was squashed into a corner and the woman was great with child. She ought to be using the proper bed.
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘I cannot sleep.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, my lady.’
‘It is your fault I cannot sleep.’
‘My lady?’
‘You should not be sleeping on that lumpy pallet.’
‘It’s my mattress and I’m used to it.’
‘Nevertheless, I insist you change places.’
‘My lady, it wouldn’t be right. Sir Eric would be most displeased.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Helvise, Sir Eric need not know. I won’t tell him.’ Rowena made an exasperated sound and flung back her bedcovers. ‘You are with child and you need a good night’s sleep. I insist we swap places.’
There was more rustling as Helvise sat up. ‘Please, my lady, you must keep the bed.’
‘I will not.’ Pushing to her feet, Rowena caught Helvise by the hand and half-pulled and half-pushed, manoeuvring her on to the bed. ‘Lie down and go to sleep. If you do not, I shall be forced to tell Sir Eric that you are unsatisfactory as a maid.’
Helvise bit her lip and Rowena suppressed a twinge of guilt. Her last comment had been a low blow. Helvise’s manner had been distant all evening, it was plain she resented acting as Rowena’s maidservant, but it was equally plain that whatever Helvise thought about her new role, she was anxious to please Eric. Rowena didn’t like to think about the implications of that.
Helvise wrestled with the bedclothes, tugging off the top sheet which she offered to Rowena. ‘Very well, my lady, but you must use this linen. Yesterday Sir Eric sent someone into Provins to buy it especially for you.’
Pleased that she had at last brought an end to the argument, Rowena accepted the sheet and thumped and pummelled the worst of the lumps into submission. ‘Goodnight, Helvise.’
‘Goodnight, my lady.’
Helvise’s voice was so mournful, it struck Rowena that perhaps she was misjudging her. She had jumped to the conclusion that Helvise disliked her, she could be wrong. It was obvious that Helvise was deeply unhappy.
As Rowena closed her eyes she resolved that in the morning she would find out why. Rolling on to her side, her fingers curled into a fist. She willed them to relax. She might not like the answer, but she had to know. Who was the father of Helvise’s child? If it wasn’t Eric, who was it? What had happened to him? Why was Helvise on her own?
* * *
Rowena was in the habit of rising early and she and Helvise went down to the hall to break their fast shortly after dawn. A number of servants and soldiers were ahead of them. Rowena knew a few of them by name already.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Yder.’
‘Good morning, my lady.’
Exchanging smiles and greetings with Eric’s household, Rowena took the place she had taken last night. Eric’s seat was empty, neither he nor his squire were in the hall.
‘Where’s Sir Eric?’ she asked.
A serving woman Rowena remembered as being called Pascale drifted over with a basket of loaves. ‘Sir Eric’s in the stables. Would you care for some bread, my lady?’ With a smile, Pascale offered her the basket.
‘Thank you, Pascale.’
Instead of turning away when Rowena had taken her bread, Pascale dipped into the basket herself and held out a posy of violets tied with green ribbon. ‘For you, my lady, from Sir Eric.’
Conscious of Helvise’s mournful gaze and Sergeant Yder’s wry grin, Rowena felt herself flush as she took the violets. ‘Thank you, they are lovely.’ The flowers trembled as she set them down next to her bread. No one had given her flowers before. Even though she knew Eric had made the gesture to win her over, it was oddly touching.
‘Sir Eric said that if you would care for a morning ride, my lady, he would be delighted to escort you,’ Pascale added. ‘When you have broken your fast, you will find him in the stables.’
* * *
Eric and Alard were talking in the yard when she emerged. Two horses—Rowena was pleased to see that Lily was one of them—had their reins looped round a ring in the wall.
‘The violets are lovely,’ Rowena said, lifting her skirts clear of some straw as she came across. ‘Thank you.’
Eric swept her a bow. ‘It is my pleasure. You would care to ride this morning?’
‘I would love to.’
Eric ran his gaze over her, frowning. ‘Alard, go and ask Helvise to fetch Lady Rowena’s cloak, will you? There’s quite a breeze.’
As Alard loped back towards the manor, Rowena went over to stroke Lily’s nose. The mare whickered in greeting. ‘I am glad you didn’t leave Lily behind,’ she said. ‘I would miss her.’
‘I know. You always did love your horses.’
Eric came to stand next to her, and once again Rowena was struck by his height, she found it slightly daunting. As a young man he’d been tall and lanky. He’d put on a lot of muscle since then, he looked so strong. Would he want to dominate her as her father dominated her mother? Then he gave her an easy smile and she glimpsed the friend that he had been and her fear dissolved.
‘You should have let me ride Lily on the way here,’ she said. ‘It would have been more comfortable for you.’
Firmly, he shook his head. ‘You might have galloped off.’ His eyes danced as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘I never thought to be asked to guard a gem as precious as you, I couldn’t risk losing you.’
Slowly, green eyes watching her face, Eric turned
her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. Rowena’s mouth went dry.
‘Sir, please.’ Embarrassed, Rowena tugged her hand free. Saints, what was wrong with her? It seemed the man had but to touch her and she felt as though she was melting. Mathieu had never made her feel like that.
Eric’s gaze lingered on her mouth. ‘Besides, I liked having you ride with me. It was much more fun with you in my arms.’ He stepped closer and leaned in to whisper, ‘We could try it again today.’
Rowena caught one of the grooms grinning her way and stepped back smartly. ‘I think not.’
‘Pity.’
Rowena backed into Lily. Eric’s shameless flirting was making it hard to breathe. ‘Sir, you overwhelm me. We have not yet agreed we will actually marry. We should renew our acquaintance first.’
He drew back, expression sobering. ‘My apologies.’ He turned to his horse to check the girth and Rowena was once again able to breathe. ‘I pray you will agree. Rowena, I swear that if you accept me, I shall do my utmost to make a good husband.’
Rowena gripped Lily’s bridle. She couldn’t help thinking about Helvise and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him whether he considered being a faithful husband was a necessary part of marriage, but she said nothing. It was far too leading a question and their renewed acquaintance was of too short a duration for her to risk posing it. She wished she knew the answer though, because she really thought she could marry him. This was Eric, after all. Except, a sneaking fear lingered, she didn’t want to become betrothed to a man who already had a lover. She had done it once before and, although her heart hadn’t been engaged, it had caused no end of trouble.
Spirits sinking, she stared at Eric. She didn’t think she could marry him if she had to share him. Her pulse speeded up. Apart from his tendency to flirt with every woman he met, the idea of marrying him was becoming more alluring by the moment.
Alard appeared at the head of the steps, her cloak over his arm. ‘Here you are, my lady,’ he said, hurrying over. ‘I brought your gloves too.’
Eric intercepted him and took them from him. ‘Thank you. Alard, please open the gates.’
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