by Jackie Ivie
Her guardian had guaranteed Bessie wouldn’t need a spouse. She had no husband to please or obey. She had complete freedom, something unheard of. Oh, if only she’d had the sense to disobey the queen’s summons to court two months ago, none of this would have happened!
At least, it wouldn’t have happened to her. Lord Hildebrand might have lost his head, though. As comely as he was, that would have been an even worse shame.
Bessie sighed, and looked for any sign her new husband heard it.
He didn’t move, but that could mean anything. He was still gazing out the window, jounced occasionally from his pose. Bessie wondered what he was watching. The hills had been a pleasant sight, as were the fields and the overgrown wall the Ancients had built. It hadn’t kept her interest for long. She rather thought Devon wasn’t looking at any of it, either.
Perhaps she should ask him to draw the drape. That might force him to notice her. It would also make it difficult to see clearly. That did not worry her. He couldn’t pierce the loosely woven material she hid behind.
She wished for the dimness because it would make it harder for her to watch him.
Oh, my. Her new husband was a very handsome man. Sigh-worthy. She’d never looked this closely at him before. It had been forbidden. Sunlight cast his face into a perfectly sculpted silhouette and burnished his dark brown hair to a russet shade. It was difficult to swallow properly. Bessie looked him over surreptitiously, although there wasn’t any reason for concern. For all the attention he paid her, she could be openly staring.
He’d been wed to her as Lord Devon Francis Hildebrand, Earl of Hilde, High Sheriff of Devershire and vassal to the queen. While Bessie wasn’t surprised to hear he’d been lorded, thanks to her gossiping with Lady Bryant, she was surprised at the amount of land he’d been gifted.
Bessie’s eyes narrowed as she considered the man she’d sworn to cleave unto. He was a stunning fellow. But that was no surprise. The queen kept comely men at her side. Sir Francis Drake’s state portrait was just one example. Her Majesty didn’t favor ugly men. There was still no excuse for being unable to tear her eyes away from him.
This was foolish. She knew Devon Hildebrand was handsome. All the ladies whispered of it. But she’d never thought she’d get within hearing distance of him, let alone able to view him for what seemed like hours.
Bessie sighed again.
Her new husband was more than comely, he was a beautiful specimen. She’d have to give him that, even if his silence was starting to bother her. She opened her mouth to say something and stopped. It would take more bravery than she possessed to pierce the gloom he hid behind.
He probably had reason for such depression. He looked like he’d had a rough time of it since angering his monarch. He was wearing proper court attire, although it looked like an evening ensemble. Someone had hit him in the mouth too, if the bruised look of his lips was any indication. There was a tear in his hose below the knee, scuff marks on both elbows, and if she weren’t mistaken, dried blood dusting his lace collar.
For all the damage, he’d actually received a light sentence.
Dark curls covered his head, falling messily to his shoulders. Bessie watched as he tossed them aside and cupped his forehead. He probably suffered an ache in his head, too. That made her wonder again why he’d rather face the sunlight outside than the comfortable dimness of the carriage.
Or, at the very least, glance at his new wife.
Bessie cleared her throat. “May I call you...Devon?”
Vivid green eyes looked her way and she couldn’t prevent her gasp. She’d no idea he had such startling eyes.
“If you must,” he replied coldly.
Bessie had to calm the surprise overtaking her body as he turned back to the scenery. There was no reason for such a reaction. Anyone with vision knew Lord Hildebrand was handsome. Bessie hadn’t any idea he was this remarkable, though. No wonder Lady Bryant had whispered in such rapturous tones.
Thinking of Mirabelle made Bessie frown now. Hildebrand might be a beautiful man, but he showed little integrity and even less honor. She’d need to keep her mind on that, if the reaction in her breathing was any indication. She wondered if she dared speak to him again. The enigmatic look he’d given her wasn’t any help. She hadn’t known his eyes were as deep-green as emeralds, though. No whisper of it had reached her.
She took a deep breath. “I’m known as Bessie, but ’tis a name I’ve little liking for. I was christened Elizabeth. You may choose how you wish to address me...Devon.”
Saying his name made her voice catch again. He looked her way. Eyes like jewels, and just as hard, regarded her for several moments before he turned away again. In that amount of time, Bessie knew what the troubadours were referring to whenever they spoke of love.
Because it happened to her.
Just like that.
“If I must,” he replied.
Well. His reply showed he obviously wasn’t taken with her. That could be changed. Bessie frowned again as she wondered how she was supposed to go about it. After the horrid examples of manhood she’d been wed to, her new husband was like a god, and about as difficult to approach.
He shifted on the bench, drawing her gaze. Despite any sway and bounce of the carriage, he looked relaxed. Totally assured. Perfectly attired. She knew now the deep-green of his doublet exactly matched the shade of his eyes. The queen had a knack for such spectacles. His attire must have been her color scheme and design. Devon Hildebrand was a striking sight, from the green of his doublet, to the striped, black-and-green codpiece covering him.
Bessie flushed as she realized that had been intentional. The queen had an eye for beauty, and she knew how to dress a man for showing it off. Bessie swallowed before she choked. She’d best keep her thoughts where they belonged. She tried to counsel herself, but another part of her kept repeating that he was her husband. Hers. To look over at will, and mentally review anytime she wished.
Oh. She could grow fond of that.
He hadn’t grown a beard, which was surprising, for they were the style. Looking over the smooth surface of the cheek facing her, Bessie was rather glad he didn’t sport facial hair. It would mask his beauty.
Oh! This was amazing. What she’d not thought possible had actually happened to her!
She’d been wed to a man who was a delight on the senses. He had striking features, amazing coloring, and a deep voice. Looking him over, she couldn’t find one ugly piece of him. He had thick dark hair, a strong chin, and lengthy, well-muscled legs. She could only imagine what the hidden parts of him looked like.
“Sweet heaven!”
Bessie would have slapped her hands to her mouth to stop the words, but knew it was too late. She could tell he’d heard her, too, for he slid a sidelong glance at her.
She took a deep breath and started speaking before she lost her nerve. “Very well. Bessie it is, then. That is rather a shame. I would prefer Liza, or something romantic-sounding, had I the choice.”
He turned his head. This time, as he looked at her, the color of his eyes was difficult to see. It wasn’t due to any lack of light. It was because he’d narrowed his eyes and he had spectacularly long lashes, too.
“There’s nothing romantic about you.”
Bessie sucked in air, knowing he’d hear. It took her some moments to find her voice. “There’s no need for insults,” she replied.
“I mean no insult. I am stating fact. That is the least we can be with each other. Truthful. Honest. Yes?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Accept the consequences, then. You insist on speaking when I give every indication to leave me be. Very well, I shall speak. But you may not like what I say.”
“Oh. I dislike it already.”
A slight smile crossed his lips, although it could have been a smirk as easily. It was difficult to tell, as swollen as his lips were. “Perhaps you’ll grant me silence, then?”
“It wasn’t I that asked for your hand in m
arriage, my lord.”
Bessie thrust her chin out. She’d been told she was stubborn. It came along with the red hair she kept hidden. Her stubborn streak was something she regretted from time to time. Taunting her new husband could easily turn out to be one of those times.
“Think before you speak, Mistress. I will not be responsible for my words when I answer.”
“Do you have a problem with your hearing? I have pointed out the obvious and you avoid answering. I’ll repeat myself. Did you, or did you not, request my hand in wedlock this very day?”
“If I answer that, it will be another insult.”
“Oh. Insult away, my fine husband.”
“It was your hand, or my presence in the Tower. I’ve yet to decide the lesser evil.”
Bessie’s earlier thoughts turned to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed around the dryness. “Her Majesty did not purchase your company for your wits, did she? Don’t answer that. It’s painfully obvious. You haven’t any.”
He smiled crookedly this time. The swollen part of his upper lip curled as he did so, making it an ugly gesture. “I begin to think I should have chosen the Tower, after all.”
“Her Tower has little in creature comforts,” Bessie whispered.
“Creature comforts are the least of my troubles, Mistress. You ask what I shall call you, and there it is: Mistress. It’s an apt word, and helps mute the horror of my day.”
“The horror of your day? What of last night?”
“Certain experiences pale in comparison, I’m finding.”
An unpleasant shiver raced her back as she stared at her tightly clasped hands. Even seen through her white veil, her dress material was drab. She watched it shimmer with moisture she fought to contain. She didn’t say another word. If she did, he’d know he’d pained her.
“You shouldn’t ask for insults, if you can’t handle them.”
His softly spoken words brought her head up. Bessie didn’t want his pity. He should look to pitying himself first. He was the one being punished. Devon wasn’t looking her way, though. He was gazing out the window, again.
“You mistake my emotion, Lord Devon.”
“You wish more of my insults, then?”
“No. I was but remembering my own time in the Tower. I would have done anything for release. In fact, I did.”
“You’ve spent time in the Tower? For what? Sullying the beauty of court with your presence?”
Bessie’s lip dropped for a moment. It took another moment before she answered. “You demean me without reason. I would not sully things, even if I were plain.”
He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. I believe you are worse than plain, Mistress.”
“Do you base such a judgment on court gossip? You’ve not seen me. And in this light, it’s impossible to do so with accuracy.”
“Light cannot enhance what’s beyond redemption.”
“You’ve a sure picture for one with little knowledge. The gossips aren’t kind to one as disfavored as I have been. That is the true cause of my so-called plain image.”
“You wish me to believe you are a great beauty?”
Bessie was grateful the last of daylight was lighting his face. She wasn’t certain she could stand to look his way much longer. He may be the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but his character didn’t match. He’d have to learn there was more than one’s own reflection to beauty.
It was going to be her pleasure to teach it to him, too.
“You may believe what you wish, Devon. Your opinion means nothing to me. I was not sent to the Tower over my beauty, or lack, thereof. If you must know, I spent time there for fighting the queen’s choice of a bridegroom.”
“I am gratified to know of your leanings about it. That makes it odd you’d pursue a conversation of any kind with me.”
“It was not over you! Father in Heaven, but you are dim. I had no time to fight this marriage. I was sent to the Tower for not agreeing to wed Lord Bargerelle. The man was a brute and I was but nine. What gain would a union between us bring?”
“Probably more than ours does.”
“You’re wrong there, Devon. I shall try and explain. The queen is punishing you. Marriage to me is your penance. It may not be what you want, but marriage to me can bring you wealth beyond conception. If you ask...and I am willing.”
He chuckled. “Now, you’d have me think you’re a wealthy widow? Oh. Please. I have a bit of trouble imagining coin that would choose and purchase a gown such as you wear.”
“I did not purchase it.”
“Of course not, just as I did not buy what I wear. The queen put that material on your back as surely as she did this on mine.”
“If you would hear me out—”
“Hear you out? I’m surprised I’m still alive to listen.”
“Yes. That is a surprise. I’d suspected that your head would be forfeit, but see there? You have been saved for me.”
“I have been cast to the devil. That’s what has been done.”
“Well. I can certainly arrange that.”
“Do you speak of your ability to rid yourself of your husbands? I will see you sealed into a tower if you so much as start an incantation. You have my word on it.”
Bessie clucked her tongue. “Oh. I am a witch now, am I? Think that through, lad. Would a true witch have such an appearance? Although in faith, I’m not much to look upon dressed thusly, I’m not nearly as ugly as you seem to believe.”
“That word was put to use to describe you.”
Bessie smiled tightly behind her veil. She wondered why she bothered bandying words with him. It was clear he’d settled his opinion on her and nothing she could say would alter it. “Ah. I see the trouble here. You need maturing. Mayhap, when you’ve grown to manhood, you will think differently. A bit of growing allows a man to see beyond what he’s been...told.”
“Very few call me a youth.”
Bessie had to look away. It was difficult to insult him when all she could think of was how incredible he was. With the angry intent behind his expression, he looked every bit a man.
“Why, it’s obvious, my lord. You’ve yet to grow a beard. My guess is you don’t even need to shave. You have padded the shoulders of your doublet, your chest, and if I am not mistaken, even your codpiece. I look forward to the day when you are no longer in need of such artifice.”
He was silent for so long that Bessie had to look. At least, she’d stopped his viewing of the countryside. He wasn’t ignoring her. He was studying her with those intense, green eyes. She felt the flush through her breast as he continued to stare. As far as she could tell, he didn’t blink the entire time.
“Unfasten your headpiece,” he finally said.
“No.”
“You disobey already? And why, I wonder. Can it be that you shaved your head, Mistress? Or, worse? Has your hair grayed with age? Both would explain your use of full head covering, wouldn’t they?”
“I am a widow, remember?”
“Of more than a season. Oh. I grow weary of this. Your tongue speaks falsehoods and you insult me. Unfasten your veil.”
“No.”
“I can force you.”
He leaned forward.
“You are not man enough.”
The halt of the carriage saved her. Bessie had no illusions on that score. The intent was in those glacial, green eyes. She was shaking as the coachman opened the door.
“Begging your pardon, my fine lord and his lady, but ’tis nigh impossible to continue on this eve. I’ve orders to see you to your estate, but I was not told to ruin good horseflesh, too.”
The man’s insolent tone made Devon turn from Bessie.
“You are in need of a lesson on how to address your betters. Stand and await your instructions or I’ll see you whipped.”
“My betters? With orders ringing in my ears? I only regret that I didn’t have other chores today.”
“Oh. I’ve time to teach such a lesson.”
Bessie grabbed at Devon’s arm as he slid along his bench. “If I could be so bold?” she asked.
“You’ve taunted me enough for one day.” Devon glanced down to where she held him and then back at her.
“Think it through, my lord. Please. What the man says is truth. ’Tis impossible to travel in the dark.”
“There are lanterns mounted on each post. I saw to it, myself.”
She felt his forearm harden beneath her fingers as a tingle that raced along her skin. She nearly snatched her hand back. She knew a wife shouldn’t be arguing with her husband in front of a witness. A lorded gentleman shouldn’t be fighting like a peasant in the road, either, she told herself.
“Please? Lanterns can’t save the horses, and we need them.”
“If you’ve a suggestion, my lady, I’d listen.”
Bessie turned to the driver. She knew Devon watched with those green eyes. It was becoming clear to her he was as spoiled as he was handsome. She was beginning to think he was her punishment, and not the other way around. She couldn’t think of one thing she’d done to deserve it, though.
“Have you taken the low road or the high one?” she asked.
“The low one’s near flush with mud. We’d be stuck to our axles if I had taken it.”
Bessie fought to keep her temper at the man’s continuing insolence. Beside her, she felt, rather than saw, Devon’s amusement.
“That was good reasoning. Have you passed by a split boulder, yet?”
“The one with a tree? You can see it if you look back.”
He stepped back from the doorway and pointed. She didn’t check. She knew where it was.
“There will be a well-maintained road on the left. It won’t be more than a good stone throw from there. The keep it leads to will see we’ve shelter for the night. Take us there.”
“Very good, my lady.”
He shut the door and Bessie turned to Devon.
“Stone throw?” he asked.
“I was a child once, you know.”
“God forbid.”